Friday, 29 July 2011

Just Call Me Wonder Wendy...

Maybe I am from another planet like Superman.   Or maybe it’s from all those times I have been bitten by a baby.  Or maybe I just watched all the Look Who’s Talking movies one too many times.  But however I got it, it cannot be denied that I have a Super Power. 
It is truly uncanny.  I will be in the kitchen making dinner and Edward will be downstairs playing with the kids and I will hear Simba cry out and I’ll just yell “He wants his milk!” or “Prince, let him go!” and every time Edward comes upstairs and is like “how did you know??!!”
So like all my superhero idols I figure that I had better use my Super Power for good.  So today instead of some long winded yet wittily phrased rant that somehow involves poop, I will help you improve your baby-cry decoding skills to save you from spending hours playing the ‘wtf does this kid want’ guessing game.   You can thank me later.
Awww Shit, I pooped.  And damn, it is smelling bad!  You better get your ass over here and change my diaper lady.”

Come on lady – I can’t stick my lip out any further.  Would you just whip out a boobie already?”

“OMG – I totally asked for Brangelina as parents and you stuck me with these two?  WTF?”

Look lady, I didn’t mean to put my finger in the dog’s anus.  Ok, I did mean to, but don’t look at me like that – I got confused as to which end I was looking at – I just thought it was his mouth!  Anyways, I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually...

How dare you go to the bathroom and leave me alone in the playpen for a WHOLE MINUTE?  What is WRONG with you?  You could have gotten yourself flushed down the toilet and then where would I be?  Have you no shame?  Have you no cookies to make me feel better?

Now It is your turn.  See if you can figure out what the kid in this picture  is trying to say.  Leave a comment below or email us at  Personally, I really don’t think you need a super power to figure this one out;)


Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Fairy Tales That Won’t Make You Twitch

Once upon a time I thought that fairy tales were amazing.  They taught morals and life lessons, provided some of the most enduring characters of all time and most importantly could be bought for cheap. Now, not only is it tough to find an original fairy tale at a book store, but the ones available have been so mutilated that they have officially landed the entire genre on my list of Kids Books that make me Twitch.
 The thing about real fairy tales is that they were written back when it was still considered ok to scare the crap out of kids.  But somewhere along the line people became a bit more squeamish about reading stories to their kids where people are eaten by a wolf (Little Red Riding Hood), lured to a cave to die (Pied Piper) or where an old man shows off his naughty bits (The Emperor’s New Clothes).  So somebody out there decided it was a good idea to re-write the classic fairy tales to be less violent, scary and pornographic.  Hence my frustration with fairy tales.
Don’t get me wrong, it is not the scariness or pornography that I miss in today’s re-writes.  I don’t want my kids learning that it is ok to beat someone up if they are mean to you like what happens in the original Three Billy Goats Gruff.  It is the just the way that the powers at be have gone about making the changes that bother me.  Instead of being eaten by the wolf, Little Red Riding Hood’s Grandma gives the wolf a good telling off and he leaves swearing that he will never try to eat a little girl again.  Instead of getting cooked in her own oven, the witch in Hansel and Gretel learns the importance of eating nutritious food.   Does anybody else see a problem with this?  I think we are sugar-coating things a bit too much for our kids.  If my kids meet a wolf in the woods I don’t want them trying to convince the wolf not to eat them.  I want them to run in the other freaking direction. I thought the original moral of Little Red Riding Hood was to teach kids not to talk to strangers (a.k.a. the wolf), rather than enter into persuasive arguments with them about the moral consequences of eating meat. 
If we are going to modernize fairy tales than we should be modernizing the entire fairy tale, not just the bits that make us squeamish.  Instead of Hansel and Gretel getting lost in the woods, they should get lost in the downtown of some major metropolis.  Instead of having some witch luring them away with candy it should be a celebrity luring them away with promises of fame and fortune and a new Nintendo DS.  After all, the celebrities are the ones with all the power nowadays and every kid knows candy will ruin your teeth and lead to childhood obesity.  And who needs breadcrumbs when they have a cell phone complete with GPS?  Once the kids learn that famous people are often crazy they will just send off a quick text to mom, she will track them using their cell phone's tracking device and be there to pick them up in 20 minutes.  This way, not only do kids learn not to talk to strangers, but they also learn that fame is not all it’s cracked up to be and Nintendo DS’s are highly overrated.
But then again, what do I know?  I am just a worn-out mom with a blog, who just finished cleaning out a potty full of poop and needed something to occupy her thoughts while doing so.  As an aside, if you didn’t already know, it is always good to distract yourself when cleaning up shit so that you don’t actually have to think about the fact that you are cleaning up shit.  Anyways, if there are any publishers reading this who are interested in my updated fairy tales, send me an email.  I won’t ask for much – currently I am working for free, so pretty much anything would be an improvement.  Then we all would live happily ever after because there would be that many more kid’s books that we could read without twitching.

Friday, 22 July 2011

Celebrities I Want to be Friends With

I have always loved celebrities.  Who doesn't?  Sometimes I get in the longest line at the grocery store just to have extra time to puruse the interesting, if often inaccurate, celebrity reading material. I have Perez Hilton on my favorites bar and do not watch Dancing with the Stars for the dancing.  That being said, out of the vast galaxy of stars, there are a few that I have come to believe, given the right circumstances, I could be great friends with.  So this past week, between all my cyber-celebrity stalking and catching up on my PVR'd episodes of Ellen I have managed to eke out the following list of celebrities I want to be friends with:

1.  Ellen DeGeneres – Laugh, Dance, Be my friend.  Please?  Unfortunately, I am pretty sure that, being one of the funniest women in the world, Ellen would only find my pitiful attempts at humour annoying and slightly pathetic. But being so nice, she would just pat me on the head, give me an ipod and thank me for playing.  Only when she learns of my mad skills at Mommy-mixing would she finally see why she had to be my friend.  As she got to know me she would learn that I am a loyal Covergirl, purchase her Halo pet products to give to stray animals, get pissed when my kids spill my Vitamin Water Zero and am a fellow writer who has read all of her books.  Finally, when she sees how much of her stuff I can promote in one paragraph she will have me on the show and announce to the world that Wendy has replaced Paris Hilton as Ellen’s new BFF.  

You have to admit there is a bit of a

2.  Katie Holmes – I swear that the reason I desperately want to be Katie’s friend is not because I was (ok, still am) obsessed with Dawson’s Creek.  It is because she is a fellow mom who is constantly taking heat from the media regarding her parenting skills.  Heck, if she ever read our blog she would know how screwed up the rest of us can be.  Next to me letting Prince poop in the park, Thumpers spouting swear words left and right and the fact that Simba is banned from eating in the house, Katie would look like a regular Mary Poppins.

My dream is that while browsing the internet Katie will come across our site.  After reading through our posts she realizes that Alice and I are exactly the kinds of mom friends she is looking for – the non-judging kind.  Before you know it we will have established an internet friendship and she is inviting us and our kids to Suri’s birthday bash.  While she will be a bit put off by Alice’s potty mouth and the fact that her husband looks exactly like Dawson Leery, she will bond with me over our shared love of fashion, Whole Foods and Joshua Jackson.  Then she will smile, tuck her hair behind her ear and we will live happily ever after.  At least until Suri starts swearing and pooping in the park.

A good friend
makes sure you wear
your undies.
3.  Britney Spears – No, my brain has not been permanently warped from changing too many dirty diapers.  I would sincerely like to be Brit’s buddy.  If there is anyone out there who needs a friend who is able to tell it like it is, it is this girl.  And ask Alice - I am not known for my subtlety.  If I was there when she was getting ready for a night on the town I would be the one to tell her “girl, you need to put on some damn underwear with that dress.”  Everyone needs a friend who can do them this service and I think it is obvious from her actions that Britney has not yet found one.  Well Brit, I am ready and willing to take on this role.  I always liked a challenge.   All I ask in return is some sympathy and advice when my boys reach puberty since yours will be going through that first.  Puberty is something I am dreading.  That line from Bridesmaids about cracking a blanket in half still haunts my dreams.   
While my list is not incredibly long it is only because I am very selective in the people I wish to befriend.  For example, while I adore Dennis Quaid for his Starbucks related hilarity, I think I would have to whap him upside the head if he constantly talked to me in the third person.  And while I am sure J. Lo is cool, I just couldn't be friends with the most beautiful women in the world - it would make me by comparison all the more dowdy. So Ellen, Katie and Brit - give me a call.  Or an email. Or a tweet.  Ah heck, just touch your earlobe the next time the paparazzi are doing their thing and I'll know what you mean. 
Your Friend,

Wednesday, 20 July 2011

Sometimes You Have to Untie Their Shoelaces

The classic metaphor about moms with young children is that the kids are tied to mom’s apron strings; in other words, it is the mom who decides when the kids will be set free.  This metaphor is misleading for two reasons:  first of all, you should know by now that you will never catch me (or many other moms for that matter) in an apron.  And secondly, I think this metaphor has it backwards.  It is us moms who are tied to our kids, via their shoelaces.  It is our children’s decision when to venture off into the world on their own.  They decide when they can go down the slide at the park solo.  They decide when they can dress themselves.  And they decide when they can tie their own shoelaces, thereby setting us free.  
I have come to realize that a mom’s independence or ability to indulge in following her own dreams, without a debilitating case of The Guilites, seems to be inversely related to how old their children are.  In other words, the younger your kids, the more tied to Mommyland you are.  I know when I first got pregnant and entered mommyhood I never wanted an escape from Mommyland.  Just the opposite actually.  I wanted to drag every single one of my friends in there with me.  I forced them to relive every poopy diaper, every hiccup, and every bottle (of milk, not wine as per usual) with me.  For once in my life I didn’t give two cents what Perez Hilton had to say about the latest Hollywood gossip (unless it involved a celeb having a baby).  And I had no idea how my husband was able to get up every morning and leave our son to go to work.  I couldn’t even stand it when someone else got to hold our baby, so I couldn’t imagine leaving him completely for any length of time.
The problem with this is that after a while you start to lose yourself in Mommyland.  Each day your child grows a little less dependent on you until you are forced to realize that your sense of self has become dependent on them.  Then it hits you – one day your kids aren’t going to rely on you anymore, the shoelaces will be untied if you will, and your sense of purpose and worth will disappear.  
Which is why it is so important to escape Mommyland every once in a while.  Alice and I escape by writing this blog (hence the title).  We both have a passion for writing and realized that we needed to do something just for ourselves so our self-worth didn’t solely rely on whether or not our kids ate all their vegetables.  But everyone’s passion is different, and whatever yours is, you should make time to go out and follow it.  Even if that means you have to do it at 1am as Alice and I are often forced to (check out the publish dates on the last few posts – I am so not kidding on this one!). 
A mom I know in Toronto has taken this idea to the next level.  Not only has she taken the initiative to follow her passion for business, but she has used this passion to help organize an event that will help other moms, and anyone else for that matter, learn about how to achieve success, be at peace and follow their passion.  Together with Stuart Knight Productions she has helped bring the Top 10 Event to fruition. 
Basically this event consists of ten celebrity speakers (Brett Wilson from Dragon’s Den, Canadian Idol Judge Jake Gold, Kelly Carlson from Nip Tuck, and Rex Harrington from So You Think You Can Dance just to name a few), who each have a story to tell and a lesson to offer, coming together in one evening to share their insights with you.  The problem with so many of us is that we don’t know what our passion is, how to find it or how to pursue it.  What better way to figure out the answers to those questions than by hearing from others who have been there, done that and succeeded more than they ever imagined?  The best part is that a portion of the proceeds of this event goes to support the Stephen Lewis Foundation, so not only are you helping yourself by attending, you will be helping others as well.

One of the most important lessons I have learned in life is to grab hold of the opportunities that come your way – you don’t want to live with regrets, constantly wondering ‘what if’.  This event is one of those opportunities.  I for one will be attending.  If you are going to be in or around the GTA on August 4th, 2011, get your tickets now because they won’t last long. 
As parents it is up to us to set the example for our kids.  If we want them to follow their dreams than we have to set the example by following ours.  So for one night I am going to untie the shoelaces and slip away from Mommyland for a while, and for once I will refuse to feel guilty about it.  I’ll just tie the laces back up in the morning and the kids will never know I was gone. Unless they see me later on T.V - did I mention this event was going to be filmed and airing on Slice in the fall?  Get your tickets now - I'll see you there.

Saturday, 16 July 2011

I am NOT a Cook

Why is it that a woman is expected to morph into some Julia Child-Martha Stuart wannabe as soon as she has a ring on her finger and/or stretch marks on her belly?  I hate to break it to you but a wedding ring is not a magical object that will instantly transform a sloppy college co-ed into a domestic goddess.  If a woman is not an expert cook before she got married and/or procreated, she certainly will not have time to become one afterwards.
Yet despite the best efforts of woman’s lib, society still puts pressure on women to be expert housekeepers, proficient in interior design and, most of all, master chef’s in the kitchen.  If this is the standard by which wives and mothers are judged than I am just one big epic fail.  I would rather throw out clothing that try to get a stain out.  All the walls in my house are beige because I cannot commit to any other color.  And I have no idea what the fuck a shallot is.
Mostly I blame parenting magazines and Gwyneth Paltrow for my feelings of inadequacy.  The former because they are designed to make you feel inadequate and the latter because she is freaking Supermom, sent to earth from a distant planet where cellulite does not exist and the inhabitants never require sleep.  Seriously, this woman is an actress, singer, wife, mother, and now, apparently an expert chef as well.  Come on Gwyn, are you seriously telling me that you come home from rockin with Cee Lo at the Grammy’s, strap on an apron and cook for two hours?  This is unbelievable for two reasons:  one, you are too damn stylish to be caught wearing an apron; and two -look at you – do you really expect us to believe that you actually eat??
But enough about Supermom.  I am just a regular cellulite-ridden, sleep-deprived mom who has no ability or inclination to learn to cook things she can’t pronounce.  I simply do not enjoy spending my time handling raw meat, chopping veggies or burning things, (which is usually the end result of my cooking exploits).  I am of the microwave generation – if it takes more than 5 minutes to cook, it ain’t worth it.
The worst part of all this is that I thought I had finally found an answer to my dilemma.  I was reading a parenting magazine (which was my first bad decision) and I came across an article about a mom who hated cooking – she was no good at it, had no time for it and nobody wanted to eat what she cooked anyway.  So what did she do to solve her dilemma?  Buy a certain cook book?  Take cooking lessons?  Start taking a new miracle drug that is proven to cure bad cooking?  Nope.  This rich bitch mommy had the balls to tell me that the best thing she ever did was hire a cook.  Craptastic.  Now not only do I feel like a rotten cook, I feel poor too. 
I guess what I have come to realize is that I just have to accept that I am a shitacular cook.  If you come to a dinner party at my house you will get some Cheez Whiz stuffed in a mushroom and some dry chicken.  And yes, the majority of the dinner will be prepared in the microwave.  But this does not make me a crappy mom.  My kids still eat their broccoli even if it is not served au gratin.  Surprisingly, food does not have to taste amazing or be fancy in order to be nutritious. 
So chew on that Gwyneth.   I may not be as pretty as you or as talented as you or as rich as you ...where was I going with this again?  Oh yeah - I am still an awesome mom.  A good cook does not a good mom make.  But I may still buy your cookbook just in case.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Kid's Books That Don't Make You Twitch

I love reading to my kids.  Most of the time.  The thing about reading to your kids is that you are forced to read the same story to them over and over and over until it is permanently imprinted on your brain and you find that you can no longer remember the words to the National Anthem (*cough* Christina Aguilera) yet you can repeat One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish word for word.  
This can be a good thing.  Like when you are stuck in an airport and you can entertain all the cranky children by acting out The Cat in the Hat, thereby winning the affections of all the other passengers on the plane – two of whom happen to be Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes who then swear their undying gratitude to you for amusing Suri and preventing her temper tantrum that would surely have graced the pages of the National Inquirer.  And before you know it you have a part in Tom’s next movie.  
Back in reality, reading kids books ad nauseum can be a real pain in the ass when you’re stuck reading mind-numbingly boring, ridiculously rhymed books about personified woodland creatures for hours on end.  And unfortunately, these types of books make up the majority of what you will find in most book stores.  I refer to these types of books as kid’s crap books.
Right now I am so fed up with all the kid’s crap books it is not funny.  I am particularly fed up with kid’s crap books that are based off of T.V. shows or movies, which are the worst kind of kid’s crap books.  Our kids see these books with their favourite characters on them and beg us to buy them, yet the books only contain dribble that some publishing house lacky was forced to adapt from some screenplay.  Most of the time the ‘adaptation’ doesn’t even make sense.  In a Curious George ‘adaptation’ that we (unfortunately) own, the writer (and I use that term loosely) wrote that “The man with the yellow hat sat George down with some paper and a pad.”  So let me get this straight - basically the man gave the monkey some paper and some more paper?  Either that or the man is teaching his monkey about feminine hygiene and this just became an entirely different kind of book.  I think the writer meant to say that the man gave George some paper and a PEN.  Which is something this so-called writer should really be banned from using. 
The worst part is that these commercial books end up hogging most of the shelf space at any book store.  While the great books, the ones that you don’t mind reading 6,493,502 times are relegated to some dusty corner or are not there at all.  Which makes it really hard to find a good kids books.  
Currently, out of our collection of kids books there are only three that I actually enjoy reading to my kids.  Three. Which is like 0.002% of the kids books we own.  Maybe I am the problem – maybe I am too picky.  All I ask of a good kid’s story is that it is creative, unique, has lovable characters, a moral, and allows me to do funny voices while reading it.  Is that really too much to ask?  Apparently so.
Here are the three books that make the cut:
                The Terrible, Horrible, Smelly Pirate by Carrie Muller and Jacqueline Halsey. 
                Bounce and Beans and Burn by Shannon Murray. 
                Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Book? By Lauren Child. 
I will not bore you by summarizing these books for you here – sufficed to say, these books rock.  No one is paying me to say this – I don’t get any commission if you go out and buy them.  I share these with you here in the hope that you will all have great books memorized in case you encounter TomKat on a plane.  And in return, hopefully you all will fill me in on some of the other great kids books that I know are out there but have not been able to find amidst the droves of Dora and Disney books that I am drowning in.  Seriously - if I have to read any more kid’s crap books I swear I will start to twitch.  And then I wouldn’t be able to be in Tom’s next movie after all.

Friday, 8 July 2011

Things I Wish I Knew Not To Do at McDonalds

Or at any other restaurant for that matter.  It just so happened that all of the following disasters learning opportunities happened at McDonalds.  I really don’t understand how this is possible – I only go there about twice a year; yet somehow, whether it is something in the food or because I am overwhelmed by memories of a childhood spent frequenting their now non-existent spinny chairs (they should sooo bring those back), I am not sure.  But there is definitely something about that place that turns off my momstinct.
So here goes – Things I wish I knew (beforehand) NOT to do at McDonald’s:
1.  Let Edward take Prince to the bathroom.  What is wrong with men?  A three-year old boy can NOT use a urinal.  If you attempt to make them do so, they will pee all over themselves (and hopefully you, and maybe then you will learn your damn lesson).   Their penises are just too small.  I know you men hate to admit that your penises were ever small (or that your son’s ever could be), but just suck it up and sit them down to pee.   This is not ‘girly’ – it is necessary.
I will admit that this time it was not completely Edward’s fault that Prince turned himself into a human potty.  I blame the dumb-ass who decided they only needed one stall in the men’s washroom.  Ok, I get that you can all pee standing up, but I’d like to see you crap that way.  And it just so happened that the one stall at McDonald’s was occupied for just such a purpose.  I really can’t blame Edward for not wanting to stand there and listen to some random dude drop a deuce, so I can see why the urinal seemed like the best option at the time.  But when he brought back a crying and extremely unsanitary child to the table to finish his chicken nuggets I will admit that I was not so understanding. 
2.  Let the kids play with the happy meal toys while we’re eating. It seemed so harmless at the time.  Let the kids play with the toys to keep them quiet so I could finish my dinner in peace.  How could I possibly foresee that Prince would shoot the dart from his Mr. Freeze toy across the room where it would wack some old guy in the head and then fall into his milkshake?  I am not psychic you know.  And who knew, after the urinal incident, that this boy had such good aim?  But when Prince asked me loudly to “go get it mommy!” I still figured it was best to make a hasty departure, even though it really wasn’t my fault.
3.  Let the kids stand up on their chairs.   Or the table.  Or anything else that would allow them to reach the fire alarm.  Because guess what?  They will pull it.  Thankfully, it was my friend’s child and not mine who taught me this important lesson.  But the end result was the same:  a hasty exit amid much nervous laughter and a few crossed-armed employees giving out death stares like nobody’s business.  Where are those free smiles when you need them? 
So the next time that you are at McDonald’s and see a mom in a crazy situation, (a) refer her to this post and (b) know that it is not me as I am officially boycotting McDonald’s.  At least until they bring back the spinny chairs. 

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

A Good Wine Always Gives You Hiccups

I had the best freaking weekend.  It was spontaneous, exciting and completely unplanned.  If you had asked me a week ago I would have told you that these were the ingredients for a weekend of total mayhem.  Picture nap-deprived kids, bickering parents and more temper-tantrums than you see on The View.  Yet miraculously, none of this occurred. 
Of course, there were a few hiccups; I have come to realize that a good weekend is like a good wine – you should expect some hiccups.  The fact that you can deal with said hiccups with a giggle instead of a sneer is what lets you know that the wine (or the weekend in this case) was good.   
I don’t know if it was because of the fact that we all slept in that morning, or because sunshine makes everyone extra happy, but as we set out, all four of us were smiling like we had just won a trip to Disney World.  And the weirdest thing is that when we merged on to the highway ten minutes later to find traffic moving at 15 km/hr, nobody freaked out.  Usually I am one step away from road rage if someone takes too long moving their tail-lights when the light turns green, and considering our destination was 1.5 hours away at a normal rate of speed you would think I would have lost it.  But instead we just programmed our GPS to avoid highways, got the hell out of that mess at the next exit and toured the country-side in a roundabout yet scenic drive.
Two hours later we arrived at the ocean-themed theme park that was our destination.  Surprisingly we navigated the teeming crowds quickly and easily, had a good but overpriced lunch, and headed for some ocean-themed shows.  First we saw a dolphin show that was wowsome and even had little Simba pointing and clapping.  Then we went to see the whale show. 
Our first clue that this would be hiccup number two should have been that the show was called ‘Killer Whale Splash Session.’  The second clue was when we were warned that we were in the ‘wet zone’ and would get soaking, drenchingly wet if we stayed there.  By that time though, we had been out in the sun for 3 hours and were ridiculously hot, so a cool spray didn’t sound so bad.  The thing is, when a whale lies on its side and splashes 500 gallons of water at you with its tail and you are only 4 feet away, the fury of water that results does not in any way resemble a ‘cool spray’.  You are lucky if you don’t get knocked flat on your back (which a few people did).  Now considering that my children get freaked out if they’re made to stand in the shower, this fire-hose type of water onslaught sent them both into hysterics.  But for some reason getting drenched by a whale is one of those comedic things that you have to laugh at, kind of like getting a pie in the face, so what with me and Edward laughing so hard at them, they came around pretty quickly.  A quick change of clothes later, everyone was happy again and ready for dinner.
This is where we encountered our third hiccup and got banned for life from Boston Pizza.  I blame it on the cranberries.  Earlier in the day when we were taking the scenic route to the theme park, the kids got hungry and I let them down the entire contents of a bag of dried cranberries.   Apparently, cranberries make you poop.  Or at least they made Simba poop.  So much so that it leaked out of his diaper, covered the booster seat in which he had been sitting and managed to get smeared all the way up to his shoulder blades.  This resulted in me carrying him in a manner that looked extremely uncomfortable to the bathroom where I proceeded to use every single baby wipe I had with me to clean him up.   Then while trying to carry this massive pile of poop to the garbage can, I accidentally dropped it all on the floor.  Which is how I got banned from Boston Pizza. 
Add to all this that the kids did not nap at any time and were awake until 11pm that night, it is amazing that we all had such a great time.  Sure, we got stuck in a parking garage for an hour and didn’t get home until 2am.  But we kicked butt playing the license plate acronym game – the best of the night was BDRX – which I managed make stand for Bad Dudes R Xciting, which is both funny and true. 
So who needs a cure for the hiccups?  I sure don’t.  I say bring ‘em on.  And while I may miss the chicken parmesan at Boston Pizza, it was all worth it. 

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Oh Canada!

Yesterday Canada celebrated its 144th birthday.  Fireworks went off, beer flowed like Niagara Falls and most Canadian citizens woke up this morning with hangovers the size of the Rocky Mountains.  
Last night as I watched people wander the streets in red and white wigs singing our national anthem I realized just how little outsiders knew about us Canucks.  We are not defined by beavers, maple syrup and igloos as many Canadian gift shops would have you believe.  I am tired of seeing Canadians being portrayed on SNL as Plaid-wearing, too-nice-for-their-own good eh-sayers.  Today I am going to take you beyond the stereotypes on my myth-busting mission to help the world understand the real awesome-sauce that is Canada.

We're hot and we're cold
First off, I do not, have not and never will live in an igloo.  Although it does sound tempting right now, what with the 40 degree temperatures lately (that’s about 100 Fahrenheit for you Americans).   In fact, 75% of Canadians live within 100 miles of the U.S. border, which is not in fact some invisible barrier at which the temperature drops drastically.  Believe it or not, it was actually warmer in my city today than it was in Orlando, Florida.   We do have some crazy-ass winters though; but how would people get time off in the winter if we didn’t have snow days?
Secondly, we do not say ‘aboot’ or have any other kind of ridiculous accents.  Except for the people in Newfoundland.  The people in Newfoundland speak in their own unique dialect that nobody else in the country really understands.  Personally, I think it is about time that the rest of the country started learning Newfunese.  It would make for much more interesting posts on my part if I started using it – in fact, I may give it a try right now: 
Owshegettinonb'ys? I looks like a streel today – me ‘air’s all mops and buckets!  And I’s blowed up like a blood posion cat ta boot – soon peoples be tinkin der’s sometin under me pinny! 
Ok, maybe it isn’t the best language to post in after all.
Personally though, I love Newfies; ain’t no other people who can drink that much or who make up Christmas songs about Santa getting his ‘log’ lit on fire (Don't believe me?  Check out Why Santa Goes Ho Ho Ho).  However, if you ever get asked if you want to be ‘screeched in’, trust me, just say no.  But if you ever get the chance to visit Newfoundland, just say yes, because it is one of the most kick-ass places in the world.   
Yes, Canadians love their
Tim Hortons this much
Now I want to talk to you about something that is very important to Canadians, but that they don’t mention anything about in the tourist videos.  Tim Hortons.   If you are Canadian and are caught frequenting any other coffee shop, it is considered treason and you could be arrested. Ok, maybe not arrested, but at least pelted with death-stares from your fellow Canadians for choosing some whipped tall frappy mocha whatchamacallit over a double-double.  There is really no excuse to go somewhere else for coffee – after all, there is a Tim Horton’s on every corner.
The one myth that isn’t false about Canadians is that we are so damn nice.  For the most part, that is true.  While you may encounter the occasional asshole, for the most part people are polite and friendly.  On occasion you may even meet a nice guy with a pickup truck who will offer to deliver the oversized kiddie-pool, that you are stupidly attempting to stuff into your tiny car (thank you dude, I owe you one)!  Oh, and I don’t know what the fuck Katy Perry and the Beach Boys keep going on about California girls for  - Canadian girls make California girls look like the Barbie dolls they are any day of the week.  No California girl could shovel four feet of snow out of your driveway and still look chic in a toque.  
Finally, our beer rocks.  ‘Nough said.
So happy birthday Canada, you don’t look a year over 140.  To all you gift shop owners out there, it is time we swapped out all those stuffed beavers, maple syrup jars and igloos for some Tim Horton’s coffee, beer, and some Newfounese-English dictionaries.  Whether you need a great chick to shovel your driveway or just some free healthcare, Canada is the place to be.

My name is Wendy, and I Am Canadian