Tag Archives: stress

NFred: Totally Bananas.

Holy crap on a cracker, how the heck are you?

I know, it’s been forever since I’ve written ANYTHING and I appologize. To say that my life has been totally bananas since the end of January would be an understatement.

Here’s a run down of what’s been going down with NFred;


  1. The Toy Shop where I worked for over twelve years closed its doors at the end of January. It’s sad and I miss my work family dearly. I knew my location was closing since September, so it wasn’t a shock, but it was a long drawn out process of repeatedly telling customers the sad news. It was also exhausting trying to keep my rage in check when asshats asked strangely personal questions about my future and demanded to know what was on sale. One asshat in particular singled me out to explain to his five year old grandson why I was closing his favourite store. I explained to the little guy as best I could through clenched teeth while wanting nothing more than to yell at Asshat Grandpa that it wasn’t MY decision. The high point of having the store close occurred when I got to fulfil my life long dream of cracking a beer IN THE SHOP once we closed the door for the last time. Dreams do come true, kids!


  2. I took a few days off after the store closed and then returned to start work at a different Toy Shop location downtown. A thriving store in a distinguished neighbourhood with full shelves and zero asshats asking about the closing of my former location. The staff was lovely and I fell in love with a hipster tea shop on the same street that converted me into an obnoxious tea snob. I was happy to work there. Sure the commute sucked and I was nervous about being far from my diabetic son, but I was cautiously optimistic. Until…


  3. On February sixth, my son made the switch from injections to an insulin pump to help better manage his diabetes. The first couple of days were a total gong show. Soaring high blood sugars followed by random lows. I had taken the week off work to help my son adjust to his new life and I’m so glad that I did. I wasn’t prepared for how much work the switch would entail. Waking up every two hours at night to test his blood sugar, weighing every single piece of food that he was going to put in his mouth, doing more math than I’ve ever done in my entire life to figure out carb counts , writing countless emails to his school to make sure they knew how to keep him alive. Exhausting. Things are slowly starting to fall into place, but I quickly realized that I needed to be closer to my son. My old Toy Shop was a five minute drive from my son’s school. In an emergency, I could get there quickly. The downtown Toy Shop was far, too far for me. Call me a Helicopter Mom or a Worry Wart or a Nervous Nelly if you please, but when it comes to my son’s health, I put him first. Always. So I made the agonising decision to resign from the Toy Shop so that I could be closer to my boy. It sucks. I’m sad. The Toy Shop was a huge part of my life, but in the end, I know I made the right decision.


  4. In my sleep deprived delirium, I accepted an offer to work at a ridiculously adorable preschool in my neighbourhood. I am officially a Teacher’s Aid and have found myself the ever elusive Monday to Friday, nine to five job that is the unicorn of the retail world as those hours just don’t exist! I work with kids aged fifteen months to three years old and feel that a more fitting job title would be Professional Snot Wiper, Bum Changer and Toddler Herder. I had my first day last week and survived. A child even told me that I was beautiful. Will this be my forever career? I have no idea, but for now it works and I’m happy.

Holy Hell! I sure can ramble on about myself. If any of you are still reading and haven’t lapsed into a coma, this is the part where I talk about the future of What NFred Said.

nfred you need to write

I love this blog with all my heart. It’s like my fourth child. Fingers crossed, now that life is settling down a smidge and I have snagged myself regular working hours, I can FINALLY devote more time to writing. My problem has always been that I have more ideas than time. I hope to get on a permanent writing schedule soon. I’d also like to clean my disgusting home, get into shape, win a million dollars and find a cure for diabetes, but I’m taking it one day at a time.

Thanks everyone for reading. I hope all of you are having a splendid 2017. I promise I won’t be a stranger. Let’s chat soon, okay?

Until next time,




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Decorative Frames Are Not AWESOME.




Tomorrow, my husband and I will celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.




I’m quite proud of this milestone and feel that my husband deserves a gold medal and a parade for sticking with me for an entire decade. Being married to me is no walk in the park. I’m messy, unorganized, forgetful and I do not excel in the field of housework. My husband is neat and tidy, remembers important things like paying bills and is chronically on time for absolutely everything. We’re pretty much exact opposites.


I guess Paula Abdul was right all along.


As excited as I am to celebrate my anniversary, I’m finding myself somewhat stressed about my husband’s gift. The problem is, I have no idea what to get him. I’m completely devoid of ideas. I usually get him a pair of funky socks and a bag of Swedish Berries for special occasions, but I feel like ten years deserves more than foot covers and red gelatin. I simply need to come up with something that perfectly represents our marriage, encapsulates my deep feelings of love for my husband and is so awesome that it totally blows his mind.


Last week, I perused a couple of shops to get some gift inspiration. Sadly, nothing screamed AWESOME HUSBAND GIFT . Tired of shopping, I went to the Google and searched AWESOME TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY GIFTS FOR HUSBANDS and was horrified at the results. According to the Google, I’m supposed to make my husband a romantic coupon book or write him a poem and put it in a decorative frame or make a personalized t-shirt with all of the reasons why I love him scrolled across the back.


B A R F.


Did Google employ a gaggle of twelve year old girls to come up with those cheese ball ideas?


Since the Google failed me, I went over to the Pinterest. They suggested more of the same garbage like arranging a photo shoot with my husband in a wooded area surrounded by random objects in groups of ten, making ten patio lanterns out of tin cans or printing the lyrics of our wedding song in a whimsical font and then, you guessed it, putting that masterpiece in a decorative frame. Pinterest also suggested a trip to Belize, which I thought was an excellent idea, until I remembered that we’re poor.


Here’s the thing. I’m not big on huge romantic gestures and neither is my husband. We don’t need the poems and the photo shoots and the decorative frames because in the grand scheme of our marriage, none of that matters.


All that really matters is love.


I’d choose hanging out with my husband, drinking beer and watching Game of Thrones, over a decorative frame any day.


So why am I so hell bent on getting him a gift?


Because he’s AWESOME.


How awesome is he? Let me list the ways…


1.   He enjoys crap shows on TLC as much as I do.

2.   He does the laundry.

3.   He’s a ninja on the BBQ.

4.   He’s a ridiculously good father.

5.   He spontaneously dances to TV theme songs.

6.   His jokes are so bad that they’re actually good.

7.   He sometimes hides coffee money for me to discover in my work shoes.

8.    He’s handy to have around when I break stuff.

9.    He has an insanely good sense of direction.

10.  He always knows when I need chocolate.


Time is running out!


I have until dinner tomorrow night…so stressful!


Why does my husband have to be so darn awesome???


If he just sucked a little more, this would be easy peasy.


If you have any AWESOME gift ideas, that don’t include decorative frames, please feel free to share in the comments!


Sending you love and sunshine, NOT in a decorative frame,




P.S. In case you didn’t get my AMAZING Paula Abdul joke…



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Packing and Haikus

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You know what sucks?


I would rather go for a gynecological exam than pack one more box.



It’s staggering! We’re a family of five and it’s the children who have the most junk. With their stuffed animals and Legos and stacks of Pokemon cards and books and markers and art work. They could fill three houses with all their swag.

I feel like I’ve been purging this house for weeks. We’ve donated and found new homes for countless amounts of crapola and yet we still have so much. It’s total insanity.

And you know what’s funny? All this work and we’re only moving ten minutes away! The thought of having to move my family out of the country makes me nauseous. How does a person do that without having a complete psychotic break?

To say that I’m feeling a tad stressed about getting everything done on time would be a huge understatement. Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed about something, my body screams at me to curl up in the fetal position and sleep.

Beautiful sleep, where I can forget all about my troubles and dream of wondrous things like crime fighting cats or dancing sharks.

My bed’s been peer pressuring me to get all cozy in it today, but I’ve managed to stay strong and ignore its promises of sweet, snugly slumber. I have things to do bed! Stop tempting me!

I keep reminding myself that this will all be over in a few days.

Before I know it, I’ll be in my new home. All this packing stress will be but a distant memory…

Although, this time next week I’ll be smack dab in the middle of…



This will be my fifth move in ten years. You would think I would be a total pro by now.

I really should go and do more packing…more organization…more purging of crapola…

But instead I’ll write a haiku.

Why a haiku?

Because writing a haiku is more productive than just sitting here and staring at my computer screen, thinking about all that needs to get done.

AND because I’m awesome at procrastinating.


Here is my haiku…


Do not want to pack.

Caught in a lazy attack.

Motivation lacks.


I think I’ll write another…


My cat wears a tie.

My cat makes a mean stir fry.

My cat is so fly.


I just realized that I would rather count syllables than pack.

I’m doomed.

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