I fought the urge for so long. I mean, you all talked about it around me: how wonderful it was, how addicting, how OMG! OMG! You have to read this book!

I thought to myself: Meh. I’m not at all into that stuff. I don’t think this is my schtick.

But you just kept talking. A girl can only reset so much people.

So, I bought the book; it sat on my shelf for the better part of a month and I didn’t even crack the cover. It just sat there.

Then? Sunday night? I cracked the cover. I read nearly the entire thing.

Monday morning? I went shopping IN MY PAJAMAS to buy the other three books. IN. MY. PAJAMAS.

Monday night? I finished Twilight and began New Moon.

I have been swooped into the Cullen cuven forever to be in love with Bella and Edward. Specifially Edward.

I haven’t been this in love with a book since I was a teenager. Srsly? I feel like a giddy teenage girl hiding under the covers at night reading with my flashlight.

(Okay, so I don’t do that… but it feels kinda like that, yanno?)

I am dead on my feet people. I have been going to sleep at about 3am only to woken up at 4:30am to feed Hudson (who STILL wakes three times a night. BLARGH!!) and then again for the day at about 7:00am, only to do it all over again the next day.

TIRED.

So that’s why I haven’t been around. Busy, busy, busy!

Plus, I figured you had enough shit reading clogging up your feed readers that I would lay off a little and relax on the posting for a bit. It’s been a nice break, I might add.

Can I just say that after avoiding the preview for so long, I finally watched the preview for Twilight and I’m a little disappointed by Edward’s … um … appearance.

(Oh! The vanity!)

I had been envisioning a Shane West or James Franco type and he’s so not. Ever disappointed by a vision that you had and it’s entirely not what you’ve thought? Now I’m going to have to try and block the vision of the ACTUAL Edward out of my mind and get back to MY version to keep the story HAWT. Yanno?

Well, back to Edward now.

Oh! And Santa, baby? I want.

Seriously. I feel fifteen again.

Carter is a great eater for the most part. A kid will eat when they’re hungry so I really don’t worry about his meals and snacks, when he’s hungry he’ll tell me.

He takes so long to complete a meal that I am beside myself; trying so hard not to grab the fork from his hand and shove the food in his mouth. Most nights his meal will take about an hour which leaves me feeling incredibly guilty when we’ve cleaned up the table and the kitchen while he’s still eating. Sitting there at the table chatting to himself, playing with his fork and just doing anything but eating.

There is no television on. We sit at a proper dining table as a family. There are no toys. The child will just talk, turn his fork into a rocket ship, a car, a monster while he nibbles slowly, if at all. Many meals end with Mike and I at each other’s throats because he insists on feeding Carter just to get it done and over with while I refuse to feed him. Carter will learn that we eat at dinner time and once Mommy and Daddy have cleaned the kitchen and the dishes are done, dinner is over.

(He will learn that, right? Please tell me he’ll learn that.)

So last night went the same as just about any other. Carter played, Mike and I ate, then we cleaned. After everything was done, the clock was coming up on and hour and fifteen minutes since we sat down, so I removed Carter’s plate from the table.

He proceeded to scream that he was eating that – which is clearly was not – and insisted that he get his plate back. I refused, cleaned up and we went about our night. Now, I typically hang on to the meal in case he asks later, but last night I did not.

He came back about a half hour later telling me that he was hungry and asked for a snack, which Mike and I both refused. Wishing I had saved his meal, we stood our ground. I didn’t offer up anything.

He contiued on about how hungry he was (which he normally doesn’t do) and that he needed his dinner (which he never asks for) but I didn’t give him anything hoping that he’ll realize that once dinner is over – it’s over.

After he went to bed, the guilt was overcoming me.

Am I going to create food issues in my child? Is he going to be paranoid that his food will be taken away therefore eating too much? Will he learn if he goes hungry for one night?

OMG is this child abuse making him go hungry!?

No matter how much we try; we think we’re doing the right thing, guilt is an overwhelming emotion that I just can’t deal with.

Ironically? It makes me eat. I eat when I feel guilty.Yipee! Emotional eating!

Regardless, he was alive this morning. The fasting had not killed him. We live to see another day.

A day where he sat at the table and scarfed down 6 (ADULT SIZE!) pancakes and a glass of milk before daycare, then ate his entire dinner tonight!

What have I learned from this?

Starve your child for results!

(THAT’S A LIE. I WILL NOT STARVE MY CHILD OFTEN. Please do not starve your child because it seemed to have gotten mine to eat. I will feel eternally guilty if your child withers away through the night because you withheld a meal on account of my post, with will in turn resulting in me gaining 600lbs trying to eat away my guilt.)

It’s not the same as it once was, coming home. I don’t have that urge to meet up with the old friends who have remained here. There’s no reason for it other than I like to take the time I have to be with my family; for my kids to spend time with my parents. It’s not often that we have the chance to come here. Scratch that. It’s not often that we make the time to come here what with life in the city, our lives. Our family.

The boys and I took some time away over the weekend while Mike nursed his bronchitis / pneumonia to visit up north before the weather gets too bad and traveling will be far more challenging.  I feel conflicted about visiting each and every time I’m here. A part of me longs for the country atmosphere: the slower pace, the friendly faces and the three street lights there are in town. But the other part can’t fathom leaving the city life behind.

I can picture us leaving and coming to live. Leaving our jobs, our house, our other family to be where I grew up. The thought of my boys playing in the school yard of the same schools I attended, having some of the same teachers that had taught me. I think about the possibilities of Carter joining a soccer league and playing with my friend’s son. Mike and I on the sidelines, along my friends. Friends I’ve known for what seems like ever.

In my mind, it creates a perfect picture.

But then I remember how badly I wanted out. How much I fought to get out of this place, to disassociate myself with so many things that were home. I think about how I wanted nothing more than to be in the city, to forget the country life and how I could never, or would ever return to live.

I’m torn. I think it’s inevitable that I would be.

I’ve taken a very unintentional hiatus from this site. I’m sorry to just leave you hanging in such a way that you may wonder if I was ever coming back.

Fear not my friends. I am here. CRAZY busy, but I am here.

Since Thursday night, life’s been a complete whirlwind for me. Through a couple of silly childish IM’s and fits of laughter and tears, Craftastrophe was born. I’ve been working practically day and night behind the scenes along side my wonderful teammates Karen Sugarpants and Double Agent Girl writing post after post of the most amazingly craptacular stuff. It’s seriously too easy. Who knew there was such a gold mine of this stuff out there?

Next mission will be to do reconassance missions at craft fairs. Seriously. I will.

Camera in hand, I will be stalking the craft fairs, bazaars and garage sales.

I never thought I would love crafts this much! It’s become an obsession overnight.

I have never really been a crafty person, like I mentioned, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate someone else’s hard work and lack of talent.

I crocheted a blanket once.

It was COMPLETELY crooked. Not so much crooked as is was just WRONG. Stitches were missing in some spots, too tight in others – and I only ever learned one stitch, which I believe I modified half way through the blanket and could never recover from.

I can’t even make an already-prepared-just-ice-the-shit-of-it gingerbread house. What can I say, I wasn’t blessed with the creativity gene.

Who knows, maybe Craftastrophe is just a whole pile of my own creations!? You’ll never know and I definitely won’t tell!

Are you crafty?

Do you like crafts?

If you’re not, what project made it clear to you that you just shouldn’t be doing this stuff?

I have no creative talents when it comes to knitting, sewing, crafting and creating. I took home economics in grade eight, as we all had to, and created some monstrosity that was supposed to be a pillow. The stuffing was all wrong and the sewing was a complete nightmare.

I don’t even remember all that much about it since it was rather traumatic and I’ve tried to push it from my mind.

But! That doesn’t stop me from poking fun at those who have talent, those who think they have talent and those that – well… just don’t and think they do.

Welcome CRAFTASTROPHE!

You will NOT be sorry.

Tell your friends, tell everyone, and SUBSCRIBE!

It’s a guilty pleasure.

Indulge.

It was indeed a historic day.

A day that the first ever black President was voted into office.

A day where the RIGHTS of fellow country(men) were taken AWAY from them.

To those who passed Prop 8 in California.

Let Freedom RING!

I heard it from her, who heard it from her, who heard it from him.

I started a big sappy post about how crappy my day was.

I got about three quarters of the way through before I thought: Fuck it. I had a bad day. BIG WHOOP. We all have bad days.

There isn’t a parent on the planet that hasn’t eaten away their guilt with a bag of chocolate, cheese curds and a pint of raspberries. (Figuratively of course, because raspberries and cheese curds? Odd.)

There isn’t a parent that hasn’t passed their crying, screaming child off to their spouce, friend, whomever because it was either that or … who knows what.

I’m not ashamed to say I’ve felt the urge to just throw down gently place my screaming baby in a  safe location and go shop for smokes, booze and Xanax leave the room. It’s a natural reaction even in the most relaxed, well meaning and comfortable parent when you’ve had a very trying day of irreverence, defiance, whining, and all around craptacular day (RIGHT?). Carter was the ultimate trying child today. I sent him to bed at 5:30pm, straight after dinner because it was BEYOND enough. Beyond.

Now I’m drowning my sorrows in cheaply acquired Halloween candy (because dood, it’s all on SALE!) and watching election coverage of the US election (in case you didn’t know The Election was on) and feeling only slightly guilty that I didn’t even vote in the Canadian federal election last month.

I know! I didn’t vote.

(Better than You. You didn’t even know Canada had an election. Who feels bad now, huh?)

Horrible.

Now how can I honestly complain in good conscience about how shiteous our government is when I didn’t even cast a ballot?

It’s like complaining about who’s voted off So You Think You Can Dance when I didn’t even pick up the phone to vote. Because that? That is just blasphemous.

Whenever I protest any sexual advances I get asked, “But what about the butterflies?”

Damn butterflies.

:::

Carter insists that I have a “China”.

I’ve repeatedly tried to correct him telling him that it’s called a Va-gina which he then calls “Bah-China”.

I think I’m gonna call it a Bah-China from now on.

Sounds so much more exotic.

:::

I’m not participating in NaBlopoMo this year. I thought about it, but November first came and went and I hadn’t written a post. I know, I know… you can thank me in Starbucks. Preferably a grande, non-fat Tazo Chai Tea Latte s’il vous plaît (that’s French for please).

:::

I have nothing intellegent to share so go read these guys.

Who knew he had it in him? Neil’s murderous confession.

My dear Tanis is pissed. Who are you pissed at?

Fighting for her life and she’s worried about us. Why aren’t there more people like her?

If only The Apple Store took this kind of fortune.

If you force her to share her personal information Sassy will run. you. down. (Or give cigarettes to your kids. Whatever.)

* That makes me giggle like a twelve year old boy. Spread. Ha!