RTT: He Was Made Of Snow But The Children Know...

Connor: Do you know what this is? (splashing through puddle)
Me: What?
Connor: Snowman blood! (cackles and splashes some more)
Me: .....

This is an interactive Nikon billboard from a subway station in Korea. Paparazzi jostle for position and when someone actually passes in front of it and trips its sensors, all the cameramen start taking pictures.


Why don't we get cool ads like that here?

While walking on the dike this weekend.

Liam: I'm going to sing poo poo pee pee Star Wars.
Me: Um... how do you do that?
Liam: Poo poo pee poo poo poo, pee pee peeeeee (imagine the Imperial March, or Darth Vader's music)

Just cause it looks good.


Designers Simon Pillard and Philippe Rosetti took an Ikea kitchen island and covered it with 20,000 pieces of Lego. I would spend more time in the kitchen if Supreme Leader would let me do this. Ah... More time that didn't involve feeding myself.



On the same Sunday afternoon walk on the dike when a flock of migrating snow geese took off en masse.

Connor: Don't let the geese poo in your hair, Mommy!
Liam: Your beautiful beautiful hair!

I think it was the volume the warning was given at that made it truly magical. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know what scared the geese in the first place.*

Head on over to the Un-Mom's or a goose might poo on your head.


*No mothers were pooed on during the writing of this post.

Random Tuesday: We Kissed, As If Nothing Would Fall*

Right. Let's get to it.

I received an angry email yesterday from Iowa insinuating I have some type of cranial flatulence issue. While that may well be, forgetting her pictures was an accident. So without further ado, the lovely and forgiving Church Punk Mom: "Here's mine.. the verse it references is, "Consider the ravens: They do not sow, or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!" It's my little reminder to myself that I'm important to God and He's always got my back... cause I seem to forget that.. like.. a LOT."



and here is my husband's... it reads: "Dead to sin, Alive in Christ".. the red arrow represent his sin, which is broken and the two different color eyes are the old him changing to the new him. He likes to use 'band art' for his tattoos.


We're all about customer satisfaction here at Us & Them.

The other day I was out returning some movies. I drive into the strip mall the video store is located in and am immediately nearly t-boned on either side by two Mercedes who apparently believe their right of way is righter than mine because their rides have five digits in the price tag. Well kids, here's the thing. This is a four year old Caravan, I am well insured and my children are not in the car. Not only am I not slowing down because I have the right of way, I am speeding up. Let's test all those vaunted German safety features! Will I get hurt? Don't care! You're payin!

How is it that 'righter' gets past spell check?

Four months after starting to paint my bathroom it is finally finished. I don't like to rush things.

Saturday morning I was just about to leave the house when I noticed my shirt smelled. Like really smelled. Like wet goat who has eaten a durian and has bad gas. Don't know what a durian is, ok, wet goat who has eaten a rotting corpse and has bad gas. I thought maybe I'd forgotten to put on deodorant. Not that I smell that bad (I hear Supreme Leader laughing). So I put on some more deodorant and a new tshirt and off we go. Later in the day I realize the smell is back. Rewind three or four days. Liam wakes up with a fever. While sitting with me at the computer he throws up over my shoulder. SL cleans it up with a bath towel that eventually gets buried beneath a pile of other laundry and forgotten amidst countless other disasters. Yes the room smells, but we figure it's from the carpet where the puke originally hit (hence the current search for a steam cleaner). Friday I discovered it and did a load of laundry. Same load the two shirts were in. See, it wasn't me. I'd never eat a rotten corpse.

Ikea: Swedish for designed in Hell for your suffering. You know what's more fun than going to Ikea on a Sunday afternoon and then having your 3 and 5 year old try to help you assemble 3 book shelves? Having the five year old lean on a shelf that is only attached by those little f*cking dowels while you search for a screw. Then you get to go back to Ikea! Despite all the crying (his!) I think this may have been Connor's plan so he could go back for more ice cream.

Speaking of Ikea, while I loaded the car (first time), Supreme Leader took the boys to get their ice cream. When the server handed them over a woman beside SL started complaining that SL had received more ice cream than she did. Why? Why did I decide to load the car and come back?

Dear (insert name of American retailer, large or small who doesn't ship to Canada), Hello? This isn't North Korea or another planet. Granted there isn't a lot of us up here, but still, there's quite a few of us. It's like deciding not to sell to California. We want to buy your stuff. We have money. Yes, it comes in a kaleidoscope of colours, but it's still money. Look, this whole recession thing? Hitting us too, but not as bad. We can help. Really. Amazon.com sells like, everything. Amazon.ca? I can buy a fork.

I think I've been screwing up Random Tuesday Thoughts by not hitting some button thingy at Un-Mom's. Guess I should have mentioned her up top too. I meant at the top of the page, not her... you know, top... though I'm sure it's worth mentioning. Er... watch the video.



*name it.

Bejing Ikea

This picture shows about 1/4 of the restaraunt in the Beijing Ikea. It seats 700 people!



I can't stand Ikea's parking lot here, can't even imagine what that one would be like.

Appetite for China

Blood, tears, and Ikea

It was an exciting day for Liam yesterday, full of highs and lows, good and bad, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. This picture was taken when we finally found him after he'd been told he needed a hair cut. For some strange reason he was not excited about this.

The original idea had been just to trim a little above his ears. Didn't think it would be a big issue since the last time Bern had done it he didn't fight it. No crying. Might have had something to do with seeing Connor's hair being cut first the last time without him crying. This time Connor escaped the cut. Anyway, Daddy got handed the scissors after Liam buried his face in Mommy's neck. I hate scissors. Cutting the hair of small feral animals scares the hell out of me. Too much thrashing. Too many eyes, ears, noses, too much innocent skin. And true to my fears, I cut him just above his right ear. I cut him. I MADE BLOOD COME OUT OF MY CHILD! Sure it hurt him, but it's 8:30 in the morning and I already need alcohol and therapy.

Now since I'd already made him look like a circus freak before cutting him (I MADE BLOOD COME OUT OF MY CHILD!) and scissors were no longer an option, it was out with the razor. Wheee! The scary noisy razor. By this point Liam is begging to get in the shower, which he hates since it means a hair wash, just to put an end to the torture. Sorry, buddy, that's the next part of our floor show. The shaving took about 3 to 4 hours, give or take. Turns out his head really wasn't the size of a beach ball, he just had a LOT of hair.

Then it was off to Ikea.


Spinning in Ikea from Zoo Keeper on Vimeo.
Ikea is a magical place. Ikea is Swedish for yogurt cones! It's also a place where your 2 and 4 year olds can loose their freakin minds. It's like a giant version of every house, including your own, where you've been told not to run around in. Around every corner is a new living room or kitchen. Hundreds of beds to jump on.

Sofas and arm chairs. Kitchens full of drawers and cupboard doors to bang. Heaven. I say to hell with the little ball cage thingy you can leave the kids playing in while you shop, let the adults sit in there and add a bar. Give the kids free run of the entire store. After an hour or so you go find them curled up on a sectional or the bin full of sheep skin rugs and off you go, everybody's happy.


Giant bunk bed? Absolutely not.