Yesterday may have sucked more than... Well that's just going to end in a very raunchy way, isn't it?But despite all the chaos of lost keys, desperate searches in frigid temperatures, sick children and numerous tantrums, one good thing did happen: Spawnling celebrated his two month birthday! Look at him jumping for joy! That, or he's trying to jump out of my arms in an attempt to escape my un-showered, new mommy stench.
He may have been planning an escape from Momcatraz yesterday, but let me assure you that he's since decided being an inmate has its perks. The Drooling Wonder hasn't left my arms all day. His first cold has made him just a wee bit grumpy. By 'a wee bit', I mean the only time I've been able to have my hands free is when I'm changing his diaper. Which basically means that I never have my hands free except when I'm wiping someone's ass. Not much of a break by most people's standards, but I'll take what I can get.
So far I've loaded the dishwasher, done a load of laundry, made two meals for Gutsy and myself, ate both my meals, talked to an upset friend and have had two cups of coffee - all with a baby in my arms. I should charge admission to my freak show.
Meanwhile, Gutsy has had one enormous tantrum over... *drumroll* ... me wanting him to say 'Mom, can you make me some nachos, please?' Power struggles with four-year-olds are really, really fun. Especially when they're sick, their baby brother is sick and they scream so loudly they wake said brother after you finally get him settled down (by 'down', I mean 'in my arms'. Not really down or I wouldn't have spent all that time writing the last two paragraphs and coming up with original wording, like 'Momcatraz')
It may sound like I'm being very negative in my thinking, but I'm viewing this as something positive. See, if everyone is sick now, then they're more likely to be healthy over Christmas. If things are crappier now than a cow pasture in the springtime, then surely they'll only get better before the holidays. We're in for tranquil waters after the storm. The sun will rise again. God never gives you more than you can handle. I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts.
(I ran out of positive sayings. Although I suppose having a lovely bunch of coconuts isn't a bad thing. Especially on an island where such things are highly valued.)
On the Christmas shopping front, things aren't so bad. I only have a handful of gifts left to buy, including my very favourite thing in the world: stocking stuffers! Who doesn't love them? They're the very best part of Christmas because they generally contain the very best food group: chocolate. In fact, stockings without chocolate are a complete waste. At least 30% of the oversized sock should be filled with it, nothing less. In particular, Terry's Chococolate Oranges are an absolute must. Christmas balls that look like a holiday version of chocolate easter eggs are also important. Throw a mini Toblerone in and I can even forgive the Best of Michael Bolton CD Santa put under the tree. Christmas is all about the well-stocked stocking.
Speaking of gifts, The Sister sent around her Christmas wish list today in a group email. She listed off CDs, DVDs, books, kitchen accessories and even a new kitten named Spenny (to go with her and her boyfriend's existing cat, Leni. Most Canadians will get the joke).
So, being the nice sister that I am, I replied to the entire group with the following:
No wonder you're the favoured child. I can never pick from your humble wishlist. This time it's a toss up between 'scarves for the homeless' and 'two acres of rain forest'. You make us all look so damn selfish *sigh*
(Why do I have a feeling I'm going to get a dead rat for Christmas from you now? haha)
I'm DYING at Leni vs. Spenny. I think I might just get you a cat named Spenny. Or I can rename that scary cat in your basement and just bring her over to your boyfriend's. Problem solved!
Scary Basement Cat is only scary because she's disabled, you understand. Disabled = scary when it comes to cats. My parents have a very bad habit of taking on handicapped, er, differently abled animals. Their old dog had only three working legs. What did they name her? Cassidy. Yeah, like hop-a-long Cassidy.
And you thought I was cruel because I choose to be this way. It's all about genetics.
And then, one day my dad gets to work and finds a kitten frozen to the front steps. He takes her to the vet, where she's diagnosed with severe frostbite. I can't remember if it happened on its own or with 'help' from the vet, but the tips of her ears and half her tail came off as a result. She then became a housecat (do you blame her?) and spent her days roaming the three floors of their house. Until my brother, Hefner, got a hold of her.
Hefner, you may recall, is also differently abled. He has Downs Syndrome and he loves animals. Most of all, he loves to play with animals. A few years ago, in Hefner's world, animals liked being carried in a headlock. They liked being put into the drier (when it was off, thankfully). My parents quickly stopped his 'playtime' and taught him how to properly play with house pets, but by that time it was too late. Cassidy remained social, while the cat decided that frostbite plus overfriendly owner was enough to make her hide in the basement until he went to bed.
The dog went to doggy heaven not too long ago and I kind of miss her. However, the cat terrifies me because she now makes her way upstairs and rubs up against my legs when I have my back turned. Then I jump because I forget there's a cat in the house, she jumps because I jumped and she gives me the evil eye before running out the room with her half ears and half tail. Hence: Scary Basement Cat. I think it suits her more than Tigger.
My presence has been requested by a now calm four-year-old for a snuggle on the couch. Must not pass up these wonderful moments. Plus, there's Fourbucks Christmas Blend brewing in the kitchen. Life is good.