Me and Meg

What does that mean? It means I am doing Crossfit. If you do not know what Crossfit is, I"ll sum it up for you: you go to a industrial building in a part of town you have never been before, where coaches instruct you on how to punish the s-h-i-t out of your body. After a week you are left with arms that will not straighten past ninety degrees and a bladder that is constantly full because you can not make the painful journey down to the toilet seat; which is absolutely lower than it normally is. It is torture. To get a more detailed idea of what Crossfit is, check out this site: Hill Country Crossfit ( 

So why am I doing it? As usual it's Leigh's fault. Let me take you back a few years.... When I was maybe eleven years old, Leigh started working out. I remember her walking down to the clubhouse to workout (at the time we lived on a golf course and there was a little fitness centre). Now, I can not recall if Leigh always had sculpted toned arms or if her ambitious fifteen year old self pumped enough iron to develop them. The point is, her arms are amazing. Around sixteen years old, I started going to the gym with her; I had no choice. What was I going to do, be the chubby younger sister? I dabbled a little in that role, with my McChicken eating and sweatshirt wearing ways. But, ultimately I knew it wasn't the life for me. Off I went to the gym with Leigh and really learned anything I knew about fitness from her. For a solid fifteen years Leigh has been waking me up to go running - when we were younger she would barge into my room and wake me, now she BBMs me until I respond. 

Annoying? Yes. Am I thankful I have a sister who is committed to physical fitness and has dragged me along with her? Double yes. She is my motivation. So, here we are today. For the past three years I have been working out in my dungeon of a basement, hopping over transformers and stepping on blocks - it has been treacherous and unvaried. A year and a half ago Leigh and I started The Tracy Anderson Method, which we have both really enjoyed. However, I am bored. I am so over working out at home, alone, in the damp, darkness of my tiny dungeon. I need a change.I need some interaction. So I have put Tracy on hold and have FINALLY agreed to my husband's suggestion to join Crossfit. And I love it. I love being with people, I love having someone tell me what to do. I love doing workouts that last only fifteen minutes; I love getting my a-s-s kicked. 

Last week we did a five minute workout. Yes it was hard and crazy, but it was only five minutes. Luckily, entering into my third week of training, my T-Rex arms have subsided and the toilet is back to it's normal height. Summer is around the corner, if you are struggling with your fitness regime and are prepared to suffer, I highly recommend you check out your local Crossfit. At least for awhile. Plus, Ryan likes it, and he might be back this way come September for TIFF. This time, I'll be ready.

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Me and Meg

I've spent the week trying to explain to Malone why I have tattoos. I have two. Sometimes, because they're both so amazing I have trouble picking which one I like best. The tropical fish by my crotch is the winner though. Yes. I got a fish tattooed on my body and chose the middle of my hip flexor as the spot. It's really ugly with bubbles coming out of its mouth. I was eighteen; I went with two friends, both who had something picked out ahead of time. I got to the parlor and buckled under the pressure, what the hell was I going to pick? So I picked a fish. I think I might go and get "idiot" tattooed underneath it. Then people can stop asking me why I 
picked it.

The second one is a star on my foot. I'm okay with it-sometimes. Every now and then someone will say "did you pick the star because each point is a member of your family"? Shit, no. I did it on a whim on a date-completely random.
Here's my conversation with Malone about them:
Malone: why do you have that permanent mark there (pointing to the fish)?

Me: I don't know.
Malone: it's permanent that means it can't come off, right mom?
Me: yes.
Malone: did you do that when you were a teenager or adult?
Me: teenager, it was a mistake. I wish it wasn't there.
Malone: yeah, I think it's stupid, I'm not going to get one, even when I'm a teenager.
Me: good Lones. Don't do it.
Well, it looks like I have taught Malone another valuable lesson from a mistake I made.
Imagine this with bubbles coming out of its mouth. Yes, it's this bad.

Me and Meg

Be honest ladies, when did these become an option:

I understand if you are wearing a certain ensemble and need some help for the night, fine, rock a pair of Spanx. But daily? I just don't know how you can feel like you are making it happen with these big ol'undies on? I am not suggesting you have to look hot for your man. I'm suggesting you look and feel hot for yourself. Does that sound really lame? Maybe not having thread up your crack makes you feel sexy? Hmm. I'm not convinced. Thongs are not the only option, I understand there are times when you just want to rock a fullback brief. Why not go for something like this:

Why don't we ask Leigh, she loves fleshy tone, nasty fullback underwear. She just got back from her workout...

I think what is most disturbing is that Leigh is going so far as to wear them swimming:

Me and Meg

I have no choice but to take-up another cause. My new battle frontier: The Dry Cleaner.  Why? They're trying to shovel kak into my mouth and I won't stand for it any longer.

The blouse vs. the shirt. Scratch that. A woman's shirt vs. a man's shirt. Gender pricing. Sexism at the Cleaners. I don't want to get crazy about the semantics of it all. So let's call it bullshit. Yes, even though I stay at home cleaning in an apron, wearing dresses, sometimes I do wear "blouses" (I hate that word - along with panties).

My husband’s  shirts cost $1.29 to be laundered and pressed. (I charge $4.50 so he's getting a really good deal at the Cleaners). My shirt, which looks the same, (ahem, slightly smaller) costs $5.00.  I was told it's because the "form" the shirts are pressed on is a men's form, and my "blouse" has to be hand pressed.

Really? The manufacturer of the "men's form" hasn't been asked to make one to a fit a woman's shirt? We're going to stand for this? My deodorant costs more, so do my razors among countless other items. Why is that?
Along with wiping capri-pants off the face of the Earth, I'm going to now challenge Dry Cleaners everywhere to make a woman's shirt the same price to clean as a man's.


Me and Meg

So, I want a new bag. More specifically I would like a tan coloured bag that I can wear; lately I have really been wanting to be hands free. After a little shopping around I think I found something I like. Now the problemo is, how do I get it? I don't know how things run around your parts, but if I come home with a purchase over twenty dollars I usually have some explaining to do and said bag runs well over twenty dollars. I am not complaining, I love my life;I just love buying clothes too, but Wizzy likes saving and worrying about tomorrow. He's so silly. 

I think I have come up with the perfect solution. I am going to take a page out of the kids book and ask for it five thousand times until Wizz has no option except to relent. It's perfect. I started the campaign yesterday, here is a little snippet of how I have been implementing my plan thus far: 

Wizz: "Hey babe, do you want me to grab Jax from the bus?" 
Me: "Yeah, thanks. Oh and buy me that bag I want while you are at it. Thanks." 
Wizz: "What time do you have to leave tonight?" 
Me: "Well since you want me to go buy myself that bag, I need to leave around 5 pm." 
Me: "Can you grab a few things on your way home?" 
Wizz: "Sure, what do you need?" 
Me: "Fresh rosemary, lemons, 2% milk, and that new bag I emailed you. Just pop over to the mall for that." 

I have high hopes for this plan. Kids are really successful with it, so I think I can harness some of their power and get what I want.


Me and Meg

Words, I'm bringing back. 

My vocabulary is at an all-time low. Last night while reading Fancy Nancy, I learned some new words; it's tragic. I need to broaden my patois. Here are a few words I would like to see make a resurgence. 

1. Shucks- as used to express disappointment. If I could exchange shucks for shit, I would almost stop swearing entirely ( I need to find a replacement for f*ck, a good one though, not fudge). 

2. Salon. As in: I'm going to the hair salon today, or the nail salon. I don't get hairdresser. You don't leave there with clothes on your head. 

3. Bedlam-I need synonyms for confusion and chaos. This will do. 

4. Cachinnate. My father use to say "don't cachinnate in front of anyone, you sound like a hyena". 

5. Whilst. My husband says this, I like it. It is so much more refined than while. 

6. Pedantic. This word gets a lot of use in South Africa (where I lived for three years), I don't hear people say it in Canada. 

7. Calamity. Any word I can use instead of disaster is amazing; actually it's refreshing considering how many diasters I deal with daily. 

 8. Lollygag. I say "hurry up" way too much. Stop lollygagging sounds softer, nicer. Here's an example of how I sounded last year:
Here is the new and improved Leigh: 
That sounds lame. 
I don't think I can express myself without swearing. 

cheers L  
Joanna Ferensowicz, EcoSavvy Mama 

We're in the kitchen more than any other room in the house. This gives us the chance to use food to help our babies to develop their skills. Here are some tips:

Finger foods are important for speech development

The introduction of solids is a big milestone and for good reason. Oral motor skills required for speech development are developed through the sucking, chewing, licking and biting. Different textures help strengthen the tongue while biting and chewing strengthen the jaw and lips.

There is more than one way to use spaghetti

Babies love to touch and feel (and eat) anything that has an interesting texture. Cooked spaghetti at room temperature helps with the development of fine motor skills and grasp, self-help skills, and development of touch, texture and temperature senses. So drop a handful of cooked spaghetti on your little one's highchair tray and watch her play while she's getting some nutrition too!

It's OK to play messy!

Stimulate you child's senses by giving them some edible finger paint (just in case they decide to taste-test it!) or some edible play dough.

To make edible finger paint, simply make some instant vanilla pudding (according to the instructions) and add some food colouring. Even though this activity will get quite messy, the best way to control the mess is to do it at the high-chair. Take some digital pictures of your little artist at work for some great memories! (No need to keep the actual art!)

To make edible play dough, use 2 parts oatmeal, 1 part water and 1 part flour. Mix these ingredients together until they have a consistency of dough and then watch your little one squish the playdough with so much amazement! (For safety reasons, playdough is usually suggested for older babies and toddlers).

By Joanna Ferensowicz, EcoSavvy Mama
Follow me on Twitter: @ecosavvy_mama

Me and Meg

With the new year under way, I decided to launch a new version of Freya (if you recall she is my “horrible” daughter that Meg has mentioned previously). Think of it like you would a grand re-opening of your favorite store or restaurant.   It's akin to Mattel releasing the same Barbie again, advertising it as "all new". I am doing that with Freya.  All that has changed is my mind set. She hasn't changed, but that is irrelevant now, because with my new attitude, she is different.

I will even go so far as to say she is "new and improved". She sleeps longer and even says Mama when she is screaming in her crib. The all-new Freya throws food, has tantrums and cries once she is buckled into her car seat-for the duration of the car trip (how neat!).  Also, the new Freya can not be fooled by baby toys, she only wants real cell phones, or sunglasses.  Even better, Freya loves to pull other children's hair.  Freya enjoys pointing and screaming; nothing is more entertaining than watching my husband and I run around as we try to figure out what she wants.

Freya is a seasoned wrestler too. She loves nothing more than sitting on her whiny two-and-a-half-year old sister, pulling her beloved blanket from her hands. Her best feature by far- she doesn't nap! She is always awake, there to entertain and annoy. She never runs out of batteries.

What's not to love? She sounds like a money maker to me.

Me and Meg 
Dear Husband,

What a week you've had! My oh my. All that working-out has affected your brain I think.  It is that or you're just an all-out testicle.  I want to again (it's no trouble really, I like putting basic, fundamental, logical thoughts on paper for you) remind you that you have three girls. Our oldest daughter, let's call her Malone is four-and-a-half. You have been a father for that long.

Can you imagine my surprise then, as I'm out shopping for organizational items with Meg (the queen of clean) you call and ask, quite rudely I'll add, "what should Freya eat for dinner?" I realize you were at my mother's house and it would have been incredibly awkward to ask her for some food for her granddaughter.  Besides, how are you to even know what she could eat? Again, this is only your third time around, I understand how confusing that must have been for you. 

To clear things up, here is a list of some of her favourites:

Cheerios, goldfish, avo, cucumber, peaches, strawberries, cheese (she really likes this!), pasta (another winner-but you have to boil water, maybe forget this suggestion), yogurt (peel the lid off), toast with peanut butter, broccoli (cooked, again maybe a little advanced), and lastly canned salmon.

I think the next time I go out; I will forget my phone (like you do, that way we can avoid more of these stupid conversations). Also, when you ask me "what are you doing?” I will reply: "golfing".

Whew. I got a lot off my chest this morning.

Always your loving wife,