A picture of motherhood
by Karla ° Wednesday, August 27, 2008
This is what “Do you want to go and have lots of fun running and playing at the park?” looks like.

And this is what “It’s time to turn off the cartoons and go play at the park,” looks like.

Motherhood, you just can’t win.

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That's what she said
by Karla ° Monday, August 25, 2008
Me: Take sip of water. Begin incessant sputtering and choking.

Mark: “Are you OK?”

Me: “Cough, choke, GASP! COUGH COUGH!”

Mark: “Karla, are you OK?”

Me: “COUGH! SPUTTER! COUGH COUGH COUGH!” Come thisclose to dying, recover and live to tell the tale. “Yeah, it just went down the wrong hole.”

Mark: “That’s what she said.”


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MomBot 2000™
by Karla ° Friday, August 22, 2008
This is an analytical program summary of MomBot 2000™.

MomBot 2000™ runs on coffee and bagels and is the Chief Executive Cleaner Upper of Colourful Plastic Toys in a humble suburban home specializing in the mass consumption of caffeine, production of mountainous piles of smelly diapers and safeguarding and maintenance of a busy toddler.

MomBot 2000™ comes pre-programmed with bionic eyes in the back on her head and several typical maternal sentences, including “blah blah blah did you poop?” and “ blah blah blah is it bedtime yet?” Also, if the right combination of buttons are pushed, like, say, the discovery of yet another pair of haphazardly tossed socks on the floor, MomBot 2000™ is capable of barking gravel-voiced commands of laundry weary frustration.

Furthermore, the speed with which MomBot 2000™ washes socks is directly proportional to the speed with which said socks appear INSIDE the laundry hamper.

MomBot 2000™ has several known software glitches including, but not limited to: mastering the labour intensive task of pre-heating an oven, opening a box and not burning store bought pizza as well as the effective decluttering of toys from an infinitely cluttered floor.

Inside the MomBot 2000™ unit is a collection of delicately balanced chambers, each filled with undying love and devotion for the offspring of which MomBot 2000™ has produced. It takes but a fleeting moment of passion to manufacture said offspring, and a lifetime of selfless dedication to foster and guide their development. The quantum physics of energy required to fulfill these duties occasionally results in the emission of a small amount of hormonal data externalization known as PMS. A mere haphazardly tossed man sock is enough to upset this delicate balance of hormones and send MomBot 2000™ to the fucking moon. PLEASE RESPECT THE DELICATE HORMONAL BALANCE OF MOMBOT 2000™ AND PICK UP YOUR SOCKS ALREADY!

All of MomBot 2000™’s components are indestructible and guaranteed for the life of the unit, but once this unit turns 40, it cannot be traded in for two 20’s. We are sorry, but MomBot 2000™’s warranty and perky boobs expired the day she dedicated her body to gestating offspring. Should a replacement part be required, please be prepared to spend the next several nights on the sofa.

Feel free to attach an intravenous wine drip to MomBot 2000™ at any time for optimal relaxation and increased sexy time opportunities.

In conclusion, MomBot 2000™ is a solid mechanism that works tirelessly to create a warm and loving environment for her family and nothing can keep this machine from performing its main function; and that is to be the primary kisser of booboo’s and massager of man feet while maintaining her status as the most influential female figure in her offpring's life until they grow up, get married and stop returning her phone calls.


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Vacation Photos: A Man's Perspective
by Karla ° Monday, August 18, 2008
Every time I get home from vacation and start pouring through all of the pictures and video that Mark and I took, I’m faced with one common theme. And this theme has nothing to do with the standard touristy snapshots of colourful artisan markets, wide-brimmed sunhats, or scenic marvels from a faraway land forever stilled in the flushed light of daybreak.

No, the common theme from all of our vacation photos, at least when Mark’s handling the camera, is photo after photo after photo of MY ASS. Note Exhibit A.

Exhibit A: Typical vacation scenery, according to Mark.

Long time readers may recall the video I put together from all the footage that Mark, all clandestine and stealthlike, took of my postpartum derrière when we escaped to the spirit-healing region of the Rocky Mountains shortly after Ava passed away. If you haven't seen it, brace yourself for the eyesore that was my favourite pair of post pregnancy waist-expanding bubble gum-pink yoga pants, decade old rap music, and visible panty lines.

Yesterday, while wadding through an absurdly large and comprehensive collection of my backside for a photo of us from our recent trip to Las Vegas to include in a framed wall display, I found absolutely zero nice photos of the two of us together and settled instead on framing subliminal pornography.

But you know, all things considered, I guess it’s a good thing he’s an ass man, because after more than a year of dedicating my mammaries to breastfeeding, Mother Nature went ahead and rewarded me the chest of a 12-year-old boy.

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Flower Power
by Karla ° Sunday, August 17, 2008
...or Flower Porn?

Flower Power


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Ribbons and puppy dog tails
by Karla ° Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Last week, on a spur of the moment decision, Mark and I decided to pack up the family and escape these suburban hollows for a couple of days to a place where one can sit in the sombre-hued shadows of dusk and watch an orange and vermillion sun set over evening-stilled water and wake up to a lively orchestrated symphony of cooing doves.

This is also where both Mark and I grew up, but it's now better known as Grandparent Territory.

Mark and I had plans to let Nate visit both sets of Grandparents while we spent some quality time together embarking on long heart-pounding runs with Samson through heavily wooded trails infused with the scent of lingering woody-amber pine while fluttering folds in the tree-lined ceiling above softly illuminates the deep forest in a romantic glow.

This all would have worked out perfectly had I not forgot my running shoes.

One morning, while Mark was off connecting with his athletic self and the rustle of Nate’s delight-infused giggles were nothing but an distant echo, I decide to spend some time alone and indulged in the soul-soothing amenities of my parent’s backyard, which includes a hot tub, pool, and the expansive reach of impeccably maintained gardens and lush cotton green grass.

And although I would have much preferred to be able to lace up my running shoes and join Mark, I have to admit, this was about as close to bliss-filled outdoor solitude as it gets because I have to share my tiny backyard with a great big giant dog that is half lab and half crazy. And to put it into perspective, the lushness of my yard is directly proportional to number of times a day that Samson a) excavates invisible bones, b) completes an entire marathon worth of lawn demolishing concentric circles of stupidity, c) pisses on the lawn, and d) shits on the lawn.

In a flawless world filled with of ribbons and puppy dog tails, Samson would be the perfect combination of enduring loyalty and enamoured puppy dog love topped with gossamer mousseline folds of yellow fur, but most days he’s just a handful of toddler-shoving, food-snatching and cat-chasing naughtiness a mere whiskers length away from the glue factory.

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The Almighty Biter
by Karla ° Monday, August 11, 2008
[I thought that while Mark and I are temporarily unplugged from the computer, this would be a great opportunity to introduce you to a personal friend of mine, Rich. A while ago, Rich mentioned to me that he was interested in blogging, but he wasn’t too sure about it all. Knowing that he just had a daughter a few months ago, and that his daughter’s diaper blowouts probably put his big burly man farts to shame, I just looked at him and said, “Dude, you’re a man willing to bare your soul to a largely woman based audience about the time you were pooped on by a pint-sized human. The least we can do is can welcome you with open arms and a collective snicker.”]

I thought that being a (first time) father would definitely be a learning process. I have never picked up a Parenting book or magazine, choosing instead to wing it and simply go with the flow. It's proved quite successful until now.

My hot tamale of a wife and I have a beautiful baby girl who is rapidly approaching the ten month mark and is learning things at a pace that blows my mind.

My daughter Malaia (pronounced Ma-lay-ah), has taken her first step(s) and any day now she is going to be a tiny tornado, swirling through the house destroying everything in her path. I love her to pieces and try to do as much as I can with her as possible. I "parent" her three times a week while my wife is working long days, and some Saturdays. We always have blast, but I just can’t seem to figure out how to get her to stop biting. She is slowly, and I mean slowly, beginning to understand the word no, but when she gets excited or angry, out come those two ferocious little bottom teeth that she has learned to expertly wield by sinking them into every inch of flesh she can find.

I cherish the fact that "NO" is finally sinking in, because quite frankly she bites hard.

A little time, and a lot more patience is, I'm sure, all it’s going to take to solve this problem. But until then, I guess I’ll just have to be faster than my little vampire. A quick finger saving slip here, a fang avoiding duck there and several endless nights of counting my blessings that she doesn't get more teeth before "no biting" finally sinks in should help. And full body armour.
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by Karla ° Sunday, August 10, 2008
Since Mark’s been holidays, by default, I am on holidays, too. Except this holiday has been far from your typical stay-at-home vacation. I have so many exciting things that I want to talk about, but as of this very moment, I also have some very sobering deadlines looming over my shoulders and I just spent the entire day trying to reason with an unreasonable toddler about the non-niceness of smacking his mother in the face.

And in between getting slapped by a human a mere fraction of my size, we also worked on learning that not all men are named Daddy. Especially not the type that are women.

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by Karla ° Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Whenever Mark is on holidays, some rather notable changes take place in our home. Like, for example, the sudden disappearance of every cup in the cupboard, only to have them reappear in various indiscriminate locations all over the house. Like on top of the toilet for example. You know, in places one would totally expect to find half-empty glasses of water.

We usually run the dishwasher every other day. And by we, I mean me, but since Mark’s been home, that machine (bless its automated dishwashing soul) has been run every single day. Now, I grew up in a very frugal household, and because my family did not even have the means to waste money on extra drops of dish soap, I was taught to reuse the same water glass for an entire day. And you know, I still do this today. But not because I can’t afford dish soap. I’m just too lazy about emptying the never-ending pile of dishes in the dishwasher.

My mom also taught me to never to use the same knife in the jelly jar that had just been dipped into the peanut butter jar, but whenever my mom visits, watching the look of horror spread across her face as I prepare my morning bagel is so worth living with peanut butter tainted jelly.

I was also taught to clip coupons, but after a while, I just found the task of spending Sunday afternoons diligently sifting through stacks of flyers to save ten cents off of a bottle of brand name ketchup a waste of time when all I have to do to save that money is hide all the treats in the house on Mark instead. And besides, I don’t have a problem with no name ketchup, especially since, you know, I don’t even eat it. And Mark, don’t think I can’t see you cringing as you read this because I know how much you love to saturate your hamburgers in nothing but soppy piles of ketchup. Just remember that when we took our wedding vows and promised to love each other unconditionally, it’s not my problem you forgot to include splurging on brand name condiments as a caveat to that oath. Perhaps this Sunday instead of a surprise blowjob you’d like to clip coupons together instead?

Oh wait, never mind, this Sunday I will busy doing seventeen loads of laundry in addition to my usual never-ending pile of weekly loads because Mark and I cannot seem to agree on a general sock wearing consensus. After Nate has a bath, I’m happy to have him finish the day wearing the same pair of socks that he started it with. Mark on other hand, insists a squeaky clean kid needs freshly laundered clothes. Including socks.

Which, you know, I can totally live with. I’ll just be too busy washing socks to give that surprise blowjob.

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As of this moment
by Karla ° Monday, August 4, 2008
The expansive reach of a yellow summer sun is saturating our deck with its warmth, Mark is on holidays, we’ve got a whole lot of things to celebrate and we splurged and bought the expensive beer to do it.

Life is good.


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by Karla ° Friday, August 1, 2008
[Nerdy Nerd Language=Excuses]
function ProcastinateOnBlogPosting(Karla, Excuses)
for each(Excuse in Excuses)
Karla.AllConsumingBlackHoleOfTime (Excuse.TimeSuck)
if (Karla.StillHasNoTime=true)
[/Nerdy Nerd]


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