The Six Stages of A Box of Chocolate

1. Denial:

These things are tasty. I have a whole box. I can eat six or seven of these babies and no-one will be the wiser


2. Anger:

There is no way I have already eaten half a box. Someone else has been eating my chocolate.


3. Bargaining:

As soon as I finish this box, I will be done. It will be the start of my healthy lifestyle. Chocolate will be replaced by kale. Caramel by spinach. I should eat more to make this happen sooner.

4. Satisfaction:

Done with you! You no longer have control over me dastardly turtles. I ate you and all of your friends!


5. Depression:

I miss you guys.


6. Acceptance:

Money can be exchanged for goods! I will buy another box. Hooray!

The Third Baby Myth (or Sleep is for Suckers)

As my last update was basically two years ago, a couple of things have changed. Shockingly, my children who were 1.5 and 3.5 are now 3.5 and 5.5. Wait, there’s more. My cat, formerly fifteen years old, is now seventeen. Also, I had a baby. Have a baby. She is seven weeks old today. I know what you are thinking, that having a baby has made me even smarter, wittier and more coherent than ever (as that was an actual attempt at humour, you can now cross wittier off the list)(and coherent)(and smarter will be taken care of by the end of this blog post).

In truth, having three kids has been the same as having two kids, but with one third more kid (thus leaving me with one third fewer brain cells) (luckily I had 9 left at the time of her birth, so there was no messy division).

There is this myth that the third baby is going to be an easy one. People with three kids come up to you and tell you things like “my third kid was so easy that we kept forgetting her places and not only did she not mind, she’d hitchhike home and bring dinner”. And frankly, I believed them. I felt like the universe owed me an easy kid after the second one, who was not easy. Not. Easy.

I have always known that my second child’s terrible sleep habits, extremely sensitive disposition and unwillingness to be anywhere other than my arms for the first two years of her life were my punishment for being a smug asshat when I had my first --ridiculously easy-- baby. And frankly, someone who says things like  “Read the Baby Whisperer. It changed my life” deserves a baby who doesn’t sleep through the night until she’s an adult. Just like someone who judges other people’s kids for screaming in public* deserves a kid who has constant, shrill, embarrassing public tantrums. And that’s what I got. And it humbled me. But then I thought we were even-- the Cosmos and me. Apparently I was wrong. So. Wrong.

My new baby will not sleep in her bassinet. She cries whenever I put her down and she is a constant spitter-upper (my second child’s one** redeeming quality as a baby was that she never spit up). Recently I took her to the pediatrician and she started screaming bloody murder when it was time to take off her clothes to be weighed. The doctor, who enjoys a spirited baby, thought this was hilarious, saying things like “you have your work cut out for you with this one!”.  Wait! No! “I thought that I was going to have an easy one after you-know-who” I finally sputtered, in a voice loud enough to be heard over the screaming. Her reply: “Nope. That one was just training you for this one.”

My new theory is that everyone gets one easy baby and you get your easy baby when you need her (or in my case, him) the most. Had I had one of my daughters first, my husband would never have agreed to continue our procreation experiment but as our son was just so easy, we presumed that we were awesome at parenting and kept going. And now I have three beautiful, challenging*** amazing children that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even for one of those well-behaved good sleepers you hear about****.

Postscript: If you have had more than one easy baby, I don’t want to hear about it. Really.

*”I bet that child would be much calmer if the parents followed the Baby Whisperer’s nap schedule. That poor, poor overtired baby” is literally something my husband and I would say to one another on a semi-regular basis.

**not including extreme cuteness which is a trait all of my babies tend to possess (objectively speaking)

***easy babies don’t necessarily grow up to be easy five-year-olds
****or for a frozen yogurt franchise

Who needs sleep? How could you not love these little faces?

Resolutions from an Expert

Only once have I kept a new year’s resolution but I had to make the same resolution two years in a row for it to stick. That said, because most resolutions fail and because I did manage to keep flossing long past the one year mark, I do feel like a little bit of an expert on resolution making.

While it is advisable to stick to a very small list of resolutions, I, being a resolution expert (ask my dentist if you don’t believe me), have compiled a longer list for myself.

Sheri's List of Resolutions:

• Eat less candy
• Buy less candy
• Don’t feel obligated to eat all candy that was previously bought
• Eat less chocolate
• Buy less chocolate
• Don’t feel obligated to eat all chocolate that was previously bought
• Make new and exciting meals for my family on a regular basis
• Try not to get upset when family hates new and exciting meals that I have made for them
• Stop buying every hair product on the market that promises a silky sheen
• Be willing to throw out all previously purchased hair products that do not provide silky sheen promised on the package
• Show husband that I appreciate him every day (because I do)
• Pretend that I think husband is right about something every day (because he would totally fall for that)
• Stop swearing behind the wheel (because my children will not believe that “mother trucker” is a term of affection for fellow drivers indefinitely)
• Try to do at least .4 percent of the things I pin on Pinterest.
• Blog at least once a week

I realize that this is a very ambitious list, but that’s just the kind of person I am.


*UPDATE*

The new year is about happiness (which is why people say happy new year) and happiness is very strongly tied to self-esteem. This is why it is very important not to set oneself up for failure by setting unattainable goals. As such, here is my slightly revised list:


Sheri's List of Resolutions:

• Do not miss any episodes of Grey’s Anatomy
• Try to finish all chocolate  and candy in the house in anticipation of next year’s resolution
• Blog sometime

(Happy new year!)

A Journey of Self Discovery (or Why Unpacking My Closet is Like an Archeological Dig)

We moved last week. This has been a journey in self-discovery similar to what I imagine Anaïs Nin, Thoreau, Pi and Britney went through. The following are my revelations.

Things I’ve learned about myself while unpacking:

1. I am under the impression that chain belts are going to come back in style. Also shiny spandex running pants.

2. I had no idea whatsoever that the VHS tape might one day be obsolete

3. If you and I ever dated, I probably have a pair of your socks

4. I apparently thought that labelling computer disks was for suckers

5. I have enough slightly used hair products and gifts-with-purchase lipsticks to open a specialty store

6. I have an unconscious desire to start a business refurbishing old Bic pens

7. I will eat chocolate that is older than both of my children.

8. I have never worn anything I’ve bought at H&M

9. If we are friends, there is 67% chance that I have a signed and sealed birthday card for you that I forgot to mail

10. I have a tough time throwing things out

"Mommy it's An Emergency!" or Why Potty Training is a Lifestyle Choice

When one of my Facebook friends announced her pregnancy on Facebook, among the usual congratulations in the comments section was a piece of advice from a friend of hers advising her to potty train her older child as soon as possible before the arrival of the new baby. Because I don’t know that commenter (commentator?) and because I haven’t seen the aforementioned Facebook friend anywhere other than Cyberspace in 20 years (when we were both 4), I decided not to get into it with her friend, but I have been thinking about a way to get the message across that this is a terrible, terrible idea ever since. Obviously my only choice was to write a blog post (I wish there were a way to send private messages over the interweb-- someone should really invent that).

Potty training is not the hard part. Anyone who tells you it is has not finished potty training and/or has a kid who still wears pull-ups (or one of those really smart but hard-to-train cats). I wish someone had warned me ten months ago when I made the fateful decision to throw out all of Benji’s diapers that having a potty trained toddler or preschooler is a lifestyle choice. So as a favour to my Facebook friend and to any other parent who has not yet made the terrible mistake of introducing their child to the toilet, here is a handy list of things I wish someone had told me.

1. You will never again be able to make plans that don’t involve stopping at multiple public bathrooms.  

2. You will need to find clean, reliable, stroller-accessible public restrooms near the park, public pool and halfway between your house and anywhere you plan to go in the stroller. Or the car.

3. Every sink will be too high and automatic toilets are the most terrifying things ever. Stay away from those.

4. You will never again make it to the front of a very long line-up. You will make it most of the way and then there will be a bathroom emergency thus forcing you to leave your spot. Forget Toys R Us the week before Christmas. It will never, ever happen.

5. You will spend much time kibitzing on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night as your child will soon learn that while you will say no to providing middle-the-night entertainment, you are willing to hang out indefinitely when nature is (allegedly) calling.

6. The minute you sit down to any meal, nature will call. Usually twice. Three times if you are in a busy food court.

7. Same goes for car trips and haircuts if you are foolish enough to bring your child to one of those.

8. The only thing that could possibly make having a potty trained preschooler less convenient, is having a potty trained preschooler and a baby.

9.  Seeing you nurse your baby is always a sign to your older child that it's time to use the bathroom.

10. You will be faced with the choice of whether to put your younger child on the floor of a public bathroom or force your toddler to wipe his own behind.

11. You will spend a great deal of time breastfeeding in public bathrooms while waiting for your older child to do his business (should you still to choose to leave the house).  One day you will continue to breastfeed while pulling up your older child’s pants and washing his hands. You will not care that other people are staring.

12. There is nothing more appealing to a young child than the sanitary napkin disposal.

13. Once your younger child is old enough to stand or walk, he will use this newfound freedom to crawl under the stall door. Because who wouldn’t really?

So what’s my advice? Wait. Wait until your preschooler is old enough to get onto the toilet, do his own wiping and reach the sink. If you have two kids, wait until your baby is old enough to stand up nicely while you attend to child 1. Maybe you can just potty train both of them together. Or if you wait long enough maybe they will train themselves--or better-- eachother.

Trite and Maudlin

I haven’t been updating my blog lately -- partially owing to sheer exhaustion (I have one of those non-sleeping-babies-- one of the 2011 models every one has been trying to get their hands on) and partially owing to a weird case of writer’s block that has to do with only wanting to write serious, sentimental posts. And because my blog is titled Trying to Find My Funny, I don’t want my tens of readers to be disappointed. So perhaps I should just start a sister blog entitled Trite and Maudlin (Overtired and Stupid is another title I have been toying with). Anyway, I will try to get back to funny ASAP but the following is a letter that I wrote to Benji last night after his pre-preschool graduation (yeah, that’s right). To be honest, it wouldn’t have been that hard to make it funny, but in this instance I was going for sincerity as this letter was written primarily for me and of course, for Benji. That being said, I am happy to post it for the other saps who might be lurking among us. If you are not a sap (or at the very least a mother), stop reading here. Really. I would like to be able to look you in the eye the next time I see you.

Here it is:

Dear Benji,

Today was your preschool graduation. Actually, that’s a lie. It was your pre-preschool graduation because you are going back next year. So really, it was just the last day of your first year of school. It was the last day of your first year of school. How did that happen?

Soon there will be a mess of graduations that are going to be hurled my way faster than I can stand to think about as you metamorphose into a “grown up man” (the kind that can use knives and chew gum and have as many big dogs as he can fit into his grown-up-man-house)(which will be adjacent to mommy and daddy’s house, obviously) which is why today I am a little (read: very) weepy when I think about how adorable you looked in your little cap and man-shirt at your pre-preschool commencement ceremony.

I am so proud of you, my sweet boy. You are funny and affectionate and kind and musical. You speak in rhyme and in song. You dance for no reason (the “hockey dance” is currently my favourite) and you are the slowest walker I have ever met. You hold your baby sister’s hand in the stroller and you like to point out when she is being cute (or doing something wrong--- “No, Aviva, no!” are words we hear with some frequency).

You are loving and open -- declaring different friends to be “your favourite guy” after a fun time in the park or  at school. You love soccer (but hate the idea of someone taking the ball away from you) as well as baseball-- despite never having seen, nor played, a game.

You are smart. You have known the alphabet and have been able to identify all your letters and numbers since long before you were two. You learned our phone number on the way to school one morning. You are learning to spell and you remember names and stories and people. You are so smart.

You are shy around “big kids” as well as big groups of kids but are happy to charm any adult, regaling them with anecdotes, puns and knock knock jokes. You pick out your underwear every morning by laying out an “underwear buffet” though you will take off whatever underwear you painstakingly chose the moment you somehow get wind of the fact that “Thomas on the bum” is clean. You are currently in bed happily telling stories to yourself  so loudly that I can hear you through the door and across the hall.

You still love to hold my hair just as you did when you nursed (just over 2 years ago) and you still suck your fingers just as you did on the day you were born (just over three years ago). You like to cuddle and listen to stories and give hugs. When you sleep you still look like my baby. You always smell like my baby. But you are growing up.

The day you were born was the happiest day I had ever had and since then the days have been even happier. I am glad that my heart is one of those new burstproof models, otherwise it would have blown to pieces years ago.

Benjamin Bunny, next year is your last year of preschool. And before I know it, there will be another graduation.

I want this year to go by slowly. I want all the years to go by slowly. I love being your mommy and as much as I will love, adore, be amazed by, the next version of you, I need you to know how crazy I am about three-year-old you and how much I am going to miss that guy.  

Happy pre-preschool graduation Bunny. I love you.

On Hating Haircuts (or why I need to invest in a Flowbee)

I think there were about ten minutes in the mid-nineties that I wasn’t either growing out my bangs or deciding whether to cut bangs. I am currently doing both (as my longish side bangs are so annoying that I am trying to decide on the easiest way to end the misery).

This is not to say that I have never liked my hair. I had a good two year run with one stylist whose personality did not make the cut (wow. I’m so sorry) but more often than not, I’m either committed to a mediocre stylist whose personality I love or I’m bouncing from stylist to stylist like a crack addict with memories of that one awesome haircut that worked and the high the came with it. Though in the interest of full disclosure, I will also admit that sometimes it’s not my hair that’s the real issue--it's my face. I have had several haircuts (including, but not limited to the one that I am currently sporting) that would look awesome if I had someone else’s face.

I am not a cutter or a substance abuser or someone who engages in extreme (or team) sports, but I have been recklessly using Groupons for haircuts lately, my logic being why pay $100  for the same cut you can hate for $15.00? My husband thinks that I’m cheap and that I’m getting what I pay for. That said, he also claims not to notice any difference between haircuts. Ever. If this is in fact true, it’s kind of sad for him because when I do get that perfect cut, he won’t be able to revel in the joy that I am imagining accompanies a good haircut. I might not even invite him to the I-have-the-exact-right-amount-of-layers party.*

I feel like a big issue with my recent (10+ year) run of bad haircuts has a lot to do with communication. However, because I happen to be an excellent communicator (obviously) I have narrowed it down to two possibilities--either the stylists I’m dealing with are hard of hearing or the music they play at salons is just too loud. I mean what other reason is there to explain the fact that when I say “no layers”, the stylist hears “ ‘mo layers!”  Or when I say  “just a trim” she hears “short, like him” or if I say “just a bit off the back” she hears “if you don’t cut a big chunk off the front, I might have a heart attack!” So my next step is to stop frequenting salons that play music**.  

The crazy part is that I have easy hair and I’m not at all adventurous -- my hair has never been cut above my shoulders, dyed, permed or even highlighted which is why I have to get this issue under control NOW. I’m not sure how much time I have left before the grey sets in, but I need to find someone who can cut my hair before I venture into the scary and exciting world of colour.***

In the meantime, the longer this issue goes on, the more empathy I have for fellow sufferers- the most famous being Britney Spears****, who you may remember was so unhappy with a lousy haircut back in February 2007 that she shaved off  all her hair and immediately suffered a breakdown. Though I hear that it’s grown back quite nicely-- maybe I should find out who cuts her hair (and whether he accepts Groupons.)




*Extravaganza

**And to stop using stylists that can only communicate by reading lips without and interpreter who is fully versed in American Sign Language by my side.
***I can already hear how the conversation will play out “What? Dark brown? I thought you said you wanted a colour that you can see across town”.
****Or possibly, Sinead O’Connor