Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Better Late Than Never!

Yes, I realize the last post was Sunday. Bite me.

Moving on.

I'm happy to announce that I'm now affiliated with what I think of as 'The Cool Moms Group' but what is actually called 'Moms Without Blogs'...you can see the button on the left hand side. They took a look at my blogs and decided I was nuts...errr...cool enough to join them.

I'd flip up my collar and do the Elvis sneer, but I'm wearing my uber comfy sweatshirt, and there's no collar. And the sneer just doesn't work without the popped collar, ya know? You just look dorky without the collar.

I was over reading at the MWB site, and it was about getting a pedicure, which brought back a memory of my own, that I thought I'd share.

Back when I was pregnant with The Princess, (I'm talking about 8.5 months pregnant) I waddled in to the local ritzy spa place for my first (and to date, last) pedicure. Wolf, being the well intentioned man he is, gave me gift certificates for a mani, pedi, and massage for my birthday. Now, I don't blame him, entirely. He explained to the folks there that it was for his extremely pregnant wife. (Why, oh WHY they would sell him a massage package is beyond me, because unless you're specially trained, you cannot do a massage on a pregnant woman, for fear of sending her into labour. But that bit comes later.)

Anyways, I took Wolf's cousin's wife with me. (Follow that one?) She and I get along fantastically well, and she was the one willing to mind Diva and Tazzie while I had the next lil critter. So, in we go...la la la.

Well, I thought the poor girl doing the pedicure was going to have a conniption fit over my feet. She scolded me about them, going on and on about the condition they were in. M stared at her in shock, her mouth agape, and I looked at this woman kneeling at my feet, resisted the urge to plant my foot in her mouth and said, "Its kind of hard to take care of my feet when I can't see them let alone reach them" She looked at me like I was stupid and asked if I had back problems. I looked at M, she looked at me, and this time she answered, saying, "Only when she's eight and a half months pregnant!"

Folks, I'm not one of those women that shows up in labour and people question if I'm really pregnant or not. I go into maternity clothes about three days after the stick shows positive, and get out of them sometime near the baby's second birthday, ok? There's no missing that I'm pregnant.

Two minutes after this, the Massage Dude walks in, and asks who is scheduled for the massage. M points at me. Massage Dude takes one look, and says, "I'm sorry, but I'm not trained to do massage on pregnant women."

So, Massage Dude, who looked to be all of twenty could tell at a glance from across the room I was pregnant, but Pedicure Woman who looked to be in her thirties, kneeling at my feet could not.


So, at the end of the day, the price of the massage was taken off M's mani/pedi, which was cool. I had pretty feet, even though I couldn't see them. I figured that Wolf wanted me to have a few hours of pampering for myself, which I had and appreciated...and maybe the OBGYN would appreciate pretty feet in his face.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Starting A Commune, Wanna Join?


I'm getting really tired of some of the stuff that's happening in society these days. The only solution I can think of is finally winning the lotto and buying the acreage that Wolf and I have been dreaming about for years now.

Its just really getting insane.

Take today for example. Diva is 'friends' with the kid across the sidewalk from us. Got invited to the movies. The kid's parents are taking her to see Adventureland. (I say 'friends' because they're the only two girls in the neighbourhood. If Diva had the option of another girl, she would gladly take it.) These are 10 and 11 yo girls, folks. Adventureland is rated 14A, and deals with a story line where the highlight of the lead character's summer is getting to smoke pot all summer long. I soooooooo don't think so. Diva was not granted permission, which led to a long conversation regarding differences in parenting styles, morals, principles, etc.

But, there's more than that. I'm tired of walking down the street and hearing kids in elementary school use profanity like it was a mastered second language, I'm tired of seeing young girls dressed in ways that only seem to serve the purpose to render them physically desireable, and then there's the rising rates of sexual experience amongst children, younger and younger.

And then there's the violence issue. I'm sorry, but I can remember when I was in school, you did NOT talk back to adults. It just did NOT happen, period. Now? *snort*. Things are getting dang scary out there, folks. On the streets, in the schools, in our neighbourhoods.

So, winning the lottery and moving out to an acreage seems like the only reasonable solution. Anyone want to join me?