More Things I Learned The Hard Way ....

Here goes, more things I learned the hard way...

- When you tell the teacher that you don't want to have to take your son home sick, unless his head is in the toilet or he is spurting arterial blood, make sure she knows you were joking! Or better still, don't say it at all.


- Don't rush to the front door to receive a package. It doesn't matter how many times you explain that you were eager to get your hands on your latest eBay purchase, your children will be convinced you have a crush on the UPS guy.


- Never, ever enter into an agreement with your children whilst under the influence of alcohol, sleep deprivation or the happy glow from too much chocolate - it will come back and bite you in the ass.  Now that I think of it,  jet lag should also go on the list, because that is how I agreed to Grady getting his ear pierced.  I still think I was set up.

- If you do agree to something, make it verbal not written. At least that way you can pretend it never happened.


-  When you notice chunks of blonde hair in the bin, and your youngest daughter is now sporting bangs, there is a good chance she has a brother somewhere hiding a  pair of scissors.

- Don't eavesdrop on your children's conversations. Otherwise, that is when you'll hear your son tell  his friend "Oh no, my mum is waaay older than your mum!". 

 - And finally, I've learned that as a parent if you can't think on your feet and be ready to lie through your teeth you are doomed.

Perils Of The Drive-Thru

If you live outside of Canada, you may not know that we are fueled on Tim Hortons coffee.  Here in Ajax we seem to have a franchise on almost every street corner, which is lucky, because I'm too embarrassed to return to most of them. This one goes out to Ann, on the Go-Train, who I'm sure has had her own share of drive-thru mishaps.

For most people, traversing the Drive-Thru is a basic skill, not usually fraught with peril. However anyone who is following this blog knows, our family is not "most people".

May I suggest that before setting off on an especially cold morning, check that your electric windows are working. Believe me, it is no use waiting until you are at the speaker in the drive-thru to discover that the window is frozen shut, and you have not left enough room to open the driver's side door. It doesn't matter how loudly you yell, the server will not hear you through the closed window.  Guaranteed tho', you will have a line up of cars behind you, and you can certainly hear what they are shouting and its definitely not "a large black coffee please".

Grady's personal favourite, one with which he needs no encouragement to relate, concerns jack-rabbit starts. I didn't get my driver's license until my 40s (yes I'm that old) and as such, or maybe just because he's a man, my husband feels he is entitled to voice numerous observations on my driving. So, one morning he happened to complain at how slowly I was at taking off from the lights. The next stop was the drive-thru, and taking off from there was a whole different story. As soon as I hit the gas, there is blooding curdling scream from the front seat,  "Slow down! hot coffee in the crotch, hot coffee in the crotch".  Should you ever meet Grady, he does a wonderful impression of his father.

Sometimes in the drive-thru, you may have your children with you. The fact that they can't escape may encourage you to use that time to resolve some outstanding issues. DO NOT DO IT. No matter how pleased you are that you are getting your point across, you are distracted, and as such, lose all credibility when you drive right past the order pick-up window without stopping. At this point just cut your losses and leave, because trying to creep back through the line with the sounds of derisive laughter ringing in your ears, will really screw with your day.


Finally, a little gem of wisdom that may save you some embarrassment. If you decide to take advantage of the garbage bins beside the drive-thru, make sure you don't have your money in your hand when chucking out the rubbish, or you may find yourself parked at the order pick-up window, squeezing out the tiny gap that your door will allow, and frantically rummaging through the bin looking for your last $5.  I'll freely own up to the other unfortunate incidents, but this last one was all my husband's doing! 

How (Not) To Dismount A Horse..

It has been pointed out that I have been having way too much fun at the expense of my family. Although, anyone who has been following this, knows that fun is way down on the list of adjectives I'd use to describe my life. To be fair, I can take it as well as dish it out, so here goes.

We were visiting our aunts, one of whom owns Belgian horses. For you non-horsey people, Belgians are a really, really big breed.  It is suggested on this particular visit I take a turn at riding. Now I haven't got on a horse in over 30 years - if I say it really fast, it doesn't sound so awful, but my kids love it (except Sid who took a face plant into a manure pile) so surely it can't be too bad.

Getting on is the first hurdle, and after much snickering about "get yer leg over" I'm finally able to haul myself up.  So far, so good, until I look down. Add my height to that of the horse and I'm a really long way off the ground. I'm now starting to doubt the wisdom of this decision. We take off at a slow walk, Rob with the lead rope, and I did OK, managed a few laps on my own, and starting to feel pretty confident. Yay me ! 

Convinced now, I know what I'm doing, I head over to the mounting block to get off. This is where the fun begins.  Apparently, sometimes after you have saddled up a horse they will suck in their gut, and all of a sudden that saddle isn't so snug anymore. Rob and (Aunt) Ann proceed to tell me how to dismount. Sounds simple enough, keep your left foot in the stirrup, swing your right leg over the top of the saddle and hop off.

The first indication that something has gone horribly wrong, is as I start to swing (ha ha - drag was more like it) my right leg over the back of the horse, and the saddle moves with me. Uh, oh, I'm pretty sure this isn't supposed to happen.  Hurried conversation between Rob and Ann, "Did you tighten the girth?" "No, I thought you did".  A bit bloody late to ask that now.

Meanwhile the saddle is still moving, I have momentum and I'm heading south fast. Ann, holding the horse's head  is frantically yelling at me to grab the saddle and get back up, she is worried the horse is going to bolt and drag me behind.  Rob is too busy laughing at my predicament (the SOB), and Lindsay, bless her, is filming, apparently so she can show the paramedics what happened.  So I'm on my own.

By this time, the saddle has slid right round to the side, and there I am, with my left hand on the fence beside the mounting block and my right hand grasping for anything that's not moving. My right foot is still caught in the stirrup which by now is on the back of the horse. Anne is yelling at me to get back up, and and I'm yelling a few choice words at her. Does the woman not see what is happening ? I'm not a bloody contortionist. It's no good telling me to get back up, there is only one direction I'm going, and that's straight down.       

Things at this point can only get worse. The fence beside the mounting block ? That's part of the pen that houses two donkeys, who attracted by the commotion come over to check it out. The first object they see is my hand clutching on for dear life, and the next thing I know, my bloodless fingers, the only part of my body that is preventing me from hitting the ground face first, have become a donkey's lunch.

By now, my husband, known henceforth as the Rat Bastard, has sobered up enough to come to the realization if by some miracle I survive this episode, he may not, and so finally offers his assistance.  Meanwhile my life has flashed before my eyes and I'm ready to make peace with my maker. All I can do now is whimper "Please hurry, the donkey is eating my hand". I have no memory of this, but apparently I was talking in my very best English accent, and that was the final straw for all concerned.  No help is forthcoming as everyone is falling about, pissing themselves laughing.

I'm a little foggy on the details, I think it's called Post Traumatic Amnesia, but at some point I must have managed to lower myself to the ground, and it's a pretty safe bet, I didn't have any help. Amazingly, other than teeth marks in my hand, a bruised wrist, and a totally shattered ego, I came through this unscathed.

So this goes out to Ann, who was there, and Tim and Tracey who weren't, but wish they were.  As for Lindsay's video ? She keeps threatening to post it on you-tube.

: Next installment on Monday.  Have a great weekend everybody.

Life Is Back To Normal

It has been strongly suggested that I not post today - apparently my family is feeling neglected. I had no idea that they'd be offended when I told everyone to sod off and give me some peace and quiet so I could write my Blog.

So to keep it brief and to harken back to the good old days. This one is for Ana, Brenda & Silvana. Here's my day so far ...

Never ask your children, even rhetorically, how old they think you are. I was trying to make a point to Grady this morning that at my age, I might know more than he does. He was in a snit and didn't answer, but Sid gleefully filled in the blank. The sad thing is, I actually had to stop and calculate, before realising she had got my age right!  When did I get so old ?

Tempers running high this morning, Grady decides to take on his sister. God knows why, when Sid outweighs him by at least 10lb and she fights dirty. Anyway, despite being warned not to, he proceeds to ping her with an elastic band. I'm not even sure it hit her her but she retaliates anyway. While Rob is home, he is under the assumption he is "in charge" so I leave him to deal with it. Very effective.

Rob: "Grady stop crying"
Grady: Still crying
Rob: "Grady, shut up. Why did you annoy your sister?"
Grady: "Because.she ...."
Rob: "Didn't I tell you to be quiet? Don't speak. Why are you winding up your sister ? " 
Grady: " She ...."
Rob: " I. SAID.  BE. QUIET. "
Me: "Then stop asking him f***ing questions"    Honestly, you'd think he'd get it.

Have a great day ladies.

Parenting 101 - Or How To Embarrass Your Teenager

I had to enlist Lindsay's aid with today's post. After an interesting trip to the dentist yesterday, where she practiced her signing skills, it gave me an idea. Her mouth wasn't  frozen, she just wasn't talking to me because of some minor transgression on my part, which had embarrassed her.

So, the top ten ways in which you can (maybe) avoid embarrassing  your teen, and have fun doing it ...

10. Do Not talk to her friends. Hello and goodbye are OK but that's it.  Anything more, even a casual comment on the weather is guaranteed an eye roll.

9. It's OK to give rides to and from school, but only if you pretend you are not related. Under no circumstances sit in the school parking lot, windows open blaring out "Old People" music on the radio. I thought I was listening to Classic Rock, but wrong again.  If you really want to up the ante, sing along with gusto.

8. When clothes shopping with your teen, just drive to the mall, hand over the Visa and sit in the parking lot with a good book.  Normally, this would be an excellent opportunity to cause embarrassment, but the tortuous hours spent trailing through the stores with the constant bombardment of god awful noise (I refuse to call it music) is JUST NOT WORTH  IT.

7.  Stay off of Facebook. Who knew that commenting on your teen's post could cause such anguish. No sooner had I innocently remarked on her status yesterday afternoon, when she came screeching down the stairs  "MUM!! What the ^&%$ are you doing ? Stay out of my Facebook"   Comment instantly deleted and lesson learned. Funny thing is, it was her potty mouth that I was commenting on.

6.  My current favourite, Do Not share funny stories about your teen, especially if she is as clumsy as mine. No matter how hilarious and endearing you think it is that she fell in a hedge or smacked into a wall, and can't walk & chew gum at the same time, trust me, your teen does not share your sense of humour.   

5. When your teen asks for your opinion, be careful how you answer - it may be a trap. If you admit to liking something, it's guaranteed the kiss of death.  So instead of telling her she looks like the wreck of the Hesperus, just say you love her new look.

4.  If you are ever allowed to meet your teen's friends and they come for a sleepover, pretend you are the hired help. (If you have children, you'll have had plenty of practice in this role.)  Do Not offer suggestions for movies or activities. You can however offer a seemingly never ending supply of snacks and drinks. 

3. On those few occasions that you are allowed out in public with your teen, always trail a few steps behind. This has the added bonus of sparing you embarrassment as well.

2.  Upon knocking over a cereal display in the grocery store with your cart, do not expect your teen to come to your aid, nor your husband for that matter! You're on your own with that one. Do not make the situation worse by calling after your teen. She will pretend you are a complete stranger, as will your husband, and you just end up looking like even more of an idiot. Muttering under your breath about what you'd like to do the ingrates that deserted you, will only serve to get you panicked looks from fellow shoppers.

And the number one way to embarrass your teen...start a BLOG!!

What I've Learned The Hard Way

What I've learned the hard way - from my children (& sometimes their teachers)

- "Piss Off" is not an acceptable term in Grade 1, nor apparently is it viewed any more favourably in Grade 2.

-  When you make the mistake of telling your son, that you failed "O" level French in High School (& by fail you mean a mark so low it was ungraded), he WILL tell his French teacher.

- When your son's teacher asks you if you were really going to leave him at the train station with $20 and a suitcase, you realize you have to let up on your threats.

- And on the subject of threats; "If you don't stop that behaviour, I'll do something. I don't know what, but I'll do something." does not qualify as a threat, as my husband found out. Instead it will be thrown back at you with derisive laughter, at every future opportunity.


- After helping your children with their spelling , math, language sheets, science project, book report and the dreaded French, do not mutter - no matter how quietly under your breath - a derogatory comment about the amount of homework or the teacher that sets it, because it will, without fail, get back to that teacher.

 - Be very leery of agreeing to look after their friend's pets for the summer, lest you end up with 1 dead guinea pig and 13 hamsters (each in their own cage) for 2 months. Well, technically we didn't keep the dead guinea pig that long ...

- Before you agree to your son bringing home the class pet, make sure you know which class he is talking about. Don't assume it is his class!  That is why we now have 3 frogs.


- And on the subject of pets, when your daughter asks for 2 rabbits, make sure you get it in writing that they are both of the same sex.  Do not  assume your husband knows what he's talking about when he pronounces them both females. You may think he would recognize a penis, but don't count on it. That is why we now have 6 rabbits.


- Forget about the "Terrible Twos", save your strength for the "F*** You Fours", you'll need it.

- When your son asks if can gather some sticks, by all means say yes. However, if he then asks to borrow a sharp knife, now is a good time to investigate.  Bow and arrows anyone ?

- Don't assume if your children are quiet, all is well. The chances are, if they haven't already done something they shouldn't - they are just about to.  If in answer to your question "What are you doing ?" they reply "Nothing", it';s too late, you're already in trouble.

-  No matter what your son may tell you, watching 2 1/2 men (the Charlie Sheen episodes) does not mean that he  has learned all he needs to know about sex.


In closing I would like to add, these cautionary tales contain no poetic license, embellishment or exaggeration in any way, shape or form. These lessons have all been learned the hard way - by me.

Horse Rescue

Technically this isn't a new event, and some of you will have already heard about it - albeit a version with a few more expletives - but I have been asked for a repeat, so here goes.

A few weeks ago, we had just finished dinner one evening when Rob receives a text. Not a cause for alarm for most people, but only 2 people text Rob, She-who-must-not-be-named  (who is sitting right there) and Alyssia, the barn manager, which never ever bodes well. Sure enough the text reads "Don't want to alarm you but Lacey tried to jump a fence and now she is entangled in the wire".  Everyone flies into panic mode, load up the van with any cutting implement we can find and head for the stables. Unfortunately in our rush, no one remembered a flashlight, and we arrive at the barn in the pitch black with only a cell phone for illumination - which trust me works a lot better in the movies than it does in a field in the middle of nowhere.

We send Grady to the neighbour's to borrow a flashlight, while Rob takes off to the back field where Alyssia is waiting with Lacey. That leaves me, knee deep in mud, trying to determine whether to shimmy under the fence or haul myself over the top - either way I just know I'm going face first in the mire. This is usually the part in the tale where I start with the expletives. Fortunately I didn't have to ponder my predicament for long, as Grady came back with a flashlight and I was able to see enough to open the gate. Of course, by the time I have closed it again, Grady's legged it with the light and I'm stumbling around in the dark. This is no grassy meadow I am traversing, but a muddy, partially frozen death trap.

Meanwhile Rob has been able to free Lacey, amazingly she was calm and unhurt, but as soon as she was unencumbered by the fence, she took off through the neighbour's field with Rob in hot pursuit. No way was I going back at this point, so I struggle gamely on to help Rob catch the dam horse. We have a plan and I am supposed to herd her towards Rob who has her lead rope - which had he thought to attach it before he freed her, we wouldn't now be chasing her across the bloody field.

Amazingly our plan works, and off they trot, with nary a backwards glance, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. Grady, Alyssia and the flashlight have already returned to the barn. I figure it can't be too difficult to follow Rob, after all if he can make it through the undergrowth with the bloody horse in tow, I ought to be able manage. That was my last coherent thought of the night, because what happened next was a perilous journey through a stream, head first into a ditch, and did I mention smacking full tilt into a woodpile ? Turns out that I didn't take the same route as Rob....

By the time I make it, battered & bruised, back to the road and up the drive to the barn, my knuckles are dragging on the ground and I am gasping my last breath. At that point Grady comes scampering down the drive and gleefully exclaims "I bet you're wishing you'd started that diet now, huh mum ?". The only reason that child still lives and breathes is because I could not gather enough forward momentum to catch him.

Meanwhile, with Lacey safely back in the barn and given the once over, Rob suddenly remembers that he had left me stranded. He hot foots it to the back field, and according to him, frantic that I am unconscious face down in the mud. More likely, he was considering the dreaded repercussions of him abandoning me to the elements. And he had good reason to fear ....

Still, we all learned a lesson from this. We now have an official "Rescue Lacey Kit" complete with extra flashlights, as this wasn't the first time we have had to extricate her, and Rob now knows that if he ever puts the welfare of the horse before my own again, she is headed for the glue factory !

She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

So, when my eldest discovered that I had started a blog, she was mortified. I have been given implicit instructions not to tell her friends, nor to mention her by name. Firstly, I'm not entirely convinced her friends would even be interested in anything I had to say - after all she-who-must-not-be-named certainly isn't - and moreover, if anyone in her crowd accidentally came across this page, I'm pretty certain the fact that we share the same (& somewhat uncommon) last name, might be a bit of a give away. I'm happy to see that the previous 12 years of private education hasn't been wasted.

The BB Gun & The Toothbrush

So the day begins benignly, until my 10 year old decides he wants a BB gun - answer is no, simple enough. However Grady having honed his debating skills on his older sister hasn't given up. He continues to nag, and in my effort for some peace in which to nurse my Sunday morning hangover (which is especially sad as I haven't consumed any alcohol since Christmas) finally agree that when he is of a legal age I will take him to a shooting range and he can fire a gun under controlled conditions. At which point he asks if he can use his sister as a target. Do I really need another reason to say no to a BB gun ? Of course that's not the end of it, his sister hearing the conversation takes umbrage at being used - albeit theoretically - as target practice and thumps him over the head with a weapon of her own. I know this isn't going to end well, so discretion being the better part of valour, I take my now cold coffee and escape to the basement.

The next battle is homework, do I know how to have fun on a Sunday ?  The 7 year old  has spelling, definitions and sentences - topic is biology. Would be relatively easy, except she insists on doing the sentences before the definitions - hence we end up with the classic "My toothbrush vertebrates".  I don't think even I can improve on that one.

Sadly, today is actually an improvement on last Sunday where we spent the day searching for an escapee hamster. Still not sure how it made it from the bedroom to the basement with 4 (ultimately useless) cats in the house. Meanwhile, I spent the afternoon at the computer kicking the nearby wall to scare off the mouse I hear rustling inside it. It doesn't occur to me until much later that it wasn't a mouse, but the missing the hamster - oops.  Fortunately no harm done, and the hamster lives to fight another day.

So now that Rob has found a job and starts back at work in two weeks, I get to take over the morning routine. That will be when the real fun begins .......