Does anyone else get a disturbing number of Lebanese or otherwise Middle Eastern men randomly asking to be their friend? Here’s the gem I woke up to today (click for a larger image if it’s too hard to read):
I haven’t ignored him or replied yet… I thought maybe someone here would have a super witty reply that I’d regret missing out on!
Thanks to a random comment on MSN from my mom, I’ve been eating peanut butter & apple sandwiches every day for the last three. Like, I even want to go grocery shopping just to pick up more apples to squeeze into a sammich.
Chris thinks this is repulsive — the combination of apple and peanut butter is apparently completely foreign to his Canadian upbringing, and he simply cannot accept this as a valid food item. Peanut butter belongs with jam, and apples are an entirely different entity. I discovered this years ago when I sliced up some apples for us to snack on and served them with a side of peanut butter. I consider his distaste to be just short of heathenism, to be honest.
So of course, I like to make my sandwich, sit beside him on the couch, and chow down, making sure to mention how wonderful and tasty the combination is. I’m looking forward to making them for Maia for lunches (I will also introduce her to such tasty things as: kielbasa, sour cream, and pomegranates, none of which her father likes) and then we can taunt him for only ever eating jam with his peanut butter.
Oh yes, I have many devious plans … !
Definitely starting to hit me. This is horrible because I spend a LOT of time at my computer on any given day 😦 Any suggestions (other than, you know, ‘get the fuck off the computer’ ?)
A sister of a childhood friend is pregnant. She (the sister) actually found me on Facebook, and while we weren’t ever close, we got along just fine. I’ve been keeping up on her little updates and commenting on her pictures (she just found out she’s having a girl, posted the ultrasound pic and a pic of her little baby belly), cheering her on and whatnot.
But the point of this post is that she hasn’t said a single thing to me about my pregnancy. I’m so insulted by this. She hasn’t commented on the fact that we’re both having girls, or asked how I’m doing, or said anything about my ultrasound or belly pics; in fact, she hasn’t communicated with me at all in the past month. I know she’s probably busy and excited, and I shouldn’t be insulted, but it just seems to me like if a pregnant “Facebook friend” is taking two minutes to post on your ultrasound picture to compliment you on how wonderful your incoming baby girl looks, the very very least you can do is reply in kind.
I guess mutual support is what the blogosphere is for. I love you gals :]
Man, I wish I were in the US today.
Enjoy your Thanksgiving dinners!
(Are Snoopy & the Woodstocks having beer and popcorn for dinner… ???)
Let’s face it: ever since the bump began to appear, I’ve been unfriendly towards any pants that weren’t made of flannel and clearly destined never to be seen outside of my home. Said pants have been equally hostile towards me. Oh sure, the “use an elastic hairband” trick stretched the life of my favourite jeans for a little while, followed by the “just leave everything undone and wear a long tube top to hide it” trick, but today I finally was forced to do the unthinkable: pull the BELLY POUCH pants out of my maternity clothing box.
The maternity clothing box in question is tucked into the far back corner of my closet where I do not have to ponder its existence. My cute maternity clothing has usurped the space in my dresser that was once reserved for stuff I shouldn’t have been wearing because it was too small anyhow. But the maternity box? It’s full of things that were (generously) donated to me by a friend in Vancouver and her friend who recently had a baby, and if it were summer, they’d be wonderful things. Or if I had a job where I needed to get dressed up. But since it’s winter and I’m unemployed, most of the items in there are not getting much love.
And then there are the belly pouch pants. These things are an affront to all concepts of fashion that have existed post, oh, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air years. Let’s talk a light, faded rocky blue. Let’s talk TAPERED LEGS. Tapered legs? WTF? I haven’t worn those in a long time, and I was reminded of why when I put these pants on: they’re horrible for my shape, and it feels like I have fucking shackles around my ankles. SHACKLES, people. Like it’s not bad enough I’m carrying a ball for a belly, now I get to feel chained to my ankles.
Now, speaking positively, the belly pouch itself? Not actually such a bad idea. I was vaguely impressed that it didn’t feel totally constricting, just incredibly … soccer mom. Also, when Chris came home and tried to put his COLD HANDS up my shirt and on my belly like he does (I guess he likes to make me squirm), the pouch protected me. That was nice.
A package from my mom waited at the post office, so I sulkily followed Chris out to the car, despairing over the fact that I could see the tongues of my sneakers as the Cuffs of Death strangled my ankles. I prayed no one would see me. I refused to get out of the car and made him go in to pick up the package. And you know what the customs label on the package said? “CONTENTS: 1 BLOUSE 1 JEANS”
SWEET BABY JEBUS, MY MOMMY IS A LIFE SAVER. And not the fruity round type, but the genuine “thank you for erasing all my despair and giving me a reason to live again” type. Although I like both. When I took these jeans out of the box, I told Chris, “My mommy loves me more than anyone in the world,” and he didn’t argue, because these jeans are gorgeous, fashionable, straight-legged, DARK WASHED, with a long “magic belly band” at the top and not a belly pouch.
I tried them and the blouse on. Chris promptly grabbed my butt and told me I looked goooOOOoood, and I sure as heck felt better about maternity clothing in general. I made him tell me like fourteen times how wonderful and beautiful his cute, curvy, pregnant wife is. Then, for good measure, when I tucked him into bed I asked, “Wasn’t that package from my mother wonderful?” and he confirmed that yes, indeed, it was.
Now I have pants I can actually wear and be happy in!
Everyone has been saying that I should get my husband, Chris, to help me out more around the house. Even Chris himself has said I should be more assertive. So, around 8pm, I walked over to him and said, “There are two things that should be done right now: the laundry needs to be folded, and the dogs need to go out. Which one are you going to do?”
He looked at me like I literally was a different person than I had been before saying that…. then he took the dogs out while I folded the laundry.
I think I approached that the right way 🙂 Go figure, I took it from parenting advice: don’t ask an open-ended question, ask one that’s easy to answer. “What do you want for a snack?” is going to be more painful than “Would you like an apple or an orange for a snack?”
Does the water beating down on my belly sound like a drum to Maia?
Also, I love my Dove waterlily-mint body wash. And it makes my skin all tingly, which is interesting.
I feel far more confident, comfortable, and attractive when I’m nude than I do while wearing clothing.
Except for when I have to step out of the bathtub, which is a proposition entirely lacking in grace.
And why do I have an intense craving for oatmeal cookies as soon as I sit down to type this post?
nothing can ever be easy for me
so i am anticipating a homebirth that somehow goes terribly wrong
what bad timing we had on this whole pregnancy thing
We got a letter early in the week saying that my visa has been approved. This is great! They wanted me to send them my passport (not so great), fill out yet another form (sigh), get yet more passport photos (I think we’ve taken 12 for this now, but of course not all at one time), and mail this to them.
Well, on Wednesday since we were downtown at the midwives place anyhow, we decided to swing by the OHIP office — that’s Ontario Health Insurance Program? Policy? whatever — and see what I needed to do to get the ball rolling with that. After a delightful 2 minute wait, we were called up to the counter. The lady there said (as we knew) that 90 days after my medical examination had been passed, I would be eligible for OHIP. So I showed her my letter from Immigrations Canada that states my visa is okay to be issued anytime before my immigration medical exam expires on August 10th, 2009 — and since exam results are valid for one year, this obviously means that my results were valid as of August 10th, 2008. Well, she doesn’t think this letter is good enough, so she goes to get the manager of her office. The manager not only doesn’t think this letter is good enough, but says he’s never even seen this letter before and this is definitely not the “written confirmation from Citizenship and Immigration Canada that you have applied for permanent residence in Canada and have passed the immigration medical” that is necessary for my 90 day waiting period to begin. They suggest that I get a form from Immigrations Canada that is specific to my medical results and bring that in, along with a few other items to confirm my identity and address, to begin the OHIP process.
Well, of course this is a huge disappointment. I start crying as we leave the office and don’t stop until we’re halfway home. All I can think about is the fact that some how, some way, no one out there is capable of helping me; the person I’m talking to is never the one that has answers for me, and I’m not going to have insurance when I give birth which means I’m going to have to do it at home because we can’t afford the $2500+ hospital bill.
When we get home, I email the office of Citizenship and Immigration Canada that has been handling my case and put in a request for the letter OHIP needs. They reply that they “do not provide any such service”. When I answer that they are Immigration Canada and hence they are the people that need to send me this form or, if they can’t, then it would be goddamned nice if they could point me in the direction of someone who can, they reply again that they “do not provide any such service” and that I should hurry up and return my visa materials to them. So now, I’m in limbo once again — this time for OHIP, not for my actual immigration. Monday I’ll be calling the help line and seeing if maybe, by some miracle, someone there knows what’s up. Someone somewhere knows what I need and is able to provide it, so I just need to find that person.
Anyhow, we had spotted a UPS store nearby and decided to use them to send my visa stuff out on Friday. After punching around quite a lot on her computer and saying she could get us a Monday, mid-afternoon delivery to Detroit (because it would be ‘significantly’ cheaper than a Monday morning delivery), she announces: “And it comes to… $46.21.”
What? For a business-sized envelope containing a single sheet of paper, a passport, and four wallet-sized photos? Why? “This is a courier service. There are handling fees, and this is a Monday delivery.” Right, because three days to get to Detroit is reasonable when it’s a three hour drive.
Chris says, “I work in the shipping industry, I know exactly how little space this envelope takes up on a truck and I know that you use sorting machines to handle where everything goes. There is no reason for it to cost that much.”
She says, “I don’t set the costs for UPS.”
Chris says, “Okay. We won’t be using UPS.” We get our things and leave, then head to the post office. We check on registered mail; they give us a “5 business day” window for a $7 fee… and when we ask how fast it would get there if we mailed it with their express mail service instead, we’re told again a “5 business day” window but $25. We go for the first option. How do these places even justify taking 5 days to send a letter to Detroit?
So yeah, that’s done. For now. We’ll see how things go on Monday.