I’ve been neglecting this blog for 6 days.  Unfortunately, I have not been giving birth.

*  On Thursday evening, I fell.  Hard, road-rash style, stomach first, right in the middle of the road.  My darling, angel-pie Eirinn was running away from me and I was trying to run after her with my arms filled with toddler paraphernalia and I, being ridiculously front heavy, fell whilst in full speed.  I scraped up my wrist and palm, earned a giant bruise on my knee, but am otherwise fine.  The baby is also fine. 

Eirinn was a brave little trooper when this happened (we’ll overlook the fact that this wouldn’t have happened had she not been running away from me).  She immediately stopped running, flew back to me, screaming “Mommy, get up!  Mommy, don’t cry!”  I told her to go and get Babba (we were right in front of the house) and she did.  She ran up to the house like a big girl, banged on the door as hard as she could, yelling “Babba!  Mommy fell down!”

While I was in the washroom, cleaning myself up and poking at my stomach to make sure the baby was moving, my mom and Eirinn discussed the importance of her staying with me when we’re outside and holding my hand.  When I got out, Eirinn apologized and promised she will never run away again.

Even though it was her fault, I’m still proud of how she reacted.

*  The whole Tornado family went shopping on the weekend.  How is it possible that we exit Zellers, having spent $175, and the only thing for me was a $9.00 pillow?  That, my friends, is called Motherhood.  Oh, and don’t let me forget my share of bed sheets.  I retract my bitter sarcasm.

*  Eirinn has a new obsession.  She seems to just replace obsessions with new obsessions.  See the progression from Dora to Diego to Alice in Wonderland.  Now she dedicates her life to The Wizard of Oz.  Or “Wizaboz”, if you’d like to pronounce it properly.  She likes it best if you fast forward to the Munchkins and her favourite character seems to be the Tinman, because that’s who she asks for.  As in “Where’s the Tinman?” while eating breakfast this morning.  Um…in the movie.  Am I being punked?

She knows all the songs and will sing them to you or with you on cue.  Her favourite song is “The Lollipop Guild”, which tends to be neverending because the ending is kind of tricky and she usually just starts again at the beginning.

*  Eirinn is in Big Girl Underwear full time, except for bedtime and naptime.  She hates having to wear baby diapers to bed, but we insist because we’re not sure she’s ready to start trying underwear all the time.  Mostly because I’m not ready to stop using the baby gate at her doorway.  Although, she did wake up this morning with a DRY diaper, which earned her a great round of applause plus a big hug. 

*  I have been experiencing some pregnancy symptoms and side effects that I didn’t have the joy of experiencing with Eirinn.  It’s getting to the “adding insult to injury” stage here and I’ve just about had enough.  Ok.  So I had “had enough” about a month ago, but still.  If you haven’t been able to tell, I’m ready to be not pregnant now.

At 35 weeks, I am currently Googling “Performing your own c-section”.  Strangely and disturbingly, I actually found something…

* Before you start reading this post, I must disclaim - I am not a redneck.  I enjoy a variety of cultural entertainment, such as the theatre, which I attend at least once or twice a year.  I am a huge Josh Groban fan and even went to his concert.  He’s not redneck, right?  I’ve been to the Salvador Dali museum twice.  I don’t own any mustard-stained wife-beaters.  I don’t even own any track suits.  I have all my own teeth.  (Well, I do have crowns on my front teeth, but that was totally by choice, not as a result of a bar fight.)  I don’t watch WWE or NASCAR or American Gladiators.

** Not that someone who possesses these qualities is necessarily a redneck.  Just know that I am not.  Really.  Quit smirking.

*** Not that there’s anything wrong with being a redneck.  I, for one, was born in a hamlet scattered with all brands of redneck and most of them are very lovely people.

***

This may come as a bit of a shock to those who don’t know me or who only know me a wee bit.  Brace yourself.

My family, everyone, my parents, siblings, their significant others, Anonymous Husband and I, are big fans.  Of what, you ask?  Well, let me tell you, it’s not the opera.

We arrange our lives around monthly Pay-Per-View UFC; Ultimate Fighting Championship, to the uninformed.  UFC is the major leagues of mixed martial arts.  It is mainly boxing, Greco-Roman wrestling, and jiu-jitsu, with occasionally another discipline thrown in the mix.  It is highly skilled, competitive fighting.  In the most un-WWE way possible.  It is all real and totally un-choreographed.

We lurve it.  We talk about how “fired up” we are about an upcoming match ad nauseum.  We debate the fight cards pre-event.  In fact, AH practically bought our fancy-schmancy television in anticipation of PPV going HD with the UFC (that is so fun to say).

Now, I’m not a violent person IRL(in real life).  Movies with violence only really appeal to me if they have historic significance or if the violence contributes to the story line and is not gratuitous.  But when it comes to UFC, I am completely desensitized.  The more action, the better the fight.  Let’s just say, no UFC bout was decided on a smile and a handshake.

AH and I host these PPV events, mainly because Eirinn is asleep when they start.  It’s just easier.  Plus then we don’t have to shift our arses off the couch.  We have treats and snacks and appetizers and make a whole big deal out of the night.

There is the Grand Daddy of All UFC Events coming up this Saturday.  We’ve been looking forward to it since it was initially announced.  I’ll spare you the details, but I will say that the main event is a title match between this really big jerky jerk-head jerk and unarguably the most talented Canadian fighter in the league.  Plus?  It will be the first time an event is held in Canada.  We have strict rules for fighting in Canada, especially in Ontario (something about all fighters must be amateur and UFC fighters are professional), but Quebec is more lenient. 

Needless to say, we are tres fired up.  I’ll let you know how it goes, whether you’re interested or not.

So that Totally Awesome post about the weekend?  Riiiight.  Our weekend was a lot of this:

And a little bit of this:

While watching this:

Yes, the Grinch Who Stole Christmas was played on Sunday.  I’ve found it’s hard to explain to a not quite 2 year old that watching a Christmas movie in February may not be the most appropriate way to spend an afternoon.  But she’s stubborn and she wanted to watch it.  And when you’re pregnant and sick and lazy (mostly lazy), you don’t argue too hard.  You just put in the DVD, flop on the couch surrounded by balled-up used Kleenex and your own stink, and shut up about the durn movie.

Other highlights of the weekend:

a) I made twice-baked potatoes and cobbler, thanks to the inspiration and my fascination with The Pioneer Woman and her Cooks!blog.  Love her.  Like in-love with her.  But totally hetero girl love.  Like if she didn’t have all that other stuff of being a wife and a mother and a world famous blogista, I would totally ask her to come live with us and cook all our meals.  But only if she kept a hilarious, sarcastic running commentary.  With drool-inducing pictures.

Anyway, the fact that I cooked is amazing in and of itself because I am not a cooker (is that right?).  I mean cook.  Just cook.  I bake.  I do not cook.  Not that I can’t cook.  I just choose to channel my talents elsewhere.  Like eating.  But the potatoes and the cobbler turned out incredible.  And I’m not just patting my own back, I had plenty of other people patting it for me.  The potatoes were, and I quote, “better than the Keg’s” and the cobbler is now my “new signature dessert”.  Sure does make one want to do this cooking thing more often.  “One”.  Not me.  But maybe I’ll do it once in a while, to make everyone else happy.

b)  Mommy and Daddy vs. Eirinn.  Sunday night.  We had a half an hour stand-off over whether or not she should have to clean up the blocks she dumped, then kicked, all over the living room floor.  We said she probably should.  She said most certainly not.  We said oh yes, you are.  She said AHHHHHH!!!!  NOOOOO!!!!  We said y’are so, or these blocks are going straight into the garbage.  She dragged her feet.  Well, kind of stomped her feet. 

Let’s just say Team Mommy and Daddy finally won in a long, hard-fought, bloody battle ’til the death.  Or at least until all the blocks were back in their bag. 

The funny thing is she normally is pretty good at cleaning up.  She knows she has to put one thing away before playing with another and she does so happily, singing her clean up song.  I guess we just caught her at a bad time.

So, anyway, sorry about all the hype about this post.  I was being facetious.  I just learned how to spell that word today, so I had to give myself a reason to use it.  You were the victim.