When thinking about our children’s bedroom decor we should consider other issues beyond good taste, style and pretty colors. It is also extremely important to cater for their safety and welfare. Any type of grand home decoration always requires extra care, and when it comes to our children’s bedrooms we should always ensure safety as well as fun.
The bedroom ought to be a place that exudes peace, so the child can always feel secure and protected. We can also decorate it with lots of vivid colors that add a positive vibe. Care for mother’s day? Check out this post.
The chosen colors should depend on the activities your child likes and enjoys. If he or she is an overactive child, the colors should be crisp and clear; think of pastels (blue or green) to ensure a relaxing mood. If, on the other hand, the child is too quiet, decorate it with bold and warm colors like yellows, reds and oranges. Leave aside neutral and muted colors in general.
Unbeknownst to us we arrived in Perfection the day of the Ironman triathlon. It wasn’t until we checked into our hotel that I saw the iron-man poster and realized what the pylons on the road were for. At the brewpub, where we went for dinner, all the TV’s were tuned to the local station. They had their TV cameras trained on the finish line. So much for finding out the latest Olympic news.
I always thought bike shorts looked bulky and unflattering and wondered why anyone would want to wear something that made their butt look bigger?
When we were in Calgary, shopping at MEC, to buy a headlamp for Robert so he could read his book in the campsite at night without trying to steal the light from my headlamp, he suggested I try some on. He already has a pair.
I’ve noticed in the last few years that my bike seat is getting more and more uncomfortable. I wonder if it has anything to do with age? anyway I decided to have a look at them. The first thing I noticed is how less bulky the shorts where than I remembered; the other thing, was there was only one pair left in my size. By this time I thought maybe there was a possibility I might buy them so I tried them on.
A few weeks back two women who I really respect were having a discussion about making healthy food choices. As far as I know, they are both stay-at-home moms trying to support their families on one salary.
One was raised in a single parent home and one was a single mom herself not too long ago. I tell you all this just to say that both of these women have had unique life experiences. Their discussion centered around whether you could be poor and still eat healthy food, or if being poor meant that you could not afford to eat healthy. Obviously, they both had different opinions.
Both acknowledged it was difficult, but they differed on how possible it was to not have money and still eat healthy.
Then today, I came up upon this article saying that healthy food is a privilege of the rich. it’s not what GED students as myself what to hear! I saved some money because I followed free online classes that were very for my GED prep, but I am far from being rich!
And it made me think of their discussion all over again. Are those who have a lower socio-economic level destined to not be able access healthy nutrition?
Hired guns? Are there any of you out there?
Please, if you have a single compassionate bone in your body, put me on the list. Preferably somewhere near the top? Thanks bunches.
Oh, and if this makes it any more appealing for you, feel free to make it as painful and torturous as possible. Whatever you have in mind can’t effing touch what we’ve got going on in this hell hole. I always say, “If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.”
Hit me with your best shot.
If you are one of those parents that send their sick children to school, please read on because this is just for you. If you are the type to get all up in arms when someone calls you out on your bullshit, please do not hesitate to send me disgruntled emails and hateful comments. I would love nothing more than to know who you are and what your reasoning is for spreading your misery around.
My oldest son, 17 now, has missed probably 40% of school up to this point. Mostly because he was exhibiting some minor symptom of one thing or another and I didn’t think it would be right to risk passing something on to the other kids in his class. Usually, it ended up being allergy or asthma related and wouldn’t have been contagious anyway, but I had the decency to put other people’s health before my 4 1/2 hours of free time.
Do you remember during Bill Clinton’s first term, in response to a question about her past, Hillary Clinton said “I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies and had teas, but what I decided to do was to fulfill my profession.”
At the time, I completely supported her statement and thought the backlash from certain women’s groups was unfair. She was a strong smart woman and what she had meant was that she chose to pursue her career instead of being a home maker. What was wrong with that? Good for her I thought.
Well, now life looks a little different. In the last seven days, I’ve made at least eight dozen cookies and I love going to and having ladies teas.
What the hell happened to me? I went from being an ambitious lawyer climbing up the career ladder with both hands and both feet on fire to spending an entire afternoon making the most awesome snowman cookies EVER with my sons!
I’ve mentioned before I don’t care too much for the holiday season.
It’s just a big mess to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a lot of holidays, but the “holiday season” is just a long, dragged out hooplah to me.
Although many people consider it beginning at Halloween, which is ABSOLUTELY AWESOME. But after Halloween, it has it’s highs and lows. Namely Thanksgiving. Boring. Nothing good. No candy. At least Christmas has presents and New Year’s Eve has chocolate and cheese fondue.
Growing up, the holiday season was always a bittersweet experience (except Thanksgiving because, like I said, nothing good came out of that) for me. We got awesome goodies, but for a price. All day there was much to do, always so much to do. Much cleaning and helping out. I absolutely detested it.
Ugh, there was just so much to do. And being the youngest? Eventually all my siblings trickled out…and there was only me. For a time.
I am walking into a building, leaving the warm, fall sunlight behind me. Down the stairs into this cellar like auditorium. My mother is beside me, my sister is behind us, Chris is in front with Caitlin and my brother Patrick is angry with me for some unknown reason.
We are dressed up in suits and dresses as we take seats in the very back row, my father is sitting on the stage while my brother Steven walks around the room, giving an introduction.
In front of us are two men I graduated high school with. Why they are there, I do not understand. Because it’s my father? Because they are interested in this announcement we are here for? They recognize my brothers and speak to them as if they are old friends.
My brothers were graduated long before the introduction of these two gentlemen in my life and they were never anything more than classmates. Kinley is sitting in my lap and Caitlin is now in her own seat, enjoying her freedom.
Steven walks behind us and talks and finally introduces my father. He smiles eagerly as my dad walks to the podium, returning his smile. He knows this secret, he knows why we are all there.
Last night was, without a doubt, rough. Personally, I think panic attacks are completely overrated, but that’s just me. I don’t happen to enjoy the “oh-my-god-I-can’t-breath-what-the-fuck-am-I-gonna-do??” moments that tend to surround motherhood, which then are closely followed by mommy guilt. Seriously, it was awful.
For an almost two year old, Caitlin hasn’t had many instances of falling. I can only think of three actually in which there was mass amounts of crying; once when she was an infant and she rolled off the bed when Chris was watching her while I was in the shower and didn’t realize she rolled, once when she fell out of her swing because Chris didn’t strap her in or snap the tray in all the way, both of those she was rather young, an infant-ish age.
The final time was when we first moved in this house and she fell down a couple (not the entire flight) of the stairs on her way down. Yes, there have been bumps and scraps here and there, but those are the only ones I’ve ever actually been present to care for her afterwords. She’s never been seriously hurt, the falls just scare her more than anything while she does get maybe a slight bump.
But last night was completely different and it terrified me…
I have had it. Seriously, I’ve just had it. Yesterday was the final straw.
I’ve mentioned the troubles with my insurance company before. In the (not even full) year we’ve been with them they have lost faxes, called my husband a liar, lied about sending paperwork to the appropriate sectors to get claims fixed and so on. That is just the issues we’ve had on the phone with them. They also don’t cover shit.
They don’t cover the any of the cost of Chris’ Concerta, which is why he had to switch to Ritalin. And the insurance, as it turns out, doesn’t cover much of that one either. So he opted to stop taking it all together. And if you’re married to someone with adult-ADHD, you know how difficult it can be…I mean, you can only take being cut off mid-sentence to talk about something else so many times!
That’s a whole ‘nother story however. A story for when I’m about to divorce him.
Pua’s back. Tell a friend. Guess who’s back, guess who’s back, guess who’s back….
Yes, yes indeed. And boy does it feel good. I just had to take a little hiatus and get my head screwed on and wiggle myself into feeling normal. That hasn’t happened yet, but I haven’t been drinking heavily, so it evens out, right?
Just kidding about the drinking part.
I mean, I don’t drink heavily.
All the time.
So what’s good in the hood, ‘yo? I would just like to give a HUGE thank you to all of you out there in Twitterverse and Blogsphere who have sent me the lovely emails checking in on me throughout the weeks and giving me your love and “miss yous” and for checking back EVERY DAY to see if I’ve written anything and keeping this alive. Thank you. It means the world. If I could bake a dozen of cookies for all of you, I would, but that’s a lot of batter.