Monday 24 December 2012

The Night Before Christmas - My Version

My truncated version of the Night Before Christmas in our house. 

Twas the days before Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was stirring, even the mouse,
The stockings were thrown on the floor with the socks, 
None of them matched, it was a total dead loss

The children refused to go to their beds, 
Even when threatened with a slap up the head, 
Lindsay was whining, and Grady complained,
Sidney was wailing, who was too blame ?

  When down in the basement we heard a great clatter,
I jumped up from my blog, to see what was the matter, 
Down to the basement I ran with a dash,
Tripped on the stair and stepped on a cat.
 
The light from the TV cast a strange glow,
Giving a lustre of blue to objects below,
And in front of my wondering eyes do I see,
Another f***ing cat, half up the tree

With the tree coming dangerously close to the floor, 
I curse and I swear, and then I curse a lot more, 
The ornaments come crashing, those made of glass, 
The cat gets a swift kick up the arse.

I yell for assistance, in hopes to get help,
Damn dog underfoot, ran off with a yelp
My husband arrives, about bloody time, 
Takes one look at the scene and turns on a dime

"Stay there, don't move" he yells loudly at me, 
And leaves me still holding up the damn tree
He returns with his camera and says with a wink,
"Smile for me honey",  he's a total Rat Fink.

The kids are all gathered, how funny this is,
See how they laugh when I cancel Christmas,
Finally the tree is righted and tall,
Secured and tied tightly close to the wall.

Christmas is here, only two days to go, 
The children all wishing & hoping for snow,
Complaints about boredom and having to wait, 
Roll on bedtime, make it early not late.

So here's hoping your holidays are merry & bright
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night ! 

I'll be back in the New Year















Friday 21 December 2012

The Secret Life Of Teens

Let me start by saying my teen is wonderful. She works hard, is on the Honour Role at school, has a part time job, lots of friends, everyone loves her, yadda yadda yadda. Now for the real teen that I live with.

For her Fashion Fundamentals course, yes really Fashion Fundamentals WTF ?  The nearest  I ever came to Fashion Fundamentals in school was the choice of white or navy socks with my uniform. Anyway, this isn't about me, so back to my teen. For one task, her class had to take photos of their clothes in their closet and drawers and take them into school. Not sure how that exercise is going to garner her a place in University, but still. Anyway Lindsay cheerfully told her teacher that she didn't have a photo of her closet because all her clothes were piled on her desk & chair. She wasn't kidding. Somewhere under all that is a hamster cage too.

This wouldn't be so bad, after all I can shut her bedroom door and ignore it. It's a bit of a hazard for Sid tho' who shares the room, and has more than once been buried under a sudden avalanche of clothing as she tiptoes her way through the obstacle course that has become the floor of their bedroom. My biggest fear is that maybe one day we'll need a Cadaver Dog to locate her.

I take issue when Lindsay demands to know the whereabouts of a certain item of clothing that was supposed to have been washed a week before. I explain that I have not seen said item and have therefore not washed it. Lindsay, who should know not to answer back, but has never been one to shy away from a challenge, escalates the argument to a whole new level. Rob by this time is usually standing behind me making frantic "cease & desist" hand signals to Lindsay, who blithely ignores him and ratchets it up a notch. The fight can only end one way; tearful (Lindsay) and incensed (me).  And that item of clothing ? It never did leave her room. 

PS I'm really hoping I'm not wasting my time writing this, should the world end tomorrow.  






Thursday 20 December 2012

My Pet Peeves (Part 1)

I honestly can't remember if I have done a "Pet Peeve" Post yet and honestly I'm far too lazy to scroll back through, but these are all new peeves so I shouldn't be in too much danger of repeating myself. 

First, climbing in MY van, only to turn on the ignition and have the speakers blare out some bloody awful music. Obviously my daughter & her friends have been playing with the radio on their way to school. I always know who sat in the front passenger seat, (C)rap music - Lindsay, Country & Western - Mary Clare. I am going to have to cover the dials with duct tape to prevent interference. My van, my radio, my rules.

While on the subject of my beloved mini van, nothing pisses me off more than when my husband uses it to ferry back and forth to the stables every day for a week, only to have him cheerfully remind me as I dash out the door, late for an appointment, "Your gas light is on honey!". Honey ? Honey ? Is he serious ? Does he really think that adding an endearment at the end of the sentence is going to make up for the fact that he emptied an $80 gas tank on me ? 

This is one I'm sure everyone can relate to. What's with those people who turn up late for a show and always end up in the seats at the far end of the row, so you have to get up and let them pass. Usually squeezing so close that you feel you should have exchanged marriage vows first. Why is it as soon as those same people get settled, they then decide they have to go back and get refreshments ?  If you ever squeeze by me in a crowded movie theater, you'll know who I am when I accidentally stomp on your foot. Just sayin'.



Wednesday 19 December 2012

My Morning In Hospital

Not to worry loyal followers, I am fine, but I had to accompany my erstwhile husband to the hospital in order to have a lump removed from his arm. It was very traumatic - for me that is, because he had to be at the hospital for 6:00 AM. Yes, 6:00 AM, what idiot came up with that idea?. That meant I had to get up at 5:15 this morning. For crying out loud it was still dark out. I know, many of you regularly rise at that time, and good for you, but it is well documented that I do not function before 9:00 AM, so this business of being up at 5:15 did not go over well. To be fair, both my father-in-law and brother-in-law, knowing my undisguised disdain for early mornings, offered to take Rob in to the hospital in my stead. Believe me, I seriously contemplated taking them up on their offers, but in the end my sense of spousal obligation won out.

My first mistake this morning was actually opening my eyes, and secondly expecting my husband to make me a cup of coffee to go. Apparently he was just "too preoccupied"! Nothing was open upon reaching the hospital, what kind of establishment is this ?  It was actually a good two hours before I was able to ditch Rob and race down to the cafe. My in-laws had joined us by this time, so I was at least able to elicit some sympathy for my predicament and they bought me breakfast!

I had been given a card with which I could track Rob's advancement through the surgical process, via a screen in the waiting room, kind of like the Arrivals/Departures board at the airport. My father-in-law is not one to sit still, and he was up and down every two minutes to check Rob's progress, positively gleeful when the indicator turned from red (operating room) to green (post op) and finally to blue (recovery) where we were able to join up again with the patient.  After checking that their son had survived his ordeal under the knife, my in-laws had to leave for another appointment, and just when it was about to get interesting!

The nurse came by to check Rob out (and I don't mean that the way it sounds). She starts by putting his arm in a sling, until I suggested that it might be a good idea if she let him put his shirt on first! She leaves to give Rob a chance to get dressed and that was when the fun began. He had a nerve blocker in his shoulder so his arm was essentially paralyzed, and it flopped about like a dead fish. He didn't have a hope in hell of getting dressed by himself, but it sure was funny to watch him try. This is what happens when I have to get up at 5:15 AM. Payback. Finally I relented and helped him to dress. Thank goodness he had been allowed to keep his underwear on, just getting the rest of his clothes on was bad enough.

The nurse returns and tells me I have to go to the lobby and get a wheelchair. Seriously ? I looked at her incredulously. "You do realise he had surgery on his arm, not his leg ?"  I queried. She was not impressed. Hospital policy states he has to be wheeled out. Whatever.  Off I trot to get the wheelchair, and I tell you it was a lot easier pushing it without the deadweight of my husband.  Dutifully I wheel him out of recovery, and sail right past the bank of elevators. "Do you know where you're going?" he asked nervously.  (I am well known for my lousy sense of direction). "Yep" I reply "To the escalator" He's worried now, "You can't take me down the escalator in a wheelchair" he whined, and goddammit he's right, the escalator was too damned narrow. So elevator it was.  Only one problem, I hadn't quite figured out how to stop the wheelchair, and when I removed my hand from the bar it came to a sudden, jarring halt as I rammed his feet into the wall. Oops. Actually that was kind of fun, so I did it again when we reached the lobby.  Now he is whinging about whiplash. Payback's a bitch.

Later, when Rob was relaying the story of me helping him get dressed to the kids, Sid was mortified. "OMG Dad" she cried out "Please tell me you weren't naked in front of the doctor".  She actually whispered the word naked, because it was apparently too awful to contemplate. Rob's arm has to be in a sling for a couple of days, so it's fun times ahead. 

Just in case you think that Rob is not surrounded by a loving sympathetic family, you should know that upon first hearing of the date of his surgery, his mother's immediate concern was "Who is going to cook the Christmas dinner ?"  To give her her due, She didn't even bother looking in my direction.





Tuesday 18 December 2012

Sidisms

While on the subject of Sidney, my daughter at years old has become quite the comedienne, in fact I'm never sure what she is going to say. Here are a few of the more recent "Sidisms".

One Sunday morning Lindsay is up in her room watching TV and I yell up to ask her if she has any homework. Sidney turns to me with an incredulous look, "Are you new here ?  Don't you know everyone leaves their homework to the last minute" The sad truth is she is right. 

A couple of weeks ago we were heading up to see my sister in Port Perry to watch the Santa Claus parade. As we reach the town, on old geezer runs a red light right in front of us. Fortunately because my husband drives like an old woman, preferring to wait for the traffic lights to turn a particular shade of green, he hadn't entered the intersection immediately, so he was able to avoid what could have been a nasty collision. However that doesn't stop my reaction; shaking my fist and yelling obscenities at the idiot driver as he sails blithely by. Then a little voice pipes up from the back of the van "Dial it down mum".  Dial it down ? Where on earth does she get this from ?

Monday morning means spelling tests for both Grady and Sidney, and as usual everything is left to the last minute (see above). A quick cram session Sunday evening, followed by a last minute run-through the next morning, the one time I have to get up earlier to help out. We are sitting at dinner one Sunday evening and Sidney is showing off (the boyfriend was over!) and so I turned to her "I know how to wipe that smile off your face, you have to study your spelling tonight"  Without missing a beat she replies "You can stop smiling too mum. You have to get up early tomorrow to test us" . Little brat.

Rob is not immune to Sid's barbs. She need to take something in for "Show and Tell" (bless her teacher for letting them off the dreaded current events for the month of December), and couldn't find anything worthy enough. Finally Rob suggested a wood carving, and he explained to Sid "Daddy carved this when he was Lindsay's age". Sid turns to him and with a pitying look asks "Why are you referring to yourself in the third person ?". Huh? the girl is only eight years old.

Finally just this week, when Sid and her brother were fighting, I broke it up and told them both to go and clean their bedrooms., As I left the room I heard Sid mutter under her breath "Like that's gonna happen".  Thems fighting words, but I just didn't have the energy. I still have the "I can cancel Christmas" card up my sleeve, I just hope I don't have to use it. 



Monday 17 December 2012

I'm not sure where I went wrong with my children. Lindsay seems to be turning out alright, but it's my youngest I have my concerns about.

Yesterday was Cubs night and I discovered over dinner that they were supposed to perform a skit or a song. Sidney tells me brightly "I have a song". Like an idiot, I fell for it and told her to go ahead and sing it, and so she obliged:

"There's a snake in the grass,
  Stick a bullet up it's ass,
  Stick it in, stick it out,
  Like a good boy scout".

WTF ?  Did I mention Zach (the boyfriend) was over for dinner ? The poor boy just about choked, as did I. "Where on earth did you learn that ?" I asked horrified.  "Grady taught me" She glibly replies. She has no qualms about tossing her brother under a bus if the situation warrants it. I turn to her brother who realises the jig is up and is attempting a fast getaway.  He conveniently "can't remember" where he heard it. I tell them both, that under no circumstances are they to perform this little chorus at Cubs. I've already pre-paid for a whole bunch of activities, and I'm worried I might not get my money back if they are kicked out in disgrace.

I didn't think to remind Sid not to repeat it at school either. Her poor teacher pretty much has conniptions almost every time Sid opens her mouth as it is. I can't tell you how many times I have picked her up from school, only to have her teacher tell me "You won't believe what Sid said today". Sadly, I do believe it. Although I must admit I did express abject horror and surprise when Sidney was in Grade 1, and I found out she was teaching her friends to say "Piss Off". I don't think the teacher believed me when I blamed it on Grady. Her comment to Rob "Isn't Piss Off an English expression?" pretty much summed it up.  So Mrs. Gunn, when you read this, you have my heart felt apologies if Sidney regales your class with her latest little ditty.



Friday 14 December 2012

Diary Of My Wimpy Kids

I was encouraged to learn the other day that I am still able to instill fear into the hearts of my children. For once I wasn't cross with them but was having a fight with a laundry basket which had got caught on something. My laundry room is small at the best of times, but with the addition of the jird cage (the previous location was too close to the fireplace), and some items that had to be moved to make room for the Christmas Tree (which is still standing - yay!) there is not a inch of spare space.

Anyway back to the laundry basket, I am on my tippy toes, precariously balanced over the jird cage trying to retrieve the said basket with little success. Finally, after I've sent a pile of boxes careening to the floor, I've had enough and start to swear. To be fair all I said was "Son of a bitch", certainly not up to my usual standards, but apparently it was strident enough to signal to the rest of the family that there was a disturbance in the force. 

Alerted by the loud crash caused by the boxes, Sid and Grady stood at the top of the stairs, anxiously peering down into the basement.  Says Grady to his sister "Go and down and see what the matter is". "No" replies Sid vehemently "You do it".  "Not likely" rejoins Grady, "She sounds pissed". He decides to compromise and in a faint voice calls down "Are you alright mum?". Of course I didn't hear him, so no answer was forthcoming. "There" he said "At least I did something. Its someone else's turn to go down there". At that point it becomes a game of dare and double dare, with both of them wondering aloud if I was hurt, but neither child brave enough to find out firsthand. After listening to this discourse for a few minutes, my husband steps up, calls them both wimps and ventures down to the laundry room. All I can say, it was a good job I wasn't injured, because I would have probably bled out by the time anyone came to my aid. Let's just say I won't forget this in a hurry.

Thursday 13 December 2012

Texting Tales


I got a bit of a shock the other day. I was looking through the invoice for our cell phones,  checking our usage for the month. I had 68 texts which I thought was high, while Rob's numbered 418, which which I considered a bit excessive, but nothing had prepared me for Lindsay's usage; 9,817 texts. Yes, I did a double take too. Who on earth can send 9,817 texts inside of a month ?  Apparently my daughter can. This is the same girl with whom holding a conversation is akin to pulling teeth. For example, a typical exchange goes something like this.

Me:  "How was school today ?"
Her: "Fine
Me:  "How did you do in your test?"
Her:  "OK"

Me:   "What did you have for lunch?"
Her:  "Usual."
Me:   "What sort of homework do you have to do tonight ?"
Her:  "Lots"
Me:   "Do you have any plans for the weekend ?"
Her:   "Yep."

So I have learned absolutely nothing from this scintillating conversation, but somehow she has enough news to impart that requires the execution of 9,817 (all outgoing) texts.  Did I miss that chapter in the parenting handbook ? 



Wednesday 12 December 2012

To Snore Or Not To Snore

My husband snores and as I freely admit, so do I. However the way we each deal with this scenario couldn't be more different. As I lie there staring at the ceiling listening to the snorting, grunting chainsaw that is sprawled beside me, I approach the problem in a calm and gentle manner, starting with an elbow to the ribs, which usually results in a temporary period of calm. This is quickly followed by a renewed vigour as the snores move in to top gear.  Time to bring in the big guns and a swift kick to the shins. This almost always prompts a roll-over and if I'm lucky I won't have to repeat the process until the next night. That is how I deal with snoring. 

Rob's approach customarily results in a near death experience for me. His trick is to hold my nose and then wait for me to breathe through my mouth, which I don't. He happily sits there watching me gasp like a fish out of water and has even been known to time these episodes. There is something seriously wrong with that man. For some reason I never wake up during these attacks, probably due to a lack of oxygen to my brain. Someday I may not wake up at all. 

Turnabout is fair play, and I decided the next time I had to listen to my husband snore at 1:00 AM I would try his trick. The only trouble was I couldn't see worth a damn in the dark and flailed around smacking his head searching in vain for his nose. I didn't stop him snoring but I sure as hell woke him up and boy was he in a pissy mood - go figure !

Never one to give up, a few nights later I had a brainwave and took out the mini LED flashlight I had beside the bed, figuring I could use that to locate his schnozz and pinch it closed. Things didn't quite go as planned, and as I shined the flashlight in his face, he shot up in bed hollering "What the hell are you doing ?" Who knew those little LEDs could be so effective ?

It would appear that Rob does not appreciate being woken up in such an abrupt manner, so it looks like I may have to revert to "Plan B". I'll still use the flashlight, but I'll just thump  him on the head with it instead. That should do the trick.








Tuesday 11 December 2012

The Mysterious Rash

I have the feeling that this blog will not go down in the annals of good parenting advice, especially after today. In fact if this latest episode doesn't have Children's Aid knocking down our door, then I will probably never again have to worry about them visiting us.

Grady reacts badly to mosquito bites, as do I. I think maybe he has a higher amount of tasty British blood. There was a period of a few days in the fall that he was getting more and more bites. He had to begin with, been spending quite some time outside and I put it down to the balmy October weather that we still had active mosquitoes. 

One bite on his arm turned particularly nasty and when the limb swelled to twice it's normal size, I finally relented and agreed for Rob to take him to the doctor.  I'm not heartless, but let's face it, this was the same boy that tried to stay home from school with menstrual cramps, so I kind of take the wait-and-see-if-it-drops-off-first approach before we do anything hasty. One round of antibiotics later and Grady's arm is back to normal, but new bites keep appearing.

Rob and I had a tête-à-tête to try and determine the source of these bites. We ruled out bed bugs, I think it would be more widespread and only Grady seemed to be afflicted. With four cats and a dog there is always the chance of fleas, and one of the cats does occasionally sleep on his bed, but the other cats sleep on the remaining beds, so again it doesn't explain why Grady is the only one with bites.

Just to be careful, we stripped his bed, boiled all of his bedding and his floor mat, zapped everything in the drier  and then sprayed down the mattress and the rest of his room with industrial strength flea spray. Lo and behold the next day, three more bites had appeared, so we were totally flummoxed. Rob suggested perhaps hives instead of bites, but we couldn't think of anything that was recently introduced that Grady would be allergic to.

I finally came up with a brilliant idea and suggested that perhaps we should have Sid and Grady swap beds for the night. That way if Sid got bitten (assuming it was bites and not hives) then we'd know it was something in the bed, but if Grady got bitten then it was probably hives. 

Rob explained the plan to Sidney, who was initially excited at the prospect at sleeping in her brother's room, but then the penny dropped and she turned on him accusingly "Hang on a minute, what if I get bitten?" It didn't take long for her to suss out my diabolical plan, and it would appear that Sid was not overly keen on the idea of being dished up as bug bait. Time to sweeten the pot - I told Rob to go back and offer her 25 cents for each bite.  Normally that girl would jump through hoops for less, but tonight she wasn't going for it, and the negotiations began. She was prepared to offer herself up for five dollars a bite, which was a little steep in my book. After all Grady had counted a total of eleven bites. We finally agreed on a flat fee of five dollars to spend the night in Grady's room, with or without bites. Of course, it didn't take long for Grady to cotton on to this money making scheme, and he started bartering for his share of the pot. Tough noogies to him. We decided to wait and see what happened come morning, and of course if they both had bites then we were screwed.

Post script:  The following morning, no bites on either child, and Sid was $5 richer. We may never find out what caused them, but they have stopped, so that is good enough for me.


Monday 10 December 2012

Christmas In Our House

So today we put up our Christmas Tree, well actually our third tree, we tend to go to extremes in this house. If I had my way it would be five, but Rob put his foot down. Fair enough, we barely have room for the one we set up today. 

It goes something like this, after several days of nagging from Sid & Grady, because  they don't count the two artificial trees that are up and decorated, as far as they are concerned they want the real one, the one that their presents go under. "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?". This goes on and on and on, you get the picture. Finally on Saturday when Rob can't take it anymore, he announces he is going to get the tree. "Who wants to come with me ?" he asks. This is greeted with complete silence. He tries again "I'm going to get the tree, who's coming with me?".  More silence. It appears that Sid & Grady are engrossed in a TV program, a repeat no less, and they're really not too bothered about getting the tree. No way was Rob going to allow that and packs them in the van under duress.  

In hindsight he probably should have gone alone. Grady was in a pissy mood because they weren't going to drive several hours out into the wilderness to cut down a tree in the pouring rain, as we have done in the past. So he just complained that whatever tree Rob picked was too small. On the other hand Sid couldn't have cared less, she had discovered a puppy, a muddy puppy at that. When she arrived home she took great delight in showing me the trail of muddy paw prints all over her clothes. Yay ! 

We had to allow the tree to dry overnight, and the grand set up was today. The tree goes up and Rob insists it was the easiest ever, a perfect size, plenty of room to navigate around it, and totally secure. However there are not enough lights. Out goes Rob, and comes home with more lights. Plugs them into the remote control, oops no batteries, out he goes again. By this time kids have gotten bored and moved off to other pursuits. Finally after dinner, the decorating begins. Decorations go on, tree falls down, pretty much a given in our house. It would appear that the tree isn't so secure after all, and the weight of the decorations has pulled the tree away from the wall and heading towards the floor. Something else not considered, with the decorations, there is now only 6" clearance between the tree and the couch. This does not bode well. So with my kitchen scissors in hand, Rob commences to prune the tree. "What are you doing ?" I shriek,  "Leave the tree alone".  He argues back "There's no room to move", unfortunately this is borne out almost immediately as Sid comes charging through the gap with Grady in hot pursuit and the tree continues to shake long after they have passed.

Finally satisfied, we pack away the boxes, and sit back to admire our beautiful, slightly lopsided tree. But wait, there is movement. The cat has gone behind the tree to throw up. Just f***ing lovely.  Now it truly feels like Christmas.




Friday 7 December 2012

Brotherly Love

Grady and Sidney fight like cats and dogs sometimes, actually worse than cats and dogs, because the real felines and canine in our house never fight at all. Anyway despite the extremely creative name calling and the occasional knock-down-drag-out fight, I always hope that underneath it all they have each other's back. That ideal was almost borne out the other day. 

We have a huge back yard, where the kids can roam free and play on various apparatus.   Do they do that ? No they prefer to play out front instead.  Ever mindful of the horror stories of children snatched  off their own front lawn, I am oft times reluctant for them to play unsupervised. They are allowed out if they are together, but the rule is, unless an adult is out there with them, if one child comes in, then they both have to. 

Last weekend they were playing on the driveway when Grady came in for something. After he'd been inside for a few minutes, I suddenly thought to ask him if he'd left Sid outside alone. He insisted she was OK but went back out to check. Unbeknownst to both of us, Sid had grown tired of waiting for her brother and had quietly (almost an impossibility for Sid) re-entered the house and had gone to the playroom.

Grady, after not finding his sister where he left her outside, came charging into the house in a panic, racing from top to bottom looking for the erstwhile Sid. Upon locating her playing Legos he lets her have it with both barrels, yelling "Sidney, next time you come in, you have to tell me. I thought you'd been stolen, I was really worried....". Listening to this, my eyes welled up at Grady's concern for his little sister. I should have known better tho', because my happy bubble was burst immediately as Grady continued "... I thought I was gonna get blamed for it".  How touching.











Thursday 6 December 2012

Life Is Good

In my never ending quest to find things that I know are going to irritate my husband, (yes I know it's cruel, but I do it anyway), I have discovered something new, totally by accident. Yesterday we got a new fridge, which was long overdue. We'd had the old fridge for over 20 years, and unlike the stove which is the same age and is in near mint condition (due to the fact, according to my family, I don't know how to cook), this appliance was in it's death throes. As it kicked in, the kitchen lights would dim and this would be accompanied by a horrendous clunking sound. Not good at all.

So back to the new fridge which has a stainless steel door, you know the kind of door that shows every little mark, especially fingerprints. The kind of door that will drive my incredibly anal husband absolutely berserk as he tries to keep it clean. I discovered this quite by chance, as I nonchalantly leaned against the fridge only to have Rob shriek (although he would deny this) in my ear, "Don't touch that, you'll leave marks".

As soon as his back was turned the rest of us were all over that fridge like a fat kid on a smarty. There were fingerprints from top to bottom.  It had the desired effect, as Rob stood in the middle of the kitchen yelling at us. Drawing upon a colourful vocabulary we were called all sorts of names. "Idiots", "Assholes", "Jerks" and then back to "Idiots". His colourful vocabulary doesn't even come close to mine.   Of course the more he yelled, the funnier it got - at least for us, not so much for Rob. Lindsay's BF was over for dinner, and he stood horrified as the scene unfolded. My guess is he didn't know whether to laugh with us or commiserate with Rob, so he took the easy way out and left the kitchen entirely - the coward ! 

A quiet dinner followed, throughout which Rob glowered at me with undisguised annoyance. As soon as he was able, he disappeared into the kitchen with a cloth to clean off the door.   It's just all to easy to rile him up, but I don't think it will ever stop being fun.


Wednesday 5 December 2012

The Boyfriend

The titular character does not refer to my imaginary boyfriend, aka the hunky UPS man, with whom my children are convinced that I am having a lurid affair - difficult to achieve such a status when my husband works from home nowadays. Instead, the boyfriend in question is Lindsay's. Yep that's right, my little girl has all growed up and got herself a man.

In the interests of preserving their privacy and saving my daughter from embarrassment,  this will be the one and only blog devoted to the subject. Suffice to say he is a very nice boy, well mannered and a gentleman and we wholeheartedly approve. Did I mention he is tall? Much to Rob's chagrin at meeting him for the first time, he had to look up, I'm sure he would have much preferred to frown down upon such an interloper ! 

It would appear that when it comes to parenting a teen with a boyfriend, Rob and I are not on the same page, in fact, probably not even in the same book ! We had an eye opening conversation the other day and it went something like this:

Rob: Maybe I'm out of bounds, but now that Lindsay has a boyfriend, don't you think you should have a chat with her ? 

Me:   (Blank look) Huh ?

Rob: You know, "That Chat!" 

Me:   Oh right. Gotcha. 

Rob: I just think it would be better coming from her mother.

Me:   Well, I really don't think it's necessary, she is pretty sensible and they are nowhere  near that point in their relationship, but if it makes you feel any better I'll talk to her about using condoms. 

At this point, mere words cannot do Rob's reaction justice.  Bug eyed, apoplectic, clutching his chest, choking on his coffee, he sputters out "Are you kidding me ? I don't want you giving her condoms, you're supposed to tell her to abstain. (There were more than a few expletives in there - talk about your potty mouth - but they are best not repeated). He continues, "I DON'T WANT YOU talking to her, EVER I'll handle it myself."

I must admit at that point I fell about laughing, who knew that my husband had long forgotten his own horny teenage days.  Suffice to say when I told Lindsay about the conversation later (there are no secrets in this house), she was mortified. "You're not going to put that in your blog are you ?" she asked. "As if !" I replied...... 

PS: When I read this to Rob - family always has right of veto with my blog - he expressed dismay. "My mother is going to read this" he exclaimed.  Right, like she doesn't remember his horny teenage years either.

 

 







Tuesday 4 December 2012

Things That Go Bump In The Morning

It is a well documented fact that I am not by choice an early riser. If needs must, I will stagger out of bed, rumpled and dazed and perform whatever duties may be required to ensure a smooth running of the household, and when necessary get my children to school in a timely manner. My preference remains however, to stay in bed and delay my rising until after my husband has performed these tasks and the house is again quiet. I admit to feeling a small twinge of guilt, that while I am resplendent in slumber, my better half (ha ha ha ) prepares breakfasts and lunches and marshals whatever forces are required to get the kids out the door. 

So it is relief when the weekend roles around that I can sleep late without the guilty twinges, so I was not impressed to awaken early on Saturday morning to an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by Grady yelling at Sid "What did you do ?" . A muffled heated exchange follows and then I hear "That f***ing cat!". That was coming from my ten year old son. It would appear the feline in question, being chased by another had skidded across the stove top and sent the element covers crashing to the floor, causing said noise. 

My more immediate concern was my husband, who by now was also awake. "Did you hear that ?" he hissed. "Yes" I whispered back, "Sounds like it came from the kitchen". "Not that" he hissed again, "Your son and his potty mouth, that's all your doing!" Geez, all hell breaking loose and that's what he decides to focus on !

Thursday 22 November 2012

Happy Barfday

I'm back, happily unemployed again and the dry spell is over, so what better time to return to my blog than at the auspicious start of my 50th year, and let's face it, no one heralds in birthdays like my family.

At 1:30 A.M. I am sound asleep, and Sid shuffles in, uttering five little words parents everywhere dread "I barfed on my pillow". This is where the mothering instinct kicks in because my first thought was "OMG when I kissed her goodnight, was it on the lips ?". Rob however, a better parent than I, springs into action, whilst yours truly continues to lie there feigning sleep, because after all, this might be a false alarm, but it was not to be. Lights are flashed on, doors banged open, and Rob's loud exclamation of "F***ing Hell, was there anything you didn't puke on?"  pretty much ensured I'd have to get up. Even I, with my Oscar worthy acting abilities could not pretend to sleep through that commotion.

While Rob who has a much stronger stomach, waded in, I busied myself gathering paper towels, disinfectant and a garbage bag.  Lindsay by this time, had grabbed her pillow and taken off to parts unknown complaining that she couldn't sleep upstairs because "It stinks". It would appear that none of us are too sympathetic at that time of night.

So while Rob braves the bedding, trying to determine which of the 103 stuffed animals on Sid's bed were puked on and which survived the onslaught, I hover anxiously on the sidelines, giving words of encouragement, all the time fervently hoping that I will not be required to venture any closer. I was on board with Lindsay on this one, it really did stink!  

There was no sign of a disturbance in the force when Sid went to bed last night, no indication that by morning we'd be faced with two heaping bowlfuls of undigested spaghetti & meatballs, and my apologies to anyone who maybe reading this over breakfast, but you should know by now you "takes yer chances" with my blog. With three children, at least one of whom gets sick once a year, why does this never happen in daylight hours ?  Having to deal with vomit spewn with the force of a ballistic missile is bad enough any time of day but in the middle of the night?  What's with that ? It's just not fair. 

It would seem that I am doomed to spend my birthday in close proximity to the washing machine, while Sid trails dejectedly around the house with a bucket in tow. But hey without this, what would I blog about ?  It's good to be back. 

For anyone who read Rob's post on Facebook, I know what you were thinking as to how I  celebrated my birthday at 1:30 AM.  Shame on you. 




Wednesday 3 October 2012

Necker This !

I think that there may be something wrong with my new best friend Tina. Today she took my children on a Cub hike, and then offered not only to keep them for the rest of the day, but to feed them dinner and then drive them home again as well. This in itself is above and beyond the call of duty, but what concerned me, was when we were leaving, she thanked me for my children. Maybe she was strung out on cold medication, or had nefarious plans to sell their organs on EBay, but I don't think so. The issue ? No one has ever, ever thanked me for my children before. Indeed, back when I birthed the little buggers, even my husband didn't thank me ! The ungrateful RB. So I do hope Tina isn't becoming unbalanced. Of course after she reads this, she may have some choice words to unbalance me.

I have to say though, my children are really enjoying the Cub activities. As a leader, Tina has some fantastic ideas, and a endless supply of patience. The other evening when they came home from their meeting , Sidney actually came up behind her brother and gave him a hug. She wasn't even trying to give him a wedgie. It was a proper hug, heartfelt even, not like the perfunctory clinches I insist they give each other in the process of apologizing for a transgression. I have discovered that for my children, being forced to your embrace your detestable sibling, can sometimes be the worst punishment of all.

The one concern I do have however, is the part of the Cub uniform known as the "Necker". This seemingly inoffensive accessory might just as well be labelled "Noose" and come with a big flashing neon sign that says "Choke Here". I am always telling my children "Don't put that around your neck, you'll strangle yourself" Just one of those admonishments as a parent you are expected to use. But now, as they get dressed in their uniform, I am just waiting for that day when Grady casts dispersions upon Sid's efforts as a fellow Cub, and her hands will be tightening on his necker quicker than stink. But hey, that's what memories are made of.

I will be taking a short hiatus from blogging. I have unwittingly taken on full time employment, albeit temporary  and it has seriously cut in to my blogging time. I will return as soon as I can. Thank you for reading.

Tuesday 2 October 2012

Mayhem At The Roundabout

So continues the saga of why I am not in a hurry for my daughter to learn how to drive. If you read yesterday's blog, you'll understand why I did not look favourably upon my bullying driving instructor. Determined they could do better, two of my friends decided that they would take upon themselves, the task of teaching me how to drive.

I should mention that these friends were in the Royal Engineers, and part of their job was to drive the huge army transport lorries (trucks) around England's winding country lanes. I guess when you are behind the wheel of something that size, you just have a different perspective of the road.  But I was in a small car, not a three ton truck, so many a time I found myself getting close up and personal with a hedgerow, because even I didn't dare to play chicken with the double-decker bus barreling towards me on lane ways that were little wider than a goat path.

Take the English roundabouts for example, normally you need nerves of steel to navigate those circular merry-go-rounds of terror, but not the way I was educated. Apparently there was only one way to successfully maneuver those road blocks, and that was head on. I was instructed to race up to the roundabout with reckless abandon, and if the way was clear, rocket off around it. If not, then you slammed on the brakes and hoped for the best. What can I say ? At seventeen you think you are invincible. To be fair, these somewhat unorthodox driving lessons (and I can honestly say all parties were sober, we were crazy not stupid) did take place in the wee hours of the morning, when the roads were pretty much empty. Even so, it took a couple of near misses, the second of which was with a police car giving chase (I think army sappers and the police were taught to drive in pretty much the same manner), that gave me pause for thought, and I wisely decided to move indefinitely to the passenger seat instead.

It was only with the imminent arrival of Sid that I was forced to move from passenger to driver. Rob had a recurring nightmare of driving endlessly around town dropping off three children to multiple activities, while I stayed home and did, well whatever.  So although wiser now, and obviously far safer behind the wheel, I haven't forgotten what it was like to be seventeen and fearless, and that alone is a good enough reason for me to want to keep Lindsay off the roads.   


Monday 1 October 2012

My First & Very Nearly Last Driving Lesson

Lindsay turned fifteen this summer, and in only eight short months she can apply for her driver's licence.  That thought fills me with dread. I think sixteen is far too young to be behind the wheel of a car. I first started driving in England when I was seventeen, and it was another country and twenty five years later before I actually got my licence.

My godparents paid for my driving lessons when I turned seventeen. My instructor, an ex-policeman, who unbeknownst to my well meaning godparents, was a bully, as mean as the day was long. On my very first lesson, he picked me up from college and took me to the middle of Winchester, a busy city with a confusing array of one way streets and little old ladies with blue hair and drag along shopping carts who thought nothing of stepping out in front of a moving vehicle without warning. After five minutes of dodging wayward pedestrians, I was hyperventilating and in a near faint, but the fun was just beginning.

My instructor decided to get his jollies that day by having me try a hill start in a standard car.  Clutch, brake, accelerator, gear shift, was he crazy ? How the the hell was I supposed to figure that out ? So there I am at the lights, with a big assed Euro bus right behind me, trying to figure out how to get the car from "stop" to "go". The angry French bus driver went from shaking his fist to  shouting obscenities at me, as the traffic lights turned from green to red, again, and again and again. He obviously didn't see (or didn't care) the big red "L" hanging on the back of the car, and no, it wasn't for "Loser" but for "Learner".  My instructor, not to be outdone by the bus driver, starts shouting a few rude words of his own. I had never been called a "Stupid Bitch" before (I told you he was a bully) and I didn't much care for it.

Finally, and I don't know how, I managed to get the car up the hill. As soon as it was able, the bus came roaring past me, only to run out of lane, and proceeded to sideswipe front end of the car, as he tried to pull in front. You could say my first lesson had come to a crashing end. But wait, there is more to come. Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment.

Friday 28 September 2012

The Twilight Zone

Some days I think I'm living in the Twilight Zone, everyone seems to get what is going in except me.  Take the other night for example, I am helping Grady with his homework - spelling this time. One of his words was pterodactyl, and I'm spelling it out for him "Silent P- t-e-r-o-d-a-c-t-y-l" so he can write it in a sentence when suddenly he convulses in laughter. No words, just loud guffaws as he holds his stomach with one hand and points at me with the other. I have absolutely no clue what caused this disruption, and then I hear his father in the kitchen laughing along with him. "Will someone please tell me what is going on ?" I demanded, only to have Grady tell me, tears streaming down his face, "You said silent pee'". I guess you have to have a "Y" chromosome, to get it.

Meanwhile Rob is in a twilight zone of his own. He is convinced the cat is toying with him. He (Rob) is still having too much of a good time catching mice in the crawlspace - the man really needs to get a hobby - but he has now discovered that every time he takes the captives out to the neighbour's wood pile, (unbeknownst to the neighbours I might add) at the bottom of the garden, he is positive the cat sneaks down behind him and brings one of the mice back to the house, only to dangle it right in front of my husband. Guaranteed to send him into a tizzy, but then  it really doesn't take much !

He was proven right on Monday evening, Lindsay and two friends were studying (yeah right, I'm not that gullible) at the dining room table when they noticed Mowgli lazily toying with a mouse. To give them their due, not one of them reacted, no screams, no jumping on chairs, they made me proud. Lindsay casually pointed it out and they all went back to work.  It is a sad state of affairs that no one actually bothered to even retrieve the mouse, until Rob finally made the effort sometime later.



Thursday 27 September 2012

Even More Things I learned The Hard Way

As every parent knows, you are always learning from your children ans here are more of the gems I have learned over the years.  
 
- Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Mayan end of the world predictions within earshot of your children, even the teenager, unless you want to spend the next several months explaining why you are not going to build a fall out shelter in your basement.

 - It is very important to teach your children how to apologize properly. When your youngest calls her brother stupid, and you tell her to say sorry, you may need to clarify that "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid"  does not constitute a proper apology.


- Choose carefully what you tell your children. For example; Rob thought it was hilarious when he told our children that I lost my front tooth in a bar brawl, and their teacher asked me how it happened. I was actually hit the face with the muzzle of a rifle, which  probably raises even more questions, so maybe I'll stick with the bar fight after all.

- When your child tells you she doesn't feel well and asks if she cuddle in bed with you. Say NO and lock her in the bathroom. If you don't, she will hurl with the force of a scud missile, and you will spend the morning washing your bedding, and scrubbing projectile vomit off the floors and walls !
 
- When ranting at your children, do not slam your fist on the table for emphasis. Trust me, it hurts like a son of a bitch.

- You may be able to win a battle with one child or even two of them at the same time, but if it goes off  the rails with any more than that, accept that you are outnumbered and admit defeat.

Any finally, remember, no matter how sweet your children are now, I can guarantee you, at some point they will become a walking advertisement for the use of birth control.




Wednesday 26 September 2012

Pet Peeve Part II


These pet peeves are not in any particular order, but this particular one is near the top - unhelpful sales staff.  In the past I have worked in retail and the food industry (although obviously not in the kitchen) so I know it isn't easy. However when I am ready to make a purchase and part ways with my hard earned cash, or more likely, highly charged credit card, (which by the way, I like to keep at the max, so if they get stolen no one can use them. Rob doesn't agree, but I think it has a certain logic), I do not appreciate having to wait at the counter, tapping my foot, while the sales girl and her girlfriend rehash the previous night's unfortunate double-date with Tweedle Dum & Tweedle Dumber. Not my concern.

There was once an unfortunate incident at a dry cleaners, when the girl behind the counter planned her upcoming Saturday night in technicolor detail over the phone, while we stood waiting for Rob's dry-cleaning. After several minutes of this nauseating one side conversation I politely (yes really!) suggested that she might like to continue her call after she had served her customers. The girl glared over at me and said "Take a pill lady".  Rob looked stricken, he took one horrified glance at her and gasped something to the effect of "Do you realise what you've just done ?" and back pedaled out of the store so fast he left skid marks on the floor. He is not one for confrontation.

This was back in the days when I had an appalling temper, and was more apt to lose it. My temper hasn't changed much over the years (the kids can attest to that) I just don't have enough energy to indulge it as frequently now. Anyway back to the girl who told me to take a pill, what happened next wasn't pretty. While Rob hovered anxiously outside the store, I let her have it with both barrels. If I remember correctly, the dry-cleaning was free,  and I do believe the company is no longer in business, and good riddance.

Tuesday 25 September 2012

How I spent My Sunday

My day begins benignly enough when I notice three out of the four cats hovering in the kitchen. They had already been fed, and my husband announces to no one in particular "Mouse alert in the kitchen"  No one takes much notice, sad really that we are so blasé about it. Rob, not prepared to be ignored, exclaims louder "There is a mouse in the kitchen between the oven and the wall". I'm not sure what he expects to accomplish, because (a) I couldn't care less, and (b) I have no plans on squeezing behind the stove to capture an erstwhile mouse. Even the cats gave up, so for all I know it is still there. 

I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as  a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.

The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open. 

I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted.  Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them. 

One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body ! 

Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?.  Like I said - One eye open honey !





Monday 24 September 2012

Teenage Angst

My daughter's friends know I write a blog, in fact most of them follow it, so when they gather en masse at our house and discuss in strident tones the various topics I will reveal here, they must know that they are fair game.

This evening's debacle began with an innocent question from Lindsay a couple of days ago "Can Tori come over after school on Thursday and watch a movie?" I had no problem with that as long as she was up to date with her homework. I do remember however, asking at the time "Is it only Tori ? What about everyone else in your posse?"  No, categorically it was only Tori coming over, apparently no one else was interested.  Of course I knew that was going to change, and sure enough, the next day I get a text "Can MC come to ?" By this time I've totally forgotten about the arrangements for Thursday evening, and a confusing conversation is haltingly texted back and forth. Between my cursed fat fingers and Lindsay's incomprehensible abbreviations I don't think either one of us had a clue what the other was on about, but somehow it turned out I unwittingly agreed to throwing in a pizza along with the movie.

Today when I was out and about I get several  texts in quick succession " Can Diana come too?"  followed by "and Tess?"  and then "We have to eat early because MC has a dentist appointment".  By now we are almost up to the full complement of the posse, which I had kind of assumed might happen, and as suspected the rest showed up anyway. No problem, I can handle this.

I thought teenage boys ate a lot of groceries, they have nothing on teenage girls.  As soon as the first group walk in the door, they head straight to the kitchen, and then not one, not two but a chorus of three voices float down to me "Is there anything to eat ?" A loaf of bread and half a jar of peanut butter later, it is time to get down to business.  This is when the fun starts.  Bear in mind that these conversations are carried on in the kitchen, while Rob is trying to work a few steps away.

I will not use names, although I am sorely tempted, but they know who they are. First up for discussion was underwear, or at least lack there of and which of these bevy of girls go commando. Did I ever get a few surprises! Now you understand why I am not naming names! From underwear they moved on to shaving, and started comparing who had the prickliest legs, I think they stopped at the removal of underarm hair, much to Rob's relief. Even with two daughters, he is not used to this intimate level of discussion.

The second horde of girls breezed in, this was like the D-Day landings in Normandy, as wave after wave of teenagers arrived at our door. After much shrieking and clamouring - it seems the only way they can carry on multiple conversations is at top volume, with each successive announcement louder than the previous, a sudden silence fell over the house. I called up to Rob (I'm not stupid, I hid in the basement) to find out what had happened, only to be told they had moved up to the bathroom to remove blackheads on each others backs. To borrow the teenage vernacular, Eeew! Gross!. When I was that age, my friends and I wouldn't even admit to having blackheads on our backs, never mind "Here, have a go at popping them". Lindsay has only just started  Grade 10, what the hell can I expect over the next two years?

I have to give these girls credit for one thing, I was hitting a dry spell with my blog, but not anymore. So this goes out to a lovely group of girls; (in no particular order) Hannah, Mary-Clare, Diana, Tess & Tori, with many thanks for the inspiration !






Friday 21 September 2012

Happy Birthday Rob !

My dear husband (affectionately aka Rat Bastard) is facing a milestone birthday today. I had forgotten just how much older he is than I am! I won't say which milestone birthday it is, but I have just discovered as I'm sitting here stuffing my face full of chocolate (a bad habit I have got into as I blog) that Rob is the same age as the "After Eight" chocolates, at least according to what it says on the the box I am determined to work my way through this evening, which is probably more exciting than anything I can think of to write about.

I first met my husband to be when I was fourteen, although I was dating his older brother at the time. This was  thanks in part to my sister, who didn't know what else to do with me when I was in Canada on a summer long visit, so she set me up with the eldest son of her friend & neighbour. Years later, she still likes to take the credit for our happy union, conveniently forgetting that had it gone her way, I would be with Rob's brother, whom I'm sure, still gives thanks for his lucky escape.

If you were to ask Rob, he would have yet another version of of how history played out. I seem to be the only one who does not have a Swiss cheese memory. As far as he is concerned - and this is the story he likes to tell our children - our relationship began when I pinned him up against the barn door, and he was terrified. Of course, you'd have to question why he followed me out to the barn in the first place, and the way I remember it (and really that is the only version that counts - it is my blog after all), it was dark, I tripped, fell on him and at the same time stuck my hand in an exposed electrical outlet, resulting in a jolting shock and a burn to my hand. Believe me, that you don't forget. Anything else Rob has to say about it is at best questionable, and probably total bollocks.

Despite his colourful memories, I must give him his due, he has stuck by me, not an easy feat over the years, and fathered three wonderful children. Oh hell, where is this sentiment going ? Who am I kidding ? I've given him the best years of his life, and as for the kids, while Lindsay has turned out OK, the other two are little hooligans.  Still let it be said, Happy Birthday to my awesome husband! I love you !


Thursday 20 September 2012

Why NASA Won't Be Calling Anytime Soon

I love my children, I really do, and I think on the most part they are smart kids, however there are days when I shake my head  in wonderment, and not in a good way. So here are the top 5 reasons NASA won't be calling our house any time soon:

5) I wouldn't say that my son excels at sports, but he certainly does try his best. After his first baseball game at school, he came home all excited. "Our team didn't win" he said beaming, "but I scored a goal". That's right a goal, in baseball. That alone may be the first clue as to why his team didn't win.

4) Lindsay mistook the Branston pickle for chocolate sauce and poured it all over Grady's ice-cream. Fortunately he wasn't stupid enough (or maybe hungry enough) to eat it.

3) As parents we are not immune to stupidity either. Rob backs down the driveway in my van and bumps into his car which was parked behind. No harm done (gotta love those polymer panels)  except to his bruised ego because we all witnessed it.

2) I back down the driveway and bump into Rob's car, still  parked behind. Thank goodness he did it first, because then he was in no position to lecture me. He was actually in his car at the time, so technically it was still his fault for not moving out of my way fast enough. I also had the bonus thrill of catching sight of his panic stricken face in the rear view mirror as I made impact.

And the number 1 reason we won't be hearing from NASA anytime soon - Grady has spent the last couple of days bemoaning the fact he is an only child. Now, I'm not sure what they are teaching him in maths, but the last time I looked I still had three children.  Maybe it's just wishful thinking on his part.




Wednesday 19 September 2012

My Pet Peeves

Take  seat and get comfortable, this could go on for a while.

What is with the god awful ice-cream flavours they are marketing to kids nowadays?  I think "Super Kid" and the equally insidiously named "Cotton Candy" ice-creams must be amongst the most toxic substances known to man - other than my friend Raquel's Coconut & Peanut Butter Meatballs, which is a whole other story, and not mine to tell (Sorry Raq !).  I have no idea what my husband was thinking (obviously he wasn't) when he brought home a tub of this crap. I don't know what is in this stuff, I could try reading the ingredients, but I can't pronounce most of them and of those that I can, I have absolutely no idea what they are. I'm guessing at the very least they must be radioactive, based on the way the stuff positively glows in the dark. In case you are wondering what started this rant (honestly some days it doesn't take much to set me off). I was trying to get some stains off the kitchen counter, Mr.Clean Magic Eraser and I are on a first name basis. There were some very persistent marker (or so I thought) stains, so I started in on my kids as to why they had crayoned all over the counter, only to have them tell me it wasn't marker but Cotton Candy Ice-Cream. WTF ? This stuff won't come off.  I can't imagine what it does to their insides.

Stupid people - I have always been told I don't suffer fools gladly , and I have no time for stupid people. I have met some village idiots in my time, but I came across the Grand Poo-bah last week. I was stopped at some lights, when a woman turns left into the adjacent lane. The only thing is, she is waving a cigarette around in one hand, a cell phone in the other, so I can only assume she is steering with her knees. On top of that she has a yappy little dog sitting on her lap, hanging halfway out of the drivers side window. As she careens around the corner she misses my front bumper by maybe a few inches, I honestly thought she was going to hit me, and I think by the sudden panicked look on her face she thought so too. I let out a blistering string of curses, telling her exactly what I thought of her as she cruised by, and she had the audacity to ask me what my problem was.

Which brings me to my final pet peeve, at least for today - lazy drivers who refuse to indicate. They may know they are about to slam on the brakes and take a corner on two wheels (although actually that sounds like something my kids would say I do - but at least I indicate) but a little advance warning would be nice people. I admit I am not perfect (although I think some days I come pretty damn close) but at least I like to think I am a courteous driver. My husband is often the worst offender, I have to bite my tongue when he is driving especially in my (now deceased) van, I kept reminding him that the indicators worked, (one of the few things that actually did) and he should try  using them. If I didn't think we'd end up in a ditch, I'd lean across him and turn them on my self.

I'm sure if he bothers to read this, I will be in for some blistering comments, but I'll take the chance.  




Tuesday 18 September 2012

A Typical Evening In Our House

Normally, it is the mornings when our house is fraught with peril, but the evenings are also known to have their share of excitement, take this one for example; not too long ago. 

My youngest, who after dinner has consumed a chocolate mousse, a yogurt and copious amounts of fruit is wailing how hungry she still is, at which point her father sarcastically offered her cat food. What the hell was he thinking ?  While she is far from impressed, her brother thinks this is hilarious, and wastes no time in winding her up. However, It didn't take her long to wipe the smile off his face with a well aimed blow to the arm.

I step in at this point and send the youngest to bed, where upon the screaming reaches fever pitch and she has a total melt down, accompanied by slamming doors and objects hurled indiscriminately across her bedroom. I should add, that the first door slam wasn't up to her usual standard, so she went back and did it again !  She isn't satisfied until she causes the whole house to shake.

Not wanting her to get away with this behaviour, I order her back down stairs, and tell her to try it again - but quietly.  After shooting me a venomous look she stomps back up the stairs, and slams the door - again. Game on ! I can do this all night if necessary  - & sometimes it is.

The evening is shaping up nicely, my son still in tears, bemoaning the fact that he has the worst sister ever, whilst eldest daughter has now joined the fray screeching at her younger sister to shut up because her hamsters have delicate hearing.  Never mind that she is now making more noise than the other two put together.

Meanwhile, Rob has given up on whatever he was trying to do, and is making a frantic dash around the house closing any open windows, because, god forbid, the neighbours should hear the carrying on - like that ship hasn't sailed already.  

As far as I am concerned, no good will come from hanging around, so I take the dog and make a strategic retreat to the basement until the commotion dies down.  Fun times !






Monday 17 September 2012

Homework Nightmares

I'm so happy the children are back at school and doing homework again - NOT.  Grady especially, despite his photographic memory - which actually does more harm than good - has the attention span of a gnat. Trying to get him to settle and concentrate on his homework is a chore requiring herculean effort on my part.

The burden starts soon after the kids return home, usually commencing with an innocent question "Grady, do you have any homework?". Typically the first inquiry goes unanswered, prompting me to try again, usually with the same result. I follow this with a full out bellow."GRAY-DEEE !! Do you have any homework tonight?" At this point the boy deigns to reply, "Dunno". By now, I've had enough, I retreat and let the matter slide until after dinner, lulling him into a false sense of security, but before he can leave the dinner table, I pounce. "Grady, check your backpack for homework". An exaggerated sigh followed by "In a minute". and I counter with "NO. DO. IT. NOW" in a tone that allows no argument. 

So finally almost two hours after my initial query, I manage to get him to sit down with his maths book. I celebrate by returning to the kitchen and clear up the dishes. Five minutes later I check up on him but the little bastard has escaped. Sidney the snitch informs me he is in his bedroom playing Legos. Time to bring out the big guns "Grady, what the **** are you doing ? Get your arse down here now and do your homework" This is usually followed by a threat of some kind, the severity of which is determined by my rapidly increasing bad mood. After five minutes and still no sign of my son, I am forced to march upstairs and bodily drag him back down to his homework.

It would seem that the delay tactics have only just begun. Grady manages to finish the first question but then tragedy strikes in the guise of a broken pencil. Five minutes to find a sharpener, another five minutes to determine that it won't work, and then ten more minutes to find another pencil, apparently any old pencil just isn't good enough. By now, I am more often than not in full blown curse mode, and my fingers are just itching to strangle him. While he arms himself with a new pencil, I in turn arm myself with a newspaper. No, I am not going to sit down and do the crossword, I am instead going to use it as a weapon. I would prefer to use a taser, but I believe there is a law against that, so instead I roll up the newspaper and smack him upside the head every time his mind wanders. I have tried other implements, but I've found the newspaper works best. It gives a satisfying "thwack" when it makes contact and doesn't leave a mark. I am more than happy to impart these tidbits of parental wisdom, feel free to use them.





Friday 14 September 2012

My New Best Friend

I have a new best friend, her name is Tina. She used to be a mere acquaintance, but now she is my "bestie" and has rocketed straight to the top of my Christmas card list. You may wonder why this paragon of virtue has been honoured with such accolades ? She has done what no sane person would do and has taken my two youngest children for the evening (it's a work night for Lindsay too - bonus!). What's more she is going to do it every week, and she follows my blog, so she knows what my children are like ! I am so excited I would literally sing her praises if I could, however unlike my husband, I fully realise I can't sing, so I wouldn't subject anyone to it.

Anyway, I digress, Tina is the local Scout master, and she suggested that Sid & Grady might like to join the group and benefit from all the opportunities the Scouts have to offer. Never mind the kids, I'm just giddy to have the benefits of a child free evening.  Grady was a bit reticent at first until he heard all about the bows and arrows, pocket knives, axes and bonfires! Apparently no machetes allowed tho'. Shame. 

Sid meanwhile has already started to plan what she is going to take to the first camp. She is such a girl ! I'm not sure where in the tent she is going to put the thirteen stuffed toys that are at the top top her list, but that is all Tina's problem now !!

Grady was very impressed with his friends' Daniel & Matthew's merit badges. I don't think he has quite grasped the concept tho'. When he saw the "pet" badge, he figured he was a shoe-in, and started tallying a badge per pet. I didn't have the heart to break it to him that having twenty odd pets doesn't guarantee one badge never mind twenty. 

So thank you Tina, and I hope you are still talking to me when you return!



Thursday 13 September 2012

There Goes The Neighbourhood

I often wonder what our neighbours think of us. The families either side of us and opposite are good friends, the other neighbours are more of a nodding acquaintance. Those are the people that must shake their heads in puzzlement as we go about our fractured lives.

Case in point: this morning. The kids are on their way out the door for school when a loud squawking ensues. One of the cats has caught a bird. This is an event in itself, because that particular cat is normally filed under the heading of "useless".  Upon witnessing said bird and cat, Sid yells for help. Grady meanwhile makes a dive through the flower bed, flattening my lavender bushes, intent on a rescue mission. Rob leaves the house and joins the fray. The bird is creating a right commotion and Sid shouts out "Is it still alive?". Really ?  "Ah, no Sid, birds normally continue to squawk like that and flap their wings long after they are dead!"  Honestly, I used to have such high hopes for that girl.

By now the chase is on, the cat is in the lead, with the still screeching bird clamped firmly in his jaws, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he weaves between the bushes. Grady is in hot pursuit, with my husband bringing up the rear, and around and around the front garden they go. Sid meanwhile, is motionless in the driveway, hands held up to her face, slack jawed with a stricken expression, a resemblance not unlike the Edvard Munch painting, "The Scream".  Despite their best efforts, the bird didn't make it. Not that it really stood much of a chance once the Keystone Cops were on the scene.

Last week it was a similar scene, same MO but different players. I had left the house in time to see the one cat that actually catches anything, intent on making a little chipmunk his next meal. Now I happen to like chipmunks, and was not going to tolerate such wanton death and destruction, so I did the only thing I could and screamed for Rob. To give him his due, he was out of the house in a flash, fearing the worst, (however, I'm not sure what that could be in my driveway at ten in the morning), and I start yelling staccato instructions that probably only he would understand "Charlie! Chipmunk! Stop Him!" And off we go.

Anyone witnessing our journey up and down the driveway, around the tree, through the rose garden and between the vehicles, would probably not have noticed the cat and the chipmunk hugging the ground, but our antics were certainly visible. I can just imagine the subsequent conversations go something like this;

"Saw that strange family down the road again today" 
"Oh yeah, what were they doing this time?
"The usual, chasing each other around the garden, yelling & screaming"
'Those damn kids are so unruly"
"Wasn't the kids this time, it was the parents".  

At least the chipmunk made it ! 



Wednesday 12 September 2012

Advice For Pet Owners

With the amount of animals, amphibians and fish that we have in and out of our house, I consider myself a bit of an expert when it comes to pets. I am more than willing to impart some of this hard earned knowledge, so get comfortable.

I have to start by stating the obvious, for example; make sure if you have more than one rabbit they are both the same sex - I can't stress enough, the importance of that. We made that mistake, and paid for it dearly. Once the errant offspring were named, Rob knew we'd never be allowed to get rid of them, so our only choice was to get the males fixed.  We learned the hard way - is there any other ? - that it costs more to fix a rabbit than it does a dog. I believe our vet took his family on a Hawaiian cruise on the back of that mistake.

Skunks; if there is even a hint of a skunk within a 10 mile radius, keep your dog indoors, no matter how much it has to pee. The only thing worse than having a dog sprayed by a skunk, is having two dogs sprayed by a skunk. If you should have the misfortune of experiencing a skunk attack, forget about tomato juice, it does NOT work. Neither does toothpaste, ketchup, vanilla essence, baby shampoo, or any other asinine remedy that someone helpfully suggests. Nothing works, not on the dog, not on you, and not on the furniture. The only thing that takes away the eye watering, gag inducing stench is time. About eighteen months should do it. Don't say I haven't warned you. Actually, now that I think about it, there is something worse than having two dogs sprayed by a skunk, and that is having three particularly stupid cats nailed by the vindictive little bastard.

Which leads me to my next piece of advice, never ever attempt to give a cat a bath. If your cat does require a bath for any reason, pay the money and hand him over to the professionals, trust me it is worth it. The one time we attempted it, the cat shot straight up the tiled wall of the bathroom like a rocket, taking most of the flesh from my arms with it.

If you have cats, keep the toilet lid closed, lest a cat falls in. Believe me, this has happened in our house more times than we can count, and it cannot be a co-incidence.  A cat soaked in toilet water is not happy, nor is the person (usually me) who has to trail behind and clean it up. Granted the first few times it happens, when summoned by the splash and screech of the victim, it is hilarious to watch the bedraggled and extremely irate cat, haul itself out of the toilet bowl whilst trying to maintain its dignity.  Do not attempt to go to its aid, that can only end badly. See "cat bath" above - same outcome.

We also have three African Dwarf frogs, not sure why but we do. They are actually quite cute, but before you go out and buy some, be warned they are horny little sods, and unless you want to explain to your own offspring, why one frog is constantly "hugging" the other two, get a fish instead.

What can I say about hamsters, other than to avoid them like the plague. We used to have have five hamsters (now only three), and although they are cute, they are not social animals, so we also had five cages. They are nocturnal, so do not believe the idiot in the pet store when they tell you "Don't worry, you can train them to be diurnal"  They LIE. Hamsters come out at night and cause a really loud ruckus on their wheels, this is just what hamsters do, and there is nothing you can do to change it.

The sad thing is I am probably responsible for most of the animals that have crossed our threshold, along with those that haven't, so I only have myself to blame. I heard recently that chipmunks are really easy to tame, so that is what I'm working on next.Of course if Rob has his way it will be a guinea pig or two or three. Where will it end ?





Tuesday 11 September 2012

Fun Times

Prior to the start of school, we had a wonderful weekend with friends at their cottage. I spent two days sitting on the dock with Lisa, admiring a beautiful lakeside view. Together we solved all the world's troubles, whilst I drank myself into happy oblivion, it doesn't take much, two coolers and I'm done.  Meanwhile Scott and Rob took all the kids extreme-tubing. Extreme-tubing is much like regular tubing, except you try to drown the kids.  As the boat  corkscrews around the lake, riding over its own turbulent wake, the tube goes airborne, and the kids fly off one by one. If I had been sober witnessing this, I would have probably been concerned, but being happily inebriated as I was, really who cares ? With three children, it's not like I don't have a spare. The tube is really a misnomer, as it was actually shaped like a large couch, and as Lisa pointed out, as the heads bounced up and down above the back of the seat, it looked like a giant game of Whack-A-Mole.  You would think that a few minutes of the white knuckle, bone jarring, head bashing fun would be enough, but no they were at it for hours. Personally, I wouldn't have lasted two minutes.

Rob decided it would be fun to try water-skiing again, something he hasn't done in over 30 years. I tried to warn him that it was a younger man's sport, but in the end the reality was his life insurance was up to date and the mortgage gets paid off if anything happens to him, so why not ? Go for it.  After he went through all the hand signals with Hannah & Lindsay who were spotting & photographing, (Lisa and I electing to stay on dry land), it did occur to me that my husband's life was essentially in the hands of two teenagers. At that point I suggested that he introduce a new signal, beat his fists on his chest for "I need a defibrillator NOW". Fortunately that wasn't necessary. However, today he is regretting his rash decision, as he hobbles around with every muscle and joint aching. I really did start out being sympathetic towards his plight, but quite honestly it was just too much work.

We had taken the dog with us and he had a fine old time, right up until he fell off the end of the dock. After that, he was a lot more cautious. Unfortunately he is terrible on car rides, so normally I avoid it at all costs, but I relented for this weekend. He gets incredibly excited at the prospect of going in my van and we spent the 2 1/2 hour return journey with Badger yipping and whining the whole way. At one point Rob, with his sanity hanging on by a thread, grabbed the nearest thing he could - a Kleenex box - and started wailing away behind him, yelling "Shut Up"  - eyes still on the road. He realised he'd completely missed the dog, when an angry Sid pipes up "OW! What was that for?".  If the dog wasn't enough of an irritant, Grady & Sid had learned a jaunty little ditty taken from a sign in the cottage bathroom. Trust me after only ten minutes of listening to them sing "In the land of fun & sun, we don't flush for #1", over and over, I was more than ready to flush them. Good times.

So this goes out to Lisa, Scott & Hannah, with hearty thanks for a wonderful weekend.