Life in the fast lane

It’s been 14 days since my part-time (full time??) slaves left for the land “down unda” – aka holiday in the sun for a month.. what a hardship the pensioners have…

Surviving just fine to tell the tale, I might add.

Today was one of those days that I decided to SLAY being the 1950’s housewife that I am. Given that we’re currently renovating a house from top to bottom (or.. middle and other rooms and bits and bobs for now?!!) and that I had a physio appointment (due to being a total whack job and being so busy my wrists have given out.. so much stroller steering.. so much dog walking.. so little time. The Hustle) had an important afternoon tea to attend, had a jillion errands to run & housewife-esque work to do, not to mention a baby who naps and eats and whatever else it is that Infant does, and a busy, mental Hairy Toddler.. it wasn’t an easy feat… BUT I DID IT. All thanks to things like modern day technology.. so no. I couldn’t have done it in 1950. You didn’t need to tell me that, so shut up.

You too can cram in more daily crapola, if you rely on technology too. Take this bedtime story time. The story book channel reads to my kid FOR ME, so that I can be EXTRA 1950’s and handle the family ironing. And by family I mean Husband’s extensive dress shirt collection.

Thank god for technology & thank god for wine. Filled to the top. Ain’t nobody got time for people who put a shot-measure of wine in a giant wineglass. Ain’t nobody got time for multiple trips to the fridge- I just admit to myself in advance that I plan to drink a full glass. No sense in being snobby & basic about it. (For the elderly readers and foreigners.. “basic”: gals that are only interested in things mainstream, popular and trending.. aka the pompous glass to wine ratio. Who knows.. maybe you’re basic too. I will still talk to you. Maybe.)

The only one suffering slightly since the parental unit slaves decided that February was better spent away from the snowy abyss, is none other than Hairy Toddler. We haven’t been doing 1:1 walks together & quite frankly, I can only cuddle one of the children at a time. He deeply misses his BFF & today, while he was sulkily walking along with me, I noticed some of these on the mailboxes around town. He claims to not know where they came from.

He is even in protest with me because I pay attention to Infant sometimes. HT demands 100% of attention or none at all. He’s a black and white (brown and white?!!) kind of guy.

Here are his earlier attempts (protests) at getting me to ditch the baby and focus more on “what’s important” (his words, not mine)

He is allowed on the sofa beside me but he sighed and laid down here. He stared at me for a good while with pure attitude.

Only two more weeks until we have slaves again, HT.. but you somehow have difficulty understanding English when I try to explain (why?).

Basically thoughhh, I nailed today & I’m still working. I’m only taking this short break to enjoy my glass (jug??) of vino, before getting back at er. Paying bills, wearing an apron, writing things on a real hard copy calendar, dusting.. whatever else it is that constitutes adulting.

Time to go. Hairy Toddler is barking madly in his sleep. Legs failing. Jowls puffing in and out. So many dream-squirrels, so little time. I may lay down & howl along with him.

XXXXX

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When there are cons, there are pros.

Whenever I’ve had trouble making a decision, Cath has always had me do a pros and cons list. ** i suppose this was mostly in my youth though because I’m extremely decisive these days. MAYBE IT WAS THE PROS AND CONS LIST TRAINING.

I’ve been gypsy squatting at Cath’s (parental unit for the newcomers and those recently living off-planet) for almost 2 months now.. She’s pretty ready to get rid of us, as is other parental unit.. I mean… I don’t plan on leaving ever though. My new house can just be a holiday retreat.

8 minutes away.

Here are the absolute PROS to squatting at your childhood homestead (I literally perspire positivity..)

1. Babysitting my kid. Not only is this great for social outings, but it is FANTASTIC for walking Hairy Toddler. There is zero need to bundle him up in his starfish (aka snow suit) and there is so sweaty huffing (me) and sweaty cry-yelling-flailing (him). I simply leash the hound and go. Voila. WAY faster, way less sweaty.. not to mention, a way easier walk in itself.

2. Being able to text for your needs. Due to the fact that both parental units are practicing for their elderly years, they can never hear me and my various demands. They may also be tuning me out on purpose, but I’ll be damned if I let that fly.

It didn’t work this time..because she “didn’t even hear her phone”… right.

3. That brings me to my next point- lots of wine and prosecco at my fingertips. HELLO IMPORTANT POINT. Just this week Cath was feeling celebratory and popped a bottle of bubbly just to celebrate me finding my wallet.. finding it on the stairs in my bag. I mean, if that’s not a legitimate celebration, I don’t know what is.

Last night I also casually mentioned that we were out of wine… as I handed her a largeee glass.. so really.. let’s look into it tomorrow… but the look of panic and angst that crept across her face… she impulsively exclaimed that there was definitely at least a couple more bottles in the fridge downstairs and was implying that I immediately investigate. I appreciate her sense of urgency and emergency, greatly.

4. They do things for the greater good.. like wash the garbage.

Cath never claimed to be an animal lover, but she claims this is so that animals don’t get into her garbage… and get sore tummies.. or something along those lines. Can’t say I’ve ever seen such a noble deed, oh fearless leader.

5. The parental units.. or Parental Keepers ya this point…keep the house clean… from dog hair and baby barf especially… and Lady Cath keeps the laundry flow going… and most importantly.. the snacks-for-Lindsay flow going (that bit is probably more Effrey, as he shares my love of grazing, like the cow that I am.)

6. they increase your general knowledge by forcing you to play “Crush Rush” every morning. For the dim readers, this is the local radio 3 question trivia challenge. There is a certain larrrrge amount of satisfaction I get when I beat Effrey (male parental unit, for the newcomers)… he’s genius at trivia and since I have Caths “told ya so” personality and his genius brain, really I’m the best type of gloating human.

“In conclusion,” (the start of every terrible oral presentation at school) I AM NEVER LEAVING. YES CATH AND EFFREY. I KNOW YOURE BASICALLY THE ONLY SAD-OS WHO BOTHER TO READ THIS BLOG EVERY TIME I POST (hashtag dedicated parents… hashtag Effrey will ask what the eff a hashtag is) GET EXCITED TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH US!!!!

Hairy Toddler and all.

XXXX

I’ll just be taking uno momento

To have a rant. No shit. What else do I do.. ever?!!

Today’s Facebook throwback was some lovely picture from “3 years ago” (legit feels like 10) of me sitting in a cozy pub in suburban London, roaring fire and I’m rocking lumberjack-casual fashion. Sipping on my beer, not a care in the world, gazing into the flames.

WHAT THE HELL IS MY LIFE NOW?!!!

If someone even got a fire going (it wouldn’t be me cuz too much hassle) I wouldn’t have any time to look at it! Not in silence anyway. I’d hear the squeels of protest as I ignore Infant & id have HT biting my Lumberjack socks off my ankles. Gone are the days of staring out into space… lets not even discuss my love of reading..down the toilet for all eternity.

These days, I can’t even get through a meal and chew my food properly.

Take a simple trip to update my drivers license address and go grab a couple t-shirts at the nearby outlets, so that Cath (Parental Unit 1) can be prepared for her MONTH LONG HOLIDAY IN THE SUN (who the eff has time for holidays…)

Oh Lindsay.. you’re so stupid.. why are you going to update your drivers license in person? You know you can do it online. YES I KNOW CUZ IVE MOVED TO LITERALLY 10+ HOUSES AND THE ONE ADDRESS THAT ISNT ACCEPTED ON THE ONLINE SYSTEM IS THE ONE WHERE IT MATTERS MOST- WHEN I HAVE TO LUG INFANT WITH ME AND GET IN LINE. Thanks drivers license thingy- AND NO person at the desk having trouble finding my address..ITS NOT A NEW HOUSE OR STREET unless you think 1971 is recent. and NO my 5 month old does NOT need to change the address on his drivers license.. ONLY HIS HEALTH CARD DAMNIT.

So I finished up at the drivers licence bureau but I have to go back cuz I missed one part CUZ IM TRES INTELLIGENTE. YES ILL BE BACK WITH INFANT NEXT WEEK. YES IT COULDVE BEEN ALL DONE ONLINE IF YOUR SYSTEM WAS ACTUALLY FUNCTIONAL.

So off I go to the outlets now, right? Quick couple errands and home before the 4 o’clock talk shows come on… RIIIIGHT?! WRONG. Cuz Infant is now RAVENOUS. I mean.. I could eat too.. cuz it’s me.

Photo 2 shows my sheer pleasure for spicy chicken burgers.

My fries weren’t cold at all. A third arm would be nice.

I finally pack up all my stuff (side note.. I have often thought that a rolling suitcase would be a more effective diaper bag, with the amount of crap you have to carry around with you) and head off to the outlets, only to realize DESPITE BRINGING WHAT FEELS LIKE THE ENTIRE HOUSE WITH ME, I forgot le stroller. Does anyone else look at their kid and think… gaaaahd I wish someone would bundle me up and push me around to all the shops.. I could view everything and just have my servants select everything..

Push me around

Let me nap

Feed me

Clothe me

Dream.come.true.

And he doesn’t even pay me a salary to do all this for him.

ANYWAY… most people wouldn’t even have this problem.. and maybe you think “oh just go back another day”

UH NO. IT TAKES ME 700 HOURS TO GET THE BABY READY, WALK HT FOR ALL ETERNITY.. SETTLE HT IN HIS BED WHILE PACKING UP INFANT AND THE CAR AND ALL HIS LUGGAGE.. (I always forget all my own crap.. like my wallet.. which is useful. And then I either owe whoever I’m with money.. or I have to go back in the house and disturb HT all over again and begin again.

SO I WILL LUG INFANT AROUND IN HIS CAR SEAT TO EVERY STORE CUZ ITS AN OUTDOOR MALL AND SINCE WE ARENT ALLOWED TO WEAR WINTER JACKETS IN CAR SEATS ANYMORE, THIS IS THE ONLY PLACE HE CAN STAY WARM. In his car seat sleeping bag, as I call it.

This is eventually what I discovered..

Marshall’s (similar to TKMax for my internationals) has carts (“trolleys” for my international audience.. you know.. cuz you wouldn’t just understand by seeing the photo. I’m THAT nice) it was SO LOUD and everyone was staring.. aka the-stay-at-home-mom-brigade-with-their-fancy-expensive-strollers.

Screw paying $1500.. just steal a shopping cart… I even put it in my trunk after and drove off with it for my next errand.

Okay maybe I just thought about that one.

Or maybe I’m only saying I didn’t steal it because IM AFRAID THE POLICE WILL SEE AND ILL GET A LIFE SENTENCE.

Although it would probably be quieter there than my house.

I’d actually be able to read again…

Hmmm…

Time to go. I am literally nodding off because you all bore me.

Maybe one day I’ll be back. Maybe I won’t.

Keep checking back because I am your main focus in life.

xxxx

A good ol’ fashioned Griswold family Christmas.

Yo yo yo yoooo where ma people attttt?

Just over at the new pad…sitting here.. on my ass.. watching Jon tile. Cuz who wants to unpack and clean and organize things? That’s what I have servants for.

But really I have just given up, as I just had Infant screaming in one ear, with my other ear picking up the squealing complaints from Hairy Toddler, as he was baby gated on the landing while I sorted through things in my room… HE COULD STILL SEE ME AND I GAVE HIM HIS FAVOURITE GIANT BONE TO GNAW ON… and some boxes to rip up.. but it only lasted so long. Eventually Infant fell asleep.. which is so rare, yet so needed during the daytime hours. He was shaken awake shortly after by more high pitch HT barking…. so that’s it. They can’t be near one another. Infant is now sleeping again (for now) and HT and I are camped out downstairs on the couch. I can’t let go of him because he will run all over the tiles and muck Jon is doing right now… hence being upstairs with me in the first place…

HT is giving me so much attitude about being leashed inside the house.

Thanks for nothing, mom. Zero stars.

Yes my couch is dusty. No I don’t care.

We have a ginormous yard.. so like DUH LADY. GO OUTSIDE.

Well all I can say is YOU KNOW ITS COLD when HT refuses to go outside for more than a pee length of time.

Oh shucks, there we go again.

I’m actually reasonably comfortable outside due to me forcing Husband to purchase me some arctic-esque parka… he still has what I call a “fashion parka” aka.. a parka from England.. so basically not even a parka at all. More of a spring coat with a fur collar. I keep telling him it’s more important that IIIII am warm over him & it was therefore well worth the $$$. Happy Wife, Happy Life, obvz.

Just scrolling through the good ol social media… everyone with their delightful Christmas photos (did you wake up at 4am to do your “I woke up like this” Christmas morning makeup, or did you sleep like you were dead in a coffin, as not to smudge your Christmas Eve face?)

My Christmas was splendid, by the way. Thanks for asking. But it was so busy that next year I’ve decided I’m doing Christmas on a beach.. or in Guam. Basically far away and almost alone.

Here are some highlights …

Oh would you look at that. Another family doing matchy matchy family pyjamas .. HOW ORIGINAL.

Such a relaxed and intimate Christmas Eve .. opening gifts as a family, in our new home, by the tree…

except we were actually already 20 mins late leaving for our Christmas Eve Fam Jam & Infant wasn’t even dressed yet & we are not in our own home, we are cramped still being gypsies and we have no tree of our own and I was about ready to rip Jon’s head off prior to & during this photo. But let’s all look so happy SO THAT NOBODY CAN TELL.. RIGHT?!!! Right.

Christmas Day was much the same..

Oh would you look at that.. Christmas morning.. what a wonderful and collected looking family. “Your family is so cute & you’re all so perfect, Lindsay”

Why yes. I know. Except notice there are no gifts under the tree.. cuz if we put gifts there, Hairy Toddler tries to literally kill them.. murder them.. all. So there ain’t gunna be a magical looking Christmas Morning tree photo… I did also leave my curled hair from the night before & the night before makeup.. but NO I DID NOT SLEEP IN A COFFIN-LIKE MANNER.. so looking certifiably insane… and to top it all off.. Infant not only had barfed on his pyjamas and I’m covering it with my arm, but he also woke up with a leaky diaper so he had piss all up his back.. and here I am snuggling him.. BECAUSE ILL BE DAMNED IF I SWEATILY TRUDGED MY WAY AROUND WALMART WITH 700 THINGS IN INFANTS STROLLER, WHILE HE CRIED FOR A NAP.. TO NOT TAKE A PICTURE. Okay parental units. Take the damn picture. Anddddd break. We changed immediately after. So cute, right? Right.

Some people just clearly have different Christmases than me & the fam. My fam jams are basically a scene out of Christmas Vacation (as I always say.. if you haven’t seen this film, I don’t even want to know you anymore)

Christmas Vacation Family Arrives

I have included a link for educational purposes. If you haven’t seen the full film… I urge you to do so before ever admitting to me that you haven’t. Unless you want me to slam the door in your face. Your choice.

Where’s the Christmas Day photos, you ask? The beautiful turkey on a nice long table, with candlesticks and nice centrepieces?? THESE PHOTOS ARE IN MY MEMORY. Or barely. I was too busy to notice and didn’t sit down until after 9pm.. at which point I was exhausted and needed wine more than my camera.

My newsfeed is filled with loads of cutesy gingerbread house making families, with their beautiful indoor and outdoor decor, the wreath making workshops, the sleigh rides to cut down their own tree… it’s all so joyous… but something I have never managed. I had every intention of being “that family” last year.. and I ended up buying my tree last minute in the pitch black, in the Canadian Tire parking lot, from some random old man in a trailer.

Take this newsfeed post for example..

Here was a picture of 4 gorgeous Christmassey cocktails… except turns out they had wicks in them and were candles. First of all.. why do you want a flaming margarita on your bookshelf.. and secondly… honey, if I’m going to go to the effort of making anything.. it’s going to be a real cocktail that I can neck, to drown out the chaos and to cope with the holidays. LIKE HELLO?!! No, I’d love something that looks like a cosmo, took me 4 hours, and tastes like poison.

Anyway. Maybe next year.

But for now.. I’m happy with the way it all went. Ish.

XXXX

Being a gypsy isn’t as fun as I thought it would be..

Greetings and good day,

Reporting in from my gypsy squatting camp.. aka the parental unit’s abode. Just woman-ing the fort (aka for once BOTH CHILDREN ARE SLEEPING.. although all I can smell is baby poo so this isn’t going to last long…)

Anddddddd I was correct. Infant is now dictating that I change his back side… screaming in my face is an effective way to get me to move…

(also Effrey’s favourite parenting technique)

okay.. it’s actually been two whole days since I began the above… I’m back now. Nothing like a minor distraction. I would imagine all hell broke loose.. but one can not recall ma vie that is le blur.

Take yesterday par example… I didn’t even know this is what my sweatshirt looked like until the end of the day…

Just a normal day in baby and puppy life. Side note. This isn’t my sweatshirt.. Soz Husband.

Okokokok it’s literally been another… 3 days?? Sorry but I do have a life.

On top of the usual chaos, I began and finished all my wrapping yesterday.. not to mention, I of course also did all of Effrey’s. you don’t want to see what kind of wrapping he produces. I normally win awards for my wrapping skills.. and by win I mean I award them to myself… in the form of prosecco bottles, cuz girl you need a gift for all that sweat and tears you’ve smudged into the wrapping paper.., you also need something to make the wrapping more enjoyable. I always start out so excited, spending a fortune on nice paper and giant rolls of fancy ribbon.. the first few gifts I take my time & honestly I sometimes take pictures because I’m such a sad person that this is something I like to look back on over the years. Never mind the family photos.. nobody cares that you’ve aged. By the end, they are still nice but I literally give up the will to live & I find myself in dire need of a back massage, having been bent over this crap for hours on end.

Well this year I decided to just be realistic and KNOW that I ain’t getting it done. Infant is so young that he isn’t even bothered to open the gift, let alone even look at it.. so I’m really only wrapping the gifts so that I can take pictures and so I don’t feel like a shit mom/person.

Minimal effort.

This year not a single ribbon was used and all of Infant and HT’s gifts were wrapped in the same wrapping paper.. both from the parental units and from The North Pole. Such a good effort – thank god they are babies. I didn’t even use all the empty boxes I’d been storing (I do this to make perfect gift wrapped items) .. so really it looks like I wrapped everything in grocery bags that have nice patterns. Merde.

I still think the most beautifully wrapped gift I did this year was this one..

Perfect corners, nice paper, addressed to someone so wonderful and special in my life.

And how did you get all this done in one go, you say? By enlisting my personal nanny. Duh.

Hairy Toddler had found a couch upstairs and Infant decided napping on the hired help would do.

That’s how you do it folks.

ok for the last time.. I’m back again… at least it’s the same day though. This is just ma vie. I was busy sorting out clothes in my new abode…

Thank god Infant likes clothes as much as his parental units do.. he was happy to sit and watch. I found a bunch of clothes that I’ve never seen Husband wear.. ever.. like a Versace sweater.. WHO ARE YOU HUSBAND?!! Anyone that knows him, knows he usually looks like a lumberjack or he’s wearing 8 types of clashing camo… I didn’t know he was so luxury in his past life. Eye roll.

I mean.. this is him right now. VERSACE?!! really?!! I also found Armani, French connection etc etc… and this is what he decides to wear instead. He often has shoulder length hair and a duck dynasty-esque beard… IM NOT SAYING IM COMPLAINING THOUGH CUZ DO YOU KNOW HOW ID FEEL IF MY HUSBAND LIKEDDD LOOKING LIKE HOLLYWOOD WHEN IM MOSTLY WEARING CLOTHES FROM COSTCO?!!!

So anyway.. I left the abode after a bit .. cuz seriously.. dare (dim people’s translation: “don’t care” in short form.. duh)

I began driving to more importante thangs… ie.. I placed a large Chinese take out order & was driving to get it. Surprisingly, I did not eat my egg rolls on the way home and get grease all over the steering wheel.. Husband, you may thank me in the form of filling up my prosecco when you bother reading this..

Infant fell asleep instantly. God only knows why he can’t nap during the day, but at 5:30pm goes into a coma. (Don’t even bother with advice- I think I’ve legit tried it all and I’m fine with it) BUT IM NOT FINE WITH IT WHEN IM DRIVING AND CANT WAKE HIM. Literally he loves music so that ain’t gunna help… so I’m driving along in a snowstorm thinking .. what makes him normally wake up at le homestead.. OH I KNOW.. BROTHER DOES. Ie Hairy Toddler.

So what do I do? Well I can’t lick his face from where I’m driving… so I BARK AND HOWL TO THE MOON!! I HOPE everyone saw. Except nobody did cuz Blizzard life.

It did stir him slightly – so really.. I consider my animal instincts a win.

Side note. My mother was present in the vehicle. Did she look at me strangely? Did she tell me to STFU? Or did she laugh?

NONE OF THE ABOVE CUZ SHES SEEN ALL MY SHIT BEFORE. she even participated at some points. Blame my parental units for who I am today.. ie. the best human to ever exist.

Okay I’m leaving. You’re boring me. And prosecco and Christmas baking is more importante… and I don’t mean the act of baking.. I mean the act of eating Cath’s hard work. Duh.

I didn’t even buy the prosecco.

I bid you all SO LONG. FAREWELL. AUF WIEDERSEHEN. GOODBYE

I think that’s some really crap sound of music reference.

I hate the sound of music.

Hate.

I had to ask Cath (Mahja) how to spell auf.. auf whatever. Who cares

I figured she would know because she ALWAYS TALKS ABOUT THE ONE TIME SHE LIVED IN GERMANY. And also because she’s a perfectionist.

Eureka.

She didn’t even ask why the hell I wanted the spelling.

Hi Cath. You’ll read this shortly when your email says “OMG THANKS FOR SUBSCRIBING TO YOUR KID’S BLOG OUT OF SHEER OBLIGATION”

Goodbye all. Goodbye and goodnight.

MERRY WHATEVER THE HELL YOU CELEBRATE.

XXXXXXX

Riveting, I know.

I moved. I did it. It finally occurred.

Well..

Sort of.

Technically speaking, “out with the old and in with the new” did actually happen… however, since I’m currently missing a kitchen and basic life necessities when you have Infant & Hairy Toddler in tow, it has meant that I’m squatting like a gypsy at the parental unit household.

I have no idea where anything is, conveniently during Christmas party season. Getting ready was always a challenge (ie. non existent) and these days, I’m usually channeling Ms Trunchable. (For the ridiculously thick individuals, I will include a reference photo… ugh so much work..)

However, when you don’t even know where your every day shoes are and are struggling to find more than 3 pairs of underwear, it becomes even harder… oh also, because HT isn’t allowed in the bedrooms at the parental unit household, so I have to quickly run in and slam the door and listen to him howl outside. (This may seem unfair, but we had a little “I think my grandparents duvet is a patch of grass incident, which involved an expensive dry cleaning bill)

While everyone tonight will be wearing their slick and new, dolled up fashions, I am lucky if I find my rodeo-wear and manage to slap on a resemblance to a face, while balancing my children on each arm.. or lap… or rocking one with my foot…

Heaven forbid I do my makeup in a bathroom or in front of a real mirror… it’s just as well that I can only find my rodeo-wear, as the dog slobber and animal hair kind of blends into the fabric nicely. Barnyard chic with a dash of red Christmas cheer.

Just realizing my palette says “elf”.. totally planned that Christmassy theme. Not.

If I ignore the children and go get ready properly, HT decides to show me his best tricks.. like chewing a corner off his grandparents door mat… or digging an imaginary hole in his bed as fast as he can with his sharp nails… so.. this is just it. This is preparing for my public now.

Tonight I have managed to slip into something a bit more flattering than my usual day wear…. a pair of leggings- aka sweatpants for the public. I opted for shimmery black with a sheer/panty hose esque stripe down the sides.. very race car driver chic, while still resembling the comfort of my terrifying day wear. I stole a pair of mahja’s shoes that actually fit my skis-for-feet.. not overly sure how they fit her dainty ones.. but as long as I can steal them I’m not going to bring this up to her. They are flat too.. thank god.. since I resemble a duck.. or even a tot learning to walk, when wearing anything even remotely heeled… not to mention I feel giant. My head is the only thing that I can accept as ginormous, thank you very much.. and it’s nicely hidden under my overly back combed southern belle hair.. THE BIGGER THE HAIR, THE CLOSER TO GOD!!! Hallelujah.

I will likely show up and the other femmes will be in dresses and have their nails done and all that jazz.. aka me pre children. They have children.. but they don’t have HT. Nobody has HT.

Trust me.

“Why don’t you stop typing then and go tend to your nails and to your mental children?” You exclaim.

Well.

CUZ IM ALREADY ON MY WAY TO THIS SOIRÉE.

On.

On….

Oh my god

Don’t make me say it.

The.. the……the… BUS.

Omfg. Shoot me. I haven’t been on a bus in “donkeys years” as the Brits say (wtf does that even mean?! IN WHAT WAY does a donkey mean “it’s been a long time” ??)

Because I have the MOST ANGRY ROAD RAGE FILLED Fahja of all time, I was dropped at the bus station 5 mins from his abode, instead of him driving me downtown (“to the city centre” as my international/really-just-the-brits-only readers would say) . “I’m not sitting in a parking lot all so you can be warm in minus one million and your feet can stay dry.. sod that. Go play in the traffic.. freeze, die.. see if I care” (all very regular Effrey phrases) he didn’t seem to care that this “parking lot” (aka peak time/rush hour) is traffic going the opposite way of where I needed to go.. but one doesn’t question the wrath of Effrey. If you have.. you wouldn’t be reading this because you wouldn’t be living. “Do you enjoy hospital dinners?!” Not overly, no. I’ll take the bus, thank you (I stole his transit card though… so I’m still slightly winning. Except I bet he will read this.. so now I can’t return home..ever)

Well I must depart. This has literally been an update about nothing. When I actually move into my house, I will post some photos pour vous. But until then, I must get back to this riveting bus eavesdropping … two I-can’t-grow-a-moustache-but-I’m-going-to-let-faint-silky-pubes-grow-on-my-upper-lip-to-look-grown-up-and-masculine, pubescent teens are yelling to one another about how exciting coding is.

“Q48-9-17 is … blah blah blah”

Omfg what are you even saying. Stop. Forever. SILENCIO.

Thank you to my new iPhone for having a specific-to-apple headphone jack which doesn’t work with random headphones you found in your fahjas room, cuz yours are still packed somewhere…

Another reason I can’t go home, when he reads this.

AUREVOIR MES PETITES POUPÉES XXXX

When your husband has to live his life..

Good evening and welcome.

Just man-ing (woman-ing?) the Fort here over in Carp.. or “kerrrrrpppp” as the locals would say.

Did I mention I bought a new abode? Who knows. Who cares. I’m telling you now. I was over there tah-dehhhh, just ya know.. doing real glamorous stuff like cleaning bathrooms and filling out forms and crapola like that.. (I didn’t take any before and afters of me completing forms.. soz)

Took me ages to git thurrrr cuz I had to stop at the worlds best store.. aka dollarama, to get some finnnne asss suppliessss dontcha knowwww. Can we just say this is the worst store to bring a baby? It SHOULD be a quick in and out.. but my car was full so I didn’t bring the giant stroller and really.. I should be able to run in without setting that whole shibang up… so here I am lugging a car seat on one arm .. the arm I’m wearing my wrist brace on cuz I effed up my wrist… basket of shopping on the other. I AM HULK. Oh I’m also wearing a giant parka.. sweating.. obvz. Infant was fast asleep- thank tha lawd in the heavens above.. and I had to put up with some judgy lady because Infant’s winter hat was covering his eyes.. um.. he’s asleep.. who cares.. I’m not about to wake him TO MAKE HIM LOOK PRETTY. WHY DONT YOU MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND HOLD THE DOOR FOR ME?!! Anyway bye dollarama… have fun mopping my sweat off your floors with your crappy dollarama brooms (I’m sorry..don’t ban me.. I love your brooms)

Anyway after this massive palava.. I come back home to Keerrrrppp, to feed the hound (Hairy Toddler). Thennnnn it’s all like oh em geeeee I cant effing wait until Husband teleports himself home.. except NOOOOOOOOOO he had a dentist appointment after work… and had to run an errand…. this is a seemingly normal thing for non-mat-leavers… BUT FOR MAT LEAVE PEOPLE –THEY ARE BASICALLY DESPERADO FOR HUSBAND TO RETURN… or maybe it’s just me.. I don’t care to find out. So here I am… doing exactly what sentence numero uno of this blog says..

Womaning the Fort.

I have Infant on the other side of the baby gate, you’ll notice. (You’ll also notice he’s wearing nine patterns and colours.. sue me) And why do we have baby gates, you ask? They aren’t for the baby.. they have been around long before that for HT, of course.

Hairy Toddler is in his cage.. chewing his bone.. so you think “GIRL WATCHU COMPLAINING ABOUT?!!!” … well.. not much.. EXCEPT IF I GO ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BABY GATE TO DO ANYTHING, HT EMERGES FROM HIS CAGE AND BEGINS HOWLING FOR HIS MOTHER. And doing really fun things like trying to chew the boot mat, shred his blankets, purposely spill his water.. GENERALLY ANYTHING TO GET MY ATTENTION. So here I am… the only reason I’m writing this is because what else do I do when I AM LITERALLY JAILED BY MY OWN TODDLER?!!!

Anytime now, Husband. Anytime now. I mean really… a dentist appointment.. how unreasonable of him to care for his teeth. Tut tut.

But seriously..

I walk HT with one hand and push the stroller with the other for an hour and a half every morning.. and spend the rest of the day dancing between them.

This is the thanks I get..

Thanks HT. It’s not like we need to go get warm or anything. We can just freeze our behind’s off here juste pour vous.

Typical day in my life.. rocking the baby cuz he hates napping (don’t even try to tell me “don’t rock your baby” because HELL IT WORKS FOR US AND I DONT CARE) and HT gets jealous so plonks himself on my lap.. cuz you know.. he’s totally a lap dog size and weight…

at least I am training him to work for me..

Update.. husband is now home.. and I’m in an almost pitch black room doing Infant’s bedtime routine. Husband KNOWS THIS AND DECIDES TO CALL ME.. I was super pissed cuz my phones ringing.. but I bit my tongue and I’m like HUSBAND HAS A QUESTION ABOUT THE LAUNDRY SO LIKE.. BE THANKFUL HE IS DOING LAUNDRY.. so I gently tell him NOT to ever call me during bedtime routine again… then I carry on. 2 minutes later he’s running up the stairs with the dog.. clambering around.. THEN 2 MINUTES LATER HE FACETIMES ME TO JUST SAY HI.

So really. Moral of the story is.. you can woman-the-fort just fine.

You are the hulk.

You are covered in dog hair and baby vomit.

The end. I bid you adieu. Happy last day of November. That’s not a thing, I know.

I have a friend who celebrates December 1st every year, by making her profile picture The Grinch (Jim Carey version obvvvzzzz) SO I CAN CELEBRATE NOVEMBER 30TH IF I DAMN WANT.

I just rambled. Lindsrambles.

Seriously bye.

Ps. Infant is farting uncontrollably, with zero shame.

He is my favourite type of human.