In between picking my theme song for 2011 (which after 24 hours of the shitfest I've just been through - not so much) and Satan trying to kill me I’ve managed to wean myself off my nose spray addiction. 

For the third time.

I posted a blog the other day about my New Year’s resolutions and how they’re going to be ones I can actually fail at instead of the lame-o ones I came up with in 2010.  Because, what the hell, right?

Night one with Hammy wasn’t so bad.  In fact, I think it was so much excitement leaving the pet shop and getting a new cage and being stared at by a ravenous cat with murder in his eyes, he was just plum exhausted and pretty much slept the whole night. 

Enter Cinnamon, or as I like to call him “I’m Pretty Sure You’re Satan.”

Cinnamon, shall we say, is a bit... INSANE. Like COMPLETELY MENTAL. And I'm pretty sure he’s plotting my death.

We have two new additions to our household - Hammy and Cinnamon, two very cute, fluffy, fat-bottomed teddy bear hamsters which I’ve since renamed to “What The Hell Was I Thinking” and “I’m Pretty Sure You’re Satan”.

For months Son No. 2 was begging me to get a hamster and for months I tried to convince him that a pet rat would be a better choice. 

No, seriously.

Rats - Not cute, but very smart and social.  Not likely to bite.

So New Year’s resolutions

Ya.

Also

Huh.

My husband and I don’t exchange gifts for Christmas.  People are sometimes shocked when they hear this but the truth is I don’t want for anything.  I have a wonderful family, good health, great friends and throughout the year, when and if I need something, I don’t even have to think twice. 

But that doesn’t mean I don’t receive gifts. 

$1,892.58

That’s how much we’ve spent on swimming lessons this past year. 

I’ll just let that sink in for a minute.

One thousand, eight hundred, ninety-two dollars and fifty-eight cents. 

Do you have any idea what I could do with that amount of money?

After being together for a few years, many married couples can start talking in point form. We are no exception.  Case in point, our conversation from last night.

Set Scene:  Me putting movie into DVD player.

Husband:  What's that?

Me: Eclipse

Husband: Eclipse?

Me: Vampires

Husband: Like Full Moon?

Me: New Moon

Husband: I'm going on the computer

I was going to write a blog about the parenting disaster that’s been my last 24 hours but instead thought I’d focus on something that makes me happy.

Wine.

We kick it old school at our house - my kids pretty much have no "real" video games or gaming devices *insert gasp here*.  And yes, I do go back and forth on whether or not to get them into gaming.  But until I make up my mind, they entertain themselves by doing stuff like performing magic shows or skateboarding on homemade ramps and rigging up ratchet systems to pulley neighbourhood kids up the tree in the park across the street.  Right now

Many years ago on a cold day just like today, I gave birth to my son.  A few days later still feeling like I had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, I took him home - shell-shocked -  not knowing the first thing about raising a child.  I remember looking down at this little being asleep in his car seat feeling overwhelmed with the responsibility I had been given.

Dear Ric,

In the last installation of Lavwa's Life, I was trying to ruin the family vacation to Hawaii and of course, you were there to save the day once again, basking in all the gloriousness that is you.

Or so we thought.

Christmas is just around the corner leaving mothers everywhere getting on their game face.  Because on top of the normal every day stuff we do, the stuff that fills our every waking hour and leaves us flopping on the couch in exhaustion at the end of the day, we now have to shop, wrap, craft, decorate, plan, ship, write, mail, list, cook, clean, bake, party and visit. 

The kids may love the holidays, but when you’re a mom, it’s less festive, more stress-tive.

Before you read any further, there are three things you need to know about me:

I get that it’s easier to walk through a door and not hold it open for the person behind you or to look-through the cashier scanning your groceries instead of seeing her.  I know how good it feels to flip someone the bird when they cut you off or to purposely not let someone merge into your lane just because. 

Last week I wrote about my son embarking on his new career path - author - and how my enthusiasm waned upon discovering the main villain was Tak, the mom who hates kids.  But hey...that's okay... because apparently the family hates her too. Also, it appears she has a penis for a head.  

Let's see what that evil bitch is up to this week shall we?

It’s been a fun few days for me on the internety world.  Nothing like telling a few thousand of your closest friends you *may* have shit your pants a couple of times to keep you humble.

Good times, good times indeed.

Today I thought I’d step away from my neurotic tendencies - ’cause god only knows, I can write about that shit all day long – and talk about skin care.

If  you didn't read Part 1, it's right here....

***

Son No. 1 decided recently he wanted to write a book.  Of course I was all over it and gave him a little notebook to start on his new career path. 

My excitement has since waned...

In case you can't read it or decipher the spelling mistakes it says:

Meet Mom.  She is incredibly strict and hates children which is strange because she has kids.  The family doesn't like her. The mom's name is Tak.

I don’t know how to begin this so you’ll just have to bear with me while I write through my blocks.  And I’ll warn you now, this will be long.  Very long.  I’ll probably be breaking it up into parts, so grab a coffee or a wine - whatever you want to drink for whatever time of day it is you’re reading this - and get comfy.  Also, you should know I’ve had therapy for all I’m about to write about and I’m okay with doing this.  It took a long time to get to this place, but I’m here. 

And in case I don’t get to it tonight, one of the biggest heroes in this story is my husband.

We have no video games or hand held electronic games in our house.  Zero.  None. Nadda. Nothing.

Actually, that's not completely true.  We have a little box you can plug into the t.v. to play Pac Man. My kids only source of video game entertainment is a game I played 25 years ago. 

Ya...I’ll just give you a second to let that one sink in.

*whistling, tapping fingers on desk*

Typically when I tell other mother’s this, I get one of two reactions.

Shock and Awe:  How do you survive?