Mook Conversations

Sprout is still nursing, and this morning we had a conversation about mommy mook. Here are the parts that made me laugh:

Sprout: I want mommy mook.
Me: Oh, and where are you going to get that from? The store? The gas station? (We do this conversation over and over. It's our little running joke together.)
Sprout: No, fwom da boobie!! [giggle]

Me: How do you think the mommy mook gets in the boobie, Sprout?
Sprout: Da baby dwinks it all, and den it gwows back.

Me: And what does mommy mook taste like?
Sprout: It tastes like chocolate bars from a thousand houses.

(And how do you top that.)

Dry Pants

No, not me, silly! The Sprout.

The Sprout has been daytime potty-trained for almost two years now, but mainly still pees his pants at night and consequently wears nighttime diapers.

We told him if he did not pee in his pants at night four times in a row, we would try going without a diaper at night. Tonight we're on the edge of something big. Once before, he went three nights without an accident, and then took a miss. Tonight again, he's been dry three nights.

If the diaper is dry again tomorrow, then I guess my nightlife is about to get very interesting!

Am having flashbacks to the last time we tried going commando at night. He was dry for a day, and then he peed and peed, and I slept less and less. Must avoid those thoughts. All is different now.

Carpe Diem, Squirrel, Carpe Diem

I had the most ferociously good day today, working like a dog.

I am in the middle of three days off to paint the back of my house - the last remaining bit of unfinished renovations that ear-marks us as white trash.

The renos started yesterday under a black cloud of PMS. I was enraged. Raging at the whole world and everything in it. I was enraged why? Because

a) I wanted to paint the whole back of my house, but was chickening out once again because I don't want to get electrocuted by the huge, honking powerline that's up there
b) I had the type of PMS where I make stupid decisions, so I couldn't possibly go anywhere near the powerline
c) I forgot to eat breakfast for two hours (see stupid decisions under point b))

After stomping around dramatically and swearing like a girl from Lead.r for an hour or so, I realized that I could simply paint the lower half of the house so that we can put up the cedar shingles, and then we can paint the top later. Beans/Imelda is building a workshop in the backyard, and they are going to bury the power line to the house in the Fall. Then nothing will stop me from shedding my white-trash carapace.

Heh. How many hits would you get if you put "white-trash carapace" into Gurgle? Betcha that's good for a Googlewhack. But I digress.

Anyway, after the rocky start - plus, Jim was kind and made me some oatmeal - I got a lot done yesterday. Heat-stripped paint, scraped, sanded, filled, primed, caulked. Avoided hitting the powerline with my ladder... The day was salvaged.

And today was awesome. I not only painted some more, I also scrubbed and re-stained the front porch, did laundry (have become addicted to the smell of laundry from the clothesline), and tidied the house. And first thing, Jim and I went out and dragged a 15-foot cedar board home with our tiny car. It was hilarious, if not exactly smart. It was so long that it was hanging out the back of the trunk and sticking out my passenger window at the same time. I worked like a dog, and I loved it. This is a prime example of PMS superwoman syndrome. When I was in university, there would occasionally be a day where I would clean my entire apartment, wash the car, and weed the whole garden, after which I would go dancing for three hours. 'Wow,' I'd muse, 'What's going on with me?' And then I'd figure it all out.

So there you go, rage incidents followed by raw physical power. A squirrel at the mercy of the elements.

If I have any energy left tomorrow - and if it doesn't rain - there's going to be even more painting. Chip chrrrr.

Imelda on Ice

Not only is Imelda sleeping in my house and eating my food, now she's going to curl with us! I suspect she let me talk her into it only so that she can try out yet more new footwear.

Shoo

Imelda Marcos is living at my house and eating my Kraft dinner.

Squirrel on Ice?

It is very possible that the curling team that was once "Librarians on Ice" may resurrect itself, with a slight membership change! We curled for a few years recently, but I dropped out to have a baby. Now maybe we're on again! I am currently recruiting folks, and am shopping for a rink with appropriate times and reasonable fees.

And, Good God, let's hope they serve Boh in their fine drinking establishment - or we may have to return to the end of the earth rink by the train station (great people and great beer, but a bit of a hoof from where we all live)!

I am not very sporty, but Gawd I love curling. It's just the perfect combination of physical activity, cunning calculations, game of chance, cameraderie, and beer. And stupid sweaters, if you can get them. Gawd I love it.

Crazy, Crazy Nature

Nature is very funny sometimes. Has anyone else who works in this building noticed the tomato plant that is growing in the crack between the library and the asphalt parking lot on the way to the coffee shop next door? It has all the earmarkings of crazy relentless nature in the face of adversity.

Hey, perhaps, if we're smart, we could stop spending money at the coffee shop, and could instead grow a row of vitamin-rich snacks along the back wall of the library. Who's in?!

Oomph

I have a rotten head-cold today, and I'm lumping around at work quietly wishing someone would hit me with a rock and put me out of my misery. I never take cold medication because it gives me nightmares; I just tough it out. Beans had this same cold last week (thanks Beans~), and her cure-all differs slightly from mine.

Jim and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this week, and last night we took Beans and the Sprout with us to a fancy restaurant. Luckily my cold was minimal yesterday and I could still taste food when my rack of lamb arrived. Sprout had the very fancy 'doigts du poulet avec pommes frites', found in quality eating establishments everywhere. Being consistent with her head-cold cure-all, Beans finished off her meal with the Belgian chocolate plate. Ooh-la-la.

Hit me with a rock. Or maybe with a nougat-stuffed horse's head. Ole.

Wheels

Hmm, have you noticed how Ms. JR/RM doesn't visit us in Westpod anymore, now that she has a car and a local boyfriend? Sigh. The life of the young and glamorous.

Family Outings

Since Beans and Jim are busy building the garage every chance that they get, and since I have my own little projects going on, we tend to be tag-team parenting these days. When Jim is doing a project, I have the Sprout, and vice-versa.

The other day, I offered to make a run to the beer store to replenish the building crew. I should have sneaked out, but instead I annouced to Sprout that I was going out for beer and would be right back. In his usual fashion as a busy little person, Sprout announced in turn that he was coming with me. "You can't come into the beer store with me, dear, and you can't wait in the car by yourself outside the beer store," I said firmly. "But I want to come with you, Mama!" replied Sprout. To solve the problem, Jim offered to come along and wait in the car with Sprout. And so off we went.

Ah, yes. The togetherness of family outings. To the beer store.

Me

I am going through a period of emotional growth and change. It's always a good thing, because in the end of it I understand myself better and find innovative ways to improve my life.

I just wish it didn't come with quite so much self-loathing. Or I wish that I was too stupid to notice when I behave badly.

And then, in the midst of despair, I will have exceptionally perky moments. I got the pushmower sharpened the other day, and cutting the grass without using electricity pops Bridget Jones-type thoughts into my head: "Am ecological resource-preserving goddess, doing my part to save the beleaguered environment."

It's nuts to be me.

Said the squirrel.