I Kicked A Mouse

Yepp. The awesomeness of that post title? Pure fact.

Remember Drizzle? You may remember my furry little house mouse from: Magical Mouse Fairy, one line in Fruity Whirls, and his namesake posts Super Drizzle and Super Drizzle Returns.

He met with his end when faced with a rat trap (much bigger than a mouse trap) which attempted to sever a limb, and then he dragged himself back into his mouse hole.

We haven't seen whisker or tail of him since. That was months ago.

A week ago we met our newest addition: Zipper!

Now, I'm no expert on mice, but I'm fairly confident that this is not Drizzle, they look similar, but I see differences. Also, Zipper is much faster than Drizzle was, and he is significantly less cocky.

What I like to think happened was that Drizzle dragged his mangled body home, and his wife and children nursed him back to health. His disability prevents him from leaving the home to forage for food, so he trained his children (specifically Zipper) in the way of the ninja, so that with the speed and stealth of a ninja he will be able to provide food for the whole family.

"You are learning well, Grasshopper."



Last night there was a massive thunderstorm. After I sat at the window in the dark watching the thunder, lightning, and pouring rain for a while; I decided to use the washroom and crawl into bed. I left the light out and relied on my night vision and knowledge of toilet location for my pre-bed-pee. I took two steps inside the washroom and kicked something small and soft.

"WTF?!? Was that a mouse?!" I thought, and hastily turned on the light. My inspection of the bathmat showed Splat's hairbrush as the only item on the ground. Sitting on the toilet I thought to myself how odd it was that the hairbrush felt so soft and full of innards when I kicked it, when lo and behold Zipper raced across the room at speeds unimaginable, came within 12 inches of my feet, zipped under the cabinet, behind the sink, and (I'm assuming) entered the area behind the vent to return to his house.

"JESUS HOLY F%*&ING KRIES ZIPPER!!!" I yelled, "You scared the ever-loving sh#% out of me!! Argh!"

Then I tried to calm down enough to sleep, and managed to hear him 'talking' to another mouse.


O_o


"And I was cleaning myself and this crazy b#$%^ walked right in and KICKED ME! Can you believe that?"

Morning Rage

I have written in the past about my burning rage for mornings.

Of the bear that awakens within me when I am torn from my warm sheets, soft pillows, and drool spot on my bed.

How then, an epic battle must ensue as the real me must fight the bear to win back control of my body.

Usually coffee helps.



I think the bear had a head start this morning.

Picture from here.

Isn't this picture epic?! I Googled 'woman wrestling bear' and got this picture, which is much more appropriate. Now my morning is getting better.

I was woken up this morning over an hour early by Shake'n'Bake beginning to cry in her bed. Since our rooms are seperated only by a curtain, I called out: "What's wrong?" from the warmth of my bed.

"I want you to tuck my feet in and give me a kiss!" she cried.

"No," I replied, "I only tuck you in at bed time."

Then she lost it. Screaming Crying and kicking the bed, I tried to use my calm voice and tell her to take a breath or say the alphabet. No use. She screamed louder and kicked harder and then the bear sat on the happy mom I want to be.

When her fit was... 'resolved'... we couldn't go back to bed because her screaming had woken Splat up, and she wanted to be fed. I tried to lie in bed and feed her, in hopes that she would remain drowsy and we could all go back to sleep after.

Nope.

She was wide awake then too, babbling about the various parts of the room and laughing at the desperation on my face. "Happy Mom" then tried to get the day going in an attempt to forget the heinous crimes of the morning, so I announced that it was wake up time and that we were all supposed to get dressed.


I found a dead housefly in my jeans.

Splat is almost out of pants, and we have company today.

Shake'n'Bake has decided that she wants to be a baby again (or something, this is just an assumption) and has decided that she can no longer get dressed on her own. She cried when I said I wouldn't help her put her socks on.

Splat kicked me in the vagina when I was putting her shirt on.

Then she cried because I said 'ow' and told her 'gentle'.

Shake'n'Bake exploded into tears because she has forgotten how to operate shirts over the past two weeks, and can no longer get them over her head.

Then they touched my excema medicine (after I had an itch attack last night that was so bad I was crying).

Splat cried for no reason. A lot.

Shake'n'Bake was impatient and whiny for her breakfast.

Splat cried when I did her hair. And then again when I finished doing her hair.

And again when I was getting her water.

Oh, and I have a buttload of ants that have decided to make my house their house.

And then my internet didn't want to work again this morning...because it does that sometimes.


O_o


Yeah, so that's my morning thus far.

F. 'Happy Mom', I'm going to go have a coffee now.

My Side of the Bed

Boyfriend and I have respective 'sides' of the bed.

Mostly because I am a creature of habit, and I don't like to share my pillows (they're fluffier than his).



My side of the bed is beside my rocking chair, nearest the girls' bedroom (for easy nighttime feeding access), and fluffier than his side.



Every night we cuddle. Now after a certain amount of time in a relationship, there is a good chance that this will wear off, and realistically we almost never wake up cuddling, but every night when we wiggle under the sheets we mash ourselves together in one big warm ball of love.

At some point during the night my hips begin to ache, Boyfriend begins to snore, or my ribs are not up for the particular positions required to cuddle, and we move. Perhaps our backs face each other as we snooze towards our respective walls; maybe one of us has chosen the face down position, leaving the other one to flounder alone in their half; but the contact is still there.

I still can feel his warmth, hear his breathing, brush his arm with mine, or even just notice the slight slope towards his body. And it is comforting.



This is why sleeping alone now sucks.



This is also why it is so special that he tucks me in when he leaves in the morning. Most days he is up before everyone else and out the door for his commute to school. Before Splat was born I would wake up with him and we would have breakfast together, but this lack of sleep has turned me into a nasty zombie and I need my sleep. But every morning that he wakes up before the rest of us, and dresses in the light of his cellphone (so not to disturb me), he takes his warm patch of comforter and tucks it in around me - to imitate his body.

When he is dressed, fed, and otherwise prepared for the day, he comes back in to give me a kiss goodbye. I only wake as much as is necessary for a kiss and a "Have a good day," before he leaves and I can go back to sleep. As soon as I hear the door lock I roll onto his side of the bed and bury my face in his pillow. A few deep breaths into the pillow that smells like him, and I'm rocketed back to LaLaLand.

His pillow doesn't reek of cologne, and it doesn't smell like shampoo. It smells like him. Not body odour, no fake chemicals, but of the very intimate scent that lingers after many nights worth of sleep.

My side of the bed may be closer to the girls' bedroom, and the bathroom; it may be fluffier and near the heater; it may be farther from the dirty laundry and the wall; but Boyfriend's side smells like him...

So it's better.

Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

WARNING!

This post contains spiders.

Yuck.

Dad had built me a bunk bed when I was younger.



It had the bed up top and a lovely desk for the bottom. It allowed me to have a workspace for homework in my bedroom, without destroying the limited amount of floor space I had.


When my family moved to a nicer house, the bunk bed had to be torn apart to fit out the door.


I decided that I was too big and too cool for a bunk bed anymore, and asked my parents if I could just have a normal bed instead.


That summer, they were out garage sale-ing (a sport in my family) when they happened upon a nice bed frame for my very small twin mattress.


I was so excited to lift my mattress off the floor!


Dad assembled it while I held the ends on. It was a light coloured wood, two side pieces only, bevelled heads and slats. It must have been a crib or something at one time because there were drilled holes down the front and back for some sort of attachment.

See the holes?  That is what mine had.
Picture from here

Air conditioning running, that night I crawled into my new bed in a tank top and shorts.



Around midnight I was roused by an itch on my leg. A gentle scratch revealed a piece of lint was the culprit, so I promptly grabbed it and tossed it on to the floor.


The "lint" beat my fingertips with its wings as I threw it away.



O_O



My eyes shot open and I clambered for the light switch.


The 60watt bulb flooded the room and revealed my lint. It was a wasp.


Or more correctly, three.



Picture from here


Yarghahblagenfloo!


Yuck.


I grabbed a book from my desk and mashed these three wasps out of existance.


SIDE NOTE: To all you bug lovers out there who believe I just admitted to a triple homicide, my rule about bugs is this: if you're in my house, you die. If you're outside and you come towards me, you die. If you're outside and you go away from me, you live.


My mother opened my door and hissed a quick "What are you doing?" at me. I explained the wasp situation and she explained the midnight situation and left.



As I looked at my closed door, I realized that the paint was darker on that wall. Confused, I picked up my glasses and put them on.



Still darker.



O_o



Huh.



So I walked up to the wall to inspect the situation closer.



Wouldn't you know it? It wasn't my paint making the walls darker....



It was millions of baby spiders.

Picture from here
Okay, I know this isn't a wall, but I can only stomach looking at so many pictures of spiders before I vomit.

Turns out, those holes I mentioned earlier? Yeah, they were filled with spider nests. Nests that were full of millions and billions of nasty nasty spiders. Nasty nasty spiders that decided to hatch and climb my wall.


I almost crapped my pants.


I left my room, shut the door, and stuffed a towel under the crack so no spiders could escape.

I slept in the spare bedroom and attacked my room with a vacuum cleaner the next morning. I never did find any adult spiders later... I guess I got them all.

The moral of the story is:

Spiders are nasty.

And you're never too cool for a bunk bed.

Boyfriend Brought Henry To Bed

If this isn't the best title for a post ever, then I don't know what is.



Boyfriend and I are adults - I swear we are - but sometimes we like to be.......silly.


Well, last night Boyfriend decided to be silly. We were getting ready for bed and he decided that he would have a night-time Oh Henry bar.



Meet Henry

"You go to the washroom...I'll just eat this and then I'll come to bed..."

O_o

Hmm, that's odd. Normally Boyfriend is proud of his candy-scarfing abilities.

But, away I went. When I had finished bedtime-bathroom activities, I walked into the bedroom in near darkness (we keep it dark because the light would wake up the little ones) and noticed that the bed was made...

But the comforter was on the wrong side.
(I have a reversible comforter...one pattern on one side, another on the opposite side.)

"You made the bed? The comforter is backwards."

*silence*

So I checked under my side of the comforter for some sort of prank...nothing.


o_o



So I snuggled in to my side of the bed, and Boyfriend snuggled into his.


Still very, very quiet.


Then I heard it.

*crinkle*

And then things got chocolatey.



"Is that a candy bar?! Did you bring your f***ing candy bar to bed?! No candy in bed! There's going to be chocolate crumbs all over my f***ing sheets and I'm going to have to wash them and chocolate stains! There's f***ing peanuts in an Oh Henry! You're going to drop some and Shake'n'Bake's going to eat them and she's too young to eat peanuts!"


There was much for ranting and f-bombs, coupled with my scratching, pinching, and shoving Boyfriend.
I'm mean like that. :P

But he would not give it up. He pretended to put the bar away, tossed it on the floor, hid it under his pillow again, tried to sneak it past me...


We laughed A LOT.


But poor Boyfriend ended up pretty sore. He got pushed off the bed and landed on the end table with his ribs.



He deserved it.





It was a great night!



The Victims Of Fussy Hour

A couple of weeks after Splat was born she started this lovely habit of "Fussy Hour".

Every night at 9pm she would begin crying inconsolably until 3 in the morning.

Shake'n'Bake goes to bed at 8:30 and wakes up around 7am...

I drew some pictures to put this in perspective.

(It helps to start at 6pm.)

Now start at 3am.

Note that the window of content-sleepy-face is only four hours before Shake'n'Bake wakes up.



I keep my house fairly child-proof since I have two children, and some mornings Shake'n'Bake would sneak out quietly to the living room, or wake me up so I could change her and give her breakfast, and then I'd put on a movie (Super Mom I know, but I was frickin' tired) and go back to sleep for a little bit.



Well, I got my kamuppins.



One morning Shake'n'Bake came into my bedroom and said:


"Good morning Mommy!"

"Good morning Shake'n'Bake."

"I wet."

"What? Why are you wet?"


At this point I felt her hair, and it was wet and sticky. It smelled fruity...


"I a good girl. I made a mess but I clean it up."


O_o



"What did you say?"

"I good girl. I made a mess but I clean it up."

"What mess?"

"I clean it up."


Oh God.



And so I got up quickly and followed my adorable little two year old out into the living room.


There she presented to me: my couch.



My best guess is that she spilled a few drops of milk on the couch, and decided that she wanted to clean it up for me.

Two-year-old-clean = That-big-sister-present-had-shampoo-in-it...I-bet-I-can-climb-on-something-and-reach-it

So she emptied the entire bottle of shampoo onto my couch to clean up a few drops of milk.

O_O


So, first thing in the morning, after four and a half hours of sleep, I got to mop shampoo (which, need I remind you foams like a mofo when mixed with water) up off the floor...






...then I discovered that my mop bucket had a big hole in it.

THE END!

And for your viewing pleasure...

I drew Shake'n'Bake today because her outfit is ridiculously horrible! (She gets to pick what she wears every morning)



And she decided to draw ME next to her! (Appropriate that it's blue...) Those four circles on the right are my eyes! All...four......of........them..........   *cough*

Andddddddddddd

My colouring prowess!

"Lolz! Cherries drink Limeade"

It's Peanut Butter Baby Time

For my 30^th post, I decided to write about my vagina!

Because everyone wants to read about my vagina.

And see pictures of my children.

WARNING!

The following post is kind of graphic! It involves childbirth.

You have been warned.

I was very recently pregnant with my second daughter. After this news, 'surprise-your-birth-control-failed', I was referred to an OBGYN who was to follow me through my pregnancy.

I had an OBGYN with my first daughter, 'if-you-want-kids-it's-now-or-never', and he/she was a total douchebag. Every time I asked a question about my first pregnancy he would walk out of the room while answering:

"It's a pregnancy thing."

So, needless to say, I was not looking forward to another experience similar to the first (not blaming ALL OBGYNs, but with my luck...) and so, when an opportunity opened to get on board with a new midwife practice, I was alllllll over it.

I have heard so many good stories about midwives. So many recommendations, positive experiences, and happy memories, I thought this is for me!

This particular practice had two midwives, A and D. A was very nice to me, she liked to listen, tried to treat me as a person with opinions and such, but A was spineless. And she only knew what she had read from the book.

D...D was a total b****. For some reason she really didn't like me. I'm taking a lot of biology classes for college right now, and this is my second baby (plus I really love everything about pregnancy and babies and such) so I have a small knowledge base to draw from. So it pissed her off  when I already knew something and she didn't get to part the clouds and show me a glimpse of heaven. Pissed her off to the point that she would lie to me about events in my pregnancy...or events causing my pregnancy...or tests that were supposed to be mandatory...

So I dealt with it. I ignored her stupidity for most of the pregnancy. I fought for the tests I knew were mandatory for me to get. I prompted for things I wanted...like a birth plan....and I said OVER AND OVER that I wanted to wait until I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and then I WANT AN EPIDURAL.

I had to sign the consent form for the anaesthesiologist prior to going in to labour.

They fought me on what day my due date was.

I have a 28 day cycle. Which means I ovulate on the 14th day....pretty much guaranteed.

Day you ovulate = day you can get pregnant.

My pharmacy happened to screw up my birth control, and I was using another less effective form....well Bob's your uncle andddddddddddddddd

Tah Dah!

But nooooooo, D argued with me for my entire pregnancy because she believed that my due date was 7 days later than it was. The ultrasound showed the fetus to be about 7 days smaller than she should have been at the time.

I smoked LIKE A CHIMNEY for the first six weeks of my pregnancy because I didn't know I was pregnant.

Smoking while pregnant = smaller babies

But D was always right or something, and she was quite insistent. So I ignored her in an attempt to maintain my sanity. It became suddenly important as my due date approached and #2 was still high up and safely snuggled in my womb.

GET OUT.

Now medically, if a baby stays in your womb for too long, it will just continue to gain weight which will make a natural vaginal birth more difficult and lowers the chances of the survival of mother and child. Also, after a certain period of time, your body believes that there must be something wrong and stops providing nourishment to your baby. This is why there is a practice in Ontario to induce a mother between 41 and 42 weeks.

Now selfishly, #2's due date was 19 days before #1's birthday....and I wanted them to be as far apart as possible so they could each have their own special time as they got older.

I watched the days tick by and the gap start to close and I got paranoid.

19 days apart...

18 days apart...

17 days apart...

16 days apart...

And I talked to A about it. She said that the earliest they would be able to medically induce me would be at 41 weeks - 7 days after their due date.

THEIR DUE DATE, which remember, is 7 days after mine. At that imaginary time, my baby would be two weeks past her due date and at risk for a lot of medical problems, and my induction date would only be 5 days prior to #1's birthday, which would make the estimated delivery date 4 days prior!

No dice.

15 days apart...

14 days apart...

And I couldn't take it anymore. I went out and purchased some castor oil. It's a natural laxative, and the theory behind it is that it causes contractions in your abdomin (for purposes of poop expulsion) which gets baby stuff started.

By 2am I couldn't sit through my contractions anymore. I had to walk through them because my body was too antsy. So I called my midwife's 'beeper' and left a voicemail. D returned my call 10 minutes later, asked me a few questions, and decided to come down and check me out.

D showed up around 2:30, checked out my stomach, cervix, blood pressure, and asked a few more questions. Then she gave me this golden tidbit of information:

"It could be early labour, but it will probably go away. Try not to call until they're strong and regular."

She left. I cried.

I tried to sleep on the couch so Boyfriend could get some sleep in the bed. (He was working night shift at the time and had gotten off work at 7am the day of castor oil ingestion, then stayed up all day to force his body back to a normal schedule....poor SOB) I dozed off maybe once for a minute or two and then was forced awake by a contraction that I couldn't even stay quiet through.

After three of these nasty SOBs in a row I woke Boyfriend up.

4:30am.

I called the beeper again and left a message that was along the lines of:

"I'm going to the hospital now because they are going to give me something for the pain.  So I don't know if you needed to do anything before I showed up, but now you know."

We got to the hospital at 5am, and couldn't find the magical hidden baby entrance. We gave up and went through the emergency entrance. Boyfriend made me laugh. Then we checked in.

D was there. She wouldn't look at me, one-worded Boyfriend's attempts at conversations, and treated me like I was wasting her time.

I got my own room, (Yay!) and then was effectively incapacitated before I was told that there was no cell reception and no phones in the room.

O_o

So Boyfriend had to leave to call a few people for me.

8 am - Longggggggggg gory story short: D broke my waters, forbid me to leave the bed, SCREWED ME OUT OF MY EPIDURAL (I almost kicked this b**** in the throat), was disgustingly rude to Boyfriend, broke my baby's collar bone and then tried to pretend it didn't happen, and then had the nerve to hug me and ask if I would be back for my next baby after it all.

Not a f$%*ing hope in hell you crazy b****.

The only perk? I was out of the hospital and in the car less than three hours after having her.

Happy Movember!

It is now November, which means that it is ridiculously close to Christmas, which is my favourite day of the year!

This November (not sure if it happened in the past...) there is a campaign going on called Movember in which men are encouraged to grow mustaches to raise awareness for prostate cancer.

I am trying to convince Boyfriend to do this as well. I find stuff interesting!

Speaking of stuff that I do...it's not too much. Especially not lately. Splat has been waking up for more feedings during the night, and Shake'n'Bake is hitting the nightmare age, not to mention Boyfriend snores like a chainsaw sometimes...and I haven't been getting a ton of sleep.

I like to confuse words in sentences now, or forget words entirely....it leads to a lot of sentences like:

"Can you pass me....the........thing that I would put on my food. It's another food...red coloured...thanks."


I also forget that I have told people things - repeat stories woo! - and sometimes confuse reality and the dream world. I told Boyfriend the other day about a dream I had in which a friend of mine sent me a message on Facebook. Boyfriend then told me that it was a real event, and provided me with more details about the message to prove his point.

So I am slowly becoming a zombie. My eyes have been described as glossy lately, I'm walking around in a stuper, and the biggest challenge of my day is getting out of bed.

A couple of days ago I said "I've never gotten an 80 eng inlish."

Eng...Inlish...

Well, I am quite sure that other people have had children before and have survived...so for now...I......uh....
....
Oh crud.

Why I'm Not An Artist

I still didn't get any more sleep, and now my hand hurts.



Tired = irrational.

Fruity Whirls

Sorry for the delay between posts.

I've been trying to rock an "every three days maximum" thing here, and this past week has been hectic.

And the points that haven't been hectic have been filled with me sleeping.

Or crocheting.

Or vomiting.

So here I am, enjoying a bowl of Fruity Whirls Breakfast Cereal; and I have determined that I should be writing something into my blog so that people are aware that I am not dead.

I am not dead!

I came close though.

I developed mastitis. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's an infection of milk ducts.

Causes some nasty things: chills, fever, dizziness, exhaustion, swollen and tender ducts.

It's a big pile of suck.

I misdiagnosed it as 'Nasty-Cold-Boyfriend's-Mom's-Boyfriend-Brought-Back-From-Europe'.

So this sickness came and went about six or seven times over a longggg span. It was nasty brutal, and if it wasn't for Boyfriend being super awesome and taking care of me, I would have died.

I also enjoyed writing a Midterm for College during all of this loveliness.

Since that time, Drizzle has caught himself in a mouse trap (poor guy), and then Houdini'd himself out; Landlord has replaced the front door (woooooo!); and in my excitment over potty training Shake'n'Bake, I managed to clog the only toilet in my house and be banned from pooping for over a day while my poor Landlord was elbow-deep in dukey, trying to unclog it.

Hopefully I will be able to come up with something funny and enjoyable for you to read within the next three days. Cross your fingers!