Monday 30 April 2012

Friday Fallout

Market Day at school today, a fundraiser for the Renaissance class for their trip to New York,. This is the event Sidney was anxious for me to volunteer at so that I could pay for everything, and pay for everything I did. Face painting, fancy nails, popcorn, numerous games, I think it would have been cheaper for me to have purchased one of the student's tickets and left it at that. I even brought the kids home early from school, looking forward to a nice quiet Friday evening. Ha, I write this blog, I should have known better. No sooner are we in the door than a fight broke out over some of the prizes, ironically prizes that I myself had picked up at the dollar store.

The next thing I hear is a howl of rage followed by "You're the worst brother ever" which must have been Sid, but it was hard to tell from the harsh guttural tone. I haul them down to find out what was going on, only to discover they were fighting over two cardboard boxes. They each wanted the same one, and did I mention the boxes were identical ? You have got to be kidding me. My previous good humour is rapidly evaporating. Right then, I told them to get rid of the boxes and put them in recycling. The next thing I know the front door slams, opens and then slams again, the house shakes and I can hear the two of them squabbling all the way to the garage.  The front door opens again, slams shut and there is a howl of rage from outside, "Gradeeeeeeeeee!"  I can only assume he shut the door in Sid's face. I'm yelling at them to shut up through an open window - not very classy - but if you can't beat them ...

Sid comes in totally ticked and proceeds to snitch on her brother. "Grady told me I'd be in Juvie by the time I'm twelve" She reported with great indignation.  I'm not sure what she was expecting me to say, but I'm guessing from her reaction she sure as hell didn't expect me to agree with her brother.  Sid is now thoroughly pissed off, and resorts to her arsenal of threats, culminating in the horror of horrors ; "I'm leaving home". It would sure be a hell of a lot quieter if she did. I think I was supposed to express concern and plead with her to stay, but instead I gave her a bag and told her to go pack. It's a battle of wills at this point, and I'm certainly not backing down. This causes Sid some consternation, and after a hastily whispered conversation with her brother, they must have come to some agreement, because Grady came down to inform me that he and Sid had made up. Damn, I was so close !

One would think that would be the end of it, but no. Lindsay is the next one to snitch on her brother when I hear her screaming at him "Grady, you idiot. You're going to break something". What fresh hell is this ? After all, they have only been home for half an hour. It turns out that Grady and Sidney had decided to play baseball - in the house no less, and not just in the house but in the sun-room of all places - you know, the room with all glass walls. Wasn't it just last week that I did a blog on stupidity being contagious ?  These guys have it in spades. My sister has actually offered to take Sidney & Grady to England next year. If she does, I'm going to pay someone over there to rip up their return tickets.

Rob doesn't bother asking "How was your day ?" anymore. He just wants to know whether or not I wrote a blog. He knows that if I did, it probably wasn't a good day.




Friday 27 April 2012

Why I love My Children

Anyone who has more than one child has a favourite. That's not to say your favourite won't change from day to day, but believe me there will be some days when you prefer one child over the rest, and other days, not so much.
 
When I comment on the picture that Sid is drawing, only to have her tell me "It's a picture of you & daddy, so that I'll remember you when you die". Positively tear-jerking.

Grady has had his moments too. One day when we were talking about us getting old (alright older), he patted my hand and said kindly, "Don't worry Mum, When it's time, I'll make sure I find you and dad a nice funeral home". I think he meant retirement home, but then with him, I can't be sure.  


I have to be truthful, Grady called me out on something the other day. I was reading a good book, so not really paying attention to what he was saying. The conversation went like this:

Grady: "Mum, look at this"
Me: "That's nice dear"
Grady: "Oh that's clever, how you saw without actually looking"  Oops.

Now Lindsay's turn. She downloaded an app for her IPod that takes a photo and then "fatifies" and ages it. The only problem was when she took my picture, the before and after shots looked about the same.

Back to Sid, there is an event happening at their school on Friday, a fundraiser, where the kids get to participate in Funfair type games.  Sid was really anxious for me to volunteer, and I thought it was really touching how she wanted me to be there. Touching, that is until I overheard what she told her brother, "You don't have to take any money on Market Day Grady, I talked Mum into going so she can pay for everything."  That girl has a bright future in politics.

Have a great weekend everyone. Assuming I still have a roof over my head I'll be back on Monday. I inadvertently arranged a whole bunch of activities for Saturday afternoon - play-dates over for the younger kids, and Lindsay is hosting a surprise party for a friend. I still have to break it to Rob that I won't actually be home when all this is all going on. Maybe he should write the blog for Monday.





Thursday 26 April 2012

I Really Love My Teen, But ..

According to most (well maybe some) people that know me, I am fairly easy going, but there are times when my daughter knows how to push the right buttons.

My pet peeve is when she tells me "Oh Never Mind"  when I ask her to repeat something that she has muttered. She mumbles from the other room and expects me to hear her. Newsflash honey, I don't have ears like a bat or whatever animal is supposed to have good hearing.

She insists she doesn't mumble, but take the other evening for example, when we took the family out to dinner. The restaurant is noisy and Lindsay is sitting across from me. The waiter has brought our drinks, and left again, but the kids are hungry and want to order their meals.

Lindsay asks "Do you want me to sing to him?"
My first response was "Good God No", but just in case, I asked her to repeat what she said.
"I said do you want me to sing to him ?"
"No I don't want you to sing to him" I reply.
"What on earth are you talking about ?" She  asks.
"You said you were going to sing to the waiter" Says I.
Lindsay, now exasperated" "Oh. My. God. I said do you want me to signal him ?"

She blames my hearing, I blame her for mumbling.

 I get a phone call from Lindsay one afternoon. "Hi mum, I'm having ice-cream with my friends, but I don't want to walk home. Can you come and pick me up ?" I have to assume these are friends I haven't met yet, and she is not in any hurry to change that status and introduce us, because her next command is "Don't come in, wait in the parking lot".  Hmm, that makes me want to grab a wig and a clown nose and march right in there singing Rule Britannia at the top of my lungs. It would serve the little brat right.

Just as an aside, Lindsay is taking Latin in school, and likes to tell me what she has learned each day. She told me tonight that the word for mother was "mater", which also happened to be Latin for dictator.  I had stop & think about it, and for the briefest moment I actually believed her !


Wednesday 25 April 2012

Normality 0 : Chaos 1

I have to admit, I was suspicious of my children this week. While Lindsay was away at camp, the other two have actually been getting along, with each other no less. I could almost say the house was normal for two days, and I mean a real kind of normal, not the kind of ab-normal that usually reigns supreme in our home. As much as I was enjoying this unexpected turn of events, I did worry that my blog might come to a screeching halt, after all with everything normal (by that I mean boring), what would I write about ?  As Rob pointed out, in order to get good blog material, I have to have a crappy week. Go Figure.

Of course I should have known better because everything was back to chaos within a few minutes of Lindsay's return (with umpteen bags of laundry). They were running through the front garden like maniacs, chasing the dog and each other. A tree branch flies back and hits Sid - purely an accident - but as soon as she recovers she is on the warpath, and body slams Grady into my lavender bushes.  Meanwhile I am standing in the driveway trying to have a conversation with my friend Mena, while Grady and Sidney wrestle at our feet. The sad things is, my friends are so used to these shenanigans that no one even bats an eyelid anymore. 

I have been looking after two of Lindsay's friends - Claire & Giselle (a faithful follower of my blog - much to Lindsay's chagrin) for the last couple of evenings. Go figure, ship off one to camp, and get two back in return. Actually it has been great because they have both acted as a Sidney magnet. In fact Sid pretty much told her teacher today, not to bother giving her any homework because Claire & Giselle were coming over, and she'd be far to busy to do any work !!  Meanwhile Grady didn't do any of his homework either, but I think I have him sussed out now. He honestly believes if he leaves his homework to the last minute (which he does with terrible regularity) he'll be that much older and therefore wiser. How do you argue with that kind of logic ?

I've just found out my boss is taking me out to breakfast tomorrow - we're going to the casino! A first for me. Rob asked me if I was going to gamble. Where the hell has he been for the last few years ?  Has he lost the plot ? The way our luck has been, I'd throw a dollar in the slots and somehow end up owing them the jack-pot. I think I'll just play it safe, and stick to the bacon, eggs & toast.


Tuesday 24 April 2012

What You May Be Missing

For all those lucky parents out there who only have daughters, let me tell you some of the things you might be missing out on, by not having a son.

First would be Lego. Yes, I know they now have Lego especially for girls, and Sidney has quite a bit of it, but it takes a boy to booby-trap the hallway by leaving those itty bitty pieces lying around, so that you can have the joy of stepping on one. Believe me, even childbirth cannot prepare you for the excruciating pain that occurs when your bare foot comes down heavily on one of those sharply cornered plastic harbingers of death. Those are your true "weapons of mass destruction".  My only satisfaction was the one time when Grady stepped on a piece. If you think I took the high ground and offered sympathy and an ice pack, then you obviously haven't been following my blog. Instead it gave me great pleasure to gloat "Ha Ha, serves you bloody well right:".

I bet your daughter doesn't prance proudly around the house with her underwear on her head. Well neither do mine, but my son does, and often that is all he is wearing. He thinks it is hilarious to get a reaction - usually repugnance, horror, disgust and dismay - from his sisters. One of these days he will wise up to the fact we have a huge picture window (and no blinds) facing on to the street. Until then, what innocent passers-by witness is anybody's guess.

The bathroom, ah my favourite (again sarcasm). I learned very early on that if your son is standing there having a pee, never ever distract him from the job at hand so to speak, or suffer the consequences. There is a very good reason I pay my eldest daughter an exorbitant sum of money each week so that she will clean the bathroom for me.

Then there was the morning when I am meeting an old friend for coffee, so I took a little more effort with my appearance, only to be pelted with a snowball as soon as I stepped outside of the door. Yes, it was my darling boy, who should, before he does something that monumentally stupid, make sure he can make a quick getaway.  When I threaten to dunk someone headfirst in a snowbank I usually carry through with it. It's been a bit of an empty threat without any snow this year - but not that day.

I do love my son, but sometimes I think if it wasn't for the fact he is the only boy on his father's side of the family to carry on the name - all his cousins are girls - I would have sold him for parts on eBay long ago.







Monday 23 April 2012

Pet Count Up One

Today's installment actually started a few months ago when we celebrated Christmas with my in-laws. Drinks were flowing and I was in quite the festive mood, when my niece Brittany asked if we knew anyone that could look after her pet jird when she finished University. As my husband points out on a regular basis, you get a couple of drinks under my belt and I'll agree to pretty much anything. So, happy to oblige, I pipe up "We'll take the jird, we don't have a jird yet, and oh by the way what's a jird ? Turns out a Jird is part of the gerbil family, so while Brittany is gushing her appreciation, Rob is giving me the stink-eye from across the room, which I promptly ignored. Anyway, at the end of the evening, we go home, I sober up, get on with Christmas and totally forgot about the Jird & my promise to our niece.

Fast forward a few months to this week, when in the middle of my van crisis I get an unexpected call from Brittany, checking to see if it was OK for my in-laws to drop off the jird on the following Saturday.  My first thought was what the hell is she talking about, while in the dark recesses of my mind, a faint memory stirred. "Yes, yes of course it's OK"  I tell Brittany, playing for time, "Can you go over the details again ?".  As she is giving me the rundown, I remember my less than sober promise at Christmas. Oh well, what the heck, if this thing is the size of a gerbil, we already have 5 hamsters, should be a breeze. "Not a problem at all" I tell Brittany, "We're happy to take her, anytime"  I promptly hang up the phone, carry on looking for a van, and you've guessed it, totally forgot about our conversation.

Fast forward again, to yesterday and I head out for the afternoon to visit a friend and her new baby. When I return home a few hours later Rob is standing on the front doorstep, looking none to pleased. Figuring it must be the kids that have pissed him off, and secretly congratulating myself on missing the latest turmoil, I get out the van, having no idea the shit was about to hit the fan.  "You have some explaining to do" he exclaimed. Me ? What on earth could I have done. "Mum & dad stopped by this afternoon" he continued, yeah, so I'm still not getting it.  I  give him a vacant look,  "The jird?" he questions. Oh, crap, crap, crap, I had totally forgotten to warn him.  "You should see the size of the f***ing cage." he said. My husband never swears, so I know I'm in trouble. "It's huge. Mum & dad laughed all the way here. Mum was very disappointed she didn't get to see your face" (My in-laws can be really evil)  "Why don't you come and see?" he carries on.  I walk in the house only to be confronted by three kids grinning from ear to ear "You're in trou-ble" they chant in unison. Little bastards.

I head down to the basement, kids in tow, still chanting. They are going to pay, and so is Brittany. Rob wasn't kidding this was the Taj-Mahal of cages. The damn gerbil is 5" long, the cage is the size of a frigging dog kennel. I think even Grady could fit inside it.  "So where do you think you're going to put it" asks my husband, like all of a sudden trying to be nice and help out his niece is all my fault ?  As well as the jird, Brittany also had a whole bunch of snakes. She is a lovely girl, smart & talented but I don't understand her proclivity towards reptiles. I'll find a home for the cage somewhere, I'm just so thankful I didn't inadvertently agree to taking the snakes.

I quickly did some reading up on jirds, and discovered they are supposed to very intelligent (which is more than can be said about me right now). One owner even commented that he lets his jirds have the run of his apartment and they actually come when they are called.  Even my kids don't do that, I'm starting to like this little rodent more and more.

So this goes out to Dick & Sheila today, who continue to have a good chuckle at my expense.


Friday 20 April 2012

Is It OK To Torture My Children ?

We were practicing a full blown torture session on Sid this morning, water boarding ,electric shock and the old favourite, bamboo shoots under the fingernails. Actually she was merely having her hair brushed but if anyone was to hear the squawking and squealing that went on, they would imagine much worse horrors. It reached a crescendo when I threatened to get the scissors and cut all her hair off .

By the time this evening rolled around, I was ready, willing and able to torture all three of them for real, because after all, that was what they were doing to me.  It started off this morning with daughter #1. "I'm going to bring (lists off a bunch of names) home with me after school"  she tells me. Brilliant, the house is an absolute disaster, so I buckled down, dusted & vacuumed (which I hate) cleaned the bathrooms (which I hate even more especially as I pay Lindsay to do it) and even washed the floors, which is almost unheard of.  It did mean that I didn't get done the work I get paid to do, but that's OK I can work tonight instead. However, Lindsay waltzes in from school an hour late. Surprised that she was alone, "Where are all your friends?" I ask peering behind her, down the driveway. "Oh, I changed my mind" says she, "Too busy. I went for an ice-cream instead". You have got to be kidding me, I spend the freaking day playing Molly Maid and she tells me she's too busy.

By then it was time to pick up the other two, so I remove my hands from where they were closing around Lindsay's throat and off I go to school. No sooner have I made it to the parking lot, when Sidney's teacher spies me and she isn't smiling. She heads straight towards me, obviously with a purpose. I anxiously look around, but like a deer caught in the headlights, I have nowhere to run.  It would appear that Sid is up to her tricks again, getting mad and refusing to talk to her teacher. Last time that happened she put herself on a time out and went to another classroom for two hours. I come from a family of teachers, so I have an idea what it is like, and almost always side with the teacher in a dispute. Today was no different. So now daughter #2 is there on the naughty step with her sister, and if I'm not careful I am going to have to dispose of two bodies.

At least my son hasn't caused me any grief I thought, but boy was I wrong.  He is currently working on a Science Fair Project, which as far as I'm concerned is a merely a diabolical plan hatched by teachers to punish parents for the sins of their children. As I said before, I almost always side with the teacher, I don't agree with everything. Grady had previously told me he had to hand in his research tomorrow, so I have been helping him all week disseminate information on Solar Power, and I thought we were good to go. Oh no, that would be too easy. The little genius has just informed me he also has to write up his materials, purpose and hypothesis, and it all has to be typed. Have you seen that boy type ? If I don't do it, he will be there all night. 

Meanwhile I decided that Sid has to write out lines "I must not be rude to my teacher" and also an apology note, which was OK until Grady started telling her to what to write. He actually managed to convince her to include the line "You may give me any punishment you like", and other phrases to that effect.  I think he may have had his own agenda and this was an opportunity too good to miss.

At least the weekend will be a little quieter. Lindsay was chosen to attend a leadership camp, and it starts Sunday, so we're down one hormonal teenager.

I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been following this blog. I made it to 5000 hits this week, and I have readers in 22 different countries. I had no idea when I started this, it would take off as it has. So thank you all.  Have a great weekend, and I'll be back on Monday. 


Thursday 19 April 2012

The Crazy Lady That Lives Down The Street


I picked up my new (previously owned) van last night and I am a happy little camper. The kids of course insisted on coming with me, so I rattled off the rules for their behaviour at the car dealership. No running, no shouting, no jumping, no skipping, no arguing and definitely no fighting. I should have also included "No practicing karate kicks next to the photocopier", but you know, that one just didn't occur to me until I saw it in action. You have never seen me swoop in so fast in order to to catch Sid in mid flight. Fortunately thanks to my speedy and some might say heroic actions, catastrophe was averted and I didn't have to replace a copier along with my vehicle.

Meanwhile the kids love the new van, it's really nothing special or decked out in any way, but they discovered it had reclining seats, and a power outlet so Grady can play his DSI. I have to admit it doesn't take much to wow them. They are as happy as if they were normal. Lindsay graciously conceded that she won't mind driving it next year. I told her I was so pleased to hear that, it was potentially devastating to me that she may not like my new vehicle. Sarcasm is entirely lost on her. We took it out for a spin last night to McDonald's to buy smoothies - which no one was allowed to touch until we got home. Family - minivan - McDonald's, really, how more cliched (dare I even say boring) can you get?. We drove past our neighbours on the way home and they commented on how they didn't recognize us because there were no dents in the door. Ha ha.

I should have stuck to the boring, because when we got home again all hell broke loose. Charlie (one of the useless cats) was playing with a mouse, fortunately outside this time. The kids all wanted it saved but none of them wanted to do the saving, so that left yours truly. There I am down on my hands and knees between the front porch and the rose bushes (I probably couldn't have picked a more awkward or hazardous spot) trying to catch a mouse that didn't want to be caught. Just when I thought I was ready to nail him, the little bastard kept darting away. "You'll have to move faster than that mum" calls out Grady helpfully.  Meanwhile everyone is yelling out directions, because at my angle, nose down in the dirt it was somewhat difficult to see.  The cat gave up trying to catch it, long before I did. By the time the mouse had had enough of the chase game and darted through a gap in the bricks where I couldn't reach him, quite a little crowd had gathered to watch my antics. You know how on every street you always have some kind of a weird character - probably considered a little loopy - that the kids make up stories about? I think on our street that character is probably me.


Wednesday 18 April 2012

When Things Don't Quite Go As Planned

It shouldn't come as any surprise, that when something doesn't quite go as planned in our house, usually my husband is behind it. A year or so ago someone gave him a deluxe clipper set, which as soon as he brought home, I told him in no uncertain terms to get rid of it. In case you think I am being unreasonable, I am still haunted by the afternoon we got together with our friends Cathy & Andy, and the guys decided to clip Cathy's dog - a beautiful Collie - at least she was before the grooming session. You wouldn't have recognised her as the same dog by the time they'd finished.  So back to the clippers, there was no way I wanted Edward Scissorhands anywhere near my children. 

A week or so goes by, and Rob decided it was time that Grady got a hair cut. I was going out, but reminded him again that he was to fork over the money and take Grady into a children's hairdresser and get it done properly, and off I go to run errands. Half an hour later I get a phone call from my husband. "Hello hon " he begins. I know immediately something is up - he rarely calls me "Hon" as in honey, it's more likely to be "Hun" as in Attila. You have to realise that he used to refer to me as his "Little Cuterebra", which I thought was so sweet until I found out that the Cuterebra is actually a parasitic infestation. Bastard.

Anyway, back to the phone call, of course my immediate response is "What have you done?". "Oh nothing" he replies, still in a suspiciously sugary tone.  "I was just wondering what time you'll be home" he continues.  Right, now I know for sure he's hiding something, he's usually only too happy to see me gone, he never, ever asks when I'll be home. To hell with the rest of my errands, I made it home in record time. Sure enough my worst fears were realised, he'd gotten trigger happy with the clippers and my poor son was now sporting a reverse Mohawk.

It turns out he hadn't read the instructions (will men never learn ?), he'd just plugged in the clippers and off he went.  Unfortunately he used the wrong attachment and/or setting, but thank goodness he at least had the sense to start at the back of Grady's head instead of the front.  He realised almost immediately that something was wrong, but even "almost immediately" still resulted in a 3" wide bald swath, starting at Grady's neck and ending half way up his skull.  Vidal Sassoon he ain't. He had desperately hoped he could get Grady to the hairdresser and get it fixed before I came home, but there were two little flaws in his master plan. Firstly the hairdresser didn't open for another hour, and secondly there wasn't a hope in hell, unless he planned on gluing Grady's hair back on, it was going to get "fixed".

I won't repeat the subsequent conversation that took place, but you can probably imagine the gist of it. I think the phrases "ham fisted idiot and stupid git" featured pretty prominently. Astonishingly, Grady was completely unaware of what had happened. It never occurred to him to question why his father blurted out "Oh F***" and  suddenly shut off the clippers in the middle of his would be hair cut. Fortunately Lindsay makes a habit of laughing at her brother all the time, so even her outburst of giggling didn't clue him in. Rob wasn't out of the woods yet tho', he still had to take Grady in to the hairdresser and explain what he had done. As far as I know they talk about it still.

I would really like to think Rob learned his lesson that day, but I have the sneaking suspicion he has the clippers stashed somewhere in the house, and that one day when I'm not around, he'll pull them out of their hiding place and try again. 





Tuesday 17 April 2012

Unlucky For Some

So, who needs Friday 13th, I have my own personal hell on Monday 16th - such an unassuming day otherwise, except in our house.

Lindsay decides that she'd like to start the week off right, get up early and make pancakes from scratch. She found a great recipe online. I told you she was better in the kitchen than I was. Never to do anything by halves, she decides to invite her friend Hannah over as well.  I came down stairs after my shower and just about fell over. Every single surface in the kitchen was covered. Bowls, frying pans, more bowls, jugs, plates, even more bowls, and of course batter and gallons of it. "Don't worry about the mess mum" She trills out cheerfully, "I'll clean it up". I'm not sure how that is even humanly possible, seeing as she is due out the door in 30 minutes, and she is still cooking pancakes and mixing batter - in yet another bowl !

I managed to clear a 6 " square of space so that I can prepare lunches, all the time woefully eying up the ever growing pile of dishes, knowing full well that yours truly was going to be cleaning up, and there wasn't a chef alive that could make pancakes good enough to make me not care about the mess. This breakfast had better be sex on a plate.

To be fair the pancakes were very good, but I gently explained to Lindsay that if she ever did this again on a school morning I would disembowel her, or words to that effect.  I pack Lindsay & Hannah into the van and set off to school.  I am just turning on to the main road from our street, when I her this tremendous bang from the engine and lose all power.  Lindsay screams "What was that ?" "A bloody loud bang" I replied helpfully. Do I look like a freaking mechanic ? How the hell do I know what it was. Nothing good that's for sure. At that moment I remember the post I  had scheduled for this morning "Requiem For My Van" what a bloody portent that turned out to be. Although I said it was almost on it's last legs, I'd actually  hoped to get another year or two out of it. Next time I'll blog about winning the lottery, and see what happens.

So here I am with my hazards on, creeping along the road,  hoping to get around the corner just ahead so I could pull out of main traffic. Everyone behind me is honking and carrying on. Idiots. Can they not see that something must be wrong, who in their right mind crawls along the main road at 2 km/hour. If I wasn't so bloody concerned about making to to the corner, I would have been entertaining some very rude hand gestures. Lindsay, bless her, magnanimously offers to miss school and stay with me. I'm not sure what she thought she could do for me, but that girl doesn't miss an opportunity to skip class. Unfortunately she pointed out to me this evening, "Mum you didn't half swear this morning, had you forgotten Hannah was in the back seat?"  Well, actually yes I had, so my abject apologies to Hannah, who got than she bargained for. I hope the pancakes were worth it. 

The good news is that thanks to the generous help of my brother-in-law who ferried me around today, and asked all the right questions, (because let's face it, I'm not known for my mechanical prowess) I now have a new van. Not brand spanking new, but new enough that Lindsay said she won't mind borrowing it when she gets her licence next year. She had already made it very clear she would not be seen dead driving my "Barn Mobile"  The auto wreckers who towed my old van actually gave me $400, of course that barely covered the cost of the full tank of the gas I'd just put in it. My timing sucks.

Never missing an opportunity to rub my nose in it, I received a phone call from my concerned father-in-law this evening. The conversation went something like this.

Me:  Hello
Him: Hi Kel, I thought you'd be home. After all you can't go far without a van. Tee hee.
Me:  Ha Ha  What do you want ?
Him: Just wondering what time you were holding the wake for your van. (more derisive laughter).
Me:  Click. Actually I wouldn't be that rude and hang up on him, I just handed the phone over to Rob, "It's your father" I told him through gritted teeth, and let him break the news to the old man that we'd brought another Chrysler. One day I may even let him ride in it.






Monday 16 April 2012

Requiem For My Van

So, you may have already read my blog about my poor van. I really think it might be on it's last legs, or perhaps more accurately wheels. On our drive up North last weekend, we heard a clunk, followed but a couple more noises of unknown origin. As usual I turned up the radio, but Rob & Lindsay exchanged worried glances. "Did you hear that?" She asked her father. "Yes" he replied "I think it came from your door". I don't want to listen to this so turn I the music up even louder, prompting an annoyed shout from Grady sitting in the back. "Shouldn't we stop and check it out ?" Rob asked me. No, I'm driving and I don't stop for clunks unless the engine does first. When we arrived at our destination, Rob ran round checking the outside of  the van, and sure enough there is a large piece missing from the bottom of the side door. The clunking noise must have been as it fell off. I can still live with that. After all what's one more whistling noise, as the wind howls through the gap ? The weather is getting warmer, so it shouldn't really be a problem until next winter. It's not like anyone is going to fall out - get pushed maybe ....

It's bad enough that since I had my run in with the grocery cart corral  (See My Turn on March 6th), the other side door pops the lock if we go over a bump, and although it doesn't open when we are in motion, the overhead lights keep flashing on and off, and the alarm starts dinging. It's like driving a mobile casino, without the jackpot. I swear I'm just one step away from holding everything together with bungee cords. I keep spare ones with me just in case. God only knows how the van passed it's roadworthy test last November.

However, the cosmos hasn't finished with me yet. The next day we are at the stables and Rob goes to open the back door, only to discover the handle had rusted part way through and he couldn't open it. The key wouldn't work either. We haven't had this much problem with a vehicle since we had the Tempest and the front passenger door fell off in my hand - yes, the whole door and it narrowly missed my foot ! Of course Rob entirely blamed me, but that is another story. Then there was also the Sunbird, when the engine caught fire in our driveway, but there was no way he could pin that one on me, I wasn't even home when it happened. However the Restraining Order the dealership threatened me with - that was all my fault, but for the record I was justified. 

Anyway, back to my current problem. This week, I popped in to the local garage to see my mechanic(s). I told them about the handle, so they were both down on their hands and knees trying to pry the door open. After about 10 minutes of fruitless endeavours, I suddenly realised something. "Ah, do you think I should unlock it ?" I asked helpfully. To give them their due, they said "Yes" very politely, but I'm sure they had something else to say after I left.  So my poor van has to go under the knife (wrench ?) again next week. Peter & Lou are going to do their best to fix the handle. I'm sure they'll manage it somehow, because when I have to swap out my snow tires, neither one is going to want to try hauling them over the back two rows of seats.

I just know when my father-in-law reads this  - as he does faithfully every day - he will have a good chuckle, and I likely won't hear the end of it. He is a GM man all the way, and I really let the side down when I bought a Chrysler. So this one's for you Pops ! Lesson learned.


Friday 13 April 2012

Is Stupidity Contagious ?

I am a firm believer in the old adage "You learn something new every day", and today I learned something new when I was checking my trusty thesaurus. I discovered that the words "Moron" and "Idiot", two descriptions I use a lot, are not really interchangeable.  Apparently an idiot is a stupid person with a mental age below three years, but a moron is a stupid person with a mental age of between 7 and 12 years.  Of course, now it is going to be my mission to find out what to call a stupid person with a mental age between 3 and 7 years. If any of my readers know the answer, please, do tell.

Meanwhile, regardless of the age, the stupid gene runs rampant in our house. We run out of cat litter late one night so Rob had the bright idea to substitute hamster bedding. I'm not sure if this was a stroke of genius or monumental stupidity. Based on the fact that that static cling caused the blue bedding to adhere to the cats' fur, and it's now tracked throughout the house, I'm leaning towards the latter.   

Then there is my son. Grady unfortunately left a pair of his trousers next to his hamster cage, and the hamster promptly chewed a huge hole in them.  I wasn't aware of this until Rob pulled them out the drier. He showed them to Grady and asked "I thought you were going to put these in the garbage, why were they in the laundry ?" and my little darling replies in all seriousness - wait for it "I was going to throw them away but I thought mum would want to wash them first". Go figure.

A couple of weeks ago we went out to dinner. Grady was sitting on the inside of the booth, and after a while he starts to squirm and then he complained he was constipated. We are offering him helpful suggestions, as best we could while eating, while he sits there looking at us with a vacant expression. "What are you all talking about ?" He asked "I don't need to go to the bathroom, I said I was constipated".  Now it's our turn to look confused, "What do you been by constipated ?" I asked him.  "I thought it was obvious" he continued "I'm squished"  By this time I have no bloody idea where this conversation is going, and I really think my son has lost the plot, when Lindsay in a rare flash of inspiration, suddenly clues in and said to her brother "Did you mean claustrophobic ?".  Bingo ! Problem solved.

To be fair I am not immune to the stupid gene. I was sure when I put the take away meals in the oven, that I had been instructed to leave the lids on. I'm assuming that when they caught fire and flames started shooting out of the oven, (which should be a rare occurrence, but sadly isn't) I may have been mistaken. Of course the kitchen filled with smoke, and then the kids started whining because they couldn't breathe. Whatever, bunch of wusses. I think it was just an another excuse not to do their homework. This is precisely the reason why I like to leave the cooking to the professionals.

Being Friday 13th, I plan on keeping a very low profile for the rest of the day. Can't take any chances when you have luck like mine.  Have a great weekend, and I'll be back - I hope - on Monday ! 




Thursday 12 April 2012

Alibi Anyone ?

I swear that one of these days Grady is going to push me over the edge, and it ain't going to be pretty. I think that boy was hard wired to push all my buttons.

Homework, has been, is and probably always will be a bone of contention. I am not against homework, well actually, yes I am if it means that I have to be involved in any way shape, or form. It is right up there with "Root Canal" under my list of things to avoid at all costs.

Most of the hassles come not from the homework itself, but from the preparation - ie: the first hurdle to overcome is finding a place to sit, they have a choice of 7 chairs at 2 tables in 2 different rooms, plus a desk in each bedroom, but of course both Sid and Grady want to sit in the same spot. To quote Aristotle "No two objects can occupy the same place at the same time". Far be it from me to argue with the great Greek philosopher, but he obviously never had to deal with a 7 and a 10 year old. They could certainly show him a thing or two.

Once we have established seating arrangements - in order for me to aid both - they have to at least be within shouting distance, we arrive at the great pencil debate. Unchecked this dispute could last for hours, it is the mother of all procrastinations, and I have heard every excuse possible for not wanting to use a particular writing instrument; too long, too short, too sharp, not sharp enough, too dark, too light, don't like the smell and I could go on ad infinitum.  Wow, Latin & Greek, I'm feeling quite learned today, some of the homework must have rubbed off on me. We solve the pencil issue, then the eraser is a problem, followed by no ruler, no paper and so on and so forth. If that boy (he is much more flighty than Sidney) spent only half the time doing his homework that he does avoiding it, life would be so much simpler.

Every now and then I have a good idea that borders on genius, and in that vein I decided to create a "Homework Box" and stocked it full of all the supplies they could possibly need (in duplicate so no fighting) so there would be no reason to use lack of implements as an excuse not to start the dreaded task. This has actually worked well for the last couple of weeks. However, I do still have to sit there with a rolled up newspaper so that I can whack Grady on the head every time he strays off topic. I could really benefit from the invisible fencing they use for dogs, I think it would work well on my son, either that or a bark collar. Now that is sheer genius, absolutely brilliant.  I could give him a quick jolt each time he gets distracted, he'd be thrashing all over the place. I'm only joking, no need to call Children's Aid on me yet, plenty of time to do that after you've finished reading the blog. 

Anyway, back to the reason I'm going to need an alibi, I seem to be waffling almost as much as Grady, maybe he does come by it honestly. Sid comes home from school, does what she needs to do and then sits down to start her homework. There is a reason she is my favourite - and yes I know I'm not supposed to have favourites but you should really meet the other two. Grady, after I have told him umpteen times  to start his homework, decides it would be far more fun to pick a fight with Sid instead. Insults are hurled back & forth and I am forced to wade in and sort it out. Apparently, all Sid had done was hold one of the erasers in her hand and for whatever reason - who knows what synapses were shorting out in his brain and that's before my proposed electric shock treatment - Grady was incensed by this.

Our conversation went something like this:

Me: (The way I seem to start most conversations in this house)  "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
Grady: "Sid has the eraser in her hand"
Me: "So what, there is another one in the box"
Grady: "I don't want that one"
Me: "Why not ? They're identical"
Grady: "No, it still has it's wrapper on"
Me: (Through gritted teeth) "Not a problem".  I unwrap the eraser, and hand it to Grady.
Grady says - Wait for it  - "I don't need it"

Are you kidding me ?  All that and he doesn't even need the freaking eraser. Is he deliberately trying to make me apoplectic, because if so he's done a bloody good job. 

Believe it or not, an hour later they are now happily playing "school" together.  What kind of twisted children do that ?

Wednesday 11 April 2012

Me Swear ? Never

My husband hates swearing, and very rarely does it.  Unfortunately for me, swearing is second nature, as familiar as breathing. I'm not saying it's a trait I'm proud of, but at the same time I don't think it's a big deal. As far as vices go, it's pretty mundane. When I go on a tirade, it is usually enough to leave my family speechless. When Rob tells me that he has never known anyone else to string as many different curse words together as I can, I'm pretty sure he is not paying me a compliment. 

One day, when I had spent a fruitless 3 hours, squished under my desk trying to get the internet to work, my youngest was pestering me, and I told her in no uncertain terms to go and play outside which she did. However she also warned her father and brother not to come in and bother me because I was in a bad mood.  That of course was like a red rage to a bull for Grady, and he had to come right in and find out for himself. Stupid ! Stupid ! Stupid !   Once I had finished my invective, he went back out to his father and reported "Sid's right. Mum's in a really bad mood, I've never heard her use so many 'f***s' in one sentence".

Unfortunately Rob is not the only one who lectures me on my potty mouth, my sister does too. I have received many a blistering harangue, when I have let the wrong word slip within her earshot.  I dread the inevitable day that Sidney drops the F-bomb in front of her. Although, to be fair, I don't think it sounds nearly so bad when it's uttered in the Queen's own English, but somehow I don't think my sister will agree.

The kids even talked me into starting a "Swear Jar" once, with the intent that they would split the proceeds.  Not only did I run out of money after three days, it also became apparent the kids were going out of their way to wind me up and provoke me into swearing. They must have thought me a right plonker to fall for that one. 







Tuesday 10 April 2012

Unhappy Families

Sometimes I feel like I am living with a family of snapping turtles, and today with everyone niggling at each other,  was no exception.

It's a well documented fact that my long suffering husband is not a morning person, and he escapes the house (or possibly the kids ?) as soon as he can each day. Add to that, if he doesn't get enough sleep, he can be downright ornery. I was wondering why he was being so cantankerous this morning and it turns out  the cats got into a tussle under our bed during the night and it kept him awake. As usual I was blissfully unaware of the ruckus. Anyway, long story short, I wasn't sorry to see the back of him today.  It is way too challenging to maintain my naturally sunny disposition among so much negativity.  

Lindsay hasn't been sleeping, so she was dragging her sorry ass around the house moaning that she was tired. I do believe she wasn't quite with it when she came out of her bedroom, wearing her bra on the outside of her shirt. Definitely NOT something she would have done deliberately, even as a joke. As if she had the energy to be funny and awake. I felt sort of sorry sending her off to school, but not sorry enough to keep her home.

Meanwhile Sid, buck-ass naked is cruising the house looking for underwear, (for some reason which has never been clear to me, clean laundry turns up in the strangest places in our home), amid choruses of "For god's sake put some clothes on" from her siblings.

Of course, I can always rely on Grady to make a bad situation worse, and as if the family wasn't already crabby enough, he was following his sisters around, aiming spitballs at them through a straw. At least he was until Lindsay wrestled him to the floor and took away his weapon. Usually when I hear him yelp, and her bellow "Give me that you little bastard" I would step in and attempt to regain control, but this morning, I turned a deaf ear. I figure the boy had it coming. Frontier justice at it's best.

Monday 9 April 2012

Babes In The Wood

Today's blog is about my youngest - Sidney. At only 7 years old she has proved to be the most challenging of our children. Whether she is beating the crap out of her brother, or giving herself a time out from her teacher, (yes really) she certainly requires the most creative parenting.

This weekend we were visiting family in Gravenhurst, in the heart of Muskoka country. Rob and his Aunt took Sidney & Grady out for a hike in the wilderness, accompanied by Hugo their Bouvier. Rob's aunts live deep in bear country, so you don't venture in to the woods without the protection of the dog. Ann has repeated told the children not to play outside in the yard without Hugo, because of marauding bears (again, yes really!) but I guess Sid had never paid attention to this, until now.

They are well into their hike, in the middle of nowhere when Ann makes her first mistake and decides to teach the kids something about their surroundings, pointing out some wolf scat on the path. Grady pounces excitedly on this discovery, whilst Sid steps back and fixes Ann with a baleful glare. Hands on hips she demands "What are you talking about, wolves? Are you telling me there are wolves in these woods?".  "Well yes" answers Ann "There are". Sid is none too pleased at this turn of events, but with a little persuasion carries on her way. 

A short while later, Ann commits mistake number two, and points out a clump of bear fur caught on a branch. As expected, Grady is gleeful and eagerly pockets the tuft to take home. Sid cannot believe what is happening and again turns to Ann incredulously, "There are bears AND wolves here?" She asks. "Why did no-one tell me this before?" adding "I'm too beautiful to die !" Did I mention that Sid tends a little towards the drama ?  Ann explains that Hugo would warn them if there were any creatures lurking and also protect them.  This seems to mollify Sid, and with a little more caution she continues on, in spite of this latest revelation. 

One would think by now that Ann might have learned her lesson, but sadly no. In her quest to educate my children she points out evidence of a moose. This brings Sid to a screeching halt and she confronts Ann again. "First wolves, then bears .." She is counting off on her fingers as she goes ".. and now you are telling me there is moose here too. Why didn't anyone warn me ? I've had enough of this. I'm going back".  And off she trots. Fortunately Rob & Ann were able to convince her that she was a good deal safer sticking with the group, than she would be striking off on her own. Personally I'm inclined to believe, woe betide the poor unsuspecting wolf or bear that encounters Sid. My money is on the kid.


Thursday 5 April 2012

Why Do Kids Ask Questions ?

Apart from the obvious, I have to wonder why kids - at least mine - ask questions. I'm not talking about the whammies that come out of left field, you know the kind, the "I-wish-the-ground-would-swallow-me-up" questions, although I have had my share of them. My personal favourite took place in the line up of a grocery store, when hitherto I hadn't given any thought to the fact that my daughter could read, and amused herself looking at the trashy magazine covers. I suppose it was inevitable  when a loud voice demands, "Mum, what's a virgin?", which was followed closely with, "Mum, are you a virgin?" which believe me, at that precise moment in time, I was fervently wishing I was, because then I wouldn't be teaching Sex 101 to my then 8 year old, in the Express Checkout Lane.  Of course the ensuing conversation was conducted in a stage whisper (me) versus top of the voice (her). 

I want to know why they ask questions, for which they already know the answer. For example, when Sid asks me "Shall I colour the rabbit brown or white ?" I choose brown, ( 5 out of 6 of our rabbits are brown, so it seemed like a safe answer) and she promptly retorts in an incredulous tone "Mum, it's the Easter rabbit, why would I colour it brown?"  Then why the hell offer it up as a choice ? Next thing I know she's leaving the room, shaking her head telling her brother "Mum doesn't know anything!", WTF ?  Obviously my diabolical plan to keep all their chocolate by telling Sid that I'd run over the Easter Bunny didn't work. 

Then there are the questions when they don't believe the answer. For example, Grady asks me how to spell a word. I tell him, only to have him ask "Are you sure ?" "Yes, I'm sure" which he follows up with "Well maybe I'll just ask dad". Again WTF ?  Especially as his father can't spell worth a damn and always defers to me. Then Grady again, asks me if I know any Latin phrases. I tell him I do and list off a few. He looks at me strangely and asks "Are you making those up?" "No, I'm not" so then he asks, "How do you know Latin ?" Well it's not like I was around in Roman times, so I explain that my father taught me some. "I don't believe you" he says.  So back to my original question; if you're not going to believe anything I tell you, why bother asking me in the first place ?

Take his French homework tonight, it's a well documented fact in our house that I failed "O" Level French with a U (meaning Ungraded - less than 15%). Not one of the highlights of my life, but there it is.  However since then, living in a supposedly bilingual country, I have picked up enough of a second language to get by. At least enough to help the kids with their French homework. So tonight Grady is asking for my aid with translations, which not only am I able to provide but spell them correctly too. However after each answer, I hear him mutter under his breath to his sister, "Bet it's wrong, she failed French" or more loudly, "Are you sure, you did get a "U" you know"Ingrate petit bâtard !!  After 10 minutes of this, I have had enough. I smacked him upside the head with the oversize French-English dictionary and told him to do his own damn homework.  

We are off to my sister's house tomorrow for Easter dinner and the egg hunt for the kids. For once, I'm hoping the weather is on the cool side. Unlike the year that Good Friday was actually sunny and warm,  and most of the chocolate eggs were melted before the kids found them. Fun times !!  Happy Easter everyone, and I'll be back on Monday - hopefully with an overflowing chocolate drawer. 







Wednesday 4 April 2012

What I would Change About My Husband

I could score major points and end this post right now by saying I wouldn't change anything about my husband, but where's the fun in that ?  Anyway, as a rule, I generally only lie to my children, so here goes.

The first change I'd make is for him to listen, actually listen to what I'm saying. I realise it is a man thing to have selective hearing, but really he carries it to the extreme. I also accept that sometimes I drone on a bit, and he tunes me out, fair enough. But when he asks a question why does he never, ever listen to the answer ?  He thinks that by asking the same question in different ways I won't notice, but I do. For example,  "What are we doing this weekend?", followed two hours later by "I was wondering, do we have any plans for the weekend?", followed the next morning with "So, this weekend, we're not busy, right ?  Isn't fooling anybody. I know he hasn't listened to a single word I've said.  I have even tested my theory by giving a different answer each time he asks the same question, and he never clues in. I'm not asking for a miracle here (or maybe I am), but clean out those ears and concentrate on what I am saying. 

I wish that he would let me sleep in occasionally. I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON.  I've mentioned before that I am a night owl. On school mornings, I am happy (maybe that's not quite accurate, but close enough) to get up early, but on the weekends and school holidays, leave me along and let me sleep. Realising now, that if he wakes me up too soon, he will have to deal with a total bitch of a wife, he has gotten creative, and sends the kids in on a suicide mission to wake me up instead. Alternatively - and I'm on to these devious little maneuvers of his - if the kids are up and fussing (and I'm pretty damn sure, even when they're not) he will admonish them "Be quiet, your mother is sleeping" in a much louder voice than necessary, usually making more of a racket than they were. This way he gets to wake me up, but at the same time can blame it on trying to keep the kids quiet. He really must think I've lost the plot, that he can try and pull this over on me.

Finally, I'd have to say after the last few weeks with the seemingly endless parade of mice traipsing through the house, it would be nice if he'd man up and actually try catching one himself, instead of leaving them all to me. Preferably without destroying a kitchen appliance in the process. Just saying !



Tuesday 3 April 2012

I'm Not Making This Stuff Up

My brother-in-law was catching up on my blog the other day and he commented to my sister, that surely I must be making some of this stuff up. Sadly no, I'm not. Though I am a little surprised at his question, after all he has spent enough time in our home to know that chaos reigns supreme.

I honestly don't manufacture these stories. The only difference between me living through them and you reading about them afterwards, is that I am unlikely to be laughing about it while it is happening (for example the infamous horse dismount and/or rescue), unless of course it's happening to Rob, in which case I probably find it hilarious. I really do have a sick sense of humor. Just ask him about the time he was choking, when my dearest friends and I sat and watched, as we laughed and mimicked him. In our defense, we had  been drinking all afternoon, which is probably why we thought that Rob, with bulging eyes, turning purple and threatening to gasp his last, was incredibly entertaining. The saddest part is, three years later on and sober, we still reminisce and laugh about it. 

To be fair, Rob has also had his fair share of laughs at my expense. I think when I started this blog, I may have referred to an incident in the grocery store. I was sauntering down the aisle, not paying attention to where I was going, and ran my cart full tilt into a cereal display. Boxes flew everywhere, and I was mortified. It was a Saturday morning, and the store was full of shoppers to witness my unfortunate collision . Rob, fully aware of what had just happened, continued on his way. Surprised, I called out to him to come and help me, he just shot me a withering look and in his most disgusted tone declared loudly, "Lady, I don't even know you" and the rat bastard walked off, just like that, leaving me gobsmacked. He was bloody lucky he didn't choke that night !

So in answer to my brother-in-law, these posts are the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Continue to enjoy them, and indulge in a laugh or two at my expense.

Monday 2 April 2012

Dos & Don'ts With Teenagers - Part II

Apparently, where teenagers are concerned , there is no end of material.  Names have been withheld upon request.  

Do Not make the mistake of thinking that you know how to dress yourself.  When you get that withering look and the question "You're not really going out like that are you?", it's time to go back and change out of your legwarmers.  The only time this scenario will be remotely acceptable to your teen, is if you are paying for the said outing, namely preferably a trip to the mall.
 
No matter what your teen's friends may think, as far as she is concerned, you are not, never have been and never will be one of the cool mums, so don't even bother to try.

No matter how frustrated, do not snap at your teenager. It will hurt their feelings. They are sensitive. However it is perfectly acceptable for your teenager to snap at you, because after all, as the parent you will have obviously committed a heinous crime, such as breathing.

Most teens -  if anything like mine - probably have a very poor or even non-existent short term memory. For example, take my eldest daughter. After a morning of eye rolling, exasperated sighs, and the usual rant of "You never do anything for me" I get a phone call an hour later,  "Hi mum, I need money for an event, can you drive up to the school and give me $10 ?" 


Plan on learning a new language. You will come to recognise that head tossing, eye rolling and loud exaggerated sighs will mean many things, and chances are good that none of them are complimentary.
 
No matter how young you feel, how many magazines exclaim that 50 is the new 40,  and that age is just a number, as far as your teen is concerned you are old.  Not just any old, but you-grew-up-in-the-dinosaur-age old.  You could try to argue, that with all that age comes wisdom, but don't bother. In the teen world it doesn't work that way.