Word of the day: rain

...and it's quite likely tomorrow's word of the day will be ark.

Word of the day: poop

Ever since Xander was born, Jade has been saying she wants him potty trained before she has another baby. He is doing quite well. She is not the kind of mother who says, "Here's a potty, poop in it," and leaves it at that. And X is far too inquisitive to realize that something like poop can come from his body without him wanting to know all the hows and whys of the process.

He knows all about having a skeleton and how his skin holds in his bones and muscles and veins. He knows the purpose of a stomach and can point out, with more success than I, where his kidneys, liver and lungs are.

One day as he sat at his little table eating a cheese whiz sandwhich for lunch, he turned to his mother and said as he took a big bite, "Mommy, I'm turning my sandwhich into poop."

I assume Xander's parents feel he has a good enough grasp on the potty training business for them to take the next step. This weekend they informed us that Xander's little sibling, who is currently the size of a sesame seed, is projected to arrive sometime around March 17, 2012. Two weeks after X's 3rd birthday.

Woot woot! Let the shopping begin!

Word of the day: poisonous

I took Xander to the park across the street last week.

He got about half way up the log ramp which leads up to the slide while I walked along on the ground beside him. He stopped and gave the logs, which had seen better days, a good inspection.

"Granny these logs are poisonous!" he declared.

"No, Xander. They are rotten, not poisonous."

Pretty observant and vocabularily advanced for a 28 month old I think.

Word of the day

I think I'll try something new for while to see if I can kick start a period of blogging again. I'll call this current marathon "Word of the Day" and will use a particular word to prompt an entry. I may even resort to Merriam-Webster or dictionary.com's word of the day on occasion.

This idea was borne from a little incident that my husband informed me of last week.

While at church, pastor Peter got up and in a effort to encourage interaction, asked the general congregation "So, what's the word of the week?"

My son Jed jumped to his feet, raised and hand and shouted out, "Faggot!"

And while everyone in the room was trying to process whether or not they just heard what they thought they heard, he added, "My mom called me a faggot."

I mighta died had I been there.

However, in my defence, I shall tell you the real story.

Jed and I were shopping at Value Village and while I was trying on a couple of shirts he went about gathering a collection of t-shirts and scrubs that he "just had to have."

And so, as is our usual routine in VV, I sort through his treasures one-by-one and tell him the reasons we are not buying them. "This is way too small" "You have one exactly like this already" "It's twelve dollars! That's insane!" etc etc.

One of the scrubs shirts he had in the cart was all gathered and frilly at the back. My response, I realize, was inappropriate, "You can't wear that. It'll looky faggy."

Inappropriate yes, but I did not yell out "You are a faggot!" to my son.

Who's Yer Daddy?

Xander still continues to brighten my every day.

Jade was playing with him in the playroom the other day and held a plastic trumpet backwards to her mouth and says in her best Darth Vader voice, "I (pause) am your Father." Xander didn't really pay a lot of attention to her but a few minutes later when Ken walked in the room he grabbed the trumpet, held it backwards to his mouth and says, "I (pause) am your Daddy."

Guilty!

Twenty five days. It's been twenty five days since I last blogged. I hang my head in shame. And even more so when I check my stat counter. Twenty five days with nary a word written and I'm still getting between 20 and 30 visits to the site every day.

C'mon people - get off my back!

Just kidding, I do appreciate the loyalty even though I'm neglectful.

Perhaps I can get on track a little more regular now that my art classes are finished, I didn't sign up for the Spring writing class, Homeshow season is over and the Canucks are set to hoist the cup and take the summer off.

As well, Relay For Life is over and I've caught up on all my greeting cards. Thank you so much to all my supporters who had me hand painting approximately 300 watercolour cards. Fundraising was down quite a bit this year, not only for our team but all across the board. We can collect money until August and I'd really like to see our Pink Panter team to scrape together another $1200 by then so we can ensure our track-side tent location for another year. I think I'll take the opportunity to clean out the basement, shed and garage and have a big yard sale one of these weeks. Anyone wanna buy my crap?

I shaved my arm pits for this!??

May 2011. Time for my 2 1/2 year cancer-free check-up. I had my diagnostic mammogram last week and booked an appointment for follow up with my doctor. For the first 24 months, my follow-ups and monitoring were done through the cancer unit, but now I've graduated to having my family doctor follow up.

This is good in the sense that "Yay, God! I have graduated in my survivorship" however my doctor is a f'idiot, and I am not particularly thrilled with more reasons to have to visit. That being said, my apponitment was booked for 9AM. Whatever was I thinking to book for 9AM.

****
I open eyes and roll over. It's 8:28. Eight twenty eight!! Arrrrgh! I have to be out of the house by 8:50.

There is no way I can go to this appointment without having a shower and shaving my armpits. I don't hate my doctor that much. But I don't have time to do my hair. I throw a towel on my head to keep my hair from getting wet and still in half asleep mode, grab my razor and jump into the shower.

I manage to cut myself and blood is running down my side as I lather and rinse. My hands run down one of my legs and the feel of winter's fur coat still on my calf causes me to think, "It's been about 18 months since my hysterectomy. The doctor is probably going insist I have a PAP done - I'd better shave my legs." I nicked my kneecap and more blood ran.

I can practically hear the clock ticking off the minutes. I hate being late for things.

For my doctor's comfort, I opt not to put deodorant on. I get dressed and throw my unwashed hair in ponytail (yes, it's getting that long!) and race out the door. 

It's 9:06 when I reach the receptionist's desk.

"Sorry I'm late. I wanna blame it on the parking..."

"Oh, I know," she replied. "It's terrible out there."

"But the truth is, I simply slept in. Sorry."

She takes me right into the examination room.

The doctor comes in and glances through my file. "Everything looks really good with the mammogram. You should be having a clinical exam every six months, how long has it been since you had one?"

"It'll be a year in July."
"Oh. Well you should be getting one every six months."
"Yes, I know. I thought that's what I was here for today."
"Come back and see me sometime. You should be getting it done every six months," he says as he flips his hand in the air as if to wave it off and heads towards the door.

WTF???

And that was my two-and-a-half-year cancer check. Exactly 45 seconds.

By this point I am so irritated with him, I do not insist he do an exam, because about the only physical contact I am willing to have with him, is to perhaps knee him in the groin.

Silly me - shaving my arm pits and my legs, thinking my doctor was there for my health or something.

And so, I assume, without much doctor confirmation, that I remain cancer-free. Yay me!



My real doctor retired two years ago and this guy, fresh off the boat, took over the office. Because of the shortage of doctors in this area, if you currently have a family doctor you will not even be considered by another doctor. I'm considering finding a naturopath to be my primary caregiver and would welcome any input.