Monthly Archives: December 2014

Momversation Snippets about the Canadian Weblog Awards Shortlist

November 29, 10:45pm

Jac: Dude. I have bad news. Remember our award nomination that I really want to get shortlisted for because I have an irrational dream that getting onto the shortlist will somehow magically make our pageviews skyrocket?

Juli: I DO remember! I try to keep track of ALL of your irrational dreams.

Jac: Well, tonight I went to see if the results are up yet because it’s supposed to be announced on December 1st, and it apparently has been delayed until December 5. And even worse, there are now a million more nominees! So there is basically no chance. Booooooo!

Juli: That award is a dink. Those other nominees are also probably dinks. I’m sorry you feel disappointed. Also, thanks for always dreaming big dreams for us, and keeping track of all these things. I feel like I’m the “blog husband” in this blog marriage of ours. And by that I mean, I’m the one who does the minimum requirements, and you do so much more work than me.

Jac: I don’t mind being the blog wife. Please don’t leave me. Now take out the garbage and pick up your socks.

December 5, evening:

Jac: Even though I KNOW we are not going to get shortlisted, I have been checking all day to see if the results of our award get posted! WHY is it taking so long? WHY won’t my hopes stay down? I’m so stupid!

Juli: Would it make you feel better if I gave you an award?

Jac: Will your award help us generate lots more pageviews?

Juli: Probably! Because Christmas magic is REAL.

Jac: Okay, yes then.

Juli:

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Jac: That’s tiny. But thanks. Now we can talk about your post for tomorrow morning.

LONG LONG conversation about Juli’s post, which is about her experience with postpartum depression after the birth of her first baby. It’s a wonderful post; you’ll all think so. She hit publish on the post just after midnight, and we said goodnight to our blog spouse so we could join our actual spouses in bed.

December 6, 3:09am

Jac: I hope you’re in bed. It’s 3am, after all. I’m up with the baby, of course, and I thought I’d check the award results. And DUDE. We got shortlisted!! In one of our three categories: humour! Yay us! Now I’m going back to bed!

December 6, 3:14am

Jac: I’m out of bed again. Because, Juli. We just posted a post about DEPRESSION three hours before being nominated in the HUMOUR category! What if we actually get all those extra pageviews I’m dreaming of, and the first thing they see is a post about depression?! I’m going to take it down for now. Okay? Okay? We’ll put it up again soon. I don’t know when; it’s 3am.

December 6, 8:19am

Juli: Naw it’s fine. Good call. Classic Jac overthink, at 3:00 in the morning. So good to wake up to.

Jac: You’re not mad?

Juli: No. I’m the blog husband, remember? I don’t GET mad. We should post something about how we got shortlisted though, because our bloopies will want to know, so they can say that they knew us before we got FAM-OUS!

********

And so we did. This here Momversation. If you want to see this list of all the categories and blogs that got shortlisted, you can find it here. There are a lot of great Canadian bloggers out there! (We’re sorry we called you dinks. It was late, and we were grumpy, and it had been a long day!)

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Thank you Canadian Weblog Awards! Also: Sorrrrrrryyyy!

How to convince your mom to buy you a t-shirt at Disney on Ice

This past weekend, I went with my two oldest children to Disney on Ice. The tickets were a pre-Christmas gift from their Uncle Al (brother to Aunt-mazing Katy—as I’ve said before, my kids are lucky!), and we were all very excited to go. But the drive to get there was pretty long, and we had to take a detour to pick up Uncle Al, and we were pretty tired. So as we were pulling in to the parking lot at the Pacific Coliseum—ten minutes until show time—the excitement gave way to something else entirely. E (age 5) said those five little words that cause an immediate pit of dread in any parent’s stomach: “Mommy: I don’t feel good!” And then, three seconds later—just long enough for me to say, “What honey? Are you going to throw up?”—she threw up. And then she threw up again. And then again. I made sympathetic noises from the driver’s seat and continued to drive, deciding that we should get to our parking space as soon as possible, even if it meant E had to sit in her own puke for a few minutes.

So we parked, with eight minutes until show time. I got out of the van and walked around to the sliding door, which I opened to assess the damage. And it was not good … not good at all. The usual barf culprits were present: the chunkiness, the smell, the sad-looking child. But in this case, it was really the quantity of vomit that was unusual—there was a lot of it, and much of it was pooled on poor E’s fancy-dress-covered lap. I quickly reviewed the supplies I had available to me in my recently tidied van (Darn you, Daddy! You picked the wrong time to tidy the van!). There was one package of wet wipes. And one plastic grocery bag. That was it. No extra clothes, no towels, no coats, no water. But of course I had no choice, and I got to work. I’ll spare you the details, but pretty soon I had a plastic bag full of wet wipes and barf, a child wearing a wiped-off pair of tights with just a winter coat over them, and a brother-in-law who was very impressed with my ability to remain calm in a crisis.

We left the dress on the pavement and the windows of the van open just a bit to lessen the chance of a smelly ride home, and we speed-walked toward the stadium. Six minutes until show time.

When we arrived, we boogied through the crowd toward our seats, but we paused at a booth to buy a pink Disney t-shirt so E wouldn’t have to wear a winter jacket for the whole show, and we put it on her right there in the crowd. We found our seats and shimmied past the people in the aisle seats who had wisely gotten there with time to spare. We sat down. One minute until show time.

Here she is after the wonderful show, wearing her new shirt and feeling much better.

Here she is after the wonderful show, wearing her new shirt and feeling much better.

The opening few minutes of the show were wonderful. We were all mesmerized and delighted. But then G leaned over and said those three little words that cause an immediate pit of dread in any parent’s stomach: “Mommy, I’m hungry.” Well, I’d been so busy cleaning up vomit and spending $25 on a stupid t-shirt that I’d forgotten the snacks in the car.

 

Footnote: Did you know that the popcorn at Disney on Ice cost FIFTEEN DOLLARS? Crazy, right? Now I’m gonna puke.

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