We have a bad smell in the house.

Our house usually has a very nice smell. I’ve had several people remark that it still smells new, like a model home. When we come home from a trip there’s a nice, subtle smell of fresh wood and clean air.

Not that I can take credit for the good smell at all. It just means that a) I never cook anything exotic or with spices or that has what you might call “flavour,” and b) I pay people who are more conscientious than myself to clean my house. Oh, it also means c), a vinegar-water solution is really effective at removing pee from your couch. Two down, one more toilet trainee to go!

Anyway, for the past three or four days there’s been a bad smell. A really bad smell. It’s spreading, and I can’t find it, and it’s driving me crazy.

It’s not a pee or poo or barf smell — I am intimitely familiar with those. It’s more of a mouldy smell. The smell of something rotting. Like when you have a wet cloth you’ve been using in the kitchen, and it has a few crumbs of food on it, so you throw it in the laundry room, then it gets trapped under the shoe bench, where it rots away for ages.

Until you think to yourself, “What’s that smell?”

I thought I was really on to something with the kitchen cloth thing. The smell really does seem to be coming from the laundry room, and I have been known to toss a wet cloth in there and forget about it. But I’ve torn the place apart, and I can’t find anything suspicious. I’ve sniffed every shoe, every jacket, every old sports bag in there, and still I cannot find the smelly item.

Plus, sometimes I catch a waft when I’m in the office, or the family room, or the kitchen. So the exact location isn’t exactly, how shall we say…pinpointed.

I have a deep, deep fear that something has gotten caught inside the walls, or in a vent, some thing that used to be alive and now…is not.

Please God, may that not be it.

I’m going to have one more crack at taking apart the laundry room this evening. After that, we’re off to Southern Ontario for a week. If I don’t find the item that is causing the problem then…I may not be too happy upon my return.

Wish me luck.

Today, by his own design, Captain Jelly Belly made a toy boat out of an old milk carton. I let him take his boat into the bathtub with him to test it out.

He wanted to find some tub-safe toys to put in his boat. He picked a handful from the toy room and took them upstairs.

Once in the tub, I saw what he had put in the boat: a Little People figurine of a brown skinned boy; a tiger; a small ape; a zebra; and a dog.

And I realized, “Oh my God! He’s re-enacting Life Of Pi!”

A genius, I tell you.

Yesterday, Sir Monkeypants’ friend FlamingSpoon came over with his beautiful wife Mrs. FlamingSpoon.

(Actually, if you want to get technical about it, I knew him first. We used to work together. But I’ll give him to Sir Monkeypants because I am gracious that way.)

Anyway, FlamingSpoon reads this blog and he saw my sad, sad post from Monday and so he brought me some sunflowers.

I have to say, Sir Monkeypants has a LOT to do to live this one down.

Needless to say, yesterday was a MUCH better day than Monday. I’m back, babies!

Well, I’m still here…barely. I felt like I hadn’t posted in forever, and then I checked, and it has only been three days. Three days. That’s how you know you’re addicted!

We finally broke down and called Bell for help — or shall I say, “help.” Their customer service is just so terrible. They’re like the arch nemesis to the superhero that is Amazon. I hate calling them because the technical support line always insults me and makes me feel like a dolt for not resolving the issue by myself, and forcing them to walk away from their coffee break to bitterly walk through a by-the-numbers checklist of potential problems with no enthusiasm and practically no expertise. Grrrr.

I was going to blog about the several calls that Sir Monkeypants and I made to Bell, but that’s just boring. Long story short, we hate them, they don’t like us any better, and they are going to send us a new modem, which may or may not resolve the problem. In the meantime, Sir Monkeypants has written a fun little script that bleeps and records the time whenever the internet goes up or down, so we have stalker-like evidence of just how much Bell sucks. SUCK ON THAT, BELL.

Anyway. So much has happened in the last three days that I’m just going to sum it all up in a massive potluck-style post.

I watched the Olympic opening ceremonies. I never do that, but we had pumped up the kids about the Olympics so much that they wanted to watch something, anything, Olympic related, and that’s all that was covered on Friday. The opening ceremony went on for approximately one million years, which gave me lots and lots of time to think about how much it cost. It was beautiful and dazzling and memorable, don’t get me wrong, but it seems to me that a country that recently had a major earthquake could have found something better to spend that $300 million dollars on. I’m sure I’m one to talk — I’m no model of environmentalism — but I’m trying to get better. It just seems like such a waste to blow that kind of money on flashy lights and hundreds of cheerleaders when people in their own country are starving, or do not have adequate access to sanitation, or have lost their homes in a major disaster.

I watched the finale of So You Think You Can Dance, of course. It was good, although all the dancers seemed really tired so most of the repeated routines didn’t capture the original magic. My real complaint about the finale, however, is that there was only one Mia Michaels routine. I understand they want to feature a variety of choreographers but they could have easily filled two whole hours of just Mia’s work and I would have been happy. It’s funny, in the past two seasons I’ve felt very up-and-down about her — some of her pieces I loved, some I just did not get, some I really hated — but this season, she was just such a genius. Let me remind you: the wedding number for Mark and Chelsie; the bed and roses number for Kherington and Twitch; the “assisted run” number for Katee and Joshua, which was so mind-blowing and lovely; the powerful and strong door routine for Katee and Twitch; and the beautiful, so-moving-I-cried routine for the top-five girls, featuring them as fallen angels. Plus, I just loved loved loved that weird kilts-and-plaids number she did for the show last Wednesday, with the top four. I watched it five times over — once for the general effect, then once more for each dancer. Mia is just so amazing, the way everyone on stage is doing something totally different and yet they are all connected and working together for a single effect. Lovely!

And speaking of SYTYCD, EW has made a list of the top 15 SYTYCD numbers ever, which is SO TOTALLY WRONG, I can’t even blog about it because it would take all day to point out the WRONGNESS of it, but I will begin by mentioning the fact that Katee and Will’s pas-de-deux did not even MAKE THE LIST. AND, there is no Shane Sparks on it at all! Whatever, EW. Consider us broken up for the rest of the day.

I cleaned all the bathrooms. We have cleaners. I’ve admitted it before but it still feels like a dirty little secret. Once a year our cleaners take vacation and I have to clean the bathrooms instead. This morning I did that job and I have a new appreciation for the glory that is my cleaners. Not that I took them for granted before, oh no, but seriously, they clean my bathrooms in half the time with a quarter of the supplies and get them twice as sparkling. Plus, at the end of it I was a sweaty, disgusting mess, totally covered with cleanser and soaking wet to boot, while the cleaners manage to polish the shower stall to perfection, while staying dry and clean themselves. How do they do it? I am amazed. And appreciative.

The Little Miss is a freewalker! It’s official — she’s walking free. Over the past week she’s been experimenting with taking 8-10 steps between me and Sir Monkeypants, and then a couple of days ago, she started pulling herself up on the furniture and letting go, out into the great beyond. Now, sometimes I’ll be standing in the kitchen and I’ll look down and there’s a little person standing there! It’s freaky. And cute. I’m so proud of her.

Oh, and we also turned her car seat around. She’s a freewalker and a frontrider!

Gal Smiley is an unusual child. The other day I took the kids to McDonalds for lunch for a treat (and also because, as Captain Jelly Belly loves to point out, his doctor told us to feed him more high-fat foods so he can gain some weight). I got nuggets and fries for the Captain and the Gal and while the Captain was snarfing his down, Gal Smiley didn’t touch hers at all. She only drank her milk, then she said sadly, “Mommy, next time we come to McDonalds, can I please, please get a salad?” She must get that from her father.

Then today, she had a little fit because I would not let her clean the bathroom for me. She said, “Mommy, when I grow up will I be able to do the vacuuming and clean the bathrooms?” And I said, “All you want, honey, ALL YOU WANT.” I’ll definitely be reminding her of that conversation in about ten years.

In sadder Gal Smiley news, she was touching stuff she shouldn’t have been and she broke my one-of-a-kind Nose Poo Remover, the one that looks like little tongs. Although Sir Monkeypants is a whiz in the world of Crazy Glue and Duct Tape Repair, I’m afraid it’s beyond help. It was probably my most valuable physical possession, and I am sad. I was a very big girl about it, though, and did not get all crazy-yelly Mommy over it, of which I am proud.

Boogies of the world can rest easy, now.

I hate gnats. Is that what they are called? Those little bugs that group around your head like an afro? They LOVE me, and it’s driving me batty and making me very, very cranky. The other day I went for a walk with the kids and one flew up my nose, and then another in my ear, and then one IN MY EYE, and that was IT, we had to come in. Last Thursday I played ultimate and they were so bad, I ate at least five of them. What is their problem? What do they want? They aren’t biting bugs, so I don’t understand why they feel the need to be around me all the time. Am I really that gorgeous? Do I smell that wonderful? This must be what Ken Jennings feels like.

Piss off, gnats!

This concludes this edition of Blog Roundup. Our internet connection will probably continue to be flaky until the new modem arrives, in three or four days. After that, it may improve. So I might be around, or I might be outside battling gnats, or I might be watching Olympics.

(I’ll probably be watching Olympics. That stuff is as addictive as blogging!)

Something is up with our internet access. For the past several days it’s been down more than it’s been up. When it does come up, it’s for random 10 minute intervals — we never know when, we never know for how long. When one of us figures out that the internet is up, there’s a rallying cry, and we both race to our computers to try to get as much emailing/blogging/weather checking/etsy surfing done as we can in the few precious minutes we have.

At first we blamed Bell, but now we are beginning to suspect that we have a hardware problem in the house. Either our modem or our router is probably dying.

I bring this up because at any minute I could GO DARK — no more internet at all! How will I live? It’s too scary to even contemplate…think of the Etsy sales that I am not being a part of!

Anyway, if you’re wondering why I haven’t blogged or answered your email, then our router/modem probably died out completely. We’ll get around to fixing it sometime soon, I’m sure.

In the meantime, there’s this thing around here…with buttons…and it rings…and you can talk on it…I think it’s called a phone?

I love, love, love to shop online. I can’t believe I used to be wary of it — the sharing of my credit card info, the personal data, the remembering of hundreds of passwords. Now it’s like second nature. Hell, I didn’t earn that lifetime Chapters reward card easily.

Any day now I expect to get some sort of personal thanks from the makers of Etsy, as well.

In all my years of shopping online, I can’t think of a time when I had a problem with my shipment. At times it’s taken a while for delivery, but it always makes it here in the end. This week, however, a problem! I ordered two CDs online from Amazon.ca for my nephew’s birthday like, three weeks ago, and I have to have them by the end of next week in time for our trip down south, and they still aren’t here. Every day I check the mailbox, and every day, the big nuthin’.

I’m getting pretty tense about it.

(Side note to Chapters: I only ordered from Amazon instead of you because one of the CDs is the new Coldplay album, Vida La Something Or Other, and you had two different copies listed, at two different prices, and I could not tell the difference, and I didn’t have a clear understanding of which to order, so I had to turn to Amazon, which only had one friendly little listing so I did not get confused. Please don’t revoke my lifetime rewards card!)

So last night I logged into Amazon and I found, to my dismay, that they had shipped my order last Monday, and the package tracking from Canada Post said it had been delivered to my mailbox last Thursday.

And yet, I have no package.

Sir Monkeypants said, “Just call up Amazon and explain what happened and I’m sure they’ll replace it.” And I said, “No freakin’ way, they did their part by filling my order and getting it in the mail, and it’s Canada Post’s fault for losing it, and we all know how much THEY SUCK, so I guess I’ll just throw in the towel and go buy the CDs at the mall and take the loss.”

But Sir Monkeypants made me call, just in case. Because he is a smart, smart man. Probably the smartest man alive.

I clicked on my Amazon order, and there was a nice big yellow button that said, “Contact us!” So I clicked there, and it asked me if I would like them to contact me By Email! or By Phone! So I clicked By Phone! and I am not kidding, a box popped up and prompted me to enter my phone number so they could call me.

Can you imagine? I didn’t have to enter a 10 digit number, I didn’t have to wade through a mass of phone menus…no. I just entered my number and about a half second later, the phone rang. Five seconds after that, I was talking to a person.

UNBELIEVABLE.

THEN, do you know what happened?

I explained that Canada Post says they delivered my package. Yet I do not have a package. I asked if anything could be done about this.

I expected the nice lady to tell me to piss off.

Instead, she said, “I’ll replace that order for you right away.”

I just about fell out of my chair.

Then she said, “Oh wait, I can’t officially declare it as ‘lost’ in the system until Friday. So I have put a watch on your account, and I will keep track of it personally, and first thing Friday morning I will re-fill it for you. No need to call back.”

And then I proposed to her.

Seriously, have you ever heard of such amazing customer service? I’ve made dozens of orders from Amazon before (Chapters! Cover your ears and sing a song!) and I’ve never had any problems before. And this one time, when I have a problem?

TAKEN CARE OF.

I seriously CANNOT get over it. It’s just so unexpected. Sir Monkeypants is way finished gloating over his smartitude, and really wishes I would shut up about this now, but I just CANNOT. GET. OVER. IT.

Living in a country where at least 90% of my customer service calls are to Bell or Rogers has really, really warped my sense of how a company should take care of its employees.

Amazon, I love you. I’m yours forever, screw my lifetime rewards card!

So yesterday Sir Monkeypants took Captain Jelly Belly for his allergist appointment. And you’ll never guess what.

HE IS ALLERGIC TO MILK.

I actually cried when Sir Monkeypants came home with the news. Tears of joy. I mean, it’s not great that he’s allergic to milk, but DEAR GOD, the relief, the incredible relief, at finally being validated in the medical community. We are not crazy! We actually do know our son! Our instincts were right!

And heaven came down and the angels sang.

I’m so very proud of Sir Monkeypants. We had made this appointment because we knew, we KNEW, that the Captain was milk-allergic, not just “sensitive,” not just “lactose intolerant,” as our allergist had suggested in the past. We did not know why he kept passing the skin-prick test with flying colours, but we saw what happened to him when he drank milk or ate cheese, and it was not pretty. So we made yet another appointment, determined not to leave until we had found something new, SOME sort of answer.

Our allergist — and note here, he is the top children’s allergist in Canada — tried very, very hard to convince Sir Monkeypants that he was nuts. He pointed out how many times the Captain had been tested in the past. We wanted a blood test, this time, instead; our allergist said that the blood test wasn’t any more definitive than the prick test. He thought maybe the Captain was repeatedly throwing up due to “mood swings.” Or maybe “to get attention.”

Sir Monkeypants gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

Finally our allergist suggested that we could redo the prick test, but this time, instead of using their clear liquid sample from the office (which is a sterilized, purified solution of some, but not all, milk proteins), we use real milk. Sir Monkeypants went down to the cafeteria in the building and actually bought a little carton of milk, then he brought it back upstairs and they dropped it on the Captain’s arm and pricked him.

AND HE IS TOTALLY ALLERGIC TO MILK.

(Excuse me while I have another little cry.)

So apparently this means that either he is allergic to one of the rarer milk proteins, or it means that the process of sterilizing the milk sample neutralizes whatever he is allergic to. This may mean that he can tolerate some milk products in the future that have been “sterilized” (I’m not clear right now on how that differs from “pasteurized,” which I think all milk already is) — evaporated milk is one such “sterilized” product, apparently.

But for now, it’s no more milk, at all. We aren’t totally insane, so already it’s been at least a couple of years since we just handed over a cup of milk. But we were allowing him to have things that “may contain milk,” and also things like instant oatmeal and granola bars that list “milk ingredients” way down the line as a very small amount ingredient. Also, after every allergist appointment, during which our allergist assured us that he was absolutely NOT allergic to milk, and that he totally NEEDED milk to grow, we’d usually cave and let him have a little cheese, or ice cream, or yogurt, which would not go well.

Thankfully I actually already made the decision (thanks to XUP’s advice) to completely remove all milk from his diet a few weeks ago, even trace amounts. So he’s already on the road to recovery.

And know how I know that? Yesterday he had to poop, and he excitedly called me to the bathroom to see it, because it was NORMAL. A totally normal, cigar-shaped, single-entity poop. You have no idea what a big deal that is, to me and to him. I actually cried, AGAIN, over poop.

It’s been quite a ride. Hopefully this is where we get off.