Time, time, time. See what's become of me.

Yikes. I just reread my post from the 21st. Internet note: no more blogging after two glasses of shiraz (thank you HS's company for that extra Christmas treat), when I only have three minutes of free time, and when I'm feeling morose and sorry for myself (I'm sure the wine and the dinner time temper tantrum are what did me in). My birthday was fine. The babysitter (who we LOVE) came early, I had some lovely gorgonzola-drenched food, and we saw Walk the Line (great movie. Makes me want to download some Johnny Cash with my iTunes gift certificate -- thanks to my sister and KB). Thirty-four just seems like a blah age, and since we moved to Ottawa, I feel like my life has been placed on hold in favour of HS's career advancement. Which it has, let's face it. You see, we had to decide about our move to Ottawa before Charlie was even born, and I thought I would love being a SAHM (with a little freelance work on the side). I quit my horrible, horrible job with a Major Catalogue Retailer halfway through my pregnancy because I just couldn't take the stress, constant blame, and some truly evil coworkers. So I didn't have a job to go back to after my leave was up anyway. And while I do appreciate that I can take this time to be at home with Charlie, because it is a gift and not everyone has this opportunity, sometimes the playgroups and Gymboree and toddler music classes grate on my very last nerve. So I think that looking back on a year that was quite difficult (what with the PPD 'n' all) and looking forward to another year of better mental health but more of the same, it was getting me down a little. I need a list of goals that have nothing to do with motherhood. A little time just for me. I used to make a list every year of new things to do, and I haven't done that since Charlie was born (and the list for 2003 was all about getting knocked up and baby stuff). There's something to think about over the next week or so while HS is off, and I will have more time to myself. Speaking of the holidays, I have a to-do list that's all about getting ready to go to my MIL's tonight, and I have done none of it. Gotta pack, gotta wrap, gotta find the portable DVD player for the car ride.

If anyone actually reads this, I hope you have a wonderful, restful holiday season with those you love.

Merry birthday

I know it's way cooler to bash the holidays, but dammit, I loves me some Christmas. Seriously. I love the food and the family time, and I'm really looking forward to celebrating with a somewhat aware two-year old. I love his blase approach to presents and the glee that comes with ripping up tissue paper rather than the truck inside the gift bag. Charlie's birthday is two days after Christmas, and he's way more into singing Happy Birthday than Jingle Bells. My birthday, alas, is tomorrow, and for some reason I'm quite bummed about it. I usually force all the friends and relatives that I can to having dinner at my favourite dive restaurant in Toronto, Oasis, for yummy tapas and sangria. And then a movie of my choice. But this year I'm stuck in Ottawa. And while dinner with my hubby is always nice, it's just not the same.

I need to call in sick

Ugh. Can't think. Want to post, but oh the mucus. And the sore throat. And the aches and pains. Our entire household has been brought low by one seemingly innocuous toddler ear infection (and a weekend playdate with a cutie-pie who now has the croup). Good times, good times. Luckily HS stayed at home today with Charlie so I could stay in bed. If he couldn't (and he can't tomorrow), I don't know what I would have done. Let Charlie sit zombie-like in front of six hours of Dora? Perhaps.

So now a dinner of chicken soup and Neocitran. HS has taken Charlie out for dinner so I can get some rest (or, um, blogging time). I'm going back to bed. The computer monitor, she is swimming, not unattractively, in front of my eyes.

How many more shopping days?

This morning I was living one of those parenting cliches. You know the one: crowded mall just before Christmas, frazzled mom, shrieking toddler. Just throw in the fact that I looked distinctly unwashed, my outfit surely would have landed me a spot on What Not to Wear, and the toddler was not only shrieking, but sobbing, arching his back, and trying to launch himself out of my arms and on to the tiled floor.

Now in my defense — to those Bayshore shoppers who didn't hesitate to shoot me a "what kind of IDIOT tries to navigate Winners with a cranky toddler?" look of condemnation (I recognize that one, having fired it off indiscriminately pre-motherhood) — I try very hard to avoid such situations. Honestly. That's why I never take Charlie shopping in the afternoons if I can help it. Only a lack of basic nutrients will lead me to wrestle Charlie into a shopping cart post-nap. And this morning, all signs pointed to at least a half hour of holiday shopping: yes, Charlie was up early, but it was 6, not 5 a.m., he had been well fed and watered (thanks to a stop at Tim Hortons), he was happily chatting away to himself in his stroller just before the screaming started. And I still have no idea what set him off. So I dropped the lovely cashmere-blend socks I found and hustled him out of the store. And when setting him free from said stroller only led to more mobile displays of discontent, I promptly used my "parenting skills" (as in, I'm bigger than you kid and I can carry your writhing body and push a stroller and carry the world's most awkward and heavily laden diaper bag) to get him to the car where he promptly fell asleep. So I will battle it out with the weekend shoppers instead, sans Mr. Ticking Time Bomb of Irrational Fury. And people (read: the childless) wonder why I haven't finished my Christmas shopping.