The Soother Fairy. He (sometimes she) sneaks into the rooms of unsuspecting toddlers while they’re at preschool, daycare, or maybe Grandma’s house, total unbeknownst the tragedy about to befall them. The tragedy of course being the theft of every soother in the house in exchange for a pile of extravagant, guilt-driven gifts and sugary treats. It’s sad yes. But the Soother Fairy isn’t without good reason.
He/She must distribute the soothers collected from big boys and girls to all the little babies who are in desperate need of their fix. If not from the Soother Fairy, than from who? And if not at the exact moment that mom and dad were starting to get worried about the onset of early addiction… when?
You’ve not heard of the Soother Fairy? That’s because I made him up. The concept occurred to me as the only possible way out of a screaming match that I was sure to lose. Our daughter has been something of a “delicate” sleeper (that’s putting it lightly) since the minute she escaped the womb, so despite our best convictions (after hours and hours… and hours of crying) that baby got plugged. It sort of worked sometimes, and then she got older and it sort of worked a little more often. Continue reading
This week was a pretty rough week to be a mom. Mom-wise, had I been measured on my performance over the last seven days, I would have fallen somewhere between “raging wreck” and “why bother?”
Having recently moved into a job that temporarily involves an 1.5 hour commute on both ends, the routine at home has taken a slight shift. And by slight shift, I mean its been whacked over the head and dragged through the streets of suburbia all the way into downtown Toronto.
Last week, despite my best efforts, I just couldn’t do anything right. Thanks to traffic, I was up and out of the house by 6:20am, leaving work at 4pm and barely pulling in before 6pm to pick up my daughter from daycare. I was too tired at night to prep dinner for the following days which meant leftovers, frozen dinners and one spontaneous pizza night which followed my being $8 late to pick up my daughter form daycare. Sorry, I meant 4 minutes late but since they charge lagging parents by the minute, it’s practically the same thing. Continue reading
Remember those days when last minute, we’d all decide to meet downtown for drinks, spend hours re-hashing the ups and downs of the past week and brainstorm over trips we’d take and plans we’d make with all that extra time we have floating around?
No, neither do it.
And I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I birthed a human and now I can’t commit to anything if it’s not on my calendar 3 months in advance. Don’t misunderstand me. I LOVE going out. My post-baby booty loves to shake it and I am dying to mingle with fun-loving adults. Anyone in fact, who doesn’t pull my hair, slap my face or expect me to eat food they’ve graciously pre-chewed.
What’s stopping me, you ask? Let’s start with the babysitter. Mainly, the fact that I don’t have one, and my husband’s out of town. I mean, of course there are the grandparents, but I’ve already reserved them at strategically dispersed intervals throughout the next year, so I don’t really want to push it. There’s the neighbour’s daughter who is amazing with my daughter but has school commitments and you know, a life, and unfortunately she’s not free on Saturdays. There is that other babysitter who charges like $20/hour… I guess maybe I could get her. If we leave at 5pm to get there for 6:30pm, that’s dinner from 6:45-8:30pm – and then dancing you say? Yes, of course dancing. That goes until, what…11pm? Ahem, oh yes of course I meant 1am, obviously. So at $20/hour (maybe I can negotiate down to $15 or so) that will cost me around $120. Plus gas. No big deal (gulp). Maybe I just won’t drink? Genius! A sober night off. I’ll rememeber more this way. Phew! Glad that’s taken care of.