Tag Archives: humor

My Little Chef

12 Sep

Aww look at him. You want him don’t you? Isn’t he just the cutest little chef you’ve ever seen? I love this little boy more than anyone (You know what I mean over-sensitive family member who may be thinking…hey what about me?!?!). He’s the very center of my world and my heart. But guess what? We have something in common and its more than our bloodline and the knack for sarcasm! Who’d have ever thought to have something in common with a 3 yr-old. But I do. We love to bake, and cook and have fun in the kitchen. This little man can whip up some mean muffins AND will help with cleaning up afterward. Give the kid a sponge and everything within his reach will sparkle, or, look very smeary and streaky… which just helps me to better see what needs to be cleaned right? Awww my little helper.

This is B on Mother’s Day this year. He wanted to do something special, so he cooked me breakfast! (With the aid of my rockin’ chef of a momma of course) The pictures below tell the story of the morning and his preparation of breakfast! He even got me slippers to ensure my “toesies stay warm while I wait”. Isn’t he the sweetest? He also showered me with jewelry every 30 mins for a couple of hours…this kid is amazing. *MUAH* Love him!

My little chef made Mother’s Day so special this year, and every time I get to bake with him is another cherished memory. I’ve started a category to place all of mine and B’s baking adventures, aptly named “Adventures in Baking”. I’ll be posting my successes and failures, with some accompanying pictures and stories. Especially when I’m featuring one of B’s creations as they really are quite delicious. Usually his baked goods are sugary and adorned with plenty of sprinkles! Because like B says, “Everyone likes sprinkles! Sprinkles make people happy, so we should always put lots on!” He consistently stays true to that mantra…. Below is B’s “Happy Cake” he made for T. We were going to be leaving for Washington for a couple of months and he knew his Daddy was gonna be sad. And B was right, the sprinkles did the trick! Although most of the sprinkles were dumped INTO the cake batter when I ran to the washroom for a moment… What we had left B decorated on top.

Anyways, I just wanted to introduce this new category as well as my ever-dependable and creative Sous Chef! Several posts to come as soon as I am allowed to start baking again. Have I told you lately that Concussions Suck Metaphorical Balls? (why oh why won’t my link work?!!?) I sure hope I recover at a more steady and quicker pace. My poor new Kitchenaid is tirelessly begging me to turn her on, and get her all hot from over-use. That’s right…she’s a bit of a baking-whore. Its ok though, she’s thoroughly wiped down and disinfected after every use. No need to worry about contracting baked-good transmitted diseases….

Concussions Suck Metaphorical Balls

12 Sep

Pardon my English (why do they always say French?), but they do.


Its been over a week since B danced attacked me and left me with a concussion. I have hated every minute of being bound to the house and to the couch in particular. I’m not the type of person who is content just lounging about doing nothing. Especially when the house is a complete wreck and I begin to smell.

And let me tell you, 3 days ago I smelled. Oh it was bad. I knew it was bad, I knew I should shower but I was so run-down that I just couldn’t find the desire to wash my parts. That was of course, until B snuggled up to me and then quickly pulled away stating with extreme shock, “Oh momma, your armpit stinks and the smell stung my nose! Look, see!” He then pulled up the tip of his nose exposing his “stinging nostrils”.  He’s 3 and speaks with utter honesty. He then proceeded to go into the bathroom and turn the bathtub faucet on… “Momma, come clean your stinky pits for Daddy get home!” He yelled. I showered. Thanks B, you’re a good son. =)

I have managed to sneak in a couple cheats while resting this past week. Beau and I made banana bread (I’ll post the recipe for you soon!) and granola bars (recipe to come once I work out the kinks), I talked T into taking me to a street fair which ended up to be short-lived as I totally couldn’t handle the noise and walking about focusing on things, and I managed to post about 9/11. I kept telling T “Just give me 10 more minutes…” as he eyed me and let out sighs letting me know he did not agree with my drawn out usage of “10 more minutes” equating to about 2 hours in all. What was he gonna do, take my laptop away? Pft, yeeeeah he wouldn’t dare. Not with the strange moods this concussion has triggered. I get a wee-bit enraged over minor things that really shouldn’t bother me. I’m hoping that goes away soon because with T’s odd sense of humor and ill-timed jokes, he could easily be the target of concussion rage. Would I legally be held responsible for bodily harm? Like if I threw a dagger or something at him? Could I plead Concussion Induced Rage, or Insanity? Hmm…I should look into this.

Well, with that all being said I am still recovering. But the good news is my speech has improved greatly as of today. Still slow, but I don’t come off as a person with a strange speech impediment anymore. I still have a constant tension-like headache, body aches, uncontrollable mood swings and a slight brain fog. But, I am better than I was last Monday so I’ll take it!


Thank you all for your continued prayers, good energy and thoughtful messages. I love every single one of you. Even the stranger who stumbles here by way of a search engine because of my tagline “balls”, I love you too. Feel warm =)




The Obvious Blues Amongst the Whites

3 Sep

I got to spend last weekend sans my wonderful son, and just with my wonderful husband. We spent the whole weekend celebrating our first year of marriage! I know to some people this is not an accomplishment but for us, it sure felt like one. I’m not saying it was challenging being married to T for a year, he makes life enjoyable! But we did have many challenges to face during the course of our first year as husband and wife.

We’ve been battling Canadian Immigration since March of 2010 and it hasn’t been easy. Its been stressful, tedious, unpredictable and expensive. To sum it up, the year hadn’t been a walk in the park of blissful newlywed love. But, it’s our passionate love for each other that gave us each the strength to continue fighting for our marriage and to keep our little family together under the same roof. The roof just happens to be foreign to B and I making challenges for us that most people do not have to deal with.

Good news is we are very close to submitting our Permanent Residency application after this coming week’s medical examination! So YAY!


Back to last weekend.

T fought for this celebratory weekend (literally it got ugly…lol). I suggested we stay home and not spend money, because that would be the more financially responsible route. But T was right, we deserved to celebrate our year together. As my mom put it, “You only get to celebrate your first wedding anniversary once!”. Of course, she was wrong and knew it once it came out of her mouth. “Umm Mom, this is my second first anniversary…” We shared an eye-roll and a giggle over that comment. But really, we owed this romantic weekend to ourselves.

My one requirement was that we go to a fine dining restaurant that would require us to “dress up”. I’ve lost 30 pounds this summer and have been eying a little black dress in my closet that hasn’t zipped in 2 years. After securing B’s care for two nights with his grandparents, some last-minute planning and reservations we had our weekend laid out…little black dress awaits!

I spent Friday’s late-afternoon primping which I don’t often get a reason or time to do. Oh it felt nice! I had forgotten how good it feels to do my make-up and hair and wear a pretty dress with high heels! I love heels and tonight I went with the 4 1/2 inchers…tall and sexy, that’s how I was feeling (yes, a tall 5’5). T of course made his dapper transformation in a matter of 15 minutes…so unfair.

We were about to leave for dinner when I realized I needed documentation of this evening. With some slight persuasion I managed to get T to knock on our neighbors’ door to ask her to take our picture. She was a bit shocked by our appearance. I don’t know if it was because she wasn’t expecting company or because I looked like a totally different human being. Nearly unrecognizable to myself, she very well could have been confused.  She agreed and offered her front garden as backdrop scenery.


Off we went to our 8 o’clock reservations at The Charles Restaurant in Niagara On The Lake, Ontario. Now, I picked this restaurant because the food looked amazing and it gave off an air of elegance in its period charm. It was obvious that there was a dress code, hence T and his tie. I was quite confident that we would be dressed appropriately and wouldn’t stick out.

We were a bit early so the well-dressed Maitre d’ led us to the lounge. The lounge had a subtle 1940’s feel with a long bar, reddish leather armchairs and antique round tables (picture provided by the restaurant’s website). We began talking about the building and how beautiful it was. Deciding which era we would want to live in if we could choose one. This choice was very hard for me as I appreciate many time periods. First I chose the 1920’s with the stipulation that I married rich to make it through the depression in class, T wouldn’t although that stipulation. So ultimately I chose to be born in the late 40’s so I would be of the appropriate age to enjoy the 60’s. The British Regency Era of the early 1800’s came in second. I have a slight love affair with the romanticized era due to my obsession with Jane Austen novels. T easily decided on the 1940’s as well. His reasons pertained to missing fighting in the war, listening to baseball games on the radio and enjoying life before gender roles changed and women were still “in the kitchen”. *Eye Roll*

We were brought into the dining room and seated at a cozy corner-table for two then promptly brought menus and drinks. The staff was so nice and attentive, as they should be with how much this dinner was about to cost us. Something you should know about me if you don’t already, I’m a bit of a food snob. Its true, I’ll admit it. I know the real value of foods and I hold chefs to a very high standard, especially in a place with a reputation for exquisite preparation. I expect perfection. And that goes for my cooking as well, I’m my biggest critic.

After we ordered we had time to take in our surroundings. The restaurant that used to be home to a wealthy family had kept a lot of its old-world charm. The owners had decorated exactly as I felt it should be with only slight touches of modern-day influence. It truly was the perfect setting I had hoped for, candles lit atop the fire-place mantle added to the ambiance once the sun fully set.

I looked around at the people who were dining along with us and noticed something. No one was dressed appropriately. One table in particular caught my eye. There were 3 men and 3 women, all in their early 50’s I’d guess. 2 of the women were dressed in khakis and cardigans with ugly brooches, gramma shoes. 2 of the men (husbands to the cardigans) were dressed business casual in dockers and polo shirts, comfy old man loafers. But the other couple, well, they looked like they just came from casual Friday on the farm. She wore a plain blue t-shirt and Levis, clogs. While her trendy hubby sported wranglers and a untucked button-down denim short-sleeved shirt, tennis shoes. Did I miss something? What were these people thinking? This is a very nice, fine dining restaurant and they are dressed like they are going to The Olive Garden. I didn’t get it. No one seemed to be dressed as I thought a place like this would require.

When I asked T if he found this odd he simply glanced around and said with a bit of a chuckle, “Why would they dress up? They are just here for Friday night dinner.” I didn’t get it. He noticed my confusion and said, “Hun, look closely at the people eating here. I can guarantee you they are all white-collar, we might be the only blues in here.” I took a good look at all of them again and ya know what? T was right. (It was all made even more apparent when we realized the only other men wearing ties were the fellow blue-collars; the Maitre d’ and waiters.) These were businessmen coming from the office to grab a quick bite with their friends or significant other. The fact that the plates ran around 25-60 dollars didn’t make this restaurant special, it just meant the food would be acceptable and the service to their liking. This was as T stated, just Friday night dinner to them. It was now very obvious to me that we stuck out. I now know that dressing like you’d imagine white-collared people to dress, only puts a huge neon sign above your head that reads “I’m Blue”. Not that I care though, I’m proud of everything T and I have and the life we are making for ourselves. I also felt super-fly and nothing would prevent me from getting my sexy on, even the neon sign. I was making those lights look good….!

I pointed out Mr. Denim and his matching wife as I just couldn’t get over it. T leaned in and said, “I’d put money on him being the most wealthy white-collar man in this restaurant.” We shared a laugh. It really was funny. Here we were breaking the bank while they ordered bottles of vintage wine that easily cost more than 10 times our entire bill. Regardless of their social status, I still found their attire a bit insulting to the establishment. I let T know that if he ever crossed over into white-collar status that he wouldn’t be allowed to wear jeans to classy places and that I would still spend hours getting ready, just wear more expensive clothing and jewelry…maybe higher heels too. T disagreed with me and said, “Sure honey, wear what you’d like. Whatever makes you happy. But by the time I would cross over into white-collar status I’ll have paid enough dues in this blue-collar get-up that you can damn well guarantee I’ll wear whatever the heck I want…even jeans with tennis shoes.” He paused, “But I’ll leave a bigger tip.” He had a point, I didn’t argue.

We enjoyed our evening thoroughly. We ate delicious food that did not disappoint my palate in the least. T ordered scallops (which I happen to be allergic to, no fair) and he started eying my lamb shortly after I began eating. Third bite in, “Are you going to finish that?”. Oh T, my eater. His wish was fulfilled as I rarely am able to finish a meal and he happily cleaned off my plate. We had great conversation, free from the interruptions of our wonderful but rambunctious 3-year-old. It was the perfect night by my standards and I was so happy T persuaded me to “forget about the money, and just relax”.

Thank you T for being the sexy husband of my dreams, the hard-working provider that our family needs, the best friend that I desire, and the awesome dad that you are to B. I am grateful for your constant support and companionship. You bring me laughter every day and I can’t ask for more than that, but you willing give me even more. You help me grow as an individual and challenge me. I am ever-appreciative of your different views and your ability to help me see situations from a new perspective. You are my perfect match in all things, even arguments and debates. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I love you, and look forward to every day I am blessed to be your wife.

August 29th, 2010

The “I’m in Love” Card

2 Sep

Usage Guidelines: To be used when you are in love and unable to function like a dependable, level-headed person

Expiration: When the side affects of being in love wear off

Oh how I love being in love! Is there anything better? I’d have to answer with a “No”. Love is what everyone in the world lives for. Even the most horrible people in the world crave to be loved. I bet if all the horrible people in the world had found love early on in life, they would only be half as horrible. I say ‘half as horrible’ because lets face it, some people are just destined to be horrible…no amount of love could take that away. It’s not a miracle cure people.

Being in love seems to have an annoying effect on some people though. I’m sure at some point in my many bouts with being in love that I exhibited this chemical reaction that manipulated my ever-dependable self into a forgetful fairy.


You happen to meet an amazing guy during the Meet & Greet session kicking off a weekend spent at a boring work convention. He sweeps in and saves you from dying of boredom while the key-note speaker was covering “The Six Types of Chemical Reaction”. Before you know it, 3 weeks have passed and you’ve been on 19 amazing dates (and counting). Every date seems magical, he must be some sort of demigod. And you’re guessing he must be of Greek descent as he’s chiseled like Heracles. The man-god has captured your very soul, everything you are is now ever-consumed in all things Heracles, or Jason, or Zac…whatever his name is.
You find yourself forgetting to eat, being unable sleep, or return phone calls and text messages to those people who keep haranguing you via technology. Hmm who are those people anyway? … OH! Right! My friends! And those other ones I’ve known my whole life…right, my family. But even now with the remembrance of the other people who exist in your life, you somehow seem to forget about them as soon as wonder-boy text messages you a ❤ totally out of nowhere! Awww, I ❤ you too Herckie! Or Marc, or Nathan….whatever his name is. ❤ ❤ ❤ What was I doing? … Oh right! Making a picture collage with the 15 photos I have of Heracles and Myself, I mean, Matthew errr Carl. …Where did I put my glitter pen???

Two more blissful weeks in Grecian Paradise pass by. You’re so in love that you’ve lost 6 pounds and your skin is literally glowing from the contact of his superpower infused lips. Life couldn’t get any better! But something does feel like its missing, what am I forgetting?….Oh right! I almost left for work without my cellphone! Oh that would have been unbearable!

You wander into work singing Berlin’s “Take my breath away” imagining your lover in a leather jacket like the one Maverick wore. You hit the chorus “Take my breath awaaaaaaaaaaay…”  as you enter the break room for your morning coffee, but you are met by familiar faces instead of the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed Starbucks. Some of these people are looking down intently at papers held in their hands, others give you sideways glances and judging eyes. Oh that’s just my Mom, she lives in Peru. Mom?! You take the room in completely and realize these are the faces of your friends and family, and your boss. What is going on? “Did someone die?” you ask totally confused but wondering somewhere in the back of your mind what size leather jacket Mr. Romance would wear…?

Your boss steps forward and says, “Marsha, we’re all worried about you. You aren’t returning phone calls, emails, or texts to the people who care about you. You’ve been floating around the office humming love ballads and reciting scenes from the movie Dirty Dancing in the front entrance fountain after work, sometimes during your lunch break. For some reason you keep calling our male clients Heracles. Half the time it doesn’t seem like you are here, well your body is but your mind is far away. Everyone is here to support you, we would like to offer you a gift and we hope you will accept it.”

Your mind is reeling. What is he talking about? Everyone is staring at you like you’re crazy! Why is my mom crying? You begin to think about the past month and 1/2, trying to make sense of it all. Why are they so concerned? Sure I haven’t seen them much or at all, and maybe I’ve developed an infatuation with Dirty Dancing… But all I’ve been doing is… Heracles. I mean, Sean, Percy, err Dan. Him, that’s all I know of this past month or so. Oooh I love him ❤ ❤ <3, I should text him, I miss him! That’s when it dawns on you.

You’ve been so wrapped up in being in love that you’ve forgotten all about the other people in your life and the job you take pride in being good at, and pretty much all other reality outside the realm of Grecian goodness.  You take a good look around the room, at the faces of the people you now realize you’ve missed. You begin to feel bad for ignoring them and making plans with them so they would leave you alone, only to stand them up repeatedly. Oh how horrible you feel about it.

Your mom steps forward, next to your boss. Your boss awkwardly places a hand on your mom’s shoulder. Is he consoling her? She reads from her paper, “Honey, we know of your addiction and we want to help. We’ve pulled all of our money together and we’d like to offer you the gift of recovery. Please take this gift, I want my daughter back. We all want you back in our lives. This addiction is consuming you, and we miss you. Please.” *Cue more tears*

Addicted?!? They think I’m addicted! Of course they do, well, I guess I am… But not like how they think. You take a deep breath, and then play the only card you can in your defense. “Everyone, thank you for your concern. Mom, you really didn’t need to come all this way… (people begin to mumble angrily, and crinkle their papers) I sincerely apologize to each and every one of you for my poor behavior recently. But I do not need to go to rehab. I am not addicted to any substances whatsoever. I promise you. I’m… I’m just… (spit it out) I’m in love.”

*Queue Curtains*

We’ve all been there before. Ok, maybe not in a fountain reenacting the lake scene from Dirty Dancing and facing an intervention but you get what I mean. Being in love can become all-consuming to the point that you neglect everyone who was in your life previously to Mr. Wonderful. When faced with the accusations of your shortcomings in other relationships, pull out the “I’m in Love” card and hope that whoever you give it to will be understanding and forgiving. But there is an unspoken rule: No repeat uses on the same person. They will only accept this card once. Next time, they’ll just be pissed off and annoyed and you’ll have some making up to do.

The “I’m Pregnant” Card

19 Aug

Usage Guidelines: To excuse any behaviour not conforming to society norms OR to scare a partner into commitment (you are a horrible person)

Expiration: The day you give birth (follow-up with “I’m Sleep deprived” or “I’m Depressed” cards)

All of you women who have been knocked up, you know where this is going.

Hey “I’m pregnant”, I’m eating for two! *stuff face repeating without guilt*

Hey “I’m pregnant” so please excuse my bipolar tendencies! I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t care about your 12-year-old dying cat. And I really didn’t mean it when I said I’d rather be friends with a mute than listen to your hyena-like laugh. Really, it’s just the hormones talking! …Liar! You know you don’t care about the dying cat.

Hey “I’m pregnant” now feel obligated to marry me even though I know you aren’t ready for the commitment but I feel insecure in our relationship… Shame on you.

Playing this card in the first two ways are perfectly acceptable game play. But the third way is grounds for disqualification in my rule book.

We all use the “I’m Pregnant” card in the first two ways to some extent. When you become pregnant its like getting a free pass to forget about the problem areas, the scale and watching your tongue. Yes, some of you women have more restraint and get all “Nutritious” and “Exercise”-y, but the majority of us indulge! All you can eat buffets, Giving into cravings, living in the most comfy sweat pants ever, giving in to emotions and speaking your exact feelings right when you want to. It’s the one time in our lives where we can get fat and not be judged by society. Just remember ladies, only 20 pounds (on average) comes off with delivery. Once that baby is out, society and your doctor will have something to say about the aftermath.

I’ll admit misusing the “I’m Pregnant” card to excuse my behaviour. Anyone who knows me knows I speak with blunt honesty and have no “filter” as I like to call it. Being pregnant gave me a way to justify my harsh words and the actions that followed. It was nice to the “I’m Pregnant” card instead of accepting full responsibility for the lack of grace in my behaviour towards the people in my life. And the occasional stranger…

Word to the wise:
Use this card if you so desire. But the effects of its usage will not disappear once the pregnancy end. You very well could be unhappily and unhealthily overweight without a friend in the world who cares.

I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for using the “I’m Pregnant” card to justify my sharp tongue and ill willed actions. Whatever I said or did when I was pregnant was because that’s actually what I wanted to say or do.

Hmm… Doesn’t make it better but at least its honest! =)