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. 

-Wendy

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. 

-Wendy

Oh Canada!

Yesterday Canada celebrated its 144^th 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