♥ Thanks to all who have left comments of encouragement and love over the past couple days month. I’ve been really busy with working on completing designs before baby gets here and house stuff that I haven’t had the time I’d like to dedicate to replying to comments. I will be back to replying soon after this bundle has arrived, but in the meantime, please know that i read each and every comment and am very grateful! I just hate that I’m not participating by replying right now. I hope you understand!! ♥

Before Carter was born I had all these fantastic ideas of what we we do while I was on Maternity Leave with him. I think I may have even had the entire year planned – in my head – with days filled to the brim with library visits, shopping, swimming, trips to the bookstore, window shopping downtown, walks by the lake…

When Carter arrived I found myself confined to my house for the first couple weeks watching television as Hurricane Katrina had just struck the southern US. TV coverage was rampant and I found myself obsessing over the devastation and grief stricken for the people.

The first four months I found myself home more often then out. All these great ideas I had faded into nothing as I watched television in the mornings and cleaned in the afternoons trying to sneak in a nap or two throughout the day.

It truly was a sad existence.

On a whim I decided that enough was enough and enrolled in a Mom & Baby Yoga class. We were going to get out of the house and meet people. Enough was enough.

Now, I’ve never taken yoga before (and I haven’t again since this class actually) so I was intimidated walking in there thinking I was going to face a bunch of svelte mama – so toned, tanned and just four months after giving birth while I felt like a complete frump. Thankfully the moms were just like me. NORMAL.

Many of us bonded quite well and spent the rest of our Maternity Leaves doing things together regularly. A number of us enrolled our children into swimming classes, had mommy/baby play dates every week and even took outings to parks and sometimes just mommy dates. In the evening. At a local pub. With no children!

It was exactly what I needed and more.

I never thought that I would be a part of a mom group of any kind. I just never pictured it as ‘my thing’ but it so was. It kept me sane, in touch and made me realize that there were people I could connect with in the same stage of life as myself. I’m just so disappointed that work and family life has kept us apart since. A few of us email and chat, but I just haven’t had the time to meet up with them again.

I’m hoping that a few of us can reconnect the time around, or I can find some new moms in the area to spend time with.

:::

This post is part of the Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast! asking you to tell us what baby-friendly outings worked for you during your rookie year as a mom? This Blog Blast! is a part of The Rookie Mom’s Handbook review brought to you by Rookie Moms.

One of two fantastic gift bags filled with more than $250 worth of goodies for moms, including the brand new BABYBJÖRN^®Baby Carrier Synergy, a child’s gardening kit from Smith & Hawken, a baby t-shirt from Scout Organic Baby, and of course, a copy of The Rookie Mom’s Handbook can be won if you participate!

My paternal (step)grandmother (my father’s biological mother died when he was 5 years old) was a kindergarten teacher for years. Whenever we would visit them, she would have all these great ideas of things we could do to pass the time – arts and crafts, garage sales, games, etc. We had so much fun when we were little.

I remember that she’s always had fun knitted sweaters – you know the ones – Christmas themed with trees, snow, Santa – the works. I think she had them for just about every season, even ones that we’re seasonal but dawned puppies and landscapes. Very much a teacher sweater.

That’s not my headless grandmother

She loved those sweaters: I think she may still have a closet full.

I think they’re hideous, horrible, and tacky!

Christmas of 1996, I was 15. We were at my grandparents house for the Christmas holidays and just finished up dinner. We were gathering in the living room, as we did every year, to open presents. Everyone was commenting on my grandma’s sweater because it was – you guessed it! – a flashy, hideous Christmas sweater.

At 15, I was less then eager to open gifts with family. I wanted to hide in the basement and watch MuchMusic (Yankees read: MTV); I wanted to be away from the adults, but had to endure the oooohhhs! and awwwwwwes! of all the gift giving.

My turn.

From Grandma and Grandpa.

I rip off the paper and see the box.

I could see a smile creep across my grandma’s face as I peered at the box.

Tabi International.

Tabi is one of those stores who sell those God awful sweaters.

I hold my breath.

I can feel my heart racing and my insides tossing and turning as I pull out this monstrosity of a sweater.

Red, with black trim. White snowflakes scatter all over.

Big. Black. Scottie. Dog.

Dead centre. Like a bullseye.

Underneath it is a white collared dress shirt.

I held the sweater up high in front of my face, blocking my grandmother’s view so she wasn’t able to see the absolute horror on my face which I tried valiantly to conceal.

I think I may have even barfed in my mouth a little.

Upon arriving home, I shoved that box far into the deep, dark depths of the dust bunny world under my bed.

Never to be seen by another human being. Ever. Again.

******

Sure, sure… it’s the thought that counts. But not today! Tell us about the Good, the Bad and the downright Hideous in today’s PBN Blog Blast – “Gifts Gone Right, Gifts Gone Wrong” – sponsored by GetinHerHead.com. You could win a $250 gift certificate to your favorite spa – where you can remember the good gifts fondly (and forget about the bad ones) while you’re being pampered!

Very early on in our relationship, talk of children ensued. I just turned 19 when we began dating, I was in college and children were the last thing on my mind. In fact, I think all I was worried about at that time was which bar we would be going to that night.

Mike has always been very keen on having children, as was I; but not yet. I wanted to finish school, get a job – which hopefully would become a career – and maybe settle down a little more. He didn’t pressure nor did he insist, but there would be hints and suggestions along the way making me realize that he was quite serious – surprisingly for someone who was just 4 years my senior and very much a partier too.

After 4 years of living together, the conversations came more frequently even though he never once made an official request to start trying for children, though, there was plenty of practice time occurring *nudge, nudge, hint, hint* I knew at that point things were only going to progress.

I suggested getting a dog.

Buy myself some time, you know.

And so our beloved pit bull, Briggs, entered the picture. She was just the companion Mike needed and the distraction I was looking for. Though, I love her to death, I digress. I had ulterior motives. She would be the “child” that Mike so craved and she would be my Savior from bearing children at that point in my life.

A couple years passed, Briggs’ newness diminished and rearing children once again reared it ugly head.

Though, it wasn’t so ugly anymore.

At 25 I had a stable and comfortable position in the workforce, we had been together for 6 years and engaged for 5 of those.

And I’d already played The Dog card.

Fast forward nine – okay eleven if you include the months that were unsuccessful – months and Carter arrives.

I’ve always been comfortable with children and babies so I really didn’t think I had that much to learn. I could hold my own with diaper changes, dressing, handling, etc.

One thing that threw me off that no one explained?

The crying.

Mine. Not his.

I would cry at the drop of a hat. Literally.

Mike gaving me a hug.
Commercials.

Driving in the car.

Someone asking me how I was doing.

Mike leaving for work.

Carter sleeping in his bassinet.

The night time feedings.

The first projectile vomit.

My sore boobs.

Someone saying how cute my baby was.

Tears would weld in my eyes or, if I was home – alone, I would full on bawl my eyes out.

I’m a crier by nature. I cry when I’m happy, laughing, sad, mad – you name it I cry… but I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life expect when Milli Vanilli was found out to be fake as I did in those first few weeks of parenthood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a lot about motherhood you wish you’d known before becoming a mom. Write about it anytime between now and Sunday, then send a link to your post to PBN. It’s this week’s Blog Blast, sponsored by Discovery Health and their new series “Deliver Me”.

I used to credit myself on my ability to put together an outfit. Simple, yet chic. I have always been a solid colours type of gal. I tend to gravitate towards items of clothing without patterns, images, stripes, poka-dots… plain. solid. colours. I love to layer tops and wear jeans. Jeans are the staple of my wardrobe.

I work in a very relaxed atmosphere (in construction), and when I’m in the office, it’s a jeans and t-shirt atmosphere as well. Since starting this career, my fashion sense has dwindled to virtually no existent. There are no women in my office, and we all know that women usually dress for other women, not men that are married or totally not one’s type; so I am perfectly comfortable walking in wearing jeans and a plain ol’ t-shirt and they wouldn’t give two shits (probably not even one). Heck, days that I’ve been out in the field first thing and not even showered prior, they don’t even notice. No make-up? What make-up? Not even a glance.

So, needless to say, my fashion sense has gone the way of the pink-is-the-new-black-for-men.

Exhibit A: The plain old cotton T’s

My collection of everyday wear. Notice, all solid colours, no style or variation. This is only a small portion of the Old Navy shirts I own. I tend to buy the same shirt is a number of different colours. Oh, and the red tank top on the left. Maternity. I haven’t been pregnant for TWO YEARS. Still wear it.

Exhibit B: The Black Pants

Because every girl needs to have a little black dress right? Well, don’t wear dresses for pretty much anything since I’ve gained 40lbs since 2003. *If* I have to dress up, I wear a skirt, black.

I have a pair of black pants that I wear at least every single week. I’ve had them for about 4 years now.

Not bad, right?

The Hem. Bad. Frayed, and bad.

Exhibit C: The Jeans

All I wear typically is jeans, as I mentioned before. Sure they can be dressed up with the right accessories, but I’ve shied away from accessories since Carter arrived since he can be pretty aggressive with them.

So, my jeans. I don’t even put a lot of effort into getting the right pair, or spending the money for decent quality. I often get them at Costco on a whim and they cost 19.99. Sometimes they don’t fit all that well, but I live with it.

This pair, my favourite: Costco jeans as well. They’re stretchy and comfy and have seen their day, but I still wear them very regularly.

Note the failing crotch. I’m going for the crotchless jeans look here people.

More fray.

Exhibit D: Old faithful Cardigan

Ill fitting, old and beaten up, I’ve retired this cardigan for home use only. It’s seen it’s day I think, but it’s comfy, so I keep it around.

Can’t zip it comfortably anymore because well, I’m FAT!

Crap! Camera, stop!

Dammit Camera! No More Pictures!

The reason the sweater was retired – hole in the elbow. Otherwise, I may still be wearing this shit. Seriously people. HELP!

The “What the Fuck?” Files

I got this sweater as a gift. Aw! Thanks for Nothing! And I have been known to wear it in PUBLIC a couple of times.

It’s a turquoise-aqua type colour.

People. 3/4 length sleeves on a knitted sweater. This is ALL kindas wrong! But, I wear wore it.

The best part?

That shit sparkles, yo!

My God.

Get a load of this shit.

What the fuck? Turtle neck sweatshirt, with a polar bear?

Hell ya people, they’re even dancing in the bottom corner!

Let me explain. This was buried DEEP in the bottom of my Rubbermaid container holding my work clothes, for when I’m on construction sites in the winter. At minus 25 ( -13F) no one cares what the hell you look like, trust me. Nor do they care if you’re wearing a turtle neck sweatshirt with dancing polar bears.

And now!

These are the shoes I’ve lived in for the past three summer months.

Dude, they have rhinestones! I’m hip. Right?

Oh, the Hair?

There’s really not much of a story here. *If* I have time to style it, this is possible.

But most days everyday this is it:

Hot, right?

But a little redemption:

I own this. And its cute!

It’s silky, with flowers ‘n shit embroidered.

I’m so ashamed. I can’t believe I shared this long winded post full of how horrible I dress.

Talk about embarrassing! I hope you’re doing to share your shitty clothes.

:::

Another Blog Blast! brought to you by Parent Bloggers Network and sponsored by Harper Collins’ new title, “The Little Black Book of Style” by Nina Garcia (ELLE fashion director and Project Runway judge!).

All you have to do is write a post on Friday, September 7, before midnight PST, about your style – or lack thereof – and include a picture of the item(s) in your closet that most desperately need to be donated. Title it creatively and descriptively.

Parent Bloggers Network will round up the entries and draw one winner at random (really, at random – http://www.random.org) who’ll get a $250 Coach gift certificate.

Remember to link to PBN and Harper Collins somewhere in your post!

Another fabulous Blog Blast – this one is sponsored by Harper Collins’ new title, “The Little Black Book of Style” by Nina Garcia (ELLE fashion director and Project Runway judge!).

[This is my very first campaign for PBN and I'm so excited! Watch for it at Glamorous Geek!]

Surely all moms have at least one item in their closets that really should have been donated (or trashed) years ago. Share how your style has deteriorated over the years and provide some photographic evidence – a picture of the most hideous item that’s still darkening your closet – and ‘fess up to why it’s still in there!

Why should you embarrass yourself in this manner? Because you could win a $250 Coach gift certificate! Face it, a great bag can make any schlumpy mom outfit look better.

How to participate?

1) On Friday, September 7, before midnight PST, write a post about your style – or lack thereof – and include a picture of the item(s) in your closet that most desperately need to be donated. Title it creatively and descriptively.

2) In the text of your post, link to PBN (http://blog.parentbloggers.com) and Harper Collins ( http://www.harpercollins.com/books/9780061234903/The_Little_Black_Book_of_Style/index.aspx)

3) Send the link to your post (email to ).

PBN will round up the entries and draw one winner at random (really, at random – http://www.random.org) who’ll get a $250 Coach gift certificate. Do you have a Coach bag? I don’t! And even if you do, can you really have too many Coach bags? I doubt it!

Looking forward to seeing the contents of your closets on Friday!

I am so excited about this Blog Blast! I have so much shit-ilious clothing that should have been dumped years ago… my post is going to be HUGE!

Everyone can participate, so you better get your camera ready and show us your hideous clothes!

Dearest Malie;

I am anti-mini van. I hate mini vans.

Yes, their economical and wonderfully spacious and can handle so much cargo and pack those ankle bitters in, but they’re just not for me. I cringe at the thought of considering a mini van an upgrade.

Growing up, that’s all my mom drove. Well, aside from the big brown beast which was a 70’s Buick Regal; we had a Chrysler sometimes or other, and then a GMC Safari; the one I learned to drive in. The one I loathed with every fiber of my being. Sure. Safe, yadda, yadda, yadda. I hated it.

I can’t even really touch on what part of a mini van I detest so very much, I just do. Because. I said so.

I think driving around town in a big ol’ mini van in my teens really scared me, since then, I’ve vowed that I will never have one.

So, when Carter came along, our little Saturn just wasn’t enough, and our Jeep was on the outs. We sold that poor Jeep (RIP Jeepy – creative eh?) and got our you, our dear Malibu Maxx. Mike had no argument, as he is just as adamant we will not own a van, and there was no question we needed a station wagon. Thought about the Volkswagen, which quickly was passed up when the salesman was a complete dick; test drove some other styles, but quickly realized that what we were looking for was pretty well out of our price range.

Until, you came along. You answered our prayers (if your prayers are like “Dammit, we need a new fucking car! Now!”) when you were waiting ever so patiently in the showroom for our arrival; first look I knew you would be mine.

I can’t say enough about you. I totally heart you. I am head over heels in heart with you! Love!

[It's a hatch back Malibu with room to spare. The back seat can move back and forth to accommodate taller passengers so they need not have their knees to to their chin. Bonus! Full loaded, including DVD player in the back. Excellent sound system - which gets plenty of use when I am alone belting out the lyrics to every Pearl Jam song I know. Loud enough to tune me out. And! Tinted windows and wicked chrome rims. Which I polish for Mike and he lurvs!]

You’re the complete package, my beautiful Malibu. Thank you for being my car even when I drive you like a maniac through Toronto’s rush hour traffic and make you speed up and down Hwy. 400… you never fail me. You make me look like a cool mom, not the computer geeky mom I really am! Which is totally awesome!

Love,

The Bat Outta Hell Crazy Driver

:::

And here I never thought I would have a blog post dedicated to my car; completely gushing about it, but they made me do it!

This post is brought to you by The Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast! and AskPatty.com’s new service CarBlabber! Create an open letter to your car anytime before midnight PST on Friday, August 24.

FIVE winners at random to receive a handmade Circle Bag, made from recycled tire inner tubes (which would have otherwise been headed for the landfill) and trimmed in pink or red. (Each bag valued at $160.)

PLUS – CarBlabber is holding their own giveaway among those who sign up and complete a profile on the site. They’ll be giving away twelve CarMD diagnostic tools (valued at $90 each), along with a grand prize – an original Seat Belt Bag from Harveys, valued at more than $200. So click through, sign up, and blab about your car!

This world is too fast. Days are a blur and before I know it, my cuddly and lovable toddler with separation anxiety with be a teenager; so full of angst and hatred for his parents (because honestly, who does hate their parents at some time?). Sooner then later he will be in school, high school, college, married.

It’s all too fast.

Modern day life is all about status. How much you have, how much you work and what you can show for it. Life has inevitably become live to work; instead work to live. With not enough hours in the day, we are forced to work earlier, commute longer and spend less time together. Family time in then reserved for the weekend, provided they are not filled with other obligations.

Mike and I both work in the very demanding field of construction. Be it, different parts, it’s the same industry. An industry that doesn’t quit, doesn’t slow and definitely doesn’t put family first. But. We do. We try. We were are not people to let our career choices dictate our personal lives. We are not afraid to speak up and refuse work that will take us away for months, we will do what we have to for our family unit.

Work is just that. Work.

It’s not love, it’s not memories, it’s not family. It will never in any way, shape or form, replace the warmth and love of seeing a smile form on my son’s face or hearing his hearty belly laugh.

And though we spend our days away from each other and even some nights; nights were work has worn us thin and all we want to do is be alone, we are family. We are love. We are constant.

Weekends have become cherished jewels in the midst of the hectic rat race. Weekends are our only time to get lost in each other; for the world’s pace to slow, for us to drink in everything that’s been missed over the proceeding five days.

Weekends are ours.

Should it be time spent completing errands, family trips or lazying around the house, we do it together. Lazing around the backyard or tipping our umpteenth Lego building while we relax in our pajamas, we do it together.

Weekends are about our little family.

Yet, some don’t understand. They don’t understand our wants, our needs, for our family time. They take it upon themselves to guilt us into obligations we don’t want. They guilt us for not spending time with them while demanding that we can always have family time and we should be out and having fun. Granted, being out sans children can be exhilarating sometimes, it’s not without guilt. The guilt that sticks like honey. The guilt that your child has spent so many hours in a daycare, without his parents, eats away at practically all hope of enjoying an evening.

The math of a 5 day work week is stifling.

55 out of 120 hours Carter is in daycare.

15 hours we spend together from Monday to Friday.

Fifteen hours. That’s it. Of course I want my weekends to be with my family.

:::

This post is brought to you in conjunction with Parent Bloggers Network’s Blog Blast! & EA’s Wii-Boogie, a family gaming experience. Shake it. Sing it. Create it.

What are your favorite family activities and how do you find the quality family time?
And if you don’t have quality family time, how do you make up for it? What challenges do you face?
Write your post on the topic above on Friday, August 10 (anytime before midnight PST) and make sure to link back to Parent Bloggers Network as well as Wii-Boogie for your chance to be entered in the draw for a Nintendo Wii and a copy of the new game “Boggie”.

** Cross posted at Viable Vixen **