Can never have too many blogthings

You Are 76% A Child of the 90s

Wassup!?! You remember the 90s like they were yesterday. And you're ready to open up a can of whoop-ass on any other decade.

Are You a Child of an 90s?

I remember squeeeeling with girlish silliness when my boyfriend could air guitar every note along with the Spin Doctors' "Two Princes."

You Are In a Decent Mood

You aren't turning cartwheels, but you're having a pretty good day. Some ups, some downs, but overall you're coming out ahead. And who knows? Tomorrow could be even better!

What Mood Are You In?

Yeah, that's it.

Your IQ Is 90

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Above Average Your Mathematical Intelligence is Average Your General Knowledge is Above Average

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Me? Illogical??

Fine.

Maybe I did use eenie-meenie-miney-moe on that prime number question, but a 25% chance was more than my own grey matter could have given me.

They haven't figured out

that sometimes Mama allows naughty foods in the the grocery cart to appease her own selfish desires. If I shove them far enough back in the snack cupboard anyway, chances are they’ll forget about them. Not exactly sure how long I’ll be able to pull off my child-tricking ways though…

See how smoothly and flawlessly the swirl coils itself? Notice the perfectly blended sculpture of peanut butter and strawberry jelly?


I suspect a consumable like this is intended for busy moms on the go. Busy moms who haven’t the extra 37 seconds to spread the nuts and berries separately on their own individual slices of bread. They lead fulfilling lives jam-packed with bridge clubs, PTA recipes swaps and scrap-booking parties. Me? I only rip it from the grocery shelves because it makes me happy.

I shouldn’t.

I suppose I should.

Sigh.

Like usual, my children will wake to find their mother in another high fructose corn syrup induced coma.

It’s nice that my Boy knows how to brew a good cup of coffee.

It's the same every night.

I promise myself I’ll make it to bed before midnight ten. Throughout the day I remind myself how divine the extra sleep is going to feel. I imagine the jersey-knit sheets against my freshly showered skin and the soft hugs of Willa and Camilla (my two favorite body pillas). Then I wake up every morning absolutely frustrated with myself (again) for not getting the rest I know I need. But I find myself comfortably nestled on the couch with my fuzzy blue sweater wrapped tightly, my laptop carefully balanced on a desk of pillows, the icy water within reach, G4 faintly substituting for the company of my baby, and allowing the warmth of quiet to lull me away. Away to a place to recharge and decompress – it’s three against one y’know and I’ve always gotta have my game on. The allure of three uninterrupted hours of calmness feels too wonderful a thing to be wasted on sleep.

I like unwinding with my older kids to a good book or movie – we watched The Never-ending Story tonight and yay! It’s almost as awesome as I remember. Valcor the luck dragon’s puppeteer could’ve used a few more puppet classes (he kept crinkling his nose and flaring his nostrils too randomly) but I was nonetheless filled with that same pure happiness I felt as a child watching him ride from the red sky. For me there’s an appeal in 80’s classics because the animation is still entertaining and (somewhat) believable, and also because the stories were complete. The fact that I’m digressing to discussing 80’s movies is a very clear indication that I did indeed stay up too late last night (again).

I’ve been nodding off parked in my favorite corner of couch cushions since 5:51 this morning – after resigning myself to bed around 1:00. I am no longer wading through the foggy trenches of Life With A Newborn and yet I’m still just as exhausted as if I were.

This shouldn’t be such a convoluted dilemma! Tell me to quit being such a ninny and simply go to bed earlier.

I’ll have to give this matter more consideration as I drive thru Tim Horton’s for my third caffeinated beverage in an hour. Think the other parents will notice if I take a power nap under a bench at the science center this morning?

Talking about Coffee

Back in the day (of needing coffee immediately upon painfully peeling my crusty eyelids open after another into-the-wee-hours-of-Tuesday-morning party) I gulped caffeine without any preference to particular brands or types. Caffeine sustained me through a Mon-Fri eight hour workweek, and provided me the energy to dance wherever I wanted. My responsibilities started with me and ended with my rent. I woke up each morning looking for sheer happiness and a world only for me. I thought I could have it too. I wanted to get my way. I believed pouty red lips would pay for my two large hazelnut coffee coolattas every day. Caffeine allowed me to be 21 and stupid.

And it was glorious.

Not unlike bungee jumping off a steep crag - only to realize midway down that I’m not actually wearing a bungee cord, I had a baby. A girl one. And instantly my maternal circuitry went haywire. The deeply buried mother in me was making her way to the surface – it would eventually take her more than ten years to finally rock the mom gig but that’s why children are made so durably (says I). She wailed at me and didn’t let me sleep the way I required, but I still wanted her in my life so badly; I had never felt this love and was blindsided. Have you ever randomly glanced at them and thought “I would die for you and I’ve only known you for two years”? But I still needed coffee. I was originally talking about coffee, right? I still needed it but for different reasons. It wasn’t all about me anymore. And never would it be again, but strangely and somehow contentedly, I was okay with that. I learned to enjoy the taste of coffee brewed at home and the occasional half ‘n half crisis. I thought you put it on the grocery list! I was starting to find joy not only in the caffeinated effects but in the smell and warmth of my first morning cup. It became more like a comfort rather than a necessity. Pair that with a drooling baby girl and I was taking my u-turn mornings in stride.

Ooh look at me! I’m in my mid-twenties and I like to pretend to be a coffee enthusiast! I even have my oversized Marden’s mugs! I would’ve argued that Chock Full O’Nuts had like way better flavor than Folgers. I’d sip coffee with my mother at her kitchen table or with classmates in the university lounge – heatedly discussing the conservative wave or the effects we’d felt from terrorism. I’d triumphed my way through the jagged caves of unexpected wonder and fright otherwise known as Toddler. I thought I knew a thing or two about coffee. My energy levels fluctuated alongside her growth spurts and additional molars, but I always found time to nap. Coffee had become less of a physical need and more of a nice social addition. A non-traditional student/single mother such as me found safe company in people around the coffee table. It was the “hump day” of my maternal workweek.

Je t’aime plus q’heure
Moins que demain

In the same way a good cup of coffee takes longer to brew, becoming a strong and confident mother is a journey in self awareness. I’m not even trying to be funny here. I am a transformation in decency and now I understand why people usually referred to me as that obnoxious girl. I need some cake to distract myself from remembering.

I guess I’m just wondering out loud if coffee can offer a window into the stages of one’s life. What does today’s coffee say about me? It might say “I’m a large Tim Horton’s, one sugar, six creams” and could that possibly translate into I’m so infuriated with our government that I’ll only drink Canadian coffee? (Rather Venezuelan coffee but you knew what I meant.) Just make mine creamy, nutty and sharp. I want it to clear my nose and linger on my breath. I can sip with my Husband or alone in my fuzzy white bathrobe. I can enjoy it with one child on my lap or all three. It’s become a part of my life that I don’t wish to quit. If only I could rest assured caffeine cured breast cancer, then I’d stop over-analyzing my addiction. I wonder how I’ll rationalize my relationship with Tim when I look back in ten years?