Before having children, I often took offense at the way mothers handled their whiny, annoying kids in public.

For Christ’s sake, shut them up! I’d silently pray. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

I often theorized that if I had a kid, there was no way in HELL I’d let him carry on like that, caterwauling like a demented lunatic. My offspring would be polite, well-mannered and conscious of their environment and those around them.

I believe the term is to “eat crow?”

The thing is… I get it now. I really do. As moms, it’s not that we think it’s reasonable to let our children go off on a tangent, audibly torturing everyone within a four-block radius. The simple truth is, we just don’t hear them anymore. Seriously, we are immune.

I call it the fuss filter.

And it comes from long hours of being subjected to whining, temper tantrums, crying fits, hissy fits, outbursts, “he touched me!”, shrieking, ranting, biting, repetitive insanity and the like. After a while, it takes us progressively longer to realize that someone is speaking, let alone screaming his head off. Fuss filter in full effect.

Last Saturday, I was at Wal-Mart with the kiddos.

Let’s see, I’ve gotta grab lotion, toothpaste, check for that silly DVD, get a surge protector, I think we’re out of paper towels, are Pampers on sale this week? Hmm… no, I hate paying full price (Want red car.) but I don’t want to put the little guy in the cheap diapers either, maybe I’ll check Loblaws and come back tomorrow if I need to… (Want red car.) … even though I rather not, should I just buy now?… (WANT RED CAR!) … I can’t believe there’s no freaking Tide Free laundry detergent. Does everyone use it or do they just refuse to keep it in stock? (WANT RED CARRR!!!!) And why do they have 12 different Febreze-scented… (WANT RED CARRR!!!! WANT RED CARRR!!!!! WANT! WANT! WANT!) …thingies. I can’t tell the difference. They all smell the same (WANT RED CAR) but I don’t think I want my house smelling of apples (WANT RED CAR) although…

“Huh? What?”
“WANT RED CAR!”
“Um no, you cannot have a red car. Now pipe down before you make a spectacle of yourself.”

Mmm…. crow.

Welcome Readers!

(Do not adjust your computer monitor – YES, you’re chez Lena!)

Here it is – my brand new site. I’m pretty much in love with it, and hope y’all like it too! Today I’ll be working through a few kinks and making sure that everything is where it should be. A few pictures have gone astray, a couple of comments are lost in space (but only those made on my last post – which we’re actually trying to recover! Yup, you know you’re with the best when they try to find 16 comments out of the 69,984 they successfully migrated).

But for the most part, I’m so happy to declare that the move was a SUCCESS! Much, much love to Cathy and team at Desperately Seeking WP – you’ll see me offering profuse thanks for the next little… eternity.

And if you’re liking what you see, send a shout out to Juan (@SproutAbound) on Twitter – he designed this magnificent theme.

I’ll be back to blogging once I’m through with a little housekeeping; until then, feel free to poke around! Muah!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year… Halloween is over, and Christmas preparations are in full swing! (Not really, but I love eliciting upward eye rolls.)

And… it’s my hubby’s birthday! For those of y’all counting, he’s THIRTY-SIX today. That’s waaay closer to 40 than 30, you know.

For ol’ times sake, I took a photo of him last night, so we could remember him on the cusp of his 36th year.

And I do have to say, he looks just like the svelte, enigmatic, raging sex machine he was when I first laid eyes on him over six years ago… (more…)

I actually can’t remember how I broke the news of my two pregnancies, but I *think* I may have done something terribly uninspiring like just picking up the phone and telling people. My bad.

Of course, I had no idea that THESE little wonders existed:

SCRATCH CARD PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT

SURPRISE! ULTRASOUND PHOTO & DUE DATE

Disclaimer: Don’t be tempted to search #Hollyweird on Twitter. Four minutes of your life you won’t get back.

This Makes Me Sad:

Ashton Kutcher has reportedly cheated on wife Demi Moore with a young, svelte, “who wants to jump in the hot tub” kind of party gal. Oh Demi, it’s every woman’s worst nightmare come to life: being close to 50 and on the brink of marital divorce. Of course, it helps that you look like – well, you – but what hope would the rest of us mortals have?

Then again, women are pretty damn inspiring. And a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

Random Musings:

I’ve been reading the trash tabs lately (sorry People magazine; In Touch is slightly cheaper and only marginally more ridiculous with their cover stories) and I’ve heard tales of boyfriends, fiancés and husbands being STOLEN from another woman.

Jennifer Aniston steals whats-his-face from another woman!
Leann Rimes stole Eddie C from that skinny chick!

K, newsflash everyone: you can’t STEAL a man. What’d she do – gag him, pull a burlap sack over his head and throw him in her trunk? Now that’s stealing.

Otherwise… he LEFT you. Know the difference, and make peace with it. Or don’t. (more…)

…Love.

First love, summer love, the thrill of falling head over heels.
Old love, motherly love, the fierce satisfaction of being somebody’s whole world.
Platonic love you have for a friend; a sibling, a person in need.
The love you send to someone who has suffered a loss.

Yet to me, perhaps the most interesting “love” is the unrequited type; a crush, so to speak. A regular at your favourite cafe; the co-worker you secretly yearn for; a friend who catches your eye and holds your heart. The absolutely unabashed need to make a person notice you. The chase.

It is one of life’s greatest highs: your mind, monopolized with questions – questions about your appeal, fate, worth. Your body, taken over with vanity, lust and greed. Your heart – each beat pulsating hope, hope, hope.

Notice me.

When I think of unrequited love, no song puts my thoughts into words more profoundly than Bic Runga’s “Sway“. Runga, a New Zealander of Chinese decent, perfectly and melodiously tells the tale of every girl’s crush. My very favourite lyrics from the song:

And here I go losing my control;
I’m practicing your name so I can say it to your face…

Every time Max & Ruby comes on Treehouse, Ryder points to Max on the screen and says…

“Eat Him.”

Weirdo? Big time.

I am not too embarrassed to admit that I pretty much drop everything when this Joe Fresh commercial comes on the air. Hubba hubba.

Yikes. They didn’t make geeks like that when I went to school. Just sayin’.

Stop the presses! Could this actually be a post with no review or giveaway attached? Why YES, indeed it is!

As much as I love reviewing products and offering my awesome readers a chance to win, I’ve missed just jotting down my thoughts, rants, etc. So I decided to take an afternoon to just be Lena, and chat about some of the things that have been on my mind. Here we go:

1. I’m sick of summer. I know, I’m opening myself up to boos, hisses and strategically placed middle fingers when I say this, but the truth is, I.CAN’T.BREATHE. It’s so freakin’ hot! Every day seems to have a humidex value in the mid-thirties, and even with sun protection, I am burning to a crisp. Another little victim is poor Ryder – he’s been having massive nosebleeds on a daily basis that our pediatrician has attributed to the constant heat. I’m done with this season! “Paging: September.”

2. I just opened the fridge and was confronted with two 2L bottles: one was Coke Zero, the other, Coca-Cola. Even though the junk in my trunk dictates I should have reached for the Coke Zero, I decided to have just a sip or two of the real thing. When I twisted off the cap, a swirl of cold condensation looped out of the bottle, just like you see on TV. Diagnosis: delicious. 

RANDOM PIC: ISN’T REID A DOLL?

3. How many of y’all keep a pack of chewing gum in your car? I used to all the time, until I noticed a warning on my pack of Excel: “Do not expose to extreme heat.” With the temperature today comparable to hell itself, I would suggest yanking gum, plastic bottles and other perishable goods (obviously) out of your automobile. There’s some evidence (myth? fact?) that when aspartame is heated, it releases a toxic chemical. Not sure if it’s an urban legend, but if Wrigley Canada doesn’t want to take chances, neither should we.

4. How come you can’t tickle yourself? Not that I spend copious amounts of time trying to get in cheap laughs, but I do tickle the boys – a lot – and the other day, Ryder said “Mommy tickle you.” So then I had to tickle myself and fake ridiculous laughter for two minutes. (Not that women know about faking things…) But seriously, why can’t you tickle yourself? Perhaps tickling belongs in the same camp as massages – someone else needs to do it to work.

RANDOM PICS: RYDER’S NEW SMILE. THERE GOES HIS MODELLING CAREER.

SERIOUSLY, WTH?

That was a nice break! Now back to the Beauty Event! xo

I hope everyone is enjoying my Summer Beauty & Fashion Guide!

Here’s a quick little beauty tidbit – in the last week (and likely because you’ve been subjected to too many of shots of my mug) – I’ve received many comments asking about the brand/colour of my contact lenses.

*Giggle* 

Well, I’m going to spill my secret – they’re my own! #WhatGodGaveMe. Yes, they’re a freakish hue. But they’re 100% Lena.

Thanks for being interested in me! xo

While I believe I’ve mastered the art of communicating some of the best beauty tips from the pros, I feel the need to put my own little spin on this beauty event – you know, offer up some Lena-inspired advice.

Now I’m not an expert (not even close), but I do know what makes me feel pretty. So I give you my 5 Essential Beauty Do’s –

1. Smile often. There is nothing prettier on a gal than a sincere, toothy grin. It does wonders to make you look fresher, younger, and above all, happier. (Before Victoria Beckham stopped eating, she used to smile too!)

2. Take the compliment. Are you quick to refuse compliments? Deflect them with self-criticism instead – “Oh no, I look terrible today! My hair is frizzy…” etc, etc. BAH. Just take the compliment, sister. People say nice things because you deserve them. A simple “thank you!” will do. (Of course, some people dole out insincere compliments. Recognize the source. They’re known as jealous b*tches.)

3. Find your perfect weight. Not everyone is meant to be a size 2, and no one should be a size 22. As long as you’re healthy and follow a good diet and exercise regime, learn to love your body. Stuffing your face with donuts is bad. So is stuffing your face with salad. Find balance and move on with your life.

4. Make time for pretty. Unless you have an actual allergy to makeup, there’s no excuse to leave the house bare faced. Take all of 10 seconds for a sweep of bronzer or blush and a swipe of tinted lip gloss. You’ll instantly look softer and more feminine. Plus, you can find cheek stains and lip glosses with sun protection, so you’ll actually do your skin a favour.

5. Be beautiful on the inside. It does wonders for how people perceive your outer beauty.

Do you have any “Beauty Do’s” to add to my list?

This particular bride – other than obviously spending beyond her means – had quoted her updo style as costing over $300. “Three hundred dollars?” one of her bridesmaids gawked. “Why would anyone spend that much on a hairdo?” The bride proceeded to ignore her bridesmaid, giving the camera a candid aside that the poor soul hadn’t changed her hairstyle in over 10 years (rolled eyes).

I started pondering that tiny reference, and began thinking; Women SHOULD change their hairstyles. Frequently, if possible.

Now think about it: the mighty Lord gave us periods, unwanted leg hair and varicose veins. But He also bestowed us with lovely locks – and for most of us, we’re blessed with the choice on how to wear our hair… short or long, layered or blunt, blonde or brunette, straight or curly… the list goes on.

So to be stuck in a hair rut is simply unforgivable. I’ve spent all morning brainstorming these ideas, so allow me to present:

You May Be Stuck in a Hair Rut If…

1. Your husband knows the name and corresponding number of your boxed hair colour.
2. 4 out of 5 friends would describe your ‘do as “The Rachel.”
3. You get your hair cut at a salon that includes the words “Magic” “Choice” or “Value”.
4. Your hair styling routine includes wash, dry, ponytail, repeat.
5. You wear your hair long because you truly believe that “guys like long hair.”
6. Your stylist uses a rubber cap and a knitting needle to pull through your highlights.
7. You never make an appointment to cut your hair – walk-ins welcome.
8. The labels on your styling products say “Finesse” “Aqua Net” “Dippidy Do” or “DEP”.
9. You believe that there is such a thing as wash-and-go hair.
10. You own a banana clip… and use it.

I have fine, frizzy hair… decidedly the most unsexy texture known to womankind. But I battle Mother Nature with a gusto normally reserved for fighting world wars and banishing whale poachers. Because really – I can’t change my face (for less than $10,000), my skin colour (paging MJ’s doctor) or the fact that I’ll always be 4 inches too short to reach supermodel status (snicker) – but I can change my hair. And often, for just $8.99 when L’Oreal Preference is on sale.

And change can be a wonderful thing! A simple thing like taking a few minutes to curl your ends, back-combing your crown for volume or even changing the side you part your hair on can boost self confidence and make you feel like a new person; often for little or no expense! Add a slim hair band or twist your hair into a low bun, and you’re rocking a new ‘do in t-minus 2 minutes.

So if you’ve been blessed with lovely locks but are caught in a hair rut, do yourself (and your self-esteem) a favour and say, HAIR I am!!!

In case you’re wondering if I practice what I preach, here is a timeline of my hair from the past 4 years…

Wow, that’s a lotta Lena! But as you can see… brunette, blonde, red head, bangs, layers, curls, flat iron… the gal that changes it up really does have more fun :)

Are you stuck in a hair rut?

I’ll never forget the first time Ryder tottered over to our front lawn. A sea of green; he was anxious to test the waters. But there was just something about the look, texture or smell of the fuzzy carpet that made him stop dead in his tracks.

“Here you go!” my husband cajoled, plonking him right in the middle of the lawn.

And the water works began. He simply would not move his feet an inch, opting instead to cry while riveted on the spot. It literally took weeks before he ventured over again, and several more before he was able to tread grass without screaming his little head off. If I had to add it up, I’d say we spent hours coaxing him to take just one small step.

Two years later to the date, we’ve got another little guy terrified of the great green goblin.

Were your children afraid to walk on grass? Join the club!

If you have 1 minute and 20 seconds to waste today, you can view the following video of Reid bouncing to old school beats. Oh, and be sure to check out his head moves at around the 22 seconds mark.

(The husband just hollered “Upload the Big Daddy Kane video!” – I don’t think so.)

Far more interesting is the fact that he will ONLY dance to hip hop music, whereas Ryder shuns all genres except retro 80′s.

EPMD. Dr. Dre. Common. Outkast. Pop it in, and Reid will stop what he’s doing and start dancing. Lucky for him my husband has a whole library of crap rap (most of which he’s forbidden to play due to explicit lyrics – if Ryder ever says “G’s Up Ho’s Down” I WILL have a coronary.)

As for me? I’m down for a little Taylor Swift, thank you very much.

Ah… blogging just to blog. After an obligatory run of giveaways (more to come) it feels nice to just unwind with a chillin’ post. Which brings me to the title: The Sights, Sounds and Smells of Summer.

Last week, the whole family went out for a late afternoon stroll. Pulling the little guys in their wagon, we traipsed through the neighbourhood, basking in the warm summer day. As we turned on to a parallel street, I heard the faint sound of ethnic music drifting through an open window. Immediately, I was filled with nostalgia… but couldn’t nail down the exact memory.

We continued down the block, and within moments I felt yet another throwback to my youth: the pungent scent of Middle Eastern food wafting through a screen door.

And then it hit me: air conditioning killed the sights, sounds and smells of summer.

I began thinking back to my childhood; of my neighbours, who always had every window open and a constant stream of Portuguese folk songs bellowing a happy tune. Of the college kid around the corner who spent all summer in his open garage, working on his motorcycle (I may have had a tiny crush). I remembered the elderly lady across the street, who unfailingly greeted Saturday morning with a spicy curry you could smell for miles. And of people – friends, strangers, children of all ages – lounging on their balconies or the front porch. Kids circling the driveway on bicycles, skipping with one end of the rope tied to a railing. And all just to catch a hint of cool breeze… because the thought of staying in a sticky, hot, sweltering house was just not an option.

But that day, walking down that street… you’d think every single home was unoccupied. Doors and windows closed tight, not allowing one inch of precious bought-air to escape. The eerie quiet of citizens locked inside, with only the hum of air conditioners heard every few paces. The sun beating down on the back of my neck was the only factor that tied my childhood to the present.