The Battle of the Black Boots

Black boots

If you see a pair of boots that look like these, call me…

 

A few weeks ago, my new boots were just sitting by the front door, minding their own business, when my husband walked in. He glanced down, at my spiffy purchase and, with a face scrunched up, like a disgruntled Shitsu, he said: “What’s with those boots? Are they yours or Ava’s?”

“Mine,” I replied, with a hint of pride in my tone. They were quite unique, after all.

“You’re 40. Not 14,” he said, smirking in that know-it-all way that husbands (who think they know-it-all) do.

I didn’t respond. Nope. I just looked at him because sometimes a look is all you need. I simply smiled, sort of like this:

Miranda

while silently committing to wearing my new boots as often as possible, especially while out with him.

And that’s what I did. I wore the boots. All. The. Time. Our daughters complimented me on them, while John rolled his eyes. He even made a few comments about the boots, in front of the girls, but I soon took it upon myself to turn such moments into lessons in individuality and feminism.

“You see girls, Dad doesn’t like my boots. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t still like my boots. I am my own person and if I like the boots then that’s all that matters!”

This went on casually and consistently for a few weeks. Until yesterday, actually.

Yesterday, the boots went missing.

I know he took them. He knows that I know he took them. I have no idea where they are and he’s not telling me. So, now I have no option but to dig out the old floral sweatpants, that he also dislikes. It just makes sense. Besides, they are so comfy.

And tonight, you can be sure, I’ll be wearing my white gown to bed. Because why wait ‘til summer when I can annoy my husband all year round.

 

 

Did you know that Shannon Day and 36 other fab writers have created a book? Well, it’s actually a martini guide too. If you like funny, ridiculous, and heartstring-tugging stories of motherhood (+ easy-to-make martini & mocktini recipes) then you’ll love Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?!  Available now on Amazon.

Final Book Cover

 

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The Massage

Masseur doing massage the head of an adult woman in the spa salo

So relaxing, peaceful, and …. WTF?!

 

As a Mother’s Day gift, from our kind husbands, my girlfriend Amy and I were sent out for an afternoon of indulgence and relaxation. Both of us pregnant, and with little ones at home, we were grateful for the chance to be de-stressed and pampered.

Our afternoon began with high tea, whilst overlooking Manchester’s city centre, where we savoured gourmet finger sandwiches and gorged our pregnant selves silly, on tiny cakes.

This ever-so traditional English experience, was followed by a spa treatment of a less traditional nature. We were rubbed and scrubbed from head to toe for sixty heavenly minutes…

Sigh. 

And afterwards, feeling both rejuvenated and useless, we beached our indulged bodies on lounge chairs in the spa’s relaxation room. There, peppermint tea in hand, Amy and I had the following conversation:

Amy: “That citrus oil was sooo nice. I think I’ll buy some.”

Me: : “It was nice. You should.”

Amy: “What a great massage. So relaxing. I don’t even want to move!”

Me: “I know. Me neither. I have to admit, though, I was a bit caught off guard by the boob rub…”

Amy: (unbeaching herself with a shocking level of agility) “The what rub?”

Me: “Boob rub… You know, when she put on the anti-stretch mark lotion?”

Amy: “Are you kidding me?! What do you mean?”

Me: “What do you mean? You didn’t have one?”

Amy: “NO!? Like… When? How?”

Me: “Well, she was applying the shea butter, in a circular motion, on my bump and surrounding area and then she gave my boobs a total rub down! It was sort of like a slow motion, holistic version, of Tune in Tokyo. Only slightly less awkward.”

Amy: “Oh my GOD!” (starts laughing).

Me: ….

Amy: “Sooo. How was it?”

Me: “Well, after the initial “what the hell?” moment, it was actually sorta nice.”

Amy: (suddenly serious) “Wait a minute. Why did you get a boob rub and I didn’t?”

Me: “I don’t know! I guess you’ll have to ask for Jessica, next time…”

*******

Well, next time never did happen. Neither Amy, nor I, called to book a massage with Jessica. A surprise boob rub is one thing but signing up for a pre-planned one, is a bit too X-rated for us suburban moms. Instead, life carried on as it always had; after I answered a few predictably basic questions, from my husband, that is. Yes, she was hot and yes, I actually did like it.

 

This post first appeared on BLUNTmoms.

 

Did you know that Shannon Day and 36 other fab writers have created a book? Well, it’s actually a martini guide too. If you like funny, ridiculous, and heartstring-tugging stories of motherhood (+ easy-to-make martini & mocktini recipes) then you’ll love Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?!  Available now on Amazon.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00067]

 

Hey Pilates Teacher, Lose the Latte

bigstock-Female-hands-holding-hot-mug-c-73013134.jpg

I saw you today, on my way out of yoga. You were there, waiting for the studio to clear, so you and the others could pile in. There seemed to be, as usual, a decent turn out. At least 20 people were waiting, mats at the ready, smiles on their faces. You were clearly prepared, too, with your usual instructional tool and attire…

I fought back my annoyance as I passed through the group. You see, I attended your Pilates class three times last year and haven’t been back. Unfortunately, you are the main instructor at the gym, so I haven’t done Pilates since then. I have, instead, chosen to do yoga and to use the machines and weights.

I used to like Pilates, so I feel a bit peeved. But… only when I see you with your latte.

Yes, when I see you, in your chosen gym garb, Starbucks in hand, I’m reminded of the three classes that I spent sweating on a mat at your whim. I’d been there, following your instructions, holding my plank until my arms turned to jelly, sweating it out through the 100 as you lead the session- using nothing but your voice. You’d sat there, at the front of the room, cupping your latte in both hands as if relaxing fireside, on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The first time you did this, I simply assumed you weren’t feeling well. The second time, when you were sitting all cosy-like, again, I wondered if maybe you had a bad back or morning sickness, perhaps. I noted that the others in the class seemed unfazed by your lack of participation and the fact that you were actually sporting a fucking poncho!

So, curious as to WTF?!, I asked the lady next to me: “Does she always teach from a seated position while sipping a coffee?” She smiled and told me that yes, in fact, she did.

Well, that was it!

I was done.

Maybe the others didn’t mind being guided by the voice of the Chillaxing Champion of Canada, but I did! And I can’t imagine I’m the only one who doesn’t want to gaze upon a coffee-sipper while sweating my core off.

We get it, winter is cold and demotivating. We all know this! Which is why we come to you. We need you to energize us and inspire us. We need you to put us in motion not to ignite in us a feeling of envy over your Starbucks and your Boho shawl with tassels. (Which is really gorgeous, by the way.) You see, Pilates class isn’t the time to stay comfy or to see how close you can get to full fetal, while remaining upright. It’s just not the place for that. When we, the students, look up, sweat dripping from our brow, we want to see you exercising too.

So do us a favour, Moonbeam, next time- leave your poncho and your Starbucks at the door. Is this really too much to ask?

 

This post originally ran on BLUNTmoms. 

 

Did you know that Shannon Day and 36 other fab writers have created a book? Well, it’s actually a martini guide too. If you like funny, ridiculous, and heartstring-tugging stories of motherhood (+ easy-to-make martini & mocktini recipes) then you’ll love Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! Available now on Amazon.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00067]

Top Five Faves of 2015

Man And Woman At The Bar - Vector Illustration.

Well, it’s has been another fab year of writing and I’d like to say, “Thank you!” for your continued support! It means a lot to me. Here are the top five posts from Martinis and Motherhood for 2015.

5. What Happens in Vegas… 

One of the highest hands in poker a Spades Royal Flush on a red

This post was widely read and, funnily enough, it had ladies googling: “Shannon Day’s Husband” in what I assume was an attempt to see a picture of John! When Mamapedia shared this piece it brought almost 2,000 visitors to my site which was the most I’d seen in one day.

If you missed it, here is the fifth most popular post of 2015: What Happens in Vegas (Reflections of a Non-Jealous Wife).

Continue reading

Exile the Elf in 8 Simple Steps

 

elf

When it comes to The Elf on the Shelf, we parents are divided into four separate camps. There are those of us who adore the ‘lil fella, those who despise him and his creepy face, those who are sort of “whatever” about it all, and those who live peacefully, in a bubble, oblivious to the elf-world.

For a long while I was contently a member of the latter camp. Then we moved from the UK to Canada and my peaceful bubble was popped. The elf was everywhere, the kids loved it, and before I could put my UGG-clad foot down, we’d added a new little buddy to our holiday traditions: Summer the Elf.

And so began the nightly moves from one not-so-crazy spot to the next while a barrage of Facebook updates, showing the wild antics of other people’s elves, highlighted the dullness of our elf’s life.

Other people’s elves were pooping rainbow coloured chocolate while our elf lounged next to the toaster. Other people’s elves made snow angels in fluffy piles of flour and had a jolly-old-time messing up the kitchen while our elf sat alone in a window sill (wishing she lived in a home where fun happened). Other people’s elves “came in like a wrecking ball” while ours hung upside-down from a dusty chandelier for three nights in a row.

We didn’t hate the elf. She didn’t hate us. But, I admit, enthusiasm was low on the parental front.

Yet, as uninspired as we were, the kids liked the elf and seemed happy to find her in her ever-so-basic locations each morning. So, my husband and I settled into a sort of “whatever” approach to life with our elf.

Boxing Day marked the end of our first elf-filled holiday and Summer went back into her box. We’d had a semi-successful first round of elf-antics together but I wasn’t sad to see her go. Nobody was.

The next year, it was time to get the half-assed elf party started, so I took Summer out of her box and began to set up a simple scene to greet the kids with in the morning. The series of events that followed wound up being an unintentional 8-step program ending with the exile of the elf from our home. That’s right, the kids wanted her to leave and to never come back.

Although unplanned, I knew that we’d stumbled upon a practical (and only mildly traumatic) set of steps that other parents (especially the elf haters) could easily replicate if they wanted to have an elf-free Christmas season.

So, here they are! If you want to end the elf-capades, this 8-Step (2 part) process should do the trick:

PART ONE (at night):

  1. Sit elf on small doll’s chair.
  2. Place sitting elf alone in dimly-lit hallway, outside kids’ rooms.
  3. Ensure something wakes kids up in the night. (We lucked out with some random night-walking but you may have to get creative and steal blankets or something.)
  4. When child walks out of room to discover a small, creepy thing in her doll’s chair, be there to hold child as she screams in horror.
  5. Upon child’s request, hide elf so elf isn’t “wooking” at child.

PART TWO (the next morning):

  1. Just as the prior night’s trauma is forgotten, husband must chase kids, elf in hand, while making haunting ghost sounds. (Tip: Craning elf’s neck from side to side greatly enhances creepiness.)
  2. Capitalize on terrifying and ridiculous situation by asking kids if they’d like elf to go live with another family.
  3. Kids say YES.

BAM! Just. Like. That. You get to go back to an elf-free holiday season, like it used to be. You’re welcome.

 

Did you know that Shannon Day and 36 other fab writers have created a book? Well, it’s actually a martini guide too. If you like funny, ridiculous, and heartstring-tugging stories of motherhood (+ easy-to-make martini & mocktini recipes) then you’ll love Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! Available now on Amazon.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00067]

 

Labia Lamentations with Dr. Deloris Beaverton PhV

Dr. Deloris Beaverton is a feisty, feminist vagina. Yes! She’s an actual vagina who happens to have a PhV in Philosophy and a master’s in Vaginology. Born in the early 60s and raised in Dildo, Newfoundland this suave silver beav hitchhiked her way to Climax, Colorado in the mid-eighties. There she met her longtime partner Long Duck Shlong (of Seventeen Candles fame). The couple later relocated to Humptulips, Washington where Beaverton now runs Labia Lamentations, a successful Vagina Well-Being practice. Humptulips locals say that Hilary Cliton sought counsel at the clinic in the early 90s, which bolstered the town and its unique clinic into the limelight.

Dr. Beaverton now coaches clients such as: Queen LaQueefa and Glorious Hymen. She utilizes a holistic approach when working with patients and strives to boost confidence through positive self-talk, exposure to essential oils, and the use of simple breathing exercises. She also implements music and art therapy strategies into her sessions and has a particular fondness for the works of Georgia O’Queef. Continue reading

I’ve Taken a New Lover …

“Just the two of us. We can make it if we try. Just the two of us. You and I…. “

I’ve got a new lover in my life.

She’s a dress. But, not just any old dress. Long and flowing, she wraps herself around me, gently; like a temperate pool’s caress on the booty of a skinny dipper.

Whenever I wear her, I feel fresh and full of life. Her effects, at times, transcend me to places of an almost spiritual nature. I honestly don’t think anything could be more feminine and uplifting than she.

Heavenly. She is so damn heavenly. And I feel grateful to have discovered her on a lonely sales rack last month.

Her under layer, the finest of jersey. Her outer, a raw silk that bellows when I walk.

My girlfriends see her beauty and have caressed her, enviously. But my husband, on the other hand,  doesn’t get it. He just doesn’t appreciate her…

To read more about this love triangle, head over to BLUNTmoms.

If you’ve chuckled a bit, you may also enjoy reading about last year’s sweatpants love affair. (A tale of too much too soon.) Click here.