Things I've discovered....

...about myself after returning to work after maternity leave.

1. It has taken me 9 days to re-stock a drawer in my desk with junk food (i.e. butter creme fudge & mini Rolo bites). I may still not have bothered to find myself a calculator and/or white out....but if you need a mid-afternoon snack, I'm the girl to come see.

2. I spend an equal amount of time doing actual work as I do Googling things (i.e. "Christmas punch"+recipes+alcohol), checking Facebook and reading up on celebrity gossip (all in the name of "show prep" of course).

3. Having a child kind of does something to your brain. You know when you have a bad day at work and you just wish you could quit? Well, now that I've had a baby, it sort of puts everything in perspective. I know that if I get that miserable at work, instead of stewing about it and being upset and stressed out and feeling trapped and wishing I could quit....now, if it really got that bad, I would just.....quit. But you kind of realize that really things aren't that bad. Being a parent sort of makes you realize that in the grand scheme of things, the annoying things that make your day at work, into a bad day at work, aren't really that big a deal. And while I would rather be spending my whole day at home with my baby instead of at a job, I am in an exceptionally good mood, feeling lucky I have a job where I get to share ideas, feed off other creative people, and try new things. It could be worse.

4. I'm not the only girl that pees in the staff washroom while running the tap the entire time. Hollah Daryl Morris. Co-workers do not need to be subjected to the noises resulting from the bodily functions of other co-workers. Ever.

5. I pay very little attention to what I'm wearing. I try to look nice & presentable when I arrive here at 7:45 a.m.....but usually by 8:15, I've removed any jewllery I put on that morning and my hair is being tied up in a messy bun. also, I changed into my huge winter boots at one point today so I could run some errands. That was 4 hours ago and I just realized I"ve been clomping through the station hallways all afternoon, having never bothered to change back out of them. It's not a good look.

I know....

.....that I'm not getting enough sleep.

Exhibit A - the label I made for the leftovers one night before putting them in the freezer:



Now, whenever the Boy & I say "cheese sauce", we use an Italian accent and call it "CHESSA-Sauce".

I heard a news story....

....about a new business in the area that was holding an open house to welcome potential clients.

Right away, I became to tremble violently, thinking of my one and only misguided and embarassing attendance at an open-house event.

My childhood best-friend and I (who I had the pleasure of reconnecting with this past summer after years and years of living in different countries and losing touch) were big animal lovers. So when I saw a poster at the local Giant Tiger advertising that a new vet clinic was opening in a neighbouring town, I just new we had to be there. In my mind I likened it to a debutantes ball. Anyone who was anyone would surely be there. It was going to be the event of the summer.

I mean, who would pass up a sweltering hot & humid mid-summer afternoon, in a new office, smelling of fresh paint, cat pee and antiseptic? Not this awkward, and misinformed, firzzy-haired, gangly 12 year old, I can assure you. And not my best friend Tina either. I convinced here that there could be some important people there, people we should know. Maybe we could even get jobs there. And if nothing else, there would be some animals on display, right? Isn't that what vet clinics were all about? The poster also advertised free coffee and snacks, but I was more in it for the possibility of getting to lay my hands on some poor creature. Nevermind the fact that we had 2 dogs and a cat of our own at home. This could lead to something big.

Imagine your 12-year old daughter walking out the door, dressed in a poor excuse for early 90's business casual (Double Whammy: pleated and baggy up top, yet still tapered at the bottom floral print, tan coloured corduroy pants, a long sleeve button up blouse, brown loafers and hoop earrings) on a summery, Sunday afternoon, happily swinging my purse, which contained nothing but a chapstick and a banana clip. Whose parents would allow this, you ask yourself? Oh, that's right. Mine.

Sidenote: Considering my fashion sense based on the above outfit, is it any wonder that the following summer my father asked me if I was gay?

I walked over to Tina's and as we admired how mature and downright rad we both looked, we waited for her dad to drive us over to the new vet office.

I won't bore you with the details but suffice it to say, the open-house was not what we expected. The 2 staff were nice and didn't get angry or even really acknowledge the fact that two demented pre-teen girls in really weird clothes were hanging around the office, without any parents in sight, doing nothing in particular. I think at one point, we began to feel a bit odd and we decided to stand in a side hallway and have a lively, albeit very hushed discussion about the row of cat cages affixed to the wall. They were empty I should point out. There were no animals in to be found. Possibly because it was an open house for a new business that had yet to start seeing patients. Anyways.

I can't say there is a direct corrolation, but this story may lend itself to somewhat explain why I went another 3 years before ever having a first boyfriend.

I have a well documented history....

....of falling. While most people seem to have an innate understanding of Newton's law, and the ability to remain upright, I do not. Allow me to re-cap merely a few of the incidents that have occured in the past 36 months:

1. I once fell 3 times in the span between my parked car in the driveway and the front door of my home, a distance of approximately 40 feet. Granted, it was winter, my hands were full, the walkway was snow covered and my feet were what would later become known as the "Danger Boots". But still.

2. This one was only a near-fall. I was crossing the street to work with a piping hot coffee in my hand when I slipped and grabbed ahold of the nearest body, should I need someone to break my fall. Unfortunately, the nearest person was an elderly woman. No, I am not beyond bringing an osteoperosis-ridden senior down with me. I am not a good person.

3. When I fell in an aquantance's kitchen, in full view of 3 or 4 men in the adjoining living room. On this occasion, I brought down a kitchen chair with me, sent another careening across the room, but managed to not spill even a drop of the bloody mary in my hand. (I should note that unlike many of my encounters with the floor, this one had nothing to do with alcohol however).

4. About 2 hours after finding out I was pregnant I slipped in a puddle of dog pee and landed flat on my ass. The boy simply looked away and shook his head.

*It bears noting that I fall so often that people around me seem to have become de-sensitized to it and no longer express alarm or concern for my well being. Trust me, this says more about me than it does about their character.

5. Last fall while visiting some of the boy's relatives in a neighbouring town, I managed something new. I feel from a sitting position. While poising myself to get up from where I had been perched on their porch steps, my flip-flop clad feet skidded out from underneath me and I literally summersaulted down 3 stairs, absolutely demolishing two of the homeowner's potted plants in the process.

That brings us to yesterday's incident. I must preface this tale by saying that normally the Boy is one of the kindest, most thoughtful, caring people I've ever met. So please do not let the following cloud your perception of him.

He had removed our back deck stairs to access something underneath. He then reattached them temporarily so we could still get to the yard, but so they could also be re-removed if required. He assured me, however, they were safe. I believe my verbatim response was, "Good, because if anyone will fall down them, it will be me."
Not even an hour later, I would realize what a gross understatement this was. I didn't just fall down the stairs. While clearing the patio table, I inadvertently brought my heel down on the "very safely secured" (the Boy's words, not mine) edge of the top step. An eight of a second later, me & my armful of empty dishes were 3 feet down, legs splayed in the air, stairs completely obliterated, covered in mud, bruises already beginning to form.
This is when the boy appeared above me (it's always more humiliating to be berated when someone is standing above you, isn't it?) and shouted, "What the hell are you doing?!".
As if I had intentionally thrown myself off the deck, destroying a deck chair and scattering some two-by-fours in the process.
I calmly explained that it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't even been trying to use the stairs, I reminded him of the fact that while he had assured me of the stairs safety, I could have been seriously hurt and that his reaction was somewhat unexpected and hurtful.
At thi spoint he turned to walk back inside to resume whatever he had been doing before I so rudely dragged him away. Over his shoulder I hears him say, "Wipe yourself off before dinner, you've got mud all over you."

Ahh, true love.

I came home....

...from the cottage to some disturbing news. The boy had picked up a Roch Voisine cd at a yard sale. When I asked him why (and secretly hoped he would laugh it off, indicating he had made the purchase purely for irony's sake) he said that there was a really good track on that album.

Let it be noted, that while I have never actually broken up with a guy over his musical tastes, I have certainly been turned off enough to learn of a potential mate's less refined musical appreciation, that I have immediately relegated perfectly good men into the "friends only" cetegory. I am a music snob, have been for years.

Now, I am able to make certain concessions. For instance, I understand the Boy was born almost a full decade prior to myself. Based on his being born in '72, his muscial likes & dislikes were pretty well being cemented during the early to mid-80's. This could be either very good or very bad. In his case, it's both. He likes some great bands. One of his favourites is The Cult. This is, in my opinion, good. Another one of his favourite bands is Def Leppard. This I can let slide. Now, having recently learned that he also likes a Roch Voisine song...well, this could be grounds for termination of relationship.

I'll let you know which way things go.

It's become...

...somewhat of a yearly tradition during the annual trek to my college reunion at the cottage.

Each year, within 5 minutes of departing, a dog barfs in the car. This year, the honour was Oliver's.



Thanks for keeping the streak alive buddy.

Apparently the boy & I....

happened to come across the worst artist in the history of busker festival caricature artists.



She sketched me with an uncanny resemblance to Danny McBride.



Thanks for the ego boost lady.