Confession: I really want to be like June Cleaver

I really do. I want my house to be sparkling clean. I want my kid to never eat processed food. I want to have a hot meal on the table at 6:00 every night. I want to be involved in the community and the school when Pierce is old enough to go. And I want to do all of this while looking completely put together and beautiful.

Is this normal? I can't explain my desire to be this way other than I just want to be a really good wife and mother. I want to be the type of mom who bakes cookies, not buys them. The type of mom whose kids always eat the recommended amount of vegetables, or maybe not eats them, but always has them on their plates. I want to be the kind of wife who doesn't rely on her husband for anything other than to "bring home the bacon," do the manly jobs around the house like take out the garbage, shovel the driveway (when we have one), mow the lawn (when we have one...ugh...stupid condo) and open the jars whose lids are screwed on ridiculously tight.

I mean, I know that this is an unattainable goal. At least, I think it is. Is it? Is there anyone out there who can honestly say that they are a real life June Cleaver? I'm not trying to make fun, I'm honestly asking. If you are her (she?) will you please step forward and tell me a) how you do it; and b) if you ever get any time to yourself or to sleep.

Am I setting myself up for failure?

Crankopotamus

I want a crankopotamus for Christmas,
Only a crankopotoamus will do!
No whine-odiles, or fuss-aluffagusses,
I only like crankopotamuses.
And crankopotamuses like me too!

It's my birthday...

...and I'll post if I want to. Which I don't.

The end!

The 12 Step Program to Liking Snow

Have a baby.

Seriously.

Every year for as long as I can remember I have HATED snow since it is basically a tangible object that represented that which I hated most: cold and winter. Even when I was little, when it was supposed to be outside in my snow suit throwing snowballs and rolling up snowmen, my parents had to force me to go outside in the winter. I wanted to stay inside all the time.

The last time I remember looking forward to the end of summer was the summer of 2009 when I was hugely pregnant and hot and uncomfortable every minute of my life. (I hated being pregnant. I really did.) Of course, the weather getting cooler was the first thing I looked forward to, the second being my due date.

Pierce was born Oct 2, so he kind of missed his first winter. But this winter is going to be different. This winter, even though he can't walk and he doesn't really play with his toys so much as get into everything he's not supposed to, he'll play in the snow. At least once!

I don't know how it'll go. I'm hoping that if it's a fail, it'll only be a regular fail and not an epic one. But I honestly can not wait to get outside, sit him down in the snow and watch him play with it. He will most likely try to eat it at some point, but that's okay. I can't wait to watch him experience snow. Because, really, in Canada, all we have is Tim Horton's, hockey, and snow. And even you yanks have Tim Horton's now, so it's really just hockey and snow these days.

The Drunkard and the Water Bed - An Aesop's Fables of getting drunk

I was 18 - just one year shy of the legal drinking age in Ontario - but that didn't stop me. The plan was to go to a friend's house and have pizza and drinks. There were four of us, so two went to the store to get the alcohol - I gave them my money and asked them to get me a pack of 4 Smirnoff Ice and I went with another girl to get the pizza.

We went back to her parent's house who, by the way, were totally cool with us drinking at their house, and we sat on the back porch eating pizza and drinking.

We need to pause here for a moment so that I can explain. I know 18 is kind of old to be getting drunk for the first time, but my parents had never made alcohol a big deal in my house. I could have a sip or a whole glass of the wine they were drinking with dinner whenever I wanted. So, naturally, being allowed to have alcohol whenever I wanted made the idea of sneaking out to get drunk kind of lame. My parents have my first birthday party on VHS where my Dad hands me his bottle of beer and I quickly grab it and take a large swig. Also, I'm told that when I was 3 my Dad made some wine in our basement (wow, that sounds super legit!) and when it was ready my parents brought me down to help them taste it. I took a sip and immediately exclaimed, "That's not wine!" Ahhh...a wine connoisseur at the tender age of 3...

Anyway, we're on her back porch eating pizza and drinking. I finished one of my bottles of Smirnoff Ice and went into the house to get myself some more. It was not until then that I realized how drunk I already was. (It's always when you try to do something normal, like use the bathroom, that your realize, "Holy crap, I am really drunk. How did that happen?") I went in the door, into the kitchen and grabbed myself another bottle from the fridge and on the way out my friend's dog accosted me. I pretty much just stood there giggling until he left me alone and I could walk again.

By the time I was halfway through my second bottle I was pissed. It started to rain so we decided to go inside and I remember not wanting to go in because I felt too drunk to walk. Somehow we ended up inside, and I am guessing that I needed a lot of help. I don't remember a lot of what happened inside the house because I had finished the last half of my drink and was pretty trashed at that point. (I know, two drinks, cheap date or what?) I remember having my head down on the table and my friend's step dad asked me if I needed to lie down and I nodded my head, so he told me to go lie down on my friend's bed. Her WATER bed.

I went in a lay down and immediately passed out. I don't know how long it was until I woke up, but when I woke up the bottom half of my legs were hanging off the bed, which was quite uncomfortable, so I pulled myself up more on the bed, which of course caused the water in her water bed to make the bed rock. I just lay there hoping it would stop, wishing it would stop. Just then my friend opened her bedroom door and said, "How are you doing in here, sweetie!?" And just as she popped her head in the room I leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. I remember hearing her say "NOOOOOO!" and then I think they got a cloth to wipe off my face and I ended up sleeping on her bedroom floor, instead of the bed, that night.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen is why, if you are going to get drunk off of two drinks, you should NOT pass out on a water bed.

I'm Frustrated with Blogging

I'm sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'm feeling frustrated. I can't think of anything to write about and when I do, I can't make it seem interesting like anyone would actually want to read about it.

The truth is, my life is not that interesting. Shocking, I know. But the other truth is that I am afraid. I'm afraid to divulge too much information on my blog about myself and my family. It's scary.

Don't get me wrong, there are things that I want to share here. I want to share the intimate details of my PPD with you all. It was through another mom blogger that I realized I had PPD myself and I would love to pay it forward by writing about my struggles here, but...I'm scared.

And I know I've promised in the past that I'd be writing about our debt load but once again, I'm scared. It's embarrassing to put that out there for the world to see. We've been so selfish and irresponsible with our money. Plus, my mom knows about and reads this blog. (Hi Mom!)

I'm going to try and put in a real effort again. I'm going to go back and look at what I was writing about when I was writing more often. Maybe that will help me.

The Road to Recovery

I pulled into the hospital parking lot. I was expecting the hospital to be much bigger than it was. I found a parking spot, purchased a ticket and went through the doors that said Main Entrance. The first thing I saw was a big desk with a sign that read Information. "Good," I thought to myself, "I can ask there where I'm supposed to go." When I reached the information desk there was no one sitting at it. Disappointed, I looked around to see the sign for Patient Registration. I walked in and sat down. There was a box on a table across from the waiting area with a sign that requested that I put my health card in it. I wasn't too sure about that, but I reached into my purse to pull out my health card.

Before I could get out my health card, a woman approached me. She was small with a dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair. She wore glasses. She smiled at me and asked if I needed to register. I said yes and she asked me to follow her. I followed her to a little cubicle big enough for a small desk with a computer, a computer chair and two chairs facing the desk. It took me a second to decide which chair to sit in, but I finally sat down in the chair closest to the entrance to the cubicle. The woman and I made small talk. We chatted about the weather; it was raining heavily. I made some sort of remark that I don't remember to which she responded "You don't wear glasses." I remember thinking to myself, "How do you know I don't wear contacts?" She asked me regular questions like my telephone numbers, address, next of kin and emergency contact. Then she got up from her desk and brought me a blue card attached with a paper clip to a sheet of paper. She told me to come with her and she'd show me where to go. She took me through a short, narrow hall and on the other side was a wider, longer hall. She pointed to the end of the hall and told me to get on the blue elevator. I hesitated. "There will be signs for two north when I get off the elevator?" I asked. "Yes, there must be signs," she replied. I wasn't very confident with that answer, but I said thank you and went on my way.

I walked down the long hall toward the blue elevator. There were three of them at the end of the hall and one was already open. I stepped on and pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator door began to close and just as it was almost completely, shut, it quickly opened again. I looked out to see who had pushed the button to get on, but there was no one there. The door began to shut again, but once more, it stopped just as it was about to close and reopened. It did this one more time as I gripped the handle on the wall inside the elevator. I am terribly claustrophobic and the thought of being trapped in an elevator scares the shit out of me. Finally the door closed all the way and it began to move. It made a dinging noise as it arrived on the second floor and the door opened.

I stepped off the elevator and looked around. I saw the sign pointing towards 2 North and I walked in that direction, through a set of doors to a unit with a very large desk in the middle and hallways on both sides leading to many doors. There was a woman standing on the same side of the desk as me fiddling with some Christmas decorations. I stood there for a minute unsure if I was in the right place. Finally I took a step toward the woman and said, "Hello," to her. She turned and smiled at me. "Are you here to see Dr. Emelianova?" she asked. I said yes and expressed relief that I was in the right place. She took the sheet of paper with the blue card attached to it and motioned towards a small doorway with a sign that said Waiting Room on it. "You can have a seat," she said.

I went into the waiting room and looked around. There were about ten chairs in the small room. There was also a massive flat screen television attached to the wall. I was surprised that the room was so small. I took a seat in one of the comfier looking chairs and I kind of settled in. I was used to waiting around for doctors. I took out my phone to update my twitter.

Not long after I sat down a woman appeared through the doorway. She said hello to me and introduced herself as Dr. Emelianova. I shook her hand and stood up. She asked me to follow her to her office and I did. She led me quickly down the hall to her office. Her office wasn't far, but she walked so fast that I lagged behind.

The appointment went well. I like the doctor. She's easy to talk to. She took asked me about my history of depression and we went all through it. She took a lot of notes. We didn't get to finish everything in the allotted time so we booked another appointment for next week. I'm looking forward to it and I'm looking forward to getting better.

I am not a man

*telephone rings*

Me: Hello?

Caller: Hi, can I please speak to Devon?

Me: Speaking.

Caller: Oh, hi Devon, it's [name withheld] from [company withheld]. How are you?

Me: I'm good thanks. How are you?

Caller: I'm good, but I think I should be speaking to a man.

Me: Uhhh...nope. This is Devon.

Caller: Oh, uh...okay. So I'm calling about your interview.

Pause for some backstory: I had an "interview" for a company which I later found out to be a door to door sales pyramid scheme. I didn't go, and I didn't bother to call and cancel. I know, I'm a rebel like that.

Me: Oh, right, I'm sorry...[about to go into why I didn't show up]

Caller: That's okay! Is he there?

Me: Uhh...no...this is me, Devon.

Caller: Oh uh okay. Then why did you say sorry?

Me: Because I didn't show up for my interview...[starting to get really annoyed now]

Caller: Oh yea no, that's no problem...uhhh...

Me: *click*