Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Well, the changes continue around here.
First we switched from Becel to Celeb (its going very well- we have fully adapted now to Celeb), and now we are ordering pizza from Homers Pizza rather than Family Pizza. We have been going a little crazy, all this trying new things. I guess there must be something in the air. But what the heck? You've got to just throw all caution to the wind sometimes.

Homers Pizza was once on my boycot list, but the ban has now been lifted. The reason it was banned in the first place is a long and involved story, but basically centered around one employee who was fat, greasy, on the rag and ovulating. I am pretty sure she is long gone now, and I console myself that in all likelihood, she was "let go", so I am free to patron Homers once again.

The reason why I had to eventually make the switch from Family was that things were getting weird with the delivery guy. When the pizza guy comes to the door and is like "so is Payton getting over her tonsilitis yet?' you pretty much have to face the fact that you order pizza WAY too frequently, and I either need to scale back a bit or start mixing it up with other pizza places. So hence, obviously, the choice was made. Could I forego pizza? An attempt for me to boycot takeout is destined to end as badly as an attempt for me to play Slowpitch- pretty ugly. Me curled in the fetal position with a nosebleed. I always think that I can do it (forego pizza, not slowpitch). I always think "I'm not going to order take out for a whole month" but then suddenly I find myself in the kitchen trying to create a meal plan that involves half a bag of frozen peas, 3 frozen fish sticks, a jar of pickles that has no actual pickles left in it, and a box of soda crackers- the entire contents of my fridge and cupboards. So then I start to think- well, this is a battle I lost at hello. Though, I suppose I could have made my signature dish of fried pickled fish casserole....

Anyways, truth be told, the delivery guy from Family Pizza was starting to give me a bad vibe. I don't know what it was about him- like he was a nice guy- and I think that was precisely the problem right there. I don't like nice people. It's like "dude- just slide my pizza under the door and I'll give you your money- let's make this transaction nice and easy" But he was always so chatty, creeped me out. The guy even told me all about his vasectomy and everything.

And then when we were at Ruckers for Gages birthday party I got the most uneasy feeling. The pizzas came, and wouldn't you know it, he delivered them. And then the look on his face when he saw me across the crowded room, a flicker of recognition but something more- excitement, happiness, something along those lines. It was weird and it was fleeting but it was there, I'm sure of it, though I really can't understand it- I mean there I was in my rubby cargo pants, grubby Tshirt with a puke stain on the shoulder, hair carelessly pulled back in a messy pony tail, Blistex for make up and bouncing a baby on my hip. Anyways, the whole non verbal transaction lasted less than a second, I'm sure, but it left me feeling distinctly uncomfortable nonetheless. I felt somehow violated with his look that lasted just a beat too long...which is really weird.
Because usually it takes quite a bit to make me feel violated.

So then I decided to switch it up. I was like "It is so over with that dude" so now I have a new pizza guy, he works at Homers and he's sixteen with pimples (pimples must be part of thier hiring criteria, I don't know) and he doesn't unplug his IPod at all when he delivers my pizza. Cold and impersonal, just the way I like it.
Anyhoo... Homer's pizza is actually pretty good and it's only across the street from us so our pizza's pretty much there when we hang up the phone, so it's great. So ya, I guess I kinda broke up with the old pizza guy and got myself a new pizza hotty. My life is so exciting these days, it's just like a soap opera. Reminds me of my old boyfriend Jon, we met on elevator in Regina... this is a story for another day, though. Anyways, all's I'll say about that is that I screwed the pooch with that relatioship, if you can call a very short and one sided conversation a relationship- which, of course, I do.

Anyways, where was I??
OK. Let me see. Things are OK around here. My fleeting moment of guilt over bad mouthing Geoff has passed, and I am back to my usual scathing self. Every night I get up with Alex two or three times, but when morning rolls around he's like "Oh, I had the worst sleep last night- I kept on waking up, I'm so tired" like I'm supposed to feel sorry for him and be like "Oh, no. Off to bed with you then, but not before I whip you up a batch of fresh squeezed OJ and blueberry waffles" I just don't get it- how he acts so sleep deprived- because everytime I wake up with the babe he's snoring his freaking head off. Like- it literally comes off. I have to pick it up and put it back on his head. OK. I'm exaggerating. You caught me. But still. It's annoying. So then he stretches out on the couch all morning and acts like he's been exhausted from a full day of... something. It's terribly annoying. And then he finds some stupid football game to watch and becomes totally absorbed in it like he's some kind of a zombie. I'll tell him an entire story and then I'll be like "well- don't you think that the flounder WAS a little overcooked, though?" and he's like "huh- oh, flounder, ya." But at the same time he does NOT miss ONE beat of his precious football game, something will happen and all of a sudden he's on feet screaming "FUMBLE" at the top of his lungs. And then he and Gage sit around like a bunch of freaking Gomers discussing "do you think that Philadelphia can still make the Western Conference?" Like- what the hell is that?? I picture a bunch of beefy men in football gears carrying thier breifcases to the West for a conference. Kind of a funny image, so I tell Geoff and he gives me this annoyed glare like I'm the one who's being annoying.

I used to be so much like "women power!" All liberated and strong in my belief that I would obtain a college degree and this would make me- what?? A strong woman with strong beliefs with a place in the world other than the kitchen. I would enter the work force, be an equal participant in the home and at work- and I've ended up like this. With a husband that doesn't even know what a broom is nevermind how to use it, and whose idea of helping me out with the housework is picking up his feet when I sweep underneath him. And a job where I'm basically subservient to male doctors. And my only other prospect is a leering, middle aged, pizza guy. Blimey.

So much for the liberated woman. They just took that woman and raked her over the coals, shoved a dishcloth down her throat, plucked the pencil from her hands and replaced it with a vacuum.
But- well, here's where I wrap things up with a little saying to keep it light and funny and cute but I'm coming up empty here. Instead I'll end with a random observation. People who use the expression "finger in the dyke" really need to reconsider this expression. Even the most dryest of boring political context can not mask the blatant sexual overtones in that phrase. It just needs to be done away with.
And now an assignment: yes! And assignment!! This will cheer me up!! Try to make a sentence with the phrase "finger in the dyke" sound clean.
Good Luck.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

A Guilty Conscience

So readership has soared (when I say soared, I mean gotten off the ground- five readers now)with my recent writings about my husband. The more I point out the fallibility of my partner, the happier my readers are- and I will admit that it does make for more interesting reading than the whiskers on Alex's stuffed mouse toy (getting worse, I daresay). So with my readers giving me such positive feedback, I was feeling pretty good. But then I went to bed. And Geoff said "Thank you so much for being so good to me- you're an awesome wife."
And it's like 'why the hell would you have to go and say something like that?' You might better serve my purposes if you farted, rolled over, scratched your balls and snored yourself to sleep with your finger up your nose. So then I felt bad. I wonder if I would still be the awesome wife if he read my blog from time to time. Yikes.

The truth is that I do love my husband, yet it is also true that the precise reason alludes me sometimes. I do not think that- and I hope that I'm not- bashing my husband for the sole reason of discrediting him. I guess I am just venting my frustrations, frustrations that I do feel are valid. Being a woman in this society is a tricky thing-- (note to self: possible thesis title in case I decide to foray in post modernism feminist courses as some point). One has to truly really love being a mother for the sake of being a mother- because you will probably never get the respect or appreciation that you deserve. It is probably the ONLY job in the WORLD where it is acceptable to never give any raises, benefits, breaks, performance evaluations, vacation time, sick days, etc. I mean, imagine if we had a union. It's be like "Ms. Sorowski, you're three month review is very positive: you handled the baby's teething problems very well. The flu epidemic tested you, but you pulled through with flying colors- your approach to handwashing was very encouraging. Unfortunately, it seems that your meatloaf could use a touch more flavour- I would like to know what you are doing with it spice wise- it could probably stand some tweaking. But the fact that you do make your own baby food more than compensates for that. All in all, we would give you four stars out of five- four and a half if you tweak the meatloaf as per our discussion. Because of your hard work and determination, we are going to give a salary increase, 15% more room in the bed, Saturdays off and an upgrade on your toaster oven. Your work attire leaves a little to be desired, so we are allotting you with a monthly wardrobe allowance as well."

But that will not happen. I have to settle for the occasional grunt of appreciation while they devour their dinners. Actually, Payton is pretty good sometimes. The other day while I was brushing her hair she said, out of nowhere, "I have a good mom". I was like "What?" I wasn't sure what she meant, exactly. I thought maybe it was some kind of a movie or TV show- I did not know. It was cute. Moments like that make it worthwhile I guess, although the 15% more room in bed would be nice as well.

Anyways, I think I should try to ease up on my husband a bit. He's not a bad person or a bad husband. It is just a lot easier for him to blend into the background when he is home, and I sometimes think that I perpetuate that very thing. He'll ask if I need help in the kitchen and I say no, because I guess sometimes it just seems easier just to do it myself. Eventually he stops asking. I don't know. Marriage is a tricky thing as well. We will just keep trying to get it right.

Monday, January 5, 2009


So, he got the snip. It went well, no complications. He is resting now in bed. Where he has been for the last six hours. I mean, honestly, I NEVER got six hours to myself to recuperate, not even when I had three kids and four miscarriages (not all at the same time, mind you. But still- it wasn't no picnic in the park). Basically, he just dropped me off at home, kissed me on the cheek with a clipped "Love you. And don't forget to get me that shaving cream I need when you're out and about today." A bit different than his leisurely day in bed. I went out and got him BK for breakfast, gave it to him in bed. I go in there every four hours to give him his Tylenol and reposition his peas. I've kept the kids quiet and have only let them go in there when he's awake. I've taken them out for part of the day. I'm cooking his dinner and serving it to him in bed. I've been liberally retopping his Pepsi. I ask him what he needs. And he's always laying there, pathetic and miserable like, moaning and groaning. It's not that I don't feel bad for him... because, of coure, I do. But... I hope this doesn't doesn't sound to weird... but I think that I'm actually jealous of him. I'm thinking "surgery's looking pretty freaking good right about now." I could do with a day lying my ass in bed all day getting served croissantwiches and codeine. But then, of course, if I'd have had surgery, things would be different, now wouldn't they? I would be in bed, all right, with all three kids because Geoff is trying to watch Football on the big screen.
Oh, well.
Anyways, the dream of the twins is not totally dead. We were informed this morning that it would take 20 ejaculations before the spermies were out of his system. According to my calculations that could take us 2 years or more. Sadly, I'm not even joking about that. I think since Lex has been born we've "been intimate" about half a dozen times. And those 6 times all together probably accounted for less than five minutes of my life. I'm hardly complaining about that, though. These days I'm so tired and exhausted- I can't even take the time to brush my teeth. The last thing I would want is a night of passionate love making. Usually I approach the subject the same way I would approach getting a booster shot. "I know I'm due for this now, so I'll just look away and it will all be over before I even know it." I guess that's bad to say it that way, but when I go to bed at night the only thing I want to do is watch Seifeld reruns (I never get sick of that show). If this is my sexual prime than I'm in big trouble down the line.
But we'll worry about that later.
Not only has my husband been driving me crazy, the children are also wearing me down. Honest to God, you cannot say or do ANYTHING without a full out interrogation. I put a package in the microwave and this is suddenly the most interesting thing. "What are you doing, mom?" "I'm putting chicken in the microwave" - you wouldn't think you would have to state the obvious- but you do. And then they're like "Why?' "Because we're having chicken for supper"
I go to the bathroom. I'm out of the room for two minutes and they're all over me like hounds. "Where did you go?"
"To the bathroom"
"Because I had to go the bathroom" (stating the obvious)
"Poop or pee?"
I mean there is NO privacy in this house. NONE.
Even last night I was changing the sheets on my bed and Gage (11) came in my room and asked what I was doing. "Changing the sheets" I replied. He's like "I hate to even ask... but why?" I was like "It's not what you think- the cat puked on here" but thinking about it later I should have told him something else- something that might make him reconsider sticking his nose in his parents bedroom.
A thousand inane conversations like this all day every day and you start to answer the questions in a shrill, high pitched voice. And then the kids go "Holy mom, settle down. We can't even ask you a question." And even Geoff is no better. He's like "Testy today? That time of the month?" And then that's supposed to be a joke, I guess, but of course, I don't laugh and only offer a dirty look in response, and then Geoff's like "I'll take that as a yes."
Sometimes you feel like just popping them one square in the freaking jaw.
But I have good coping mechanisms and a good support system.
The Chardonnay I keep in the fridge.

Friday, January 2, 2009

A little loco

Well, if ever I had the desire for a fourth child... I now have one. A big, balding, baby with a preference for TSN and mid 80's Sci-Fi Movies. His name is Geoff.
Into our second week of both staying at home, and things are getting dicey. Like, yesterday he says he's going to make me breakfast in bed today. So I waited in bed until 10:15, waiting. No breakfast was forthcoming, and I had all the kids in bed with me. I went out to the living room to see what he was up to. Sleeping on the couch. So I went into the kitchen and made a big production of making breakfast, and he was like "well I was going to make you breakfast" and I was like "well, SweetiePie,- it's almost lunch time now." And he was like "well, what??its ten o'clock." (You have to say that in a dumb voice) I was like "10 is the new 12, OK??" I mean, to think that I had all the kids sequestered in this TINY room, under the pretense of breakfast in bed, while he slept his big fat, snoring, head off on the couch?? So I served him breakfast on the couch, as some sort of a passive agressive assault which TOTALLY did not work in my favor at all, I realized when I was all splattered with bacon grease and had egg yolk in my hair and he was sitting there with a big, dumb grin on his face, watching MASH and shovelling bacon in his mouth. I think I am going to have to stop with the passive agressive attacks, as they never seem to work out in my favor. Like the time I slept on the couch to teach him a lesson and ended up stuck to a leather couch with a dog sleeping on my legs and a cat on my face, while he was stretched out in bed, probably having the best sleep of his life. And when I do the laundry he's all like "Oh, you should have told me there was laundry- I could have done some." And I'm like "Ya, cuz only I have super secret laundry spy power to determine whether or not there's laundry-- I mean, it's practically invisible to the human eye- it's only overflowing the bathroom and bedroom.
I try to take this all with a grain of salt. We're married. Til death do we part. All that BS.
Anyways, the holidays were good. We spent our time out at the lake, which was a nice change of pace. There was one rather untoward incident that had me in the bathroom a bit more than I would have liked following two home made rum and egg nogs. God. I thought I was never gonna get off the toilet. But I decided, all in all, it was all good. Some people pay good money for a good cleansing purge like that.

So now we are settling into a routine. I was watching Dateline tonight about "Orgasmic Labour", something which I have little stock in. There were these women on there, talking about- well I won't go into it. You get the gist of it, I'm sure. But I just couldn't believe it. I just think back to my labor- I mean, you couldn't GET more un-orgasmic than gripping pain, blinding contractions, burning, ripping, tearing-- I mean, you would have to be a seriously sadisctic mother F to get off on that shit. Like, I don't know. And then they had a story on surrogacy, and I became really interested. I TOTALLY want to become a surrogate now. Jackie Care- this does NOT mean you. I was thinking of like a really sexy, cool pair of gays with loads of cash and a posh flat- maybe some of those guys from Queer Eye?? I've always wanted gay friends... they're just so trendy, and their flair for drama is so endearing. I MUST have a gay friend. I shall start attending... what... Bette Middler movies??? Broadway Musicals?? Where would be a good place to start?

Oh, ya, and I got a new printer--- Sorry, this entry doesn't flow that well- but you'll have to learn to deal, my life these days has left me a bit frazzled- trust me, if you could see me now- my look is slightly reminiscent of Gilda Radner. But anyways- Geoff, AKA the Devil, got me a printer for Christmas, and this time he didn't cheap out- it's really nice- Scanner, photocopier, photo printing thingy, police scanner, GPS device. Well, OK, not the last two. But it is nice. So I have been spending a lot of time down in my basement (which is basically totally torn apart right now, by the way- work is going slowly) printing off query letters and stuff like that. There are 5 agents left in Canada to try regarding my novel, Having Grace. I am planning on sending my stuff off to them sooner rather than later in a mass, last ditch effort to actually move forward with this writing thang I have going on. My short story is not coming along so well at this point- I just need to find out from which angle to approach it from. Anyways, there is nothing so wonderful as mailing out a fresh query letter. The hope is high then. It gets less and less day by day, until you eventually realize that they're not going to respond, or you recieve your newest rejection letter. Anyways, right now the excitement is high. I am hopeful that one of these agents will be THE one.
I have to believe that it will happen eventually... otherwise, what do I have to look forward to??
Laundry, four kids, black mold in the basement, unemployed... the list goes on.
Oddly, I am not unhappy though.
Just a little bit loco.