Wednesday, May 20, 2009


Can't...walk...Can't... sit...legs...!!!
Damn... you... bodypump.

Oh look cake!

Monday, May 18, 2009

Hate is a strong word.

We think saying the word "hate" is worse than dropping the "f" bomb in our house. My five year and eight month old (yes it makes a difference until you're about 25 years of age) says "BAD WORD" whenever anyone says it and you would swear she had tourettes at my in-laws house because "hate" and "stupid" fly around like flies on shit in that house. Annabelle's eyes are always bugging out of her head at us every time she hears it.

I started working out at the gym around the corner from my house because being naturally thin seems to be a part of my past. I guess making homemade chocolate chip cookies and chocolate chip buns and anything with chocolate chips isn't helping either.
So today I took part in my very first "body pump" class.
I used REALLY light weights so as not to cripple myself leaving me couch ridden for a week.
That would be bad. I'd have nothing to do but eat more chocolate chip things which would defeat the purpose of working out to begin with.
Vicious circle.

Alisha was the class teacher. Great energy, clearly very fit and spoke often of her 20 month old child.


At one point in the warm up with my teeny tiny weights I almost passed out and the only reason I didn't was because I talked my way out of it.

Inside voice: "If you pass out with only five pound weights by your side even the old lady beside you will point and laugh. Suck it up!!!"

I'm scared of how I'll feel tomorrow, but I'm terrified about how I will feel in two days.
Second day always kills and I'm sore eight hours after the class!
So...I hate Alisha. If you're reading this Alisha, I'm sorry. Annabelle if you're reading this? Mommy said a bad word. But the mean mean Alisha almost made mommy barf.

I hate you so much Alisha...that I'll come back. You know why? Not for washboard abs or because I want t run a marathon. I'll come back because I want to eat chocolate chip things and I don't want to have a heart attack. That's it. I will take your class and try my best not to blurt out...

bad word!

Erin zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Speed Reading...PLEASE

It takes a village to raise a child...and a PVR to make sure you don't miss your favourite shows!

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


I never EVER thought I would be like "those" women who whip out their boobs in public and feed their child. I thought as a childless judger, they had bad timing. They were clearly not in touch with their childs feeding schedule and then would just selfishly think it's their right to just expose themselves and make the world look at busting milk bag.
Really, boobs are not at there prettiest when they are mad with milk.
They're monsters really.
I'm surprised my newborn girls weren't terrified by the swollen eggplant coming at their face.
Really nobody wants a woman to take it out and feed her one month old baby because it's not a pretty Pamela Anderson porn boob. It's less Playboy...more National Geographic. It's a monster boob with a nipple the size of a dinner plate and as brown as a well done steak.
I also was not gonna breast feed for a long time.
Maybe one year. Tops.
I'm a not tit witch.
Get the job done, do your duty, then feed them a sandwich.
Well the first one I breast fed for 18 months and she bit me twice. The first time I screamed. The second time she was done.
I'm still breast feeding my second one. She's 2 years and four months.
I know!
She loves the boob. I mean she LOVES the boob and I'm too tired to ween her. She loves the boob so much I was sleeping with my back to her and in the middle of the night I heard "boobie...boobie". My shirt was up and I 've got this mole on my back...
Yes that's right. She tried to latch on to my mole. Suddenly I was a thrity-eight year old woman with a back nipple. That's how much she loves the boob.
And you know what? I let her. I was so tired I let my child latch onto my back mole nipple. I thought this might work. I could give the ones in the front a break.

Oh and I feed her public.
And I love the looks of distain from the twenty-year-old high heeled childless judgers.
They'll get their turn.


Saturday, May 9, 2009

another single mom shout out

Oops, I forgot to mention another very cool single mother, my high school friend Jen who has two kids and just got her nursing degree this month.
I'm thinking of teaching an exercise class if there's time...

Mothers Day

Mother's day is tomorrow so, before I go on...

Mom I love you and thank you for being my angel here on earth. I keep trying to do right by you. My kids deserve the love and endless patience and support you gave me.
You made it look easy.
Way too easy.
I the hell did you make it look so easy!?

I still want to snuggle with you and share the ups and downs of my day because it makes me feel so safe. Nothing I could ever do would stop you from loving me.
I feel like I picked the best woman to be my Mom and every day I'm thankful.

Okay Happy Mother's day to all Mother's out there. We all deserve a day to have breakfast in bed, to not do laundry, to go to the gym, to get some cards and/or flowers and/or chocolate.

About once a week when I'm in the shit, I think "I don't know how single Moms do it?"

So to all my single Mama's like Mel at the drop-in centre who is raising her son on her own, is incredible at her job, who is positive and supportive to each and everyone of us and loves our children, I say thank you.

To Maia who lives in N.Y. and has two lovely kids while performing eight shows a week on Broadway in "9 to 5" and has the most incredible outlook on life, thank you.

And to my friend Stacey-Lea who suddenly became a single mom to two kids (nobody died, just a mid-life crisis) and runs her own business with the energy love and passion that would put most people to shame, thank you.

I am in awe of your strength and I am honoured to call you my friends.

To you ladies I say Happy Mother's day.

I will never complain again.
(for the rest of the day)


Sunday, May 3, 2009

Sometimes It's A Crappy Job

My two-year-old was in the tub and about 10 minutes into her bath as I was setting up the towel for the drying process I hear "Mama Poop Out! Poop Out!" I turn around and there is my angelic little girl being circled by a dozen of her own poop balls like a hungry pack of lions on a frightened baby gazelle. She had this look of horror on her face. The expression of the weak one in the herd that had wandered away from the pack. That poop didn't look all that happy either.
I quickly snatched her from the fecal clutches and called my husband. He rushed in, assessed the situation, considered his options, and took the clean toddler to diaper and get ready for bed.
I was left with the shit soup.
I had no idea how I was going to get the crap out. Oh did I mention there was three dozen bath toys amongst the dump. MOSTLY squirt toys.
I thought about using a spoon to scoop the poop, but anytime I'd eat a yogurt after the clean up I would inevitably think "is this the Poppy poop spoon?"
Or what if we had guests over and they needed a spoon for their tea or coffee? Shit spoon roulet.
So...I used my hand and scooped 9 mini dumps out the tub and into the toilet.
It actually wasn't that bad. I mean, she's my kid, right? This is family poop.
It's like when you have to pick up after your dog on your daily walk. When it comes out of your dog it's second nature to clean it up, but when you're forced to pick up an annoynmous doggy dump you're gagging all the way through it.
Mind over matter.
If that had been my nephew's crap I would've passed out. And that would be totally acceptable because he's not mine...and he's thirteen.
Erin zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz