Now this is a real horror story...

I was doing some surfing - much as I'd love to say it involved a board and some waves it was actually just the internet kind - and I came across this site.

http://www.stepfordwife.com/

How in the hell have I never seen this before??? Please note the frightening similarities in appearance to my own site. I kept looking for the part where someone says hahahaha this is just a joke, we're just being super sarcastic, but I couldn't find it. As much as there is some extremely laughable content, the fact that it appears to be written by people who BELIEVE in it scares the crapola out of me. Really? Is it really real?
I feel nauseous.  The only thing I can take from this is the potential for future commentaries. Eek.

kindergarten

I am going back to kindergarten today. Really. Since I last posted (yes it's been a while, but I have been busy) I have taken more steps to fully embrace my current role as a full time stay at home mom/housewife. Rather than be totally sucked into the world of daytime television, bonbons, mindless housework hours, and late afternoon cocktails, I have carefully loaded my schedule so that my days are now structured enough to hopefully keep me out of trouble, keep my ass from getting too big, and keep my from becoming a full time closet mommy's little helper alcoholic. In other words, busy enough not to be bored. I have started doing before and after school care for 3 other little girls from our neighborhood, which in itself isn't terribly challenging, but does force to drag my butt out of bed every day with more urgency than I have when it's just my own family needing me up and around. Also keeps me from indulging in cocktail hour until later on, as I tell my husband and whoever else might be around that I am "working" and will wait till later for that glass of wine. Do I sound like a raging hard core drinker? Really I'm not. Honestly, it's pretty much my only vice, unless you count obsessive reading as a vice. My husband does....anyway. Then in addition to my new child care responsibilities, I felt the need to fill the yawing chasm of time between the morning school bell and the 3 o'clock bell with something other than just grocery shopping, cleaning bathrooms and doing laundry. So I applied and was hired to be the new noon hour supervisor for our school's kindergarten classes. Today is my first day. I am invited to attend their pot luck lunch, and meet the kids and parents for the first time. Then tomorrow I jump in for real, and every day Monday to Friday after that, for one hour each day. Again, I figure it will force me to structure my other big housewifely plans around my lunch time commitment, and possibly help motivate me to be more constructive with my time. Plus I think it will be frigging hilarious to spend lunchtime with the kindergarten kids every day. And as a bonus, I actually get paid to do this. So woohoo for me. I have to go make a whole bunch of sandwiches to take to the pot luck lunch today, so signing off for now.

Genderless Baby

Holy cow, so have you heard about the couple in Toronto who have decided not to tell anyone (other than the baby's siblings and some close family) what the gender of their youngest child is? The baby's name is Storm and the parents don't want to impose gender related constrictions on their kids, but rather allow to them to develop as long as they can without the imposition of gender stereotypes. Hmmmm. Anyway, they have really pissed a whole lot of people off. But honestly, what is the big deal? They have just gone about it in a more public, more purposeful way than most parents. As anyone who has ever been a parent can pretty much tell you, it is absolutely fascinating to watch your babies develop. And I have always found one of THE most fascinating aspects of kids development is how they seem to instinctively gravitate to certain toys that are gender specific. I myself am not what I would consider a girly girl, and was a real tomboy as a kid. So when I found myself at home with three little girls of my own, I did not shower them with dolls, or dress them in ribbons and bows. I did not paint their rooms pink. In fact, if it had not been for grandparents and aunties, there may not ever have been a dollie of any kind in the house. What I'm saying is that my kids had plenty of non gender specific toys to play with, shows to watch, books to read and so on. And yet what did they all love in the end? The so called girl toys. It was like some kind of karmic payback for me - I used to torture my sister's Barbies in all sorts of nasty and creative ways, and now I had to learn how to put dresses and shoes on them, without the aid of hot glue or staples. I watched my girls pick up baby dolls and rock them, and feed them bottles before they could even walk. This is not to say that only girls are capable of such nurturing acts. I am married to a man who has endless patience with his daughters, changed a million diapers, and played dolls with them whenever requested. But Barbie was not the only thing the girls played with. They loved to play in the dirt, pick up worms, and chase a ball. But despite being pretty well rounded, they were most definitely female in their souls. What does that mean? Should we all encourage a genderless world and just let the chips fall where they may, let our children "choose" their disposition? Because in the end, they are either boys or girls. Penis, or vagina. I don't think what the parents of baby Storm are doing is so awful really, or so different from what many of us parents out there have already done. It's like forcing someone who is left handed to write with their right hand, which is what we used to do. Now, we watch to see which hand our child chooses, and then let them go with it. Granted, choosing your own gender "disposition", as I seem to be calling it, certainly could have much more complicated future ramifications for your child than being a lefty vs. a righty in a mostly righty world. But then isn't it our job as parents to help to guide our children, help them make decisions for themselves, and do what we can to support them in becoming good people who can eventually go out and contribute positively to society and lead happy fulfilled lives?
Anyway. Ultimately I believe that regardless of parental intervention most kids will go their own way, make up their own minds about who they are, and what they like etc. All we can hope is that we've instilled some good stuff in there somewhere before they stop listening to us. I think that all those people who are outraged at what baby Storm's parents have chosen to do should just chill out, and worry about their own families, and their own choices. There are many different ways in this world to raise a child, and in the end, there is no one right way. As long as your child and your family is thriving in a positive manner that isn't causing harm to anyone else, I say go for it. There are a lot worse things out there to worry about.
Baby raised without 'gender' sets off debate - CTV News

mean girls

Why is it that we women always seem to have to have another woman on the outs? It's true. Somebody is always the latest casualty. Somebody is always the latest one to screw up and do something that makes the other women mad, causing us to gang together and validate each others feelings of ill will. It's so bizarre. And it can be something so insignificant that you do wrong, like gain some weight for example. Or lose some weight. Any major fluctuation in weight in either direction is definitely cause for some cattiness, and rumor mongering amongst the rest of the women in that woman's social circle. Don't deny it ladies, you know it's true! But why do we do it? We start doing it when we are little girls, and for some reason we keep right on doing it, right up till we're senile old biddies in the nursing home - it's probably even worse then, I mean just imagine, there are virtually no old men left by then, so it's a whack of old ladies all thrown together and forced to spent all their waking hours side by side, my god I'll bet it's vicious times in those places..."that Mabel thinks she's pretty hot s#@**! since she got that hip replacement...and doesn't Ethel know that shade of blue hair is so last year??"
And it's not like most of us haven't at one time or another been the woman on the hit list. So you would think that we would learn a lesson about being supportive and kind after that, not wanting anyone else to have to go through being odd woman out, but no, we jump right back on that bandwagon of ladies ferociously relieved to be accepted once more, and desperate not to be pushed back off.
There are very few exceptions. I know a few pretty kind and saintly women, but even they enjoy a good giggle at someone else's expense now and then. So what is it? Some genetic trait that is part of our inner ability to survive? What purpose does it actually serve? I mean, what if we didn't do that, what if we acted like men who just don't really care that Joe looks like he had plastic surgery, or that Sam flirted with Sally, or that Jim passed off my coleslaw recipe as his own? Because they really don't care. So why do we? Is it some primal need that we have, part of a kill or be killed mentality from our cavewoman days gone by? It horrifies me to think that this is a carry over from some ancient need to compete for a mate thing, I mean really, could we still be that ruled by biology? And if so, shouldn't it stop by the time we have mates, children, and all the rest of it? Or is it learned behavior by then, so that even though it's not necessary anymore in terms of evolution, reproduction or whatever, it's all we know so we just can't help ourselves?
Whatever it is, it's real, and it's out there. Even when we know better, and that we should take the high road and not participate, inevitably there are times when we lapse in what should be better judgement and join in. I hear things all the time about women supporting women organizations and such, which is great, but why do we even need them in the first place?? That is my quandary.
As the mother of three young girls, I would love to solve this mystery, because without understanding the "why" behind women act the way they do, I am at a loss as to how to ultimately teach them not to follow in our footsteps. I think that would be a revolution indeed, in female evolution.
On the other hand, maybe life would just become super boring without all the drama that female feuding causes. The Real Housewives series empire would be duller than dirt, that's for sure. I don't have the answer, but I will keep looking. Whether I will choose to share it with the rest of you bitches is another thing....

Dr. Google

Well, it's official, I have shingles. What is up with that name anyway? It's very unglamorous as disease names go. I would much rather be able to say "I have the dreaded spotted archipelagoitis of the upper torso, oh dear god!" than "I have shingles...". Oh well. It's most definitely better than saying, oh that rash all over my side? Yeah, that's just bed bug bites.
So once again I have fallen victim of my own reluctance to see a doctor in a timely fashion, and now it is too late for me to take the medication necessary to shorten the duration of the disease. All because I consulted Dr. Google instead of my family doctor. When will I learn? Although I have to admit, it was a fairly honest mistake that I made in my self diagnosis initially. I mean, think about it. I was waking up in the night thinking something had just bitten me, because that was what it felt like - little prickling nipping sensations. And then sure enough, the next day I would see these itchy bumps showing up all over my stomach, my side, then my arm, my back....Apparently my doctor - my real doctor, not Dr. Google - thinks I have a mild case, since I have survived now almost two weeks with it without any great amount of pain, just enough to annoy me, but not enough to drive me to go see my real doctor soon enough to take any medicine to combat it. Oh well. I was so relieved to discover that it WAS shingles and not the horrible insect infestation that I originally was obsessed with, that I rather nonchalantly posted it as my facebook status, and was shocked to receive about 25 hits almost immediately from friends who have had it and were very concerned with how I am feeling, and to make sure to get the pain medication etc etc. So either I have "lucked out" so to speak, and really do have just a mild case, or the worst is still to come. I prefer to believe that I have super human powers of pain tolerance. Or I have just gotten so used to not feeling well - as in chronic sinus headaches daily, and a knee that feels like it is full of broken glass - that what's a little needly nerve pain? Not that I turned down the prescription for the "nerve" medication that the doctor insisted I hang on to in case things get worse. It's good to be prepared, that's the way I roll. In the meantime, I will self medicate with a glass of wine, and get set to cheer on the Canucks in the next round of hockey playoffs!

self diagnosis

Does anyone else out there do this? You wake up one day with oh, let's say, a rash. Instead of going to a doctor, you just get on the internet and google "rashes"....and see where it takes you. Okay, I'll admit it, this is exactly what I did about a week ago, when a mysterious rash appeared on my stomach and my side...and then my arm...assuming it was likely some kind of insect related thing, since I felt otherwise fine, I quickly narrowed it down to - oh dear god! - bed bug bites. Because that is just about the worst, most creepy crawliest thing I came across during my computer self doctoring journey, so that must be it, right? Anyway, once I had it in my head that there was even the remotest possibility that this indeed was the problem, I began systematically dismantling my entire bedroom. I'm talking about going through my entire closet, my dressers, throwing out clothes, washing everything else twice in hot water. Then I pulled apart the bed, got rid of the pillows, the duvet, washed all the sheets etc in hot hot water every day for a week, and then proceeded to vacuum every square inch of my box spring and mattress daily also, and naturally every other square inch of my bedroom. During all of this no one else in the house appeared to be afflicted with any sort of skin abnormality, but I remained convinced that I was battling an infestation. At night I would wake up, sure that if I turned on the light I would see them, crawling all over the sheets...okay, I actually got up, found a flashlight and spent ages crawling around the bed, lifting the covers, the sheets, looking all around, but found nothing.
Anyway. So this morning I get up, and as I'm dressing the rash that has reached my back starts to burn and prickle...so I contort myself and with the help of a couple of mirrors I attempt to have a closer look at what the hell is going on back there. Meanwhile, I realize that my arm is also burning and prickling...and suddenly the light bulb goes on. I mean the one in my head, not the one in the bathroom. A clustery rash, blistery bumps, burning prickly pain, and all on one side of my body...and off I go to the computer again, to google "shingles" this time. Aha! As I continue to read I become more and more convinced that THIS is what I have. And really, it doesn't look so bad. In fact, I'm pretty damn happy if this is what it is, 'cause I'll definitely take shingles over frigging BED BUGS in a red hot second, that's for damn sure. Okay, but yes, just to make sure, I did call and make an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow, because you never know. But I am feeling pretty good about this diagnosis - who knew that finding out you have shingles would bring me such relief?? And the other good news is that my house got one hell of a good cleaning before I figured it out, so it's a win win situation all around. Well, sort of. Kind of an always look on the bright side of life scenario really. God, I'll be so disappointed if it turns out to be something else tomorrow....well, something worse I mean. :) Oh, and it's really kind of serendipitous, actually, because you see, you get shingles only if you've had the chickenpox - which I got for my 6th birthday, in fact. And this Friday is my 44th birthday...so seems rather fitting, doesn't it?

Scrapbooking

So I recently had an excuse to enter the world of scrapbooking. Now let me be perfectly clear. I am not interested in scrapbooking. Never have been, and after this episode I can definitely say I never will be. This is not to say anything against those who enjoy this past time. To each his own, right? It's just not my thing. So why did I scrapbook you ask? Well, my friend is getting married. And she is really into scrapbooking. And so for her bridal shower we decided to ask all the guests to do a scrapbook page of their memories of the bride, and bring to the shower to be presented in a book as a gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time...So I dutifully made my way to the dollar store to pick up some supplies, as obviously never having done this before, I don't have so much as a sticker or a pair of fancy scissors in my possession. I found myself in an entire aisle of doohickeys for the art of scrapbooking, and realized very quickly that I just might be in over my head a bit. Actually I realized that I was most likely about to drown, but I took some deep breaths and plunged in anyway, because I love my friend, and I figured oh come oh, how hard could this really be? Dear god, if I had only known. I wandered up and down the aisle and found myself starting to just randomly pull items off the shelves and pegs and throwing them in my basket. I had no idea it was so complicated, that so much STUFF was required. Suddenly I started to feel really pressured, I mean, we're talking about me presenting a page as a special gift to someone who is REALLY good at this kind of thing, and I really didn't want mine to look like it came from a complete loser. Anyway. I finally figured I had enough stuff, and headed home. Then I put it all away in the corner of my room and tried not to think about it for a day or so. But since it didn't seem to magically be getting itself done, I hauled it all out on Friday, which was a professional day for the kids so no school, and got started. I would normally not try to to a task like this that requires me to concentrate when the kids are home, but I suspected that I might end up needing them to take over and finish it for me if I got too desperate. I labored - and I mean labored - all day, sweating, hunched over, getting glue in all the wrong places, paper cuts, and a huge headache. Finally I was done, or at least as done as I was going to ever be. And really, I thought it didn't look too bad. Certainly not like something that I had exerted that much effort into, but pretty decent nonetheless. I proudly took it downstairs to show it off to my family, feeling like I had physically actually run a marathon, and they were all suitably impressed. My husband even said it was better than he had expected from me...I know there's an insult in there somewhere but I'm not going to think too hard about it. Then the next morning the girls asked if they could make a page for the scrapbook too. So I said sure, and handed off the bag of stuff to them, found a picture they could use, and sent them downstairs to create. However, a few minutes later my husband announced that he was going off to do some work at a friends house and was going to take the kids with him, since I was heading out to some shopping of my own. I went downstairs to break the news that they would have to work on their scrapbook page later in the day, only to discover that they were nearly finished. I mean it, they were all but done. Just some words to write on one last piece of paper, and that was it. And it looked GOOD. In fact, they had probably twice as much stuff on the page as I had on mine, all nicely mounted on card stock with appropriately placed stickers beside them in all the right places. Well, I thought, so much for my plan of telling everyone that the kids had done my page for me, isn't that SWEET? They had just kicked my scrapbooking butt. Oh well. It's not like I was ever planning to do this again anyway. Not mention that my friend that we were all making these pages for knows me all too well, and therefore will totally appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that went into the page that I created for her. Which is what it's all about after all. So I pack up the pages, and the next day I take them to the shower where they are placed in a book with everyone else's. And when my friend gets to my page, she oohs and ahhs and laughs and then reads the little blurb I wrote and when she gets to the end, her voice cracks and she gets teary, and I feel totally content with my efforts, it was all worth it. And next time a scrapbooking duty of any kind is required of me, I will not hesitate for a moment to hand it off to the much more capable hands of my daughters. This was definitely a once in a lifetime thing for my once in a lifetime friend!