One of my new pet projects is the elimination of bottled water primarly because John P Challinor, Manager of Corporate Affairs at Nestle Waters Canada has been spouting off all sorts of BS in my local newspaper because the school board in New Westminster is set to decide to ban bottled water. He’s been trying to play off guilt, even going so far as to suggest that without bottled water there would be no plastic playground equipment. And that, folks, got my knickers in a knot. If you follow me on Twitter, you know I wrote a letter to the editor about his overt spin doctoring – he’s twice written letters and spouted total crap. Here was my letter.

Anyway, March 11th is Canada’s first Bottled Water Free Day. Don’t have an awesome reusable water bottle? Buy one from Sue at Raspberry Kids. Here’s a funny video, please pass it around.

Sometimes I find myself with twenty minutes all to myself and I don’t know what to do. My life has been so rush rush rush rush rush rush for the past, oh, I don’t know, FOREVER (it seems), and so it’s generally that the second the children are down for naps, I am here, at the computer, manically trying to complete some sort of work-related task. I’ve started teaching myself to not open my email account, to not open Facebook or TweetDeck/HootSuite until the work is complete, and generally, well… generally I have run out of time by the time that comes around so my tweeting and facebooking seems to occur on my phone these days.

But some days, like today, I find myself with time to kill, all projects mercifully done and shelved for the time being, awaiting permissions and go-aheads, and I feel kind of… jittery. Like I’m forgetting to do something. Like ZOMG I cannot have free time what is wrong this is just not right. And so I open “add new post” in both the Arbolog and over at Tenth to the Fraser where I occasionally write (and should write more) aaaannnndddd then I draw a blank.

So often lately things happen and I say to myself “I need to blog that” and then when I have the time to sit and write and research and find pictures and post, POOF it is gone from my brain. I’ve gotten into the habit of actually recording a little voice note in my iPhone when the topics strike me now and then, and then I can remind myself when that 20 minute stretch of nothing-to-do knocks on my door again.

I ran across a person in a weird twist of fate recently. My friend Gillian donated some of her gorgeous cowls to an auction for Haiti, and since I have three cowls, I didn’t bid on her items (and if you don’t have a cowl yet, you need to go buy one because cowls are the new cool). BUT I did bid and successfully win a set of six children’s books written by a very nice lady in Nova Scotia about a boy named Toby and his bear, Broughton the Bear. I actually bought two sets, and had them autographed, and will be using the second set as a gift for a special little person in my life who will be turning two only a few short weeks after Kale does.

Anyway, also listed in this auction was some poetry from a writer living in Edmonton named Marita Dachsel (here’s her blog and some stuff she wrote). Funny thing is that I instantly knew that name and I instantly remembered all sorts of strange details I have no business remembering: her tudor style house, her shiny dark hair, Girl Guide camp. Marita and I went to elementary school together for the 3 years I was marooned in Williams Lake. And so I shyly wrote her an email, suggesting we knew each other, and she replied we did and we compared a few notes. The internets, it’s small. Turns out, she also knows my friend Melanie, who I’ve only known since I was blogging.

Anyway, I relate this little small world anecdote to you because it’s a fairly nice segue to something I’ve been thinking about lately, but haven’t really been able to put fingers to keyboard and get out.

I used to be a writer.

Notice that up there? Used. To. Be. It’s staring me in the face. Like that kid from the Simpsons pointing and going “Ha!Ha!”, it’s a reminder of what I’m not.

I used to write a lot. I went to college to be a better writer. I’ve been paid to write – not much of course, but a bit. I have chapbooks. I have poetry. I have a few half completed novellas. I have short stories, and op-ed pieces and all sorts of other notches on my literary belt. But it means nothing.

What I write here isn’t particularly a stretch of my talents – I write amusing little anecdotes about my pretty cute kid, I write product reviews for stuff I have bought or tried, and I try hard to stay away from the rants and the speechifying that used to happen before Kale came along because the internet is forever and the mark I want to leave on the world doesn’t come under the category of Whiner.

Maybe its because spring is springing and with that comes the dusting off of cobwebs from unused portions of creativity. Maybe it’s because things are pretty mellow – I mean, sure it’s pretty rush rush rush around here, but it’s also fairly predictable and routine and I often don’t need to be fully engaged to do the rush rush rushing.

But something needs to change.

I’ve mentioned that Kale has hit some sort of vocabulary talking streak, which might account for his constant demands for the Sucky lately. I took some footage at lunch the other day, and here he is, labelling some food. This is probably only interesting to my mom, and my mother in law, but hey, it’s my blog and I can post what I want to. He is also starting to learn the value of the word “please” and is starting to tack it onto the end of his requests, and has learned that Mama and Daddy respond a billion times faster if “please” is added on.

Showing Off at Lunch from Jen Arbo on Vimeo.

A while back I was whining about my jeans, how they didn’t fit, and what brands I’d tried. In the comments, I mentioned I had bought a pair of Riders by Lee, pushed on TV by the fantastic Ms. Stacey London, and I said that I really didn’t like their fit. I thought they pulled in the wrong places and just weren’t for me.

About a week later, a representative from Riders by Lee contacted me. Through the magic of the internet, she had found my blog, and read my post about jeans, and then read the comments where I mentioned the brand. She asked if she could send me two pairs of jeans, because Riders by Lee was just so confident that they could fit any woman with a good pair of jeans for a retail price of less than $20.

“Hey, I’m game,” I thought. “But don’t expect me to write about how awesome they are just because you sent me free jeans. I gave her my measurements, my wish list, and told her what I didn’t like about the pair I bought.

I bought a pair of Riders by Lee about a month ago. They are a 12 Petite and the inseam is good. They are a nice dark denim which I like. The first few wears were great – but here is my complaint: the zipper flap stretches out rather than the tummy panel slimming me so you can see the zipper and I constantly get asked if my zipper is low. I think this is one of those situations where the fabric is going to pull where there is the least resistance, and in this case, that’s the fabric of the zipper flap. I’m not sure if this is an indicator that I need to go up to a size 14 or not, but I tried on a 14 and the waist was swimming on me and gaped badly at the back, so I stuck with the 12. I tend to muffin top out of these (and other) jeans as well – but that’s likely a “Jen’s body construction” issue rather than a “garment construction issue” because that happens on most pants…

The representative sent me two pairs of jeans – one a dark wash in a 11/12 medium length, and the other a super light wash in a “slender stretch” fit, in a size 12 petite.

Here’s me in a regular pair of jeans I just happened to be wearing:

Regular Joe-Schmoe Jeans

Here’s me in the light wash slender stretch jeans:

Light Wash Slender Stretch

And finally, here’s me in the dark wash jeans:

Dark Wash Bootcut

The short review? If I could amalgamate the features of these two pairs of jeans into one super pair, I might be on the road to jean bliss. I feel like I’m close. Super close.

Both pairs retail for $19.95 at most mass retailers like Wal-mart and K-mart (and try Zellers, too),  feature a slightly wider waistband, and are a “medium rise”. Both are touted as a bootcut although the lighter pair feels more skinny than that. Both are a pretty standard 5 pocket jean design, nothing fancy, no crazy bling on the butt or anything. The leg length of the lighter pair is perfect for me, but I prefer the cut of the dark pair to the “slender stretch” lighter pair. To make them both perfect I need to: dye the lighter pair something darker – black maybe – and get the darker pair hemmed (which I’d normally do myself but my sewing machine is in storage while we try and sell our house).

I muffin top out of both pairs, but I’ve come to the realization that no jean is going to make up for the fact that I need to get off my butt and start doing some serious cardio. Sure, the right cut of jeans can make a huge difference to hide things like c-section scars (and the question mark that is my belly) and they can sure accent features that are still pretty decent, like bottoms, and help make your legs look longer, but absolutely no pair of jeans is going to solve the dilemma of too much jiggly skin to fit in the clothing.

I like them, I think the retail price is decent, and quite honestly, any jean company that is so confident they can fit “anyone” that they will track down little old me and send me two pairs impresses me. I’ll probably buy another pair of these again. And that, my friends, says a lot.

Next up on the quest to find Jen’s Perfect Jeans: the $110 pair of custom trouser jeans I’ve paid to have made. I want to know – are $20 jeans as good a fit as a custom pair can be, AND, is it worth waiting 4 weeks? I should receive them in two weeks or so.

The thing about selling your house is that I don’t think anyone can be completely prepared for just how dang annoying it is. Showings are a pain in the butt for most people, but add a pet and a toddler, and sometimes two toddlers into the mix, and it is a whole other level of annoying. I feel like we live in a museum these days, with the pressure to keep it clean and tidy looming on me always, and when its time for a showing, we have to vacate ourselves at inconvenient times. I can tell I’m stressed out because when I’m stressed out I chew my hangnails mercilessly, and let’s just say I’m not going to post a picture because this blog ain’t a horror show.

We listed our place just over three weeks ago, and I no longer remember the number of strangers that have waltzed through my house and poked in my cupboards. I find it slightly invasive, and know that most places where you might hide things you don’t want people to see who are coming to visit you are often the places where buyers want to look – closets, pantries, and storage. During this past week, in Olympic Prime Time, we saw a significant decrease in showings than the first week, not shockingly, but today we have two scheduled so apparently we are back on course for full speed ahead showings. One was set for 11:15, the other is 4:50. Generally, our realtor has been pretty good about being at most of the showings but he has a life, and other clients, and we are big girls and boys here at Chez Arbo, so for the few times he can’t make it, that’s okay – I get that.

At about ten after 11, after having sped around the house lighting candles, putting away toys, and picking up random dog fur tumbleweeds, I dutifully bundled up Kale and Bonnie, woke the dog up and kitted her out with her harness, and we four hung out on the patio in close proximity to the phone. I had asked my realtor to arrange with the buyer agent to buzz to be let in, sort of hoping for a good idea of when they were in there and whenwe could come back. In hindsight, I wish I had told him to give them the lock box instructions instead. Having to wait for the buzzer with two toddlers with an eye for their lunch, and one dog with an eye to be anywhere but on the patio with two toddlers with an eye for their lunch was not a good time.

Finally, the realtor buzzed, at the extremely tardy time of 11:40, and I cheerily but snidely commented “Oh, you are coming! I thought you were a no show!” before pushing the buzzer to let her and her client in. They took their time coming to the back, and as they passed me, the realtor snippily said to me “we reserved this place from 11:15 to 11:45″. I replied “Well, you had best get inside then, it’s 11:43!”. She then proceed to enter without removing her shoes, and when done 30 seconds later (seriously, why look at all, why did you waste all of our time? We have a movie, and eleventy billion photos online) she slammed the gate behind her hard enough for plant pots  on my patio to rattle. Lady, you just made the list. Thank you for leaving your business card on my table so now I have a name and a company to avoid and talk badly about.

Realtors, just a tip:  It is not in your client’s best interest to be a bag to the seller because here’s the thing: I can say no to your client’s offer just because YOU SUCK because its a seller’s market. Not that I would, but I CAN and that’s all that matters.

This whole process had had an extreme learning curve of what works and what doesn’t, and I’m trying hard to remain positive and enjoy the whole experience without going stark, raving mad. So, here’s my list of eight things to do to ensure you don’t lose your mind during this lovely time:

1. Clean your house thoroughly, from top to bottom, before all of this begins. Having a good base line is going to make it easier to maintain showing after showing. If you feel you don’t have time, hire someone to do it for you. This is crucial – a clean house will sell. A dumpy dirt pit will not sell at what you want to sell it for. A clean house also helps people forget about things like that stain on the carpet on the other side of the bed or the fact that one of the tiles in the fireplace surround has a hairline crack around it.
2. Fix everything you are going to fix before it hits the market, and don’t try to hide things you don’t plan on dealing with. Ross and I replaced the bathroom flooring with nice tile, repainted the whole joint, and upgraded all the lighting. We did not replace the carpeting, but we also built our list price around the fact that this may be a negotiation point. Remember, most buyers are going to do a home inspection before they buy and any half competent inspector is going to find the deficiencies you aren’t dealing with. Hiding them just gives them leverage and you want leverage on your side. And don’t have half completed projects lying around – we looked at one house recently that had spackle all over the place – on dark green walls – and it looked sloppy.
3. De-clutter and de-personalize. We went so far as to actually rent some storage space from friends to take all those rubbermaid totes full of stuff we might need one day out of the closets, because I think its important to make your closests look big and empty. People can imagine their things on a blank slate, but can’t take away your things beforehand, so make sure that treasured wall of family portraits has been replaced by some nice, bland, small, inoffensive artwork. I was also tempted to install some shelves above our TV stand – but Ross pointed out that that wall would actually make a perfect location for someone’s 52″ plasma high def yadda yadda TV, so we elected to leave it as is. Also, anything “mounted” is generally a part of the sale.
4. Make up your mind about when you are willing to show it, and be absolutely firm on it. Originally, we said we wouldn’t accept any showings after 7PM, because that’s Kale’s chill down time before bed. We also were firm that we would not accept a showing during what should be Kale’s nap. We made an allowance outside of these times once, and we paid for it with an unhappy toddler dying to sleep. There are many hours in the day in which people can come and look at your place. Be firm, and don’t play the “what if” game.
5. Make sure you and your partner (and any other owners) are absolutely on the same page about expectations. It wasn’t until Ross and I got the first offer, which we ultimately did not accept, that we actually sat down and had a conversation about expectations for what we wanted to sell for, how long before we wanted to drop the price, etc. We should have done it sooner, because in a fast market, some offers might only be open for a few hours. We were lucky that the first offer was open for most of a day.
6. Make up a list of “to-do’s” in order to show the place. This list comes in handy for me. I know it off by heart now, but for the first few showings I felt really scattered and a written list made sure I didn’t forget any details. Here’s what I do to prep for a showing. It might sound like a lot, but it takes me about 30 minutes now. First, I tidy the whole house, including putting away toys, sweeping up dog fur, and spot cleaning the windows. I actually clean up the kitchen and bathroom because those are the rooms that are sellers, and I dump some pinesol in the toilet and swish it around but I wait to flush it till right before  I walk out the door because that smell makes people think the place is immaculate. I try hard to have fresh flowers on the table, but if not, the fruit bowl will work – I don’t leave the table empty. I light nicely scented candles about 15 minutes before I leave, put away the dog bed, open the shower curtain (they’re gonna look, trust me) and open the door to the washer and dryer (ditto). I  turn on every single light in my house, put on soft pleasant music (I use ‘the spa”, a canned music station on the Telus TV lineup), and lastly, turn on the fireplace with the fan off (it’s noisy). I make sure all the blinds are up, and the curtains open, and if its nice out, I open the windows. Then I go flush that Pinesol filled toilet, and walk out and don’t look back.
7. Don’t take anything personally. I know, this one is kind of funny given my realtor anecdote above, but the people traipsing through your house don’t know you and don’t care about you. They are looking to buy for themselves, and really don’t care what is happening in your life. Don’t be offended by a low offer – that’s all part of the game. And try not to fall for the sob story their realtor will present to you.
8. Involve all the members of your house so that it is less onerous. Kale’s tasks when its time for a showing is to help me put away the toys, help me put away Mooki’s bed, and “help” me clean the rest of the house. Instead of shooing him away, I try really hard to make it a fun game for him to help me get the place ready. With that in mind, I start about an hour before, to allow for time for all the tasks to happen. I also made sure Ross was aware of the list, so that if I couldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be stressing out wondering if he remembered to light the candles.

There is a whole list of things that people don’t tell you after you have kids. I’m sure that some moms do talk about it, but it’s not really listed in books anywhere. I remember at our pre-natal class, our teacher mentioned her hair had completely changed after having her children – once poker straight, it was now totally, and unmanageably curly.  I know my hair has changed a great deal – it’s texture is totally different, the hair at my temples grows toward my face now, and well, not shockingly, there is way more grey in it. I think it’s also curly, although the short cut I’m currently sporting hasn’t grown out enough for me to really tell.

My stomach, once a slightly rounded display of femininity (and trust me, I RUE the fact that I used to whine about a gently sloping tummy), now more closely resembles a question mark thanks to my cesearean scar. And the skin surrounding the scar has absolutely no sensation anymore.

And one thing that no one ever mentioned to me is my complete and utter inability to hold my bladder anymore. Gone are the days when the twinges of needing to pee were merely something to note and carry on. Now, when my body says I need to pee, I need to find facilities, post-haste. I am not able to sneeze at all if I don’t cross my legs. I find myself, shamefully, embarrasingly, unable to hold my need to pee for longer than a few minutes when I do need to go, and the safety of the internet allows me to admit to you all that there has been more than one occurence where I was not able to make it to the toilet in time. Thankfully, these incidences were all containable and while Kale might have witnessed it, he thankfully isn’t old enough to rat me out to random people, like say, the lady in front of us at the grocery store.

I know there are exercises to do to try and strengthen all those muscles that have been destroyed by carrying a baby inside me for 9 months, and if you think for two seconds I do not faithfully do them then you are gravely mistaken. I swear my internal monologue runs something like this “kegel kegel kegel Kale don’t do that kegel kegel kegel”. I also know that there are drugs I can take but they scare me because it’s not like “muscle surgery in pill form” which means that the pills either dry you out or screw with some of your pre-programmed bio-responses, and both of those options kind of scare me.

I can’t sneeze without carefully crossing my legs, and I instantly sort out where bathrooms are when I go to unfamiliar places. I am trying to relearn that I can’t ignore the need anymore. I remember when I had to hold my bladder for the ultrasound at the end of my pregnancy and you know what? That scares the pee out of me. In fact I need to pause here in writing this to go and pee because that thought just gave me the heebies.

 No longer being able to trust your bladder is reason # 34687924 why I don’t really want to have another baby. Reason # 1 is that, despite having a good friend who has recently had a triumphant VBAC, I am terrified of the idea of vaginal birth now that I had to have an emergency c-section. Funny, since I felt so confident and so well prepared going into Kale’s last trimester. Reason # 2 is I don’t want to mess with the good thing we have.

So why do I keep calculating my ovulation times, and why do I continue to calculate the age difference between Kale and a sibling as each month goes by?  I mentioned to my mom today on the phone that your body has a survival instinct and it selectively remembers all the crap-tacular things that happen those first few months. The robo-puking, the non-sleeping. Your body chooses to forget all that yucky stuff and just makes you remember the lovely, nostalgic stuff. I’m on to you, body. I kept a blog, and I remember how much certain parts of early infancy sucked. You can’t fool me!

I once read, in reference to people acting “green” that it didn’t matter how they decided to act green, just so long as they did it. Until I read that sentence, I  really was derisive to people jumping on the green bandwagon and being duped by greenwashing. I felt smug in my True-Greenness and so when I would hear about some twinkie who was excited because her favourite clothing store now used biodegradable plastic bags and isn’t it “tres cool that they are being so earth friendly?” I would roll my eyes and laugh. But then I read that sentence in a book or online somewhere, and it changed the way I thought about it.

Really? Everything helps. It does, truly. So what if I think they could do better? I should just get on with doing better myself, right?

I was walking Mooki and Kale yesterday and was struck by the sheer number of Canadian flags flying on houses in my neighbourhood. If you were a retailer who chose to bring in flag poles and flags about a month ago? You are a smart cookie. I have never seen this much national pride, not on Canada Day, not during the Olympics in other cities in which Canada is participating, and certainly not in an everyday sort of way.

So at first, I scoffed, thinking to myself  ”These people are just like the unwashed cool-to-be-green masses.”

But then, I had to admit that even I’m finding myself watching the Olympics coverage a lot, and while I am not 100% anti-Olympics, I’m certainly on the “meh” side of the Olympics fence. But man, this Olympics thing? Despite crappy snow, and ice-resurfacers that don’t work, and double decker buses that are struggling to get up the hills to Whistler… we are doing a pretty bang up job of hosting the scrutiny of the world, what with this flowers blooming, 15 degrees and sunny, helpful and friendly locals attitude.

I love being a Canadian, and have always been proud. I love our quirky politeness and our forthright redneckery, and I love the fact that really? Does anybody really hate us? I mean, is there any nation out there plotting to get us? Although not quite as sleek and well packaged as our neutral friends in Switzerland, Canada carries no target on its back.

And I truly love our flag – I love the simple yet all encompassing symbol on it. I love the no-fuss decision making process for the number of points on the Maple leaf on our flags symbolizes. It does not, contrary to popular belief, denote the 10 provinces and 1 point for all the territories. It was chosen because wind tunnel tests said 11 points was the least blurry. I love that the selection of a national flag sparked a huge debate because you just know that Canada is all about making a polite debate about everything.

“The flag is the symbol of the nation’s unity, for it, beyond any doubt, represents all the citizens of Canada without distinction of race, language, belief or opinion.” ~ Honourable Maurice Bourget, Speaker of the Senate, February 15, 1965, the day our flag was inaugurated.

So I say wave your flags don’t be afraid to keep that flagpole up even after the Olympics have gone away, because patriotism is contagious.

For sale:  one pretty good looking toddler, in excellent used condition. Likes to eat crayons, be picked up to “looklooklooklook”, and to wash his hands. Eats well, sleeps pretty good, likes snacks and opening things. Comes with complete starter set – crib, clothes, diapers, dishes, etc. Serious enquiries only. Best offer takes him.

You guys think I’m joking, don’t you? Kale has set his phasers to TODDLER and is not looking back. ”Hello, I’d like to beat on your dog, is that all right with you?” Gah. Seriously. I’ve actually sought out some advice from a friend who is a pet trainer to see if she had any tips. Mooki is 10 now, and I worry that Kale is too rough with her, and that another, less tolerant dog who can actually do damage will not accept it. I know the onus is on me to play referee, like a boxing referee I need to be RIGHT THERE to break up the fights before they happen. But I swear to you that Kale waits for me to be busy making lunch, or busy taking a pee, or busy answering the door and ZIP off he goes, opens the door to the room Mooki is sleeping in and attempts to sit on her head.

What’s that? Yeah. I know. THIS TOO SHALL PASS. Hopefully without stitches. Mooki is so good and uses appropriate language to tell him she’s not happy – first she yips, then she tries to escape, then she growls, then she attempts to escape again, and then she snaps. She’s never made contact on purpose and I actually half want Mooki to nip him. Kale learned really fast that the fireplace was hot by touching a finger to it one day and now has a very healthy respect for all fireplaces, on or not.

Anyway, this kid has had some sort of vocabulary zoom this past few weeks and now says (not necessarily a complete list, sometimes I forget what he can say): Moo-moo (which is what we call Mooki a lot), Moo, Mooki, Nanoo (banana), grape, bapple (apple), apricot, cucum (ber), mato (tomato), tato (potato), onge (orange), snack, Bonnie, Mama, Daddy, Sucky (his soother, and yes, that’s with a capital S because that thing might as well have it’s own personality), book, truck, car, look (usually looklooklooklooklooklook), wash, brush, sowee (sorry), pees (please), otter (water), milky (milk), bear, monkey, rilla (gorilla), doggie, kittie, puppy, chair, poo, ball, duck, didie (diaper), pants, ock (sock), coat, shoes, boots, moar (more), done, bath, e-yo (pillow), blankie, up, down, hug, kiss, and my absolute heart-melting favorite – nuggle (snuggle).

We’ve been so busy this past few weeks with house showings. We were given an (fairly low) offer on our place this weekend but after a bit of back and forth, we passed as it was simply too low, and because we haven’t found a house we want to buy yet, so we are still not feeling pressured to sell and feel we can wait. Showings are annoying – all of Kale’s toys are packed up in his closet, and so every day we bring out an assortment and everyday we put it all back. On the plus side, our house actually kind of looks like adults live here too, which is kind of nice, but it’s a hassle. Mooki has also selected this month to blow her coat, which translates to daily sweepings and at least vacuuming every second day in order to keep it in the spic and span shape I want it to be in for viewings.

We get lots of compliments on our house, and I’m flattered primarily because it’s mostly all me that has put it together the way it is (with Ross’ input too) and so when I hear how much they like it, I do feel pleased. But also, I think “then show me the money” because really, you don’t invite this many strangers into your house without expecting to have it bought, and it’s annoying to have to leave your house, baby and dog in tow, when it’s raining and cold because someone wants to check it out.

For Valentine’s Day, Ross and I went to the Cannery, which was a great brunch and we ate our fills and drank mimosas while Kale partied with Uncle Erik and Auntie Andrea.

This weekend is also another farmers market, in and amongst all the Olympic shenanigans going on in the Lower Mainland, and so my week feels busy and it’s barely begun.  I’m proud we’ve won the Olympic Hat Trick – one gold, one silver, and one bronze – but it’s business as usual in my world.

Speaking of which, Kale, Mr. I Need to Have A Nap Two Hours Earlier than Normal today, is now awake, not shockingly, two hours earlier than normal. Oh joy.

I’m currently planning a small vacation for our family, a vacation that will be all secret until it is actually unfolding. One of the things that I am working on is getting places without a car – and what to do about car seats. Kale’s car seat is the pretty popular Evenflo Triumph (ours is plain gray and black rather than patterned, but has the same features). We selected it, not because of any of the features, but because when we arrived at BabiesRUs to spend a few hours testing out, trying on, and comparing multiple brands of car seats, tiny infant Kale (who actually wasn’t that tiny since his little legs were so long he had already outgrown his infant car seat) decided it was an appropriate time to fill his clothing with an extraordinary amount of poop and Ross and I discovered belatedly that neither one of us thought to bring a diaper bag. You could tell we were new parents that day. So we did what any self-respecting new parent would do, and bought the cheapest car seat in the store, and figured we would return it if it sucked. Fortunately, BabiesRUs has a ridiculously generous return policy (see also: major corporation that throws away more than my annual salary in saleable products) and so we thought “buy the fricking thing and get the heck outta here!”.

The Evenflo Triumph, while large, and heavy, and not really suited to being put in and out of multiple vehicles, and while being adorned with a fairly useless cup holder, has done us well. I like the fact that you can remove all of the fabric quickly and easily for a wash, and that it’s simple to put your kid in it and tighten. Unlike a lot of car seats, this one has a knob you turn, rather than a strap you have to heave on. So, taking this car seat with us without a car, while do-able, sort of, is really something I don’t want to do.

It’s funny, you know? There was a time when I remember that my spot in the family car was sitting, seatbelt-free, on the centre console between the two front seats. I remember only being told to wear my seat belt when we were on the highway, as if only high speed accidents could claim lives of non-seatbelt wearers. I recall some cars I have ridden in that did not have seatbelts at all. In the 80s, there was a Canadian campaign to increase the use of seatbelts in cars, and it was highly successful – the US started copying it, actually. I don’t remember the last time I rode without a seatbelt, actually. No wait, I do. On my 16th birthday I got a ticket for not wearing my seatbelt in my friend’s stupid little Datsun – he told me it didn’t work so I didn’t put it on and we went through a roadblock and I got dinged – $67.

If there is any reason whatsoever why you are not wearing your seat belt in the car, well, you’re an idiot. I’m sorry, but you are. I caught this on Thingamababy, and thought I’d share it because I think it’s great.

Our house is officially on the market, it shows on the public and realtor listing sites, as well as our realtor’s personal site. We had the first showing today, and I was inexplicably nervous. There is another scheduled for tomorrow, and a third for Sunday. It’s unlikely that the first people to see it will buy it, but, as they say “it only takes one”. I’m worried we won’t find a place to buy ourselves and so we’ll be stuck, accepting someone’s offer, with nowhere to go. I worry we might have to try and find a rental, and if you’ve got pets or kids that’s not easy at the best of times, never mind when you only want to live somewhere short term.

It’s stressful, but I also think to the future when if I want to sew something it isn’t going to be this 45 minute long process just to find my sewing machine and set it up. I think about a YARD. And, space to play play play.

It balances out.

* * * * *

Kale has been pushing my buttons lately. It seems that as his sleep improves  - and it has as he’s sleeping most nights in his own bed almost all night – his less than desirable toddler behaviour has been rearing its ugly head. On more than one occasion I have issued ultimatums he can’t possibly understand, and on more than one occasion I have muttered some choice expletives under my breath after I have said for the ninety thousandth time “THE DOG IS NOT A TOY. PLEASE DISCONTINUE ATTEMPTING TO RIDE MOOKI LIKE A HORSE.”

Kale had a bit of a bad day today – Bonnie pushed him out of her way and into a dresser, and he banged his ear. Shortly after that, he tripped over me (you know, the one sitting in the exact same position for a few minutes) and banged his head again. And right after Ross got home, we were all goofing off in the bedroom and he went, as they say, ass over teakettle off the bed and landed like a lump.

Ross and Kale are at swimming and so right after I hit “publish” on this post, I’m going to lace up my runners and go for a run for the first time in about 2 years. I think my stress levels need some good hard exercise to help take them down a notch or two – not only has the house selling / buying got me all jangled up, but this delightful, expected toddler behaviour is just so dang irritating.  I don’t want to bark at Kale any more than I already do, and I think sweating it out is the right thing to do. I see glimpses of a me I’m not particularly fond of, and it needs addressing.

Before I go – if you haven’t seen this freakin’ adorable picture on my Facebook page, here it is.

BFF