Carter is one of those hyper active crazy little buggers that never sit still a very active child. He is practically go-go-go from the moment he wakes up until the moment he falls asleep. There are only two things that can relatively calm this child - a car ride and TV. Even a car ride he gets restless rather quickly - but TV? He can sit peacefully for nearly an hour if it’s something he’s interested in. I’m telling you, these babysitter are worth their weight in gold!
Sometimes I even tear myself away from my work (read: designing and blogging) to hangout with him and the babysitter, which is tedious for me simply because I can’t stand the cartoons that are on nowadays.

What happened to the TV greatness that was Shera, He-Man, Thundercats, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Ponies, Jem?… you know? The good stuff that used to be on Saturday morning cartoons!? The stuff that’s on now? My Gawd, I’d rather put shards of glass behind my eyelids and blink a million times, it’s so horrible. Juniper Lee? Fantastic Four? Looney Tunes Unleashed?
(For those of you without kids this is just going in one eye and out the other - to sum it up? Shit. Utter kyfe.)

Watching these shows makes me reminiscent of the time when when I was younger. The toys, the innocence, being oblivious to the world outside my own. Namely the toys though. There was such GREAT stuff back then.

Skip It! That was great fun. Essentially skipping for losers by yourself!

Pogo Balls. Ah! Mastering squeezing your feet against a ball while jumping up and down. Fabulous fun!

Forget having to share the damn computer with your kid. What about Speak ‘N Spell?! Wow!

And He-Man? Now that’s HOT!

Today we have slutty stupid dolls with enormously ginormous cock suckers lips

These trashy little hoes look like the hookers I see downtown, never mind a doll for a child.

It’s a disc! No! It’s a ball! No! It’s Phalt Ball! Gimme a freakin’ break. Buy the damn kid a frisbee!

Remember this? A water pistol?

Tell me. What the fuck is this!? You almost need a permit for the damn thing!

Times sure have changed.

Off to try and find some jacks and a skipping rope. Wish me luck!

Don’t you just love when you get a call last minute about having to work on the weekend? And to work through the night on the weekend? That’s even better. I love those calls. Love. Them.

Piss. Piss. Piss. I have to work this weekend starting at 2am until 7am because that’s the only time that we can get inside the subway tunnels (the trains aren’t running and we have to be at track level), all to check and see if anything is different then it was before construction started adjacent to the tunnel. Very interesting work, yes. But at 2am? Nah.

Though this happens very rarely now, since I am more of a 7 - 4 (yes, not 9 - 5 - how’d I get screwed in that deal anyways?) worker, WITH WEEKENDS OFF, it really sucks when I get The Call. It throws off my entire weekend since Carter’s usually bright eyed and ready to go as I am pulling in the driveway from a night’s work. Only one thing was shitter then this; getting called into work when I was a teenager and a college student. Those were good times.

I think that’s why I hate The Call so much. Remember how much of a damper it puts on plans with your friends? Everything’s set and you’re ready to get your drink on and all of a sudden, work needs you. Can’t say no because you need the money so bad, right? Why with all that bar hopping and socialization, can’t do it with no funds. Or worse? Having a scheduled shift the morning after some heavy partying; at 5am, pissed drunk, adamant that you’re going to be up and ready to go at 8am.

During college I worked in retail, at a chain clothing store (clothing store chain?) for about 30 hrs a week - nearly full time since student loans were insufficient (read: not enough to support my partying ways as well as pay for school) my second year. It was a mediocre job, nothing to it and it was money in my pocket as well as a clothing discount - can’t go wrong there.

To be honest, I can’t believe I actually lasted as long as I did. I was probably one of the worst employees there (though I could sell you a paper bag if I tried). All the other kids were high school students and I was The College Student. I set a great example for those children, their parents should be proud.

If I came into work on a Saturday I was hungover more often then not, sometimes un-showered with too much perfume masking the stench of stale cigarette smoke, mascara smeared under my eyes and ratty hair hauled back into a messy bun. I. was. hot.
Sometimes getting to work was a small feat on it’s own. They probably thought I was the worst cook ev-ah after I seemingly had food poisoning *wink, wink* about once a month. Those were actually the days that I spent most of the time visiting my porcelain friend. I can honestly say I don’t miss that porcelain guy, since I’ve upgraded to cars and public washrooms.

To live that lifestyle today would be utter torture for me. Now? To stay up sober past 10 o’clock is challenging enough, throw a couple beers into the mix and I’m a complete write off. Good Times.

As parents how do you find the shift work treating you? Is it really as hard as it seems to be for me? Or am I a complete whimp?

My mom and step-dad are big on saving money where they can. Really, who’s not wanting to save a penny or two? And they recycle; recycle e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. The Kleenex boxes are broken down and the plastic thingy that hold the tissue is even ripped out. It’s something they are proud of and take rather seriously. I don’t blame them really; it’s excellent practice and I wish that more people (myself included) were so diligent. Even though I was scolded and forced to pull something recyclable out of the garbage and into the corresponding receptacle - disgusting - I still pick and choose what I feel like recycling. I know, Haley-O is on the verge of a heart attack this very moment.

My parents were also big on hanging the laundry outside. Now, this I would do provided I actually had a clothes line. Don’t think my neighbours wanna see my husbands drawers draped over the top of the backyard fence… nor do I for that matter. I remember how great it would be to have my freshly washed and dried (outside) clothes. To raise them to my face and breath in their freshness. So wonderful.

The part I didn’t enjoy? Still to this day makes me cringe? Bath towels hung on the line; and bedding. Yuck. The LAST thing I want is to get out of a nice warm comforting shower to a crusty sand paper-esque towel. *shudders* Yeah, it may smell nice but freshly grated skin from the friction of the towel does not. My mom was big on this. There’s a simple remedy really, put them in the dryer for a couple minutes after bringing them in - just to soften them. Nope. Not this lady. That would defeat the purpose.
I just dread going to my mom’s in the summer time because I KNOW that the towels will be hard.

So, now I am anti stiff and hard (hee hee) towels and any linens. I like other stiff and hard things though… SICKO!
We bought these bed sheets last year. Really funky colourful stripes. They so cute - to look at. No matter how many times I wash them they feel like sand paper on my skin and unfortunately have been banished to the spare room. But these other bed sheets? To. Die. For. Bought them at Costco at Christmas time. They are microfiber fleece. They are practically orgasmic they are so soft.
I felt that we were in desperate need of new bed sheets since my fleece one were getting pills from being used to often, and the pills begin to feel like sandpaper. That’s a no-no. So, I was walking down the aisle and feeling all the sheets. I would open the bag and shove my hand between the layers of sheets and rub it back and forth. (Bet you’re hoping you don’t shop at the same Costco as me. And if you do, you’re hoping that you washed your new sheets before using them!) So, I would rub back and forth to see if they were sufficiently soft, then move on to the next bag and so on.

Until.

I met them. The sheets from heaven. Literally.

They are soft as a newborn baby’s bum (but not the one growing on my face).

I was rubbing back and forth in the aisle of Costco and then rubbed them on my face and moaned. I was moaning in the aisle of COSTCO!
Mike came around the corner just as I opened my eyes, he looks at me and looks around to see if anyone just witnessed what I had done.

Then as if it was nothing he says, “Guess you found ones you like? Put ‘em in the cart.”

I love my husband.

Even if they were a million dollars, I bet you he still would have paid for those sheets after all that moaning.

As many young adolescence I was blessed with unfortunate acne problems. I had really bad acne. Not the huge pulsing kinda; you know the ones with their own heart beat? Yeah, none of those. Just small and consistent. Always there, always visible and never ending. I was about 15 when enough was enough. The time in your life where everything and anything is life altering and completely over emphasized. Acne for me was a life or death situation; I was miserable, and everyone around me suffered because of it. Oh the drama! I was so melodramatic during the whole ordeal really.

Lucky for me my mom was very supportive. I think it was primarily for her own sanity, but we’ll go with it, m’kay? She made doctors appointments for me, tried various acne topical solutions and medications which only decreased the severity to an extent. As a very impatient teenager that was NOT enough. I was livid and all, why me!? why is this happening to me? I hate life. I hate this. Kill me know!

My mom must have hit her breaking point. It was either throttle me and put and end to my drama queen antics or put out the big bucks for Accutane. Acctane is a severe form of acne mediation with likewise side effects; did that matter? Nope. I didn’t care. I wasn’t disturbed by the fact that it required quarterly blood tests for liver damage and the risk of depression or other side effects including, but not limited to dryness of skin, lips and mucous membranes, skin fragility, skin peeling, rash, nose bleeds, dry eyes, eye irritation, conjunctivitis (pink eye), and hair thinning.
None of that was a concern to me. Apparently I thought my acne was bad enough that I could (and would) suffer through losing my hair with my skin flaked off all I while I had pink eye and nose bleeds! MUCH more attractive if I do say so myself. All that would have been better then acne? What a moron.

How could I have thought that acne was that bad? The risks I was willing to take to get rid of a couple bumps on my face.

Then this morning.

I woke up to a visitor.

A pimple the size of a newborn on my chin.

Mike has been begging to pop it all day.

I think it may have its own heart beat. Seriously. It just might this time.