The boy child is home again, and life is back to normal, and by normal, I mean not anywhere near normal, probably more idiosyncratic
than normal. Grady was barely home ten minutes before a fight broke out - like I wasn't anticipating that.
I'm not too sure about Grady's camp. My guess is they didn't have bathrooms, or if they did, the kids didn't get time to use them, because as soon as that boy walked through the door, he was straight to the bathroom and I didn't see him again for nigh on forty minutes. That is why the fight broke out, now that Sid has discovered the window in the basement bathroom, she set up shop outside and subjected Grady to a barrage of questions. "What are you doing ?" I'm not sure why she really needed to ask that one. "How long are you going to be?" followed by "Hurry up you're taking too long " and "Aren't you done yet ?" and on and on and on. No wonder when Grady finally came out he was ready to rip her arm off and beat her with the soggy end.
Now Grady is back home, it is time to clean his room - which I know wont go over too well. Grady's idea of a clean room is if he can make it from the door to his bed without impaling himself on a piece of Lego. Unfortunately for him, I have more exacting standards. One day in a desperate attempt to get him to clean his room, I let out a shriek and told him I'd seen a mouse run across his floor. I hammed it up a bit and almost had him convinced to dive in and start de-cluttering, but I must have overplayed my hand because he saw right through my ruse. Apparently it was my scream that gave it away. He reasoned that as I am the only one in the house actually willing to catch a mouse, I would also be the one person least likely to scream if I saw one. He was right dammit, with the parade of mice that shimmy across our floors, it would take a lot to make me react.
Meanwhile, on a different note, when I had to take Lindsay to work, Sid's current favourite song was playing. However it does contain a bad word, not one that she hasn't already heard from me, mind you, but she doesn't need to hear it anywhere else, even I have standards. So usually at that point in the song I turn the volume down momentarily, which Sid doesn't appreciate. Tonight she told me "Don't turn the song down mummy, I'll just cover my eyes". I'm really not sure how that would work, but maybe it made sense to her.
Thursday 31 May 2012
Wednesday 30 May 2012
Why Me ?
Picked up Sid from school, only to find out she had been in trouble again. When the teacher does something that Sid doesn't like - and that list seems to be growing - Sid takes it upon herself to pretend the teacher doesn't exist. Unfortunately she probably got that particular trait from me, I'm masterful at pretending I don't have children - or a husband - when it suits me. Both Rob and I have lectured her, taken away TV privileges, instituted an earlier bedtime, threatened, cajoled, bribed and blackmailed, but nothing works with Sid. I decided to bring in the big guns tonight and enlisted Lindsay's help. I told Sid that if her behaviour continued I'd pull her out of her school and put her in another one. I thought if Sid wouldn't listen to me she might at least listen to her sister. I have to give Lindsay kudos for a bang up job, making another school sound like a cross between a boot camp and a prison. However it was to no avail, at the end of the litany of dire consequences facing her, Sid decides the other school could be fun. That little rat bastard just called my bluff.
When Lindsay was at the same school, round about the same grade, there was a little boy in her class who was always in trouble. Every single day the teacher would pull his father aside and have a serious talk with him about what transgressions his son had been involved with that day. Lindsay on the other hand, was always sent home with glowing praise (other than the time she and her friend cut each others hair - but that is another story). I have to admit in those days, I felt more than a little smug, and silently rebuked the poor father for not raising his son as well as we were obviously raising our daughter. How the mighty have fallen, I'd dearly like to find that father now and apologise profusely for all the unspoken criticism I had cast his way. I'd also really like to know how his son turned out and if there is still hope for Sidney.
On a lighter note, I am always on the alert for ways to wind up my eldest daughter. It doesn't take much, which is why it is so much fun. Rob took the day off yesterday, and at the last minute we decided to go out for dinner. Usually by the time he gets home from work it is too late to go anywhere, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity. At least it was until Lindsay reminded us that she had to be at work by 6:30. "No problem" said I. There was no way I was giving up on dinner out without a fight. "We'll eat early so you'll still be in time for work". As a result we headed out the door at 4:30. It did cross my mind that we were turning into Rob's parents, who for as long as I have known them have always eaten an early meal. Lindsay, rather than be pleased that we were trying to accommodate her schedule complained loudly that we were acting like "seniors" eating so early. In hindsight we probably should have left the little ingrate at home and let her fend for herself.
We arrive at our restaurant of choice, and there in the entrance is a big sign - "Early Bird Specials Before 5:00PM"
I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, so in a very loud voice I point the sign out to Rob, and then started clapping in excitement, and squealing with delight "I just love the early bird specials". Rob plays right along, while Lindsay looks at me in absolute horror & disbelief. That will teach her to make fun of us old folks. There was a time I would have cringed right along with her if my parents had pulled a stunt like that, but now I don't mind making a fool of myself, especially if I get to wind her up in the process. Sid meanwhile couldn't have cared less, she had her brother's I-Pod (he wasn't allowed to take it on his trip) and nothing was going to pull her attention away from that unfettered access. I admit I did get a few funny looks from the other patrons, but they were all seniors, so they promptly forgot anyway.
.
When Lindsay was at the same school, round about the same grade, there was a little boy in her class who was always in trouble. Every single day the teacher would pull his father aside and have a serious talk with him about what transgressions his son had been involved with that day. Lindsay on the other hand, was always sent home with glowing praise (other than the time she and her friend cut each others hair - but that is another story). I have to admit in those days, I felt more than a little smug, and silently rebuked the poor father for not raising his son as well as we were obviously raising our daughter. How the mighty have fallen, I'd dearly like to find that father now and apologise profusely for all the unspoken criticism I had cast his way. I'd also really like to know how his son turned out and if there is still hope for Sidney.
On a lighter note, I am always on the alert for ways to wind up my eldest daughter. It doesn't take much, which is why it is so much fun. Rob took the day off yesterday, and at the last minute we decided to go out for dinner. Usually by the time he gets home from work it is too late to go anywhere, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity. At least it was until Lindsay reminded us that she had to be at work by 6:30. "No problem" said I. There was no way I was giving up on dinner out without a fight. "We'll eat early so you'll still be in time for work". As a result we headed out the door at 4:30. It did cross my mind that we were turning into Rob's parents, who for as long as I have known them have always eaten an early meal. Lindsay, rather than be pleased that we were trying to accommodate her schedule complained loudly that we were acting like "seniors" eating so early. In hindsight we probably should have left the little ingrate at home and let her fend for herself.
We arrive at our restaurant of choice, and there in the entrance is a big sign - "Early Bird Specials Before 5:00PM"
I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, so in a very loud voice I point the sign out to Rob, and then started clapping in excitement, and squealing with delight "I just love the early bird specials". Rob plays right along, while Lindsay looks at me in absolute horror & disbelief. That will teach her to make fun of us old folks. There was a time I would have cringed right along with her if my parents had pulled a stunt like that, but now I don't mind making a fool of myself, especially if I get to wind her up in the process. Sid meanwhile couldn't have cared less, she had her brother's I-Pod (he wasn't allowed to take it on his trip) and nothing was going to pull her attention away from that unfettered access. I admit I did get a few funny looks from the other patrons, but they were all seniors, so they promptly forgot anyway.
.
Tuesday 29 May 2012
Who Needs An Alarm Clock ?
Rob decided to take today off and get some chores done around the house, as such we didn't have to get up quite as early as normal, but Grady had other ideas. His camping trip starts today and he came bounding in our bedroom at some ungodly hour singing "I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it" over and over again. That boy couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it, it was a terrible way to start the week !
Meanwhile Sid goes to school and tells all the teachers that I was going out today to buy a cake to celebrate the fact Grady wouldn't be home for the next two days. I was doing no such thing, I think it was wishful thinking on Sid's part, but probably another black mark against me in my ongoing quest for mother of the year. Not only that, but she also invited the teachers over to share the cake !
Grady waits until it is 10 minutes before he has to leave to tell me he doesn't have any socks. How can this be? There were loads of pairs of socks floating around when he was packing, I was tripping over them every five minutes. Now, at T minus 5 and counting they seem to have all disappeared into a black hole. I am desperately sorting through my bag of odd socks (at last count there were 45 - how is that even possible ?) in the hopes of finding a pair for Grady. Fortunately he is even more colour blind than I am so I was able to palm him off with a mismatched pair (is that an oxymoron ?). I admit I lied through my teeth and told him they matched, I'm hedging my bets that he won't even notice. I neglected to mention however, that they belonged to his sister. I'm sure there is a special place in hell reserved for mothers who lie to their children.
I have to admit, as much as I miss Grady, taking one out of the mix reduces the arguments considerably. Even Sid said she missed her brother. I thought that was so sweet until she added "I don't have any one to fight with". Lovely.
Rob is making up for the fact that we are missing one child. He was carrying a basket of laundry through the basement for me when all of a sudden I hear this large crash, followed by more crashes, a quick staccato one after the other, each one seeming to be louder than the first. My first instinct was to burst out laughing, and when I had that under control, called out and asked helpfully if he was OK. Somehow he had caught the DVD tower with the edge of the laundry basket and everything came toppling down. It didn't help that most of the DVDs were perched precariously on top of the tower, because after all that makes so much more sense to the children than actually putting them back where they belong.When I found him, he was amid piles of DVDs and clean laundry cursing up a blue streak. It looked like he had everything under control so I went back to my book.
Rob took Sid up to the farm this evening, another little boy who has met Sid before was there, and was quite happy to see her. He wanted Sid to go in the front paddock and play "horsey". I'm not sure what that entailed, but Sid was having none of it. He did manage to persuade her to help him lower the jumps so that he could go over them, but alas he didn't fare to well, returning to announce to Sid that he thought he had broken his penis. Fortunately Sid is used to Grady's antics, so she wasn't too put out by this statement. I can't say she offered him much sympathy either.
Meanwhile Sid goes to school and tells all the teachers that I was going out today to buy a cake to celebrate the fact Grady wouldn't be home for the next two days. I was doing no such thing, I think it was wishful thinking on Sid's part, but probably another black mark against me in my ongoing quest for mother of the year. Not only that, but she also invited the teachers over to share the cake !
Grady waits until it is 10 minutes before he has to leave to tell me he doesn't have any socks. How can this be? There were loads of pairs of socks floating around when he was packing, I was tripping over them every five minutes. Now, at T minus 5 and counting they seem to have all disappeared into a black hole. I am desperately sorting through my bag of odd socks (at last count there were 45 - how is that even possible ?) in the hopes of finding a pair for Grady. Fortunately he is even more colour blind than I am so I was able to palm him off with a mismatched pair (is that an oxymoron ?). I admit I lied through my teeth and told him they matched, I'm hedging my bets that he won't even notice. I neglected to mention however, that they belonged to his sister. I'm sure there is a special place in hell reserved for mothers who lie to their children.
I have to admit, as much as I miss Grady, taking one out of the mix reduces the arguments considerably. Even Sid said she missed her brother. I thought that was so sweet until she added "I don't have any one to fight with". Lovely.
Rob is making up for the fact that we are missing one child. He was carrying a basket of laundry through the basement for me when all of a sudden I hear this large crash, followed by more crashes, a quick staccato one after the other, each one seeming to be louder than the first. My first instinct was to burst out laughing, and when I had that under control, called out and asked helpfully if he was OK. Somehow he had caught the DVD tower with the edge of the laundry basket and everything came toppling down. It didn't help that most of the DVDs were perched precariously on top of the tower, because after all that makes so much more sense to the children than actually putting them back where they belong.When I found him, he was amid piles of DVDs and clean laundry cursing up a blue streak. It looked like he had everything under control so I went back to my book.
Rob took Sid up to the farm this evening, another little boy who has met Sid before was there, and was quite happy to see her. He wanted Sid to go in the front paddock and play "horsey". I'm not sure what that entailed, but Sid was having none of it. He did manage to persuade her to help him lower the jumps so that he could go over them, but alas he didn't fare to well, returning to announce to Sid that he thought he had broken his penis. Fortunately Sid is used to Grady's antics, so she wasn't too put out by this statement. I can't say she offered him much sympathy either.
Monday 28 May 2012
How We Spent Our Weekend.
If at all possible I aim for a quiet weekend, at least as quiet as it can be in this house. This weekend, not so much. We live near the 401 - a major highway - that passes over a bridge near our house. Yesterday a tractor trailer jack-knifed, went over the bridge and caught fire. Consequently the roads near our house were closed at the scene of the accident. I had driven by on my way home from errands and offered to take the kids to see it - I figured Grady would be fascinated, especially with all the fire-engines and emergency vehicles. The driver had escaped with minor injuries, so it wasn't too ghoulish. I didn't realise that all the kids would all want to see it. Rob of course sniffed disdainfully, "Why on earth would you want to do that ?" he asked. I'm sure he was secretly pleased because he had the house to himself for a few quiet minutes.
So off we go to the scene of the accident, and you would think I had a news crew with me, the kids were out of the van in a shot, taking pictures, looking through their binoculars, having a fine old time. Who knew they would be occupied for so long. Eventually I managed to pull them away and head back home, where upon they tumble out the van, Grady showing his dad the photos, and Sid exclaiming "That was awesome". It really doesn't take much to impress her. Wouldn't you know it Rob now wants me to take him to see it, and the kids, ever up for an adventure climb back in. At this point all I wanted was my lunch, but ever obliging, back we go and everyone proclaims their oohs and aahs. By this time quite a crowd has gathered, along with a real news crew, all the more exciting as far as the kids were concerned. Meanwhile Lindsay was trying to persuade Sid to "assume the position" against one of the police cars, as practice for later in life. How touching. It took a while to finally coax my little band of rubber-neckers away, but the area remained closed for the rest of the day.
If anyone is interested, it made the news here is the link. http://toronto.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/CTVNews/20120526/ajax-401-truck-crash-120526/20120526/?hub=TorontoNewHome&cid=top
On a lighter note, the boy child is off on a 3 day camping trip with his class. He is extremely excited, so much so he wanted to start packing several days ago. I had to take a copy of his packing list, so that he could use one copy to tick off the items as he went, and the other copy to be kept just in case . I'm not sure what "just in case" entailed, but I have found with Grady - much like his father - it far is easier to humour him than to fight him. .
Last year on the trip, he took his packing very seriously, one of the items on the list was a bar of soap, and he actually asked me why he would need it! I was so glad I wasn't a parent volunteer in that cabin ! I explained that he would probably need to shower at least once on his trip, and agreeing that this would be a good idea, he also packed a towel. Upon his return I noticed that the bar of soap was still in pristine condition, so I asked him why he hadn't used it. Rather shame faced he pulled out the towel he had packed - in his hurry he had taken a towel belonging to Sid - a pink hooded towel, with a cat's face on the hood. "Mum" he explained "I pulled this towel out, and when I realised what I had, I stuffed it back in my bag before anyone saw it. I just couldn't use it in front of my friends". I can't really blame him, but of course it does beget the question, why he didn't notice the towel was pink when he packed it. He is so his father's son. I know I will miss the little chap, but his sisters are already planning a party to celebrate his absence. It will certainly be quieter for the next few days.
Rob got the short straw and had to help Grady assemble his bag this afternoon. Everything was spread out on the floor upstairs, and as fast as Grady was pulling clothes out of his closet, Rob was putting them back in. Not sure what he was thinking but he packed 4 pairs of pants (trousers), 3 pairs of shorts and only 1 pair of underwear. Sadly, he didn't see anything wrong with that. He packed soap, but has already said he won't need it. By the time he returns I'm not sure whether I should try washing his clothes, or just burn them instead. Stay tuned for the return !
So off we go to the scene of the accident, and you would think I had a news crew with me, the kids were out of the van in a shot, taking pictures, looking through their binoculars, having a fine old time. Who knew they would be occupied for so long. Eventually I managed to pull them away and head back home, where upon they tumble out the van, Grady showing his dad the photos, and Sid exclaiming "That was awesome". It really doesn't take much to impress her. Wouldn't you know it Rob now wants me to take him to see it, and the kids, ever up for an adventure climb back in. At this point all I wanted was my lunch, but ever obliging, back we go and everyone proclaims their oohs and aahs. By this time quite a crowd has gathered, along with a real news crew, all the more exciting as far as the kids were concerned. Meanwhile Lindsay was trying to persuade Sid to "assume the position" against one of the police cars, as practice for later in life. How touching. It took a while to finally coax my little band of rubber-neckers away, but the area remained closed for the rest of the day.
If anyone is interested, it made the news here is the link. http://toronto.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/CTVNews/20120526/ajax-401-truck-crash-120526/20120526/?hub=TorontoNewHome&cid=top
On a lighter note, the boy child is off on a 3 day camping trip with his class. He is extremely excited, so much so he wanted to start packing several days ago. I had to take a copy of his packing list, so that he could use one copy to tick off the items as he went, and the other copy to be kept just in case . I'm not sure what "just in case" entailed, but I have found with Grady - much like his father - it far is easier to humour him than to fight him. .
Last year on the trip, he took his packing very seriously, one of the items on the list was a bar of soap, and he actually asked me why he would need it! I was so glad I wasn't a parent volunteer in that cabin ! I explained that he would probably need to shower at least once on his trip, and agreeing that this would be a good idea, he also packed a towel. Upon his return I noticed that the bar of soap was still in pristine condition, so I asked him why he hadn't used it. Rather shame faced he pulled out the towel he had packed - in his hurry he had taken a towel belonging to Sid - a pink hooded towel, with a cat's face on the hood. "Mum" he explained "I pulled this towel out, and when I realised what I had, I stuffed it back in my bag before anyone saw it. I just couldn't use it in front of my friends". I can't really blame him, but of course it does beget the question, why he didn't notice the towel was pink when he packed it. He is so his father's son. I know I will miss the little chap, but his sisters are already planning a party to celebrate his absence. It will certainly be quieter for the next few days.
Rob got the short straw and had to help Grady assemble his bag this afternoon. Everything was spread out on the floor upstairs, and as fast as Grady was pulling clothes out of his closet, Rob was putting them back in. Not sure what he was thinking but he packed 4 pairs of pants (trousers), 3 pairs of shorts and only 1 pair of underwear. Sadly, he didn't see anything wrong with that. He packed soap, but has already said he won't need it. By the time he returns I'm not sure whether I should try washing his clothes, or just burn them instead. Stay tuned for the return !
Friday 25 May 2012
Sleep With One Eye Open
I'm on my way through the Tim's Drive-Thru (again !!) with Lindsay and her friends Hannah and Mary-Clare, when my phone goes off, signalling I have a text. I toss the phone to Lindsay and ask her to check it, whereupon she replies, "I don't think I want to know what it says" (referring to the unfortunate incident in my post on February 16th). Hannah and Mary-Clare both burst out laughing and chime in unison "I read that blog". I didn't think it was possible for Lindsay to look so mortified, and I didn't have to glance at her to sense the daggers aimed in my direction. I think I may have to start using a little more discretion with my blog because it's too late now to use pseudonyms, everyone who reads this knows who I'm talking about by now.
I think the poor guy at the Tim's order window is still spinning from our visit, between ordering for the three girls in the car plus for the kids I hadn't yet collected from school, he didn't know which end was up. It doesn't help that the girls are all singing along - loudly - to the radio. By the time I got up to the window he practically threw my order at me, in his haste for me to be gone.
I spoke too soon about my well behaved children, they are definitely a thing of the past. When I arrive home and Grady meets me at the front door with a pair of nun-chucks (albeit plastic ones), I know it's not good sign. When the youngest two push each other out of the van and start wrestling in the driveway, again not a good sign. When I have to follow them up the path yelling "Separate Now" with the emphasis on "Now", followed by "... you little f***ckers" under my breath, it does not bode well for the evening ahead.
It would appear that Sid & Grady have made it their mission to be beaten to a pulp by Lindsay tonight. I can't think of any other reason why they would be running around deliberately trying to provoke her while she is trying to have "girl time" with her friends. I have tried to intervene, but even my threat of punishment horribilis cannot override their self destructive urge. Rob has just texted to say he doesn't know when he'll be home, and I'm definitely not prepared to deal with the demented little termagants by myself, so I'm throwing in the towel and going to hide out somewhere with my latest book.
Unfortunately, I can still hear screaming from the front lawn (I bet the neighbours are just loving my family tonight), but it is the scream that abruptly ends in a yelp that worries me more. No one has come bursting through the door spurting arterial blood or courting a broken bone (the only two conditions that will cause me to put aside my book), so they must be practicing frontier justice at it's finest. Our neighbour is a firefighter, so I figure all my bases are covered.
I have promised the kids a trip to the stables when Rob gets home - I don't care how late it is. He thinks he has bested me, and that he can avoid this misery and mayhem by staying late at work, but I'm not going down without a fight. I think taking his obnoxious offspring plus Mary-Clare & Hannah (who are lovely girls, but I don't understand what draws them to our house) to the farm, is a fitting end to his day.
My friend Raquel read a article today that suggests stay at home mums are more depressed than mothers who work outside the home. Who the hell has the time to be depressed ? Just the hours I spend scheming, fills a good portion of my day. I maintain, never go to bed angry, stay up and plot your revenge instead. On that note, I hope everyone has a lovely weekend, and if necessary sleep with one eye open. I'll be back on Monday.
I think the poor guy at the Tim's order window is still spinning from our visit, between ordering for the three girls in the car plus for the kids I hadn't yet collected from school, he didn't know which end was up. It doesn't help that the girls are all singing along - loudly - to the radio. By the time I got up to the window he practically threw my order at me, in his haste for me to be gone.
I spoke too soon about my well behaved children, they are definitely a thing of the past. When I arrive home and Grady meets me at the front door with a pair of nun-chucks (albeit plastic ones), I know it's not good sign. When the youngest two push each other out of the van and start wrestling in the driveway, again not a good sign. When I have to follow them up the path yelling "Separate Now" with the emphasis on "Now", followed by "... you little f***ckers" under my breath, it does not bode well for the evening ahead.
It would appear that Sid & Grady have made it their mission to be beaten to a pulp by Lindsay tonight. I can't think of any other reason why they would be running around deliberately trying to provoke her while she is trying to have "girl time" with her friends. I have tried to intervene, but even my threat of punishment horribilis cannot override their self destructive urge. Rob has just texted to say he doesn't know when he'll be home, and I'm definitely not prepared to deal with the demented little termagants by myself, so I'm throwing in the towel and going to hide out somewhere with my latest book.
Unfortunately, I can still hear screaming from the front lawn (I bet the neighbours are just loving my family tonight), but it is the scream that abruptly ends in a yelp that worries me more. No one has come bursting through the door spurting arterial blood or courting a broken bone (the only two conditions that will cause me to put aside my book), so they must be practicing frontier justice at it's finest. Our neighbour is a firefighter, so I figure all my bases are covered.
I have promised the kids a trip to the stables when Rob gets home - I don't care how late it is. He thinks he has bested me, and that he can avoid this misery and mayhem by staying late at work, but I'm not going down without a fight. I think taking his obnoxious offspring plus Mary-Clare & Hannah (who are lovely girls, but I don't understand what draws them to our house) to the farm, is a fitting end to his day.
My friend Raquel read a article today that suggests stay at home mums are more depressed than mothers who work outside the home. Who the hell has the time to be depressed ? Just the hours I spend scheming, fills a good portion of my day. I maintain, never go to bed angry, stay up and plot your revenge instead. On that note, I hope everyone has a lovely weekend, and if necessary sleep with one eye open. I'll be back on Monday.
Thursday 24 May 2012
Marital Bliss
My children have been remarkably well behaved recently, maybe not as well as some children, but compared to what mine can accomplish, they have certainly toned it down a bit. Perhaps last night, as they were mulling over past punishments, reminded them of what fiendish consequences I am capable of. So without my children to provide the jollies, I will have to move on to my poor hapless husband.
After almost 30 years of being together, I am still finding ways of driving him bonkers, it keeps our marriage interesting - at least it does for me. I copped it the other day, because I apparently didn't replace the cutlery in the right slots - like who cares ? It's clean and it's in the drawer, good enough for me, for not so for his lordship. He actually accused me of standing on the other side of the room and launching the cutlery at the drawer. That is absolutely ludicrous, I'd never be able to hit anything at that distance. I stand beside the drawer and lob it in. As long as the drawer closes when I'm finished, I consider it a job well done. Of course now that I know that it bothers him, I might try and improve my aim, but I doubt it.
The one area where I am particular is laundry, goodness knows I do enough of it. Rob actually has the audacity to accuse me of being anal, and wasting time by separating the whites from coloureds. He'd be the first to complain if he ended up with pink underwear. And this coming from a man who has an intricate system for his blue boxes. We have more blue boxes than any other house on the street. It's not because we recycle more than the average family, oh no, it's because my OCD husband insists on a different box for each item. Heaven forbid the cardboard mixes with the paper. It wouldn't be so bad, except that if you have ever watched the recycling truck, everything gets tossed in together. There is nothing that is going to change his mind, and woe betide anyone who messes with his boxes. My friend Helene came over one evening, and knowing how much it would upset him, changed the arrangement of the blue boxes sitting on the lawn. He happened to spot it before he went to bed. I looked out the window and saw blue boxes. He looked out and saw anarchy. He was out there in a shot, in his PJ's putting the boxes back the way they should be, muttering diabolical threats against Helene (he knew exactly who had done it) as he went.
If that wasn't bad enough, a couple of years ago Rob had surgery on his wrist, and hence the duty of taking out the garbage fell to yours truly, throughout his extremely long and drawn out recovery. OMG, it is the closest we have ever come to a divorce (at least until I started blogging). He hovered over me as I was sorting the recycling, going over it one piece at a time, telling me where to put it. I can tell you where I would have liked to have put it. This was in February, and I'm freezing my ass off, while he is going through his org chart of blue boxes. But wait, it didn't stop there, he trailed behind me as I lugged the boxes down the drive to ensure that I stacked them up correctly. Who the hell cares ? They were in a f***ing snowbank. By the time the snowplough had made another pass, you wouldn't be able to see them anyway.
By the way, I don't want to hear from people, telling me they do the same thing, because it's just not normal. Usually I pass the posts by my family first - especially the victim - before publishing, but I think this might be one of those times where it will be easier to plead forgiveness, instead of asking permission. There is always the chance Rob will be too busy to read it. Like I said, keeps it interesting.
After almost 30 years of being together, I am still finding ways of driving him bonkers, it keeps our marriage interesting - at least it does for me. I copped it the other day, because I apparently didn't replace the cutlery in the right slots - like who cares ? It's clean and it's in the drawer, good enough for me, for not so for his lordship. He actually accused me of standing on the other side of the room and launching the cutlery at the drawer. That is absolutely ludicrous, I'd never be able to hit anything at that distance. I stand beside the drawer and lob it in. As long as the drawer closes when I'm finished, I consider it a job well done. Of course now that I know that it bothers him, I might try and improve my aim, but I doubt it.
The one area where I am particular is laundry, goodness knows I do enough of it. Rob actually has the audacity to accuse me of being anal, and wasting time by separating the whites from coloureds. He'd be the first to complain if he ended up with pink underwear. And this coming from a man who has an intricate system for his blue boxes. We have more blue boxes than any other house on the street. It's not because we recycle more than the average family, oh no, it's because my OCD husband insists on a different box for each item. Heaven forbid the cardboard mixes with the paper. It wouldn't be so bad, except that if you have ever watched the recycling truck, everything gets tossed in together. There is nothing that is going to change his mind, and woe betide anyone who messes with his boxes. My friend Helene came over one evening, and knowing how much it would upset him, changed the arrangement of the blue boxes sitting on the lawn. He happened to spot it before he went to bed. I looked out the window and saw blue boxes. He looked out and saw anarchy. He was out there in a shot, in his PJ's putting the boxes back the way they should be, muttering diabolical threats against Helene (he knew exactly who had done it) as he went.
If that wasn't bad enough, a couple of years ago Rob had surgery on his wrist, and hence the duty of taking out the garbage fell to yours truly, throughout his extremely long and drawn out recovery. OMG, it is the closest we have ever come to a divorce (at least until I started blogging). He hovered over me as I was sorting the recycling, going over it one piece at a time, telling me where to put it. I can tell you where I would have liked to have put it. This was in February, and I'm freezing my ass off, while he is going through his org chart of blue boxes. But wait, it didn't stop there, he trailed behind me as I lugged the boxes down the drive to ensure that I stacked them up correctly. Who the hell cares ? They were in a f***ing snowbank. By the time the snowplough had made another pass, you wouldn't be able to see them anyway.
By the way, I don't want to hear from people, telling me they do the same thing, because it's just not normal. Usually I pass the posts by my family first - especially the victim - before publishing, but I think this might be one of those times where it will be easier to plead forgiveness, instead of asking permission. There is always the chance Rob will be too busy to read it. Like I said, keeps it interesting.
Wednesday 23 May 2012
I Haven't Lost My Touch
I am convinced that my youngest child spends every waking moment plotting ways in which she can do harm either physical or psychological - she's not fussy - to her brother. Take yesterday for example, our house is not big and we only have two bathrooms, one on the upper level and one in the basement. Sidney recently discovered that the small windows in the basement bathroom are actually at ground level when you are outside. This was an opportunity to good to pass up and she waited patiently until her brother was in the bathroom cogitating in his own little world, and then she hollered at him through the open window. Poor Grady, he thought he was safe because the door was locked. He didn't anticipate an attack from the rear. He may never go to the bathroom again. Meanwhile Sid is rolling on the floor laughing, a totally evil and maniacal sound at having bested her brother.
Today was the belt ceremony at their karate class. Grady took karate through the school a couple of years ago, but that was it for him. Sidney took it the following year. This year when it was offered, I asked Grady if he was interested and he said no. Sid on the other hand wanted to sign up again. A day or so later Grady came back to me and asked if it was too late to join up, when I asked him what had caused him to change his mind he just looked at me incredulously and said "There's no way I can let Sid get ahead of me". I can't say I blame him. So fast forward a few months to today's ceremony. In I go with camera in hand, to watch my budding Bruce Lees. Grady seemed to be having fun, but Sid was taking it very seriously - maybe a little too seriously for my liking. That girl can pack a wallop. I was hoping that karate would help her with discipline, instead of which she seems to have honed her fighting skills. Afterwards the Sensei came up to me and told me what a pleasure it was to have my children in her class. My children ? Together ? Really ? That doesn't sound right at all. I think the poor woman may have suffered one too many roundhouse kicks to the head.
But it was Lindsay who offered the biggest chuckle today. She decides she is going outside to tan (didn't have the heart to tell her that after 4:00 PM she won't be catching too many rays) and sets up her deckchair. The next thing I see when I look out the window are arms and legs flailing in the air and the rest of Lindsay swallowed by the chair. I'm not sure how she did it, but when she sat down the whole thing collapsed. It was fine yesterday, I suspect sabotage, I just can't prove it. Either way, we are now down one deck chair, because that one is way beyond repair.
The little darlings were on full form at dinner tonight and started getting out of hand, so I began calling out my arsenal of threats from the other room. Nothing seemed to have much effect until I got to "Do you want to spend the rest of the evening sitting on the stairs?" That seemed to have the desired effect especially when you consider the subsequent conversation - carried out in hushed tones across the kitchen table. . "She'll do that you know" threatened Lindsay. "I know" sighed Sid "Do you remember that time she forgot about us ?" "Too right" chimes in Grady "We were stuck there for hours". The rest of their dinner was spent reminiscing fondly (?) about past punishments. I love the fact that I haven't lost my touch !
Today was the belt ceremony at their karate class. Grady took karate through the school a couple of years ago, but that was it for him. Sidney took it the following year. This year when it was offered, I asked Grady if he was interested and he said no. Sid on the other hand wanted to sign up again. A day or so later Grady came back to me and asked if it was too late to join up, when I asked him what had caused him to change his mind he just looked at me incredulously and said "There's no way I can let Sid get ahead of me". I can't say I blame him. So fast forward a few months to today's ceremony. In I go with camera in hand, to watch my budding Bruce Lees. Grady seemed to be having fun, but Sid was taking it very seriously - maybe a little too seriously for my liking. That girl can pack a wallop. I was hoping that karate would help her with discipline, instead of which she seems to have honed her fighting skills. Afterwards the Sensei came up to me and told me what a pleasure it was to have my children in her class. My children ? Together ? Really ? That doesn't sound right at all. I think the poor woman may have suffered one too many roundhouse kicks to the head.
But it was Lindsay who offered the biggest chuckle today. She decides she is going outside to tan (didn't have the heart to tell her that after 4:00 PM she won't be catching too many rays) and sets up her deckchair. The next thing I see when I look out the window are arms and legs flailing in the air and the rest of Lindsay swallowed by the chair. I'm not sure how she did it, but when she sat down the whole thing collapsed. It was fine yesterday, I suspect sabotage, I just can't prove it. Either way, we are now down one deck chair, because that one is way beyond repair.
The little darlings were on full form at dinner tonight and started getting out of hand, so I began calling out my arsenal of threats from the other room. Nothing seemed to have much effect until I got to "Do you want to spend the rest of the evening sitting on the stairs?" That seemed to have the desired effect especially when you consider the subsequent conversation - carried out in hushed tones across the kitchen table. . "She'll do that you know" threatened Lindsay. "I know" sighed Sid "Do you remember that time she forgot about us ?" "Too right" chimes in Grady "We were stuck there for hours". The rest of their dinner was spent reminiscing fondly (?) about past punishments. I love the fact that I haven't lost my touch !
Tuesday 22 May 2012
The Really Long Weekend
I rarely get ill, my family can be dropping like flies around me, and they quite frequently do, but somehow I usually avoid whatever virulent strain of Ebola is passing through the house. Not so this week, I picked up something and it knocked me for six. Mothers Day last weekend and a holiday Monday this weekend, and I am barely coherent, never mind functioning. I finally dragged myself to a Walk-In clinic on Saturday, and huddled amongst the disease riddled masses, fervently hoping that I wouldn't contract something worse while I was there. I cast a malevolent glare at anyone whom I suspected of planning to sit within the three chair quarantine zone either side of my seat. You can't be too careful. I saw a very helpful doctor who finally admitted that I had "something" but he didn't know what. Brilliant. Thank goodness I dragged myself out of my sickbed and risked catching some form of hemorrhagic fever or worse to get this useful diagnosis. He at least prescribed me a course of anti-biotics which covered all bases, so I finally seem to be on the mend. So now today, I have to whip my family back into shape, because they have got away with far too much recently.
For instance, at some ungodly time this morning, Grady decides he is going to climb into bed with me for a cuddle. I suppose as a mother I should welcome such interludes, after all he is 10 years old now, so it won't be too long before he'll stop speaking to me never mind wanting to cuddle. However, I value my sleep, and as such anyone who dares to disturb my slumber does so at their own risk. It wouldn't have been so bad had he just climbed into bed with me and stayed quiet, but oh no, I got the bloody Spanish Inquisition. "Are you awake mum ?" "Can I cuddle ?" "Did you know the cat is on the bed?" "Are you getting up soon ?" "Are we doing anything today?" "Did you know you're snoring ?" "Mum are you awake yet?" The fact that the answer to these questions was an ever increasingly vehement and resounding "No!" did not deter him in the least. That boy seems to thrive on challenge and he is persistent. In fact he was so persistent, I wouldn't be surprised to find out his motivation was due to his father offering him $5 to get me up. After all, those are the kind of low down shady deals that go on in our house, and one way or another I usually end up financing the pay-off.
Yesterday was the big rocket launch, and no that isn't a euphemism for something else. Grady attended a rocket camp last summer and since then has become an avid rocketeer (I don't know what else to call it - but according to my spell check it should be racketeer - which knowing Grady is also an apt description) He has been pestering me for months to buy the super-deluxe grand pooh-bah of rocket making kits, which I finally gave in and bought him last week. I said I was sick, I wouldn't normally cave so easily. So, after rocket pieces have been strewn around the house for the past several days - another clue I wasn't myself, because that wouldn't have been allowed under normal circumstances - he had three rockets ready to go. Now it was Rob's turn to be pestered, because he had to take Grady to a safe launch spot. Unfortunately the first two rockets were duds, but the third was a roaring success. I don't know how high it went, but it traversed the soccer field, the library and landed in the parking lot of Lindsay's school. Not bad for a homemade job.
It was quite reminiscent of the last day at rocket camp when the participants got to launch the rockets they had made. We had taken the kids & their cousins Grace & Olivia to watch, and when it came to Grady's turn, they were all huddled together (I alone had the self preservation instinct and kept at a safer distance) eyes skyward, desperately searching for some signs of the wayward craft; "I can't see it". "Where did it go?" "I still can't see it " "I think we've lost it" and then suddenly, from Rob who was filming, "OH CRAP IT'S COMING RIGHT FOR US" and everyone scatters - it was like five pin bowling. All the funnier because I was watching from the sidelines. The video is just as funny, although you can't see much as the camera hits the ground, but it's worth it just to hear the panic stricken screams.
So another week begins, it's a glorious day. The family are all at the stables, and I have a quiet house to myself. It can't get any better than this.
For instance, at some ungodly time this morning, Grady decides he is going to climb into bed with me for a cuddle. I suppose as a mother I should welcome such interludes, after all he is 10 years old now, so it won't be too long before he'll stop speaking to me never mind wanting to cuddle. However, I value my sleep, and as such anyone who dares to disturb my slumber does so at their own risk. It wouldn't have been so bad had he just climbed into bed with me and stayed quiet, but oh no, I got the bloody Spanish Inquisition. "Are you awake mum ?" "Can I cuddle ?" "Did you know the cat is on the bed?" "Are you getting up soon ?" "Are we doing anything today?" "Did you know you're snoring ?" "Mum are you awake yet?" The fact that the answer to these questions was an ever increasingly vehement and resounding "No!" did not deter him in the least. That boy seems to thrive on challenge and he is persistent. In fact he was so persistent, I wouldn't be surprised to find out his motivation was due to his father offering him $5 to get me up. After all, those are the kind of low down shady deals that go on in our house, and one way or another I usually end up financing the pay-off.
Yesterday was the big rocket launch, and no that isn't a euphemism for something else. Grady attended a rocket camp last summer and since then has become an avid rocketeer (I don't know what else to call it - but according to my spell check it should be racketeer - which knowing Grady is also an apt description) He has been pestering me for months to buy the super-deluxe grand pooh-bah of rocket making kits, which I finally gave in and bought him last week. I said I was sick, I wouldn't normally cave so easily. So, after rocket pieces have been strewn around the house for the past several days - another clue I wasn't myself, because that wouldn't have been allowed under normal circumstances - he had three rockets ready to go. Now it was Rob's turn to be pestered, because he had to take Grady to a safe launch spot. Unfortunately the first two rockets were duds, but the third was a roaring success. I don't know how high it went, but it traversed the soccer field, the library and landed in the parking lot of Lindsay's school. Not bad for a homemade job.
It was quite reminiscent of the last day at rocket camp when the participants got to launch the rockets they had made. We had taken the kids & their cousins Grace & Olivia to watch, and when it came to Grady's turn, they were all huddled together (I alone had the self preservation instinct and kept at a safer distance) eyes skyward, desperately searching for some signs of the wayward craft; "I can't see it". "Where did it go?" "I still can't see it " "I think we've lost it" and then suddenly, from Rob who was filming, "OH CRAP IT'S COMING RIGHT FOR US" and everyone scatters - it was like five pin bowling. All the funnier because I was watching from the sidelines. The video is just as funny, although you can't see much as the camera hits the ground, but it's worth it just to hear the panic stricken screams.
So another week begins, it's a glorious day. The family are all at the stables, and I have a quiet house to myself. It can't get any better than this.
Friday 18 May 2012
Mother Of The Year Award
It would appear that some people think my parenting skills are somewhat lacking when it comes to empathy & compassion. I prefer to think of it more as conducting a life lesson in tyranny and torment - mine and theirs.
My son is going on a three day camping trip with his class. The teacher had asked the parents to send in a photo of their child, "Just in case something happens". Not sure what they expect to happen, and I was too lazy to look for a photo so I sent a note to the teacher and told her they could use dental records instead. Apparently that wasn't the right thing to do. Personally, I thought it was quite practical, and as I pointed out to Grady if he got attacked by a bear, a photo wouldn't be much good to ID the remains anyway. Now Rob is on my case because he said that will give Grady nightmares - like my husband wasn't thinking exactly the same thing.
It was the infamous Science Fair tonight. Fascinating. Gripping. Absolutely brilliant. It was obvious the parents had worked very hard on the experiments. My friend had asked if I could look after her toddler while she put in her appearance, and I was happy to oblige. However I do think the neighbours are seriously beginning to wonder where all these extra children are coming from. Anyway as a result of looking after Lily, I was unfortunately late to the event myself, so that probably couldn't have worked out better if I had tried.
I am not the only parent who could use some work in the benevolence department. When Rob took the kids up to the farm this week, when he was looking to repair the fence, the horses decided to stampede and thundered towards the kids. They called to their father for help, and his response was to yell at them to run faster ! Of course he wasn't planning on telling me that, but the kids ratted him out as soon as they got home. For the record, Rob insists they weren't in any danger, but you'd hard pressed to believe that, when you hear Sid's version of the story.
I cannot believe that as I am trying to blog, I am arguing with my teen over underwear. It would definitely appear that I'm tanking with the Mother of the Year Award. Yesterday it was Grady's gym uniform and today it's Lindsay's underwear. Lindsay has her knickers in a knot (no pun intended) because apparently I neglected to wash her favourite underwear, and now as a result of that transgression, it has totally ruined the outfit she had picked out for tomorrow. I would suggest going commando, but that would only get me further into trouble. Maybe I have long forgotten what it was like to be a teen, but I'm sure when I did battle with my parents it certainly wasn't over underwear.
On that note, have a great weekend, and Happy Victoria Day to my Canadian followers. I'll be back on Tuesday.
My son is going on a three day camping trip with his class. The teacher had asked the parents to send in a photo of their child, "Just in case something happens". Not sure what they expect to happen, and I was too lazy to look for a photo so I sent a note to the teacher and told her they could use dental records instead. Apparently that wasn't the right thing to do. Personally, I thought it was quite practical, and as I pointed out to Grady if he got attacked by a bear, a photo wouldn't be much good to ID the remains anyway. Now Rob is on my case because he said that will give Grady nightmares - like my husband wasn't thinking exactly the same thing.
It was the infamous Science Fair tonight. Fascinating. Gripping. Absolutely brilliant. It was obvious the parents had worked very hard on the experiments. My friend had asked if I could look after her toddler while she put in her appearance, and I was happy to oblige. However I do think the neighbours are seriously beginning to wonder where all these extra children are coming from. Anyway as a result of looking after Lily, I was unfortunately late to the event myself, so that probably couldn't have worked out better if I had tried.
I am not the only parent who could use some work in the benevolence department. When Rob took the kids up to the farm this week, when he was looking to repair the fence, the horses decided to stampede and thundered towards the kids. They called to their father for help, and his response was to yell at them to run faster ! Of course he wasn't planning on telling me that, but the kids ratted him out as soon as they got home. For the record, Rob insists they weren't in any danger, but you'd hard pressed to believe that, when you hear Sid's version of the story.
I cannot believe that as I am trying to blog, I am arguing with my teen over underwear. It would definitely appear that I'm tanking with the Mother of the Year Award. Yesterday it was Grady's gym uniform and today it's Lindsay's underwear. Lindsay has her knickers in a knot (no pun intended) because apparently I neglected to wash her favourite underwear, and now as a result of that transgression, it has totally ruined the outfit she had picked out for tomorrow. I would suggest going commando, but that would only get me further into trouble. Maybe I have long forgotten what it was like to be a teen, but I'm sure when I did battle with my parents it certainly wasn't over underwear.
On that note, have a great weekend, and Happy Victoria Day to my Canadian followers. I'll be back on Tuesday.
Thursday 17 May 2012
10 Ways To Be Better In Bed
Sorry, I got you here under false pretences. I read an article on blogging recently and it said that the title of the blog is what entices readers, and if you have lists or a sexual connotation in the title, it will increase readership. We shall see. Of course, what wasn't written in the article but was probably implied, was that the subject matter of the blog should reflect the title, which I can assure you is not going to happen in this post !.
After such a brilliant start, I'm not sure where to go from here. Usually I write the post first and then throw on a title, I am going to have to give some serious thought to this one.
Meanwhile my "Mother Of The Year" award is in serious jeopardy. Horror of horrors, Grady didn't have his gym uniform today. Despite the multiple pairs of gym pants and shirts he has hanging in his closet it would appear - unbeknownst to me - that only one of each item of clothing actually fit him. Said clothes have been languishing in a plastic bag for several days. Apparently he wore them on Friday but had to change for the Mother's Day Tea, hence bringing them home in a plastic bag. I have repeatedly told my offspring - and my husband too for that matter - that if they want something washed, it has to make it down to the laundry room. For most people not a difficult task, but for my family seemingly Mission Impossible. Ethan Hunt could learn a few maneuvers from me when it comes to doing laundry.
So anyway, this morning we have the screaming meanies because Grady's uniform wasn't ready. He did what any self respecting 10 year old would do and went back to bed in a snit, apparently taking it upon himself to take the day off school. Not in my playbook you don't. That uniform was in and out the washer and dryer so fast it would make your head spin. It was cutting it a bit fine and I had to tell him to man up and deal with the still damp pockets, but I was hustling them out the door on time, or at least I was until I realised Grady didn't have any socks on, at which point I lost it.
Me: "Grady, where the hell are your socks?"
Grady: "I don't have any."
Me: "What do you mean you don't have any ? There are loads of (clean) pairs in the laundry basket. Why didn't you put them on ?. You've had all morning."
Grady "I"m not walking around the house in socks, if I don't have my pants. It will look weird"
Seriously, now he decides to be a fashion plate ? He of the Sponge Bob boxers, and Star Wars t-shirt combo ?
Adding socks to that ensemble would make it weird ? I'll tell you what is weird, and that is me, standing on the door step mouthing obscenities at my children because they are driving me crazy.
Fast forward to this evening. Sid & Grady get in to it. Grady was the provocateur and as such got the brunt of the reprimand (which is my politically correct way of saying he got in shit). He starts in on how tough his life is with parents like us .. I know I was surprised too ! So I decided to head him off at the pass, tossed him $50 and told him to pack a bag and I'd take him to the train station. That shut him up pretty quick. I do like to keep my children on their toes.
To harken back to the title, in a recent survey it was stated that men who helped their wives with housework, had more sex on average. Just putting it out there .....
After such a brilliant start, I'm not sure where to go from here. Usually I write the post first and then throw on a title, I am going to have to give some serious thought to this one.
Meanwhile my "Mother Of The Year" award is in serious jeopardy. Horror of horrors, Grady didn't have his gym uniform today. Despite the multiple pairs of gym pants and shirts he has hanging in his closet it would appear - unbeknownst to me - that only one of each item of clothing actually fit him. Said clothes have been languishing in a plastic bag for several days. Apparently he wore them on Friday but had to change for the Mother's Day Tea, hence bringing them home in a plastic bag. I have repeatedly told my offspring - and my husband too for that matter - that if they want something washed, it has to make it down to the laundry room. For most people not a difficult task, but for my family seemingly Mission Impossible. Ethan Hunt could learn a few maneuvers from me when it comes to doing laundry.
So anyway, this morning we have the screaming meanies because Grady's uniform wasn't ready. He did what any self respecting 10 year old would do and went back to bed in a snit, apparently taking it upon himself to take the day off school. Not in my playbook you don't. That uniform was in and out the washer and dryer so fast it would make your head spin. It was cutting it a bit fine and I had to tell him to man up and deal with the still damp pockets, but I was hustling them out the door on time, or at least I was until I realised Grady didn't have any socks on, at which point I lost it.
Me: "Grady, where the hell are your socks?"
Grady: "I don't have any."
Me: "What do you mean you don't have any ? There are loads of (clean) pairs in the laundry basket. Why didn't you put them on ?. You've had all morning."
Grady "I"m not walking around the house in socks, if I don't have my pants. It will look weird"
Seriously, now he decides to be a fashion plate ? He of the Sponge Bob boxers, and Star Wars t-shirt combo ?
Adding socks to that ensemble would make it weird ? I'll tell you what is weird, and that is me, standing on the door step mouthing obscenities at my children because they are driving me crazy.
Fast forward to this evening. Sid & Grady get in to it. Grady was the provocateur and as such got the brunt of the reprimand (which is my politically correct way of saying he got in shit). He starts in on how tough his life is with parents like us .. I know I was surprised too ! So I decided to head him off at the pass, tossed him $50 and told him to pack a bag and I'd take him to the train station. That shut him up pretty quick. I do like to keep my children on their toes.
To harken back to the title, in a recent survey it was stated that men who helped their wives with housework, had more sex on average. Just putting it out there .....
Wednesday 16 May 2012
The Science Fair
We had Elliott again this evening, and again my children were on their best behaviour. I'm sure it can't last much longer, it has to be the calm before the storm and when they blow it will be nothing short of catastrophic. I had forgotten how much fun it is to have a toddler in the house, and how easily they are amused. Elliott just kept running laps around the coffee table, and as long as I laughed on cue, he just kept doing it. He was even more amused however, when Grady started lobbing cushions at him. When he goes home and tears his house apart, I'm sure I'm going to hear about it.
Tomorrow Grady's Science Fair Project is due. That is a misnomer if ever I heard one. How about 'The Project From Hell", or more realistically the "WTF? Project", because let's face it, the parent's involvement far outweighs that of the student. Even Grady who typically likes science in general, got his knickers in a knot over his experiment. The theme this year was Futuristic, and with all due respect to the teachers, whose bright idea was that one ? He finally settles on an experiment to see what colour conducts solar energy best, which involved filling different colour garbage bags with water and leaving them in the sun, measuring the temperature at set times.
First of all the materials, seemed like a good idea at the time, but it took two weekends and half a tank of very expensive gas driving all over town looking for a store that sold thermometers, not as easy as you would think. Next the weather, the experiment hinged on a sunny day, again should have been straightforward but wasn't. Finally, and my favourite, the mess; filling garbage bags with water, apparently involves a skill set not yet acquired by my 10 year old son. Spilling water over the counter, chairs, table and floor, that part was easy. Filling garbage bags not so much. Then there was the treacherous trail from the sink through the kitchen, to the sunny location outside.
Once the experiment was conducted it was time to prepare the presentation. Grady wanted it typed, but with him at the keyboard, it would have taken him well into high school years before completion. So, that task fell to his long suffering parents. Deciphering his notes was a task and a half. Tonight was the big reveal and time to paste all the work on his board. My son, a glue stick and copious amounts of paper. Are we having fun yet ? I am convinced that Science Fairs are a punishment that teachers inflict upon parents, as retribution for having to endure our offspring.
As an added bonus we get to spend Thursday evening at the school, so we can go around and view what the other parents have done for their projects.
Tomorrow Grady's Science Fair Project is due. That is a misnomer if ever I heard one. How about 'The Project From Hell", or more realistically the "WTF? Project", because let's face it, the parent's involvement far outweighs that of the student. Even Grady who typically likes science in general, got his knickers in a knot over his experiment. The theme this year was Futuristic, and with all due respect to the teachers, whose bright idea was that one ? He finally settles on an experiment to see what colour conducts solar energy best, which involved filling different colour garbage bags with water and leaving them in the sun, measuring the temperature at set times.
First of all the materials, seemed like a good idea at the time, but it took two weekends and half a tank of very expensive gas driving all over town looking for a store that sold thermometers, not as easy as you would think. Next the weather, the experiment hinged on a sunny day, again should have been straightforward but wasn't. Finally, and my favourite, the mess; filling garbage bags with water, apparently involves a skill set not yet acquired by my 10 year old son. Spilling water over the counter, chairs, table and floor, that part was easy. Filling garbage bags not so much. Then there was the treacherous trail from the sink through the kitchen, to the sunny location outside.
Once the experiment was conducted it was time to prepare the presentation. Grady wanted it typed, but with him at the keyboard, it would have taken him well into high school years before completion. So, that task fell to his long suffering parents. Deciphering his notes was a task and a half. Tonight was the big reveal and time to paste all the work on his board. My son, a glue stick and copious amounts of paper. Are we having fun yet ? I am convinced that Science Fairs are a punishment that teachers inflict upon parents, as retribution for having to endure our offspring.
As an added bonus we get to spend Thursday evening at the school, so we can go around and view what the other parents have done for their projects.
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Be Careful What You Wish For
I have actually ran out of things to say, I know that is tantamount to Niagara Falls ceasing to flow, but there you have it. My children have been little angels, no fighting, no fussing, no arguing, in fact I have to wonder if they are even my children. It may be because of Mothers Day, or perhaps due my spectacular exit from the house on Thursday, or maybe even they took pity on me because I haven't been well, but what ever it is that has caused this paradox in time and space, it means I have no blog.
We looked after Elliot on Saturday and even that was boring - perhaps not the right choice of words, because Elliott is an absolute sweetheart and fun to have around, but boring from the point of view that my children behaved themselves. I should point out that I had gone to great pains to make sure they behaved, but that doesn't always guarantee success. They didn't dress Elliott up in Build-A-Bear clothes, make him fetch the ball, or even trample him on the trampoline, which had been Grady's plan all week - not to intentionally trample him, but I'm sure that would have been the probable outcome, had we allowed him access to it. They were all as good as gold, all day, and believe me that is not something I can remember happening in a long, long time. I think Sid & Lindsay may have got into a minor tussle over the TV, but that didn't even register on my "Blog Radar". All in all, dull, dull, dull.
Fortunately, we still have the horse, and she can always be counted on to get in to trouble. As I write this, Rob is on his way to the stables to assess the damage from today's escapade. It begins with a text from Alyssia the barn manager this afternoon to say that Lacey was tangled in the fence again. Fortunately that was followed by an update to say that they had managed to free her and she was unharmed. Not so sure about the state of the fence, hence Rob's mission tonight, to do damage control - literally. He has taken Sid & Grady with him, so not only do Lindsay and I get a quiet evening - although as we are the only two still sick, maybe it was Rob's intention to quarantine us - but I'm pretty certain their good behaviour is going to come to a screeching halt, and I might get something to write about after all. .
We looked after Elliot on Saturday and even that was boring - perhaps not the right choice of words, because Elliott is an absolute sweetheart and fun to have around, but boring from the point of view that my children behaved themselves. I should point out that I had gone to great pains to make sure they behaved, but that doesn't always guarantee success. They didn't dress Elliott up in Build-A-Bear clothes, make him fetch the ball, or even trample him on the trampoline, which had been Grady's plan all week - not to intentionally trample him, but I'm sure that would have been the probable outcome, had we allowed him access to it. They were all as good as gold, all day, and believe me that is not something I can remember happening in a long, long time. I think Sid & Lindsay may have got into a minor tussle over the TV, but that didn't even register on my "Blog Radar". All in all, dull, dull, dull.
Fortunately, we still have the horse, and she can always be counted on to get in to trouble. As I write this, Rob is on his way to the stables to assess the damage from today's escapade. It begins with a text from Alyssia the barn manager this afternoon to say that Lacey was tangled in the fence again. Fortunately that was followed by an update to say that they had managed to free her and she was unharmed. Not so sure about the state of the fence, hence Rob's mission tonight, to do damage control - literally. He has taken Sid & Grady with him, so not only do Lindsay and I get a quiet evening - although as we are the only two still sick, maybe it was Rob's intention to quarantine us - but I'm pretty certain their good behaviour is going to come to a screeching halt, and I might get something to write about after all. .
Monday 14 May 2012
With Power Comes Responsibility
This blog has given me power in ways I never thought possible. As soon as anyone in my family sees me typing furiously away at the computer, they immediately ask if I'm blogging, and if so what about. All I need to do is give them a cryptic answer, or even just smile knowingly and it sends them into a tailspin. I know that with great power, comes great responsibility, but how can I resist playing games with my children's gullible and malleable little minds ? Especially after what they have done to mine. I have swapped one "B" word in my vocabulary for another. Instead of yelling "Behave" at the top of my lungs, all I need to say now is "Blog" and usually whatever havoc they are wreaking comes to a screeching halt. The thought that someone in Russia, Malaysia or South America could end up reading about their antics is often enough to stop them dead in their tracks. That doesn't however, stop me from writing about it. Embrace the power. Life is good.
So Mothers Day today for North America, and as usual my family didn't do things by halves. I woke up this morning to see "Mr. Bean" looming over me, scared the crap out of me - much to the all round general amusement of my family. They had bought a - very realistic - mask of the Rowan Atkinson character, at the local British store. Fortunately for them they also bought me English chocolate as well. Apparently it was my darling daughter's idea to give me the scare, and when she and I (the whole family has been infected with a particularly nasty cold) are feeling better she is going to pay. Courtesy of my dear husband, never one to pass up an opportunity, "Mr. Bean" kept popping up at indiscriminate times throughout the day. You would think I'd get used to it, but it made me jump each and every time. He too is going to pay when I am feeling better. As my father used to say "He who laughs last, laughs the longest" .
Stay tuned for my revenge.
So Mothers Day today for North America, and as usual my family didn't do things by halves. I woke up this morning to see "Mr. Bean" looming over me, scared the crap out of me - much to the all round general amusement of my family. They had bought a - very realistic - mask of the Rowan Atkinson character, at the local British store. Fortunately for them they also bought me English chocolate as well. Apparently it was my darling daughter's idea to give me the scare, and when she and I (the whole family has been infected with a particularly nasty cold) are feeling better she is going to pay. Courtesy of my dear husband, never one to pass up an opportunity, "Mr. Bean" kept popping up at indiscriminate times throughout the day. You would think I'd get used to it, but it made me jump each and every time. He too is going to pay when I am feeling better. As my father used to say "He who laughs last, laughs the longest" .
Stay tuned for my revenge.
Friday 11 May 2012
Another Thursday Bites The Dust
So, there I am at the school book-fair again this afternoon, dropping a mortgage payment on books, posters and animal shaped erasers, get home about 5:30, to be greeted by my friend Helene who had dropped by. It would have been nice to have been able to sit and chat with her, but my kids had other ideas. Sid and Grady are upstairs, I hear doors opening and then slammed closed and I give them the "Don't make me come up there " speech, which was a complete waste of time because they know damn well once I've sat down, I ain't moving.
The next thing I know there is a shriek from Sid. This is followed by a disgusted cry "Grady showed me his penis" which is quickly followed by an equally disgusted complaint from Grady "I did not, she shouldn't have opened the bathroom door" I admit, my children do need to learn boundaries. I told Sid not to scream, and that if Grady showed her his penis again, she should just laugh and that would shut him right up. I didn't think she was actually going to act upon it, but the next thing I know Sid flings open the bathroom door again, lets out a whoop of laughter and yells down to me "I can see it again and it's all wiggly", whilst Grady is hollering at her to get out of the bathroom and let him pee in peace. It's not like I ever get to, so really why should he ? Grady is a fine one to cry foul where privacy is concerned. One day when I was in the bathroom, a rare moment when I had remembered to lock the door, Grady had tried to come in and upon finding the door barred, asked what I was doing, I told him to mind his own business. At which point I hear him shuffling along the gap between the floor and the door. The little weirdo was actually sniffing the air to try and determine what I was up too. Anyway, back to the present. It is at this point that Helene comments on how much she has missed, as she put it "Kelly & The Crazies", and I don't know now whether to laugh or cry.
While Helene and I try to carry on a normal conversation, the kids are eating their dinner in the kitchen. At least now they were quiet, but that was short lived. I hear the start of rumblings in the kitchen and then suddenly Grady screams and runs up the stairs in tears. I take my normal approach, storm into the kitchen and yell "What in the hell is going on in here ?". Lindsay proceeds to give me the rundown "Grady called Sid a pig, because she finished her dinner so fast, so I took Grady's dinner away and then he stabbed me with a fork, and then I threw him on the chair" WTF ? Am I raising a bunch of little psychopaths here ? Throughout all this I can hear Helene's mocking laughter in the background, so it was probably just as well she decided to leave at that point. Although, to be fair she did offer an alibi if I needed one.
I didn't actually need an alibi, because I wasn't waiting around. I picked up my keys and left. It was just safer that way. I called Rob, who was on his way home and gave him the rundown. Being the brave soul he is, he exclaimed "I'm not going home to that hell alone, if you're not there". So we agreed to meet at the stables instead. We actually arrived at the same time, and I asked if he had heard from the kids. Yes he had, in fact Lindsay had phoned him to tell him that I had left in a snit. A snit !! Is she kidding me ? That was not a snit, that was one step away from a homicidal rage. Meanwhile in my absence Grady had decided to pack his bags and leave home. The trouble with my kids, is that no matter how many times they dangle that carrot in front of us, they always end up changing their minds and staying.
But wait, the fun is not over yet, we find out that Lacey has a cold. I had no idea that horses could even get colds, but judging from the copious amounts of green snot (and believe me this stuff was so gross, it didn't even look real), spraying out her nostrils, yes they can. Of course neither one of us is dressed for the barn, so we are both gingerly tiptoeing around, trying to check on her without getting gobbed with green slime. I hadn't been up to the stables for a while, so she was really trying to cozy up to me. I don't know if it was because she had actually missed me, or it was just payback. Fun times, trying to dodge a snot sneezing horse.
For anyone who may be concerned, Grady didn't leave home, in fact he hadn't even bothered to pack a bag Some threat that turned out to be, and everyone was on their best (read contrite) behaviour by the time I got back. But I tell you, I just can't win, it's definitely that Thursday curse, snotty kids and a snotty horse.
Have a great weekend, and for all my readers in North America, Happy Mothers Day ! Can't wait to see what torture my kids have planned for me. I'll be back Monday - probably! .
The next thing I know there is a shriek from Sid. This is followed by a disgusted cry "Grady showed me his penis" which is quickly followed by an equally disgusted complaint from Grady "I did not, she shouldn't have opened the bathroom door" I admit, my children do need to learn boundaries. I told Sid not to scream, and that if Grady showed her his penis again, she should just laugh and that would shut him right up. I didn't think she was actually going to act upon it, but the next thing I know Sid flings open the bathroom door again, lets out a whoop of laughter and yells down to me "I can see it again and it's all wiggly", whilst Grady is hollering at her to get out of the bathroom and let him pee in peace. It's not like I ever get to, so really why should he ? Grady is a fine one to cry foul where privacy is concerned. One day when I was in the bathroom, a rare moment when I had remembered to lock the door, Grady had tried to come in and upon finding the door barred, asked what I was doing, I told him to mind his own business. At which point I hear him shuffling along the gap between the floor and the door. The little weirdo was actually sniffing the air to try and determine what I was up too. Anyway, back to the present. It is at this point that Helene comments on how much she has missed, as she put it "Kelly & The Crazies", and I don't know now whether to laugh or cry.
While Helene and I try to carry on a normal conversation, the kids are eating their dinner in the kitchen. At least now they were quiet, but that was short lived. I hear the start of rumblings in the kitchen and then suddenly Grady screams and runs up the stairs in tears. I take my normal approach, storm into the kitchen and yell "What in the hell is going on in here ?". Lindsay proceeds to give me the rundown "Grady called Sid a pig, because she finished her dinner so fast, so I took Grady's dinner away and then he stabbed me with a fork, and then I threw him on the chair" WTF ? Am I raising a bunch of little psychopaths here ? Throughout all this I can hear Helene's mocking laughter in the background, so it was probably just as well she decided to leave at that point. Although, to be fair she did offer an alibi if I needed one.
I didn't actually need an alibi, because I wasn't waiting around. I picked up my keys and left. It was just safer that way. I called Rob, who was on his way home and gave him the rundown. Being the brave soul he is, he exclaimed "I'm not going home to that hell alone, if you're not there". So we agreed to meet at the stables instead. We actually arrived at the same time, and I asked if he had heard from the kids. Yes he had, in fact Lindsay had phoned him to tell him that I had left in a snit. A snit !! Is she kidding me ? That was not a snit, that was one step away from a homicidal rage. Meanwhile in my absence Grady had decided to pack his bags and leave home. The trouble with my kids, is that no matter how many times they dangle that carrot in front of us, they always end up changing their minds and staying.
But wait, the fun is not over yet, we find out that Lacey has a cold. I had no idea that horses could even get colds, but judging from the copious amounts of green snot (and believe me this stuff was so gross, it didn't even look real), spraying out her nostrils, yes they can. Of course neither one of us is dressed for the barn, so we are both gingerly tiptoeing around, trying to check on her without getting gobbed with green slime. I hadn't been up to the stables for a while, so she was really trying to cozy up to me. I don't know if it was because she had actually missed me, or it was just payback. Fun times, trying to dodge a snot sneezing horse.
For anyone who may be concerned, Grady didn't leave home, in fact he hadn't even bothered to pack a bag Some threat that turned out to be, and everyone was on their best (read contrite) behaviour by the time I got back. But I tell you, I just can't win, it's definitely that Thursday curse, snotty kids and a snotty horse.
Have a great weekend, and for all my readers in North America, Happy Mothers Day ! Can't wait to see what torture my kids have planned for me. I'll be back Monday - probably! .
Thursday 10 May 2012
Adventures In Babysitting
It was one of those days today - surprisingly not a Thursday, which I would expect, but it is close enough.
I have a busy enough day, volunteering at the school Book-fair in the morning. I leave in time to pick Lindsay up from school, back home for a little while, and then back to the school to do another session at the Book-fair. The only problem was it had been pouring with rain, and I had left my van windows open. I didn't notice until after I'd sat down and got absolutely soaked. No time to change clothes, so back to the school perched on top of a towel, looking like I'd had an unfortunate accident. Just my luck. Normally I'd be happy to wander around and help the kids find the books of their choice, but not today, instead I kept my bum firmly planted on a chair and helpfully pointed in the vague direction of said books.
On my way home again, I heard a knocking noise in my new van. Uh-oh, not so soon. The clunking sound was apparent all the way home. Imagine my relief when I determined it was only the metal Tardis on my key chain banging against the dashboard. I didn't even have to turn up the radio.
This evening we were babysitting Elliot, (the son of one of Lindsay's ex-teachers) much to the delight of Grady & Sid, who love babies. Tonight I discovered why. They are playing happily in the next room when I hear Grady say "I'll hold him down and you put it on him". Uh-oh that doesn't sound good. I walk in to find Elliot sitting on Grady's lap, and Sid advancing menacingly across the room with an armful of Build-A-Bear clothes. Time for a lecture "What are you doing ? Elliot is not a toy, do not put him in doll's clothes.Yadda, yadda, yadda". There is a chorus of "Yes Mummy", while Elliot sat there giggling, apparently not realising what a narrow escape he'd had. Five minutes later he comes strutting into the kitchen, resplendent in a Build-A-Bear Hawaiian shirt, looking very pleased with himself. I do love how my children listen to what I say and then do the complete opposite.
When they had finished playing dress-up, Grady had another game in mind. The next thing I know he is throwing a ball and having Elliot fetch it. Yes, he was actually saying "Elliot. Go fetch", and Elliot obliged, again and again and again. He thought this was jolly good fun, although I am sure his parents may take umbrage about their son being treated like a dog. The poor little guy is coming back on Saturday (unless his mum catches up on my blog in the meantime), so goodness knows what my children will subject him to then. Sid now desperately wants a baby brother, too bad the ship has sailed on that one.
I have a busy enough day, volunteering at the school Book-fair in the morning. I leave in time to pick Lindsay up from school, back home for a little while, and then back to the school to do another session at the Book-fair. The only problem was it had been pouring with rain, and I had left my van windows open. I didn't notice until after I'd sat down and got absolutely soaked. No time to change clothes, so back to the school perched on top of a towel, looking like I'd had an unfortunate accident. Just my luck. Normally I'd be happy to wander around and help the kids find the books of their choice, but not today, instead I kept my bum firmly planted on a chair and helpfully pointed in the vague direction of said books.
On my way home again, I heard a knocking noise in my new van. Uh-oh, not so soon. The clunking sound was apparent all the way home. Imagine my relief when I determined it was only the metal Tardis on my key chain banging against the dashboard. I didn't even have to turn up the radio.
This evening we were babysitting Elliot, (the son of one of Lindsay's ex-teachers) much to the delight of Grady & Sid, who love babies. Tonight I discovered why. They are playing happily in the next room when I hear Grady say "I'll hold him down and you put it on him". Uh-oh that doesn't sound good. I walk in to find Elliot sitting on Grady's lap, and Sid advancing menacingly across the room with an armful of Build-A-Bear clothes. Time for a lecture "What are you doing ? Elliot is not a toy, do not put him in doll's clothes.Yadda, yadda, yadda". There is a chorus of "Yes Mummy", while Elliot sat there giggling, apparently not realising what a narrow escape he'd had. Five minutes later he comes strutting into the kitchen, resplendent in a Build-A-Bear Hawaiian shirt, looking very pleased with himself. I do love how my children listen to what I say and then do the complete opposite.
When they had finished playing dress-up, Grady had another game in mind. The next thing I know he is throwing a ball and having Elliot fetch it. Yes, he was actually saying "Elliot. Go fetch", and Elliot obliged, again and again and again. He thought this was jolly good fun, although I am sure his parents may take umbrage about their son being treated like a dog. The poor little guy is coming back on Saturday (unless his mum catches up on my blog in the meantime), so goodness knows what my children will subject him to then. Sid now desperately wants a baby brother, too bad the ship has sailed on that one.
Wednesday 9 May 2012
His Turn
According to a survey I read recently most married couples argue about money, family issues and sex. As I've mentioned before, we are not most married couples and as such our arguments are usually confined to the grocery store. My husband does the grocery shopping every week and never complains unless I go with him. However he is a methodical shopper, and plods dutifully up one aisle and down the next, whether he needs anything there or not. I, on the other hand, flit about the store with gay abandon, from one section to another, grabbing stuff as I go. It drives him absolutely crazy, and he hates it. I am an affront to his orderly nature.
Another cause of arguments in our house are my skills - or lack thereof - in the kitchen. I hate cooking with a passion. I can cook sort of, I just don't want to. I'm easily distracted, hence my timer is usually the smoke alarm. I have to confess that on my bad days I have caused flames to shoot out of the oven, and burned the bottom clear out of a saucepan. I am Gordon Ramsey's worst nightmare. When I do venture into the kitchen, it is usually followed by a call to Rob, "Tell me again, how how long to I boil the spaghetti ?" or "How much water was it that goes in the rice ?". It is usually met with "Oh for God's sake woman" followed by the necessary instructions. I have to say, he isn't very patient. I freely admit my daughter is a better cook than I am, and I'm happy to keep it that way. To be fair if my children weren't such picky eaters and didn't keep accusing me of trying to poison them, I might be prepared to spend a little more effort on meals. Until then, too bad.
He thinks I swear too much. Personally I prefer to think of it as possessing a colourful vocabulary. But honestly, to anyone who has been following this blog, can you really blame me ? I have always like to read advice columns, it gives me a degree of satisfaction to know that someone out there is a bigger loser than I am. But now I know why this blog has been so popular, after reading about our trials and tribulations, who can't help feeling smug ?
Tuesday 8 May 2012
From The Dark Recesses Of The Basement
I am working in the dark today, because I still don't have a light above my computer. After the fiasco on Saturday, when it took Rob the better part of the day to get it sorted with the light bulbs, I've decided that discretion is the better part of valour and I will continue on, uncomplaining, in the dim recesses of my basement.
Some days I wake up and feel like I have been abducted by aliens, and then there are days like today when I wake up and wish that I had been - abducted that is. Sid and Grady both have spelling tests today and decide to test each other on their words. Somehow this innocuous arrangement deteriorates into an argument. Sid aims a blow at Grady and misses, and this is what transpired next.
Grady: "Ha, ha, you missed me." Sid aims another blow and this time connects with his arm.
Grady: " Ha, that didn't hurt. You can't hurt me!". Never one to pass up a challenge, Sid thumps him again, and this time she has the desired effect.
Grady "Ow, that hurts. Muuuum, Sid hit me!".
Believe it or not, Grady is a smart kid, he even has a photographic memory, and only has to hear something once to repeat it word for word, but when it comes to his sisters he is incredibly obtuse. Not just with Sidney but with Lindsay as well. You would think if he is going to taunt his sister with a name like "Torpedo Tits", he would have his escape route planned in advance, but not Grady. With his underwear now pulled up to his underarms, (courtesy of Lindsay) you'd think he'd learn. That boy has had more wedgies, than I've burned dinners.
My day can only get worse because I have to take Lindsay shopping for jeans this afternoon. I offered to give her my debit card and I'd wait in the van with a book, but that wasn't good enough, so now I actually have to accompany her into the store. Let the torment begin. Now would be an excellent time for an alien abduction! I even tried to con Rob into taking her yesterday, but between the debacle at the hardware store, and helping Grady with his Science Fair Project (don't get me started on that one) he manged to find valid excuses not to go. Mind you, now that I think about it, he did seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time helping Grady. After all this is a Grade 4 science project, not Quantum Physics. It would appear he may have pulled a fast one on me !
Some days I wake up and feel like I have been abducted by aliens, and then there are days like today when I wake up and wish that I had been - abducted that is. Sid and Grady both have spelling tests today and decide to test each other on their words. Somehow this innocuous arrangement deteriorates into an argument. Sid aims a blow at Grady and misses, and this is what transpired next.
Grady: "Ha, ha, you missed me." Sid aims another blow and this time connects with his arm.
Grady: " Ha, that didn't hurt. You can't hurt me!". Never one to pass up a challenge, Sid thumps him again, and this time she has the desired effect.
Grady "Ow, that hurts. Muuuum, Sid hit me!".
Believe it or not, Grady is a smart kid, he even has a photographic memory, and only has to hear something once to repeat it word for word, but when it comes to his sisters he is incredibly obtuse. Not just with Sidney but with Lindsay as well. You would think if he is going to taunt his sister with a name like "Torpedo Tits", he would have his escape route planned in advance, but not Grady. With his underwear now pulled up to his underarms, (courtesy of Lindsay) you'd think he'd learn. That boy has had more wedgies, than I've burned dinners.
My day can only get worse because I have to take Lindsay shopping for jeans this afternoon. I offered to give her my debit card and I'd wait in the van with a book, but that wasn't good enough, so now I actually have to accompany her into the store. Let the torment begin. Now would be an excellent time for an alien abduction! I even tried to con Rob into taking her yesterday, but between the debacle at the hardware store, and helping Grady with his Science Fair Project (don't get me started on that one) he manged to find valid excuses not to go. Mind you, now that I think about it, he did seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time helping Grady. After all this is a Grade 4 science project, not Quantum Physics. It would appear he may have pulled a fast one on me !
Monday 7 May 2012
The Idiots At The Hardware Store
We now have coffee in the house, and yes that was me you heard singing the Hallelujah Chorus this morning. Allow me to digress for a moment, but have you ever spelled a word so badly, ie: my first attempt at hallelujah, that the spell check has no idea what it is ?
Anyway, I have coffee, life is good and I send my husband off on a mission to replace the fluorescent bulb in the light above my computer. I do suggest that he take the old bulb with him for comparison purposes, but then it wouldn't be a challenge, and my husband does so like a challenge. Ten minutes later, when I am up to my elbows in laundry, the phone rings. It is my husband, "This is going to throw you into a tailspin " he begins, my heart starts racing and my first thought is, he's crashed my van, but fortunately nothing so terrible. He is calling from Lowes, the hardware store. "Can you dismantle the light and tell me what's written on the bulb?" he asks. Of course, like I dismantle lights everyday. "Oh, and try not to break it " he adds. Very gingerly, I remove the light cover and take out the bulb, however there is nothing written on it, I can see where something was, but it has rubbed off. I explain that to my husband. "There has to be something written on it somewhere" he insists. "Look again". I repeat, but more slowly this time, to make sure he gets it. "I am looking at it, and there is nothing written on it". "OK then, you'll just have to measure it" "Fine" I reply. "What do you want me to measure, just the glass part, or from each end of the metal tips, or should I include the prongs as well ?" I can tell he is getting testy by this point, "Just the glass part" he said tersely. I do and it''s 40 cm. "OK what is that in inches ?" he asked. Are you kidding me, how the hell do I know, I don't have inches on my ruler, I tell him to divide 40 by 2 1/2 or better still, come home and get the damn bulb so he can match it up.
Twenty minutes later he is home again, and the bulb - you've guessed it - is the wrong size. Too short by about 10 cm. Apparently he told the idiot in Lowes what he wanted and the idiot gave him said bulb. So now I have my knickers in a knot. "Why would you listen to the idiot at Lowes instead of me? I told you it was 40cm." Rob insists it didn't have the measurements on the package (hard to believe). Then why didn't the idiot at Lowes measure it ? Apparently he didn't have a tape measure. How the hell can you work in a hardware store the size of Lowes and not have access to a f***ing tape measure ? But somehow this ends up being my fault, because according to Rob, he grew up with inches and if I had given him the measurement in inches instead of centimeters he would have been able to tell the difference between 12" and 8". Like I haven't heard that line before.
So Rob is on his way back to Lowes, this time with the old bulb. Before he leaves, he sees me busily typing away, and is immediately suspicious. "You're not blogging about this are you ? You're going to make me look like an idiot." No, I'm not. The only idiot is the person at Lowes who sends him home with the wrong item. Rob's only crime throughout this is not listening to me, and I am sure this is true of husbands everywhere. And that is why I will probably never run out of material for my blog.
The saga continues, according to the next idiot my husband spoke to at Lowes, the light bulb we need has been discontinued. This means that the second light fixture that Rob had just bought in his first foray to the store, is now obsolete too. The helpful idiot suggests another type of light fixture, so Rob purchases two, one to replace mine, and the other for Sid's room. When he opened the package at home, what to his surprise, the light fixture contained the exact same bulb - now discontinued. What started as a blog about my husband not listening, has now become a rant about idiots and the hardware store that employs them all.
Anyway, I have coffee, life is good and I send my husband off on a mission to replace the fluorescent bulb in the light above my computer. I do suggest that he take the old bulb with him for comparison purposes, but then it wouldn't be a challenge, and my husband does so like a challenge. Ten minutes later, when I am up to my elbows in laundry, the phone rings. It is my husband, "This is going to throw you into a tailspin " he begins, my heart starts racing and my first thought is, he's crashed my van, but fortunately nothing so terrible. He is calling from Lowes, the hardware store. "Can you dismantle the light and tell me what's written on the bulb?" he asks. Of course, like I dismantle lights everyday. "Oh, and try not to break it " he adds. Very gingerly, I remove the light cover and take out the bulb, however there is nothing written on it, I can see where something was, but it has rubbed off. I explain that to my husband. "There has to be something written on it somewhere" he insists. "Look again". I repeat, but more slowly this time, to make sure he gets it. "I am looking at it, and there is nothing written on it". "OK then, you'll just have to measure it" "Fine" I reply. "What do you want me to measure, just the glass part, or from each end of the metal tips, or should I include the prongs as well ?" I can tell he is getting testy by this point, "Just the glass part" he said tersely. I do and it''s 40 cm. "OK what is that in inches ?" he asked. Are you kidding me, how the hell do I know, I don't have inches on my ruler, I tell him to divide 40 by 2 1/2 or better still, come home and get the damn bulb so he can match it up.
Twenty minutes later he is home again, and the bulb - you've guessed it - is the wrong size. Too short by about 10 cm. Apparently he told the idiot in Lowes what he wanted and the idiot gave him said bulb. So now I have my knickers in a knot. "Why would you listen to the idiot at Lowes instead of me? I told you it was 40cm." Rob insists it didn't have the measurements on the package (hard to believe). Then why didn't the idiot at Lowes measure it ? Apparently he didn't have a tape measure. How the hell can you work in a hardware store the size of Lowes and not have access to a f***ing tape measure ? But somehow this ends up being my fault, because according to Rob, he grew up with inches and if I had given him the measurement in inches instead of centimeters he would have been able to tell the difference between 12" and 8". Like I haven't heard that line before.
So Rob is on his way back to Lowes, this time with the old bulb. Before he leaves, he sees me busily typing away, and is immediately suspicious. "You're not blogging about this are you ? You're going to make me look like an idiot." No, I'm not. The only idiot is the person at Lowes who sends him home with the wrong item. Rob's only crime throughout this is not listening to me, and I am sure this is true of husbands everywhere. And that is why I will probably never run out of material for my blog.
The saga continues, according to the next idiot my husband spoke to at Lowes, the light bulb we need has been discontinued. This means that the second light fixture that Rob had just bought in his first foray to the store, is now obsolete too. The helpful idiot suggests another type of light fixture, so Rob purchases two, one to replace mine, and the other for Sid's room. When he opened the package at home, what to his surprise, the light fixture contained the exact same bulb - now discontinued. What started as a blog about my husband not listening, has now become a rant about idiots and the hardware store that employs them all.
Friday 4 May 2012
Why I Hate Thursdays
I hate Thursdays, I really do. Some people hate Mondays, but Mondays I can cope with - the kids are back to school, my husband is at work and I have the house to myself. Monday is a peaceful day, I can get positively giddy about Mondays, but Thursdays, you can keep them. Really, Thursdays are a pretty useless day, they're not a Friday, but far enough into the week they feel like they should be. How many times have you woken up, so happy it's Friday, only to realise it's actually only Thursday ?
The real reason I hate Thursdays so much, is that pretty much anything bad that has happened to me, happened on a Thursday, so I have come to dread them. I won't even book a dentist appointment on a Thursday, that would be an unmitigated disaster. In fact I try not to do anything on a Thursday.
Take today for instance, this morning, my dear husband announces that we are out of coffee. As far as I am concerned that should be grounds (no pun intended) for divorce. He insists that he told me yesterday we were running low, but obviously his definition of low (enough for one cup) and mine (one weeks supply) differ considerably. Fine I will take the highroad, he can have the one remaining cup and I will sacrifice myself at the altar of Tim Hortons.
Taking the kids to school there is no traffic, and I mean no traffic. The roads are empty, in fact the only vehicles I saw were the two cop cars as I flew by them at few kms over the limit, OK maybe more than a few. That was an "Oh F***" moment I can tell you. If I deserve it, I get a ticket, but please god, not with the kids in the car, because I would never, ever hear the end of it. After I drop off the kids at school, I head to Tim's, salivating in anticipation of breakfast. Now I discover the reason for the mysterious lack of cars on the road, they are all in the flipping Tim's drive-thru. Remember my blog on the drive-thru where I haven't paid attention and driven right past the order point, well it happened today, only not to me but to the idiot in front of me. When I do it, it's quirky, if it is someone else they are an idiot. Luckily I was paying attention, and left her plenty of room to back up again.
Finally my time to order and horror of horrors they don't have my sesame seed bagel. See! It's the Thursday curse again. I take the closest thing to it, which apparently is an "everything" bagel, and they weren't kidding. I could taste onions and cinnamon in the same bite. What is wrong with these people, are they trying to poison me ? At least I had the comfort of my extra large coffee. The drive home was considerably slower, I didn't want to spill one drop of this nectar of the gods. The cup was too hot too hold, but it was also way too tall for the cup holder, so I drove home like an old granny, keeping all four tires on the ground even around corners. According to my husband I usually take corners on two wheels, but he is prone to exaggeration. After all this is the guy who spends nigh on a mortgage payment every week at the grocery store, but we still ran out of coffee. I'm not sure what he buys, but it certainly wasn't Nabob or Maxwell House. This is the part where I would normally call him a pillock, but I dare not just in case he reads it. Every now and again he does. I usually read the blogs out to him before I post them, because that way I can creatively edit as I read it. I don't want to take any risks, because after all it is Thursday.
So my curse continues. I am out and about over lunch, so I decide to try Tim's again, since my breakfast bagel was such a roaring success. Actually it's not much of a decision, I'm hardwired to select Tim's over anything else. Anyway I try out a new location, the only problem is, I somehow ended up in the lane for the car-wash instead of the drive-thru. I've always hated car-washes at the best of times - I have a tendency towards claustrophobia - but ever since Grady started watching a program called "Curious & Unusual Deaths" (I'm not sure if it is for pure entertainment value, or if he is learning from it. Either way, I should probably be a bit concerned) where a person met his untimely and somewhat messy departure at a car-wash, I avoid them like the plague. Not to mention it's still Thursday, so technically anything could happen. I've watched every one of the "Final Destination" movies, and my imagination is running rampant.
So what to do ? what to do ? what to do ? Either go forward and face my inevitable demise at the hands of the giant roller brushes, or try reversing back out of the car wash lane. Fortunately it is pouring with rain, so there is no one behind me. The latter option seems to be the safest bet, so I close my eyes, grip the steering wheel and go for it.
After reading this to my dear husband (editing out the bit out about him being a pillock) he called me a loser. So if we are going to stoop to that level, I have a few choice names for him too, and trust me "Pillock" is probably the most complimentary of the lot.
Oh and by the way - when reversing out the car-wash lane, I did actually have my eyes open. Have a good weekend everyone, and if I survive the rest of Thursday, I'll be back again on Monday.
.
The real reason I hate Thursdays so much, is that pretty much anything bad that has happened to me, happened on a Thursday, so I have come to dread them. I won't even book a dentist appointment on a Thursday, that would be an unmitigated disaster. In fact I try not to do anything on a Thursday.
Take today for instance, this morning, my dear husband announces that we are out of coffee. As far as I am concerned that should be grounds (no pun intended) for divorce. He insists that he told me yesterday we were running low, but obviously his definition of low (enough for one cup) and mine (one weeks supply) differ considerably. Fine I will take the highroad, he can have the one remaining cup and I will sacrifice myself at the altar of Tim Hortons.
Taking the kids to school there is no traffic, and I mean no traffic. The roads are empty, in fact the only vehicles I saw were the two cop cars as I flew by them at few kms over the limit, OK maybe more than a few. That was an "Oh F***" moment I can tell you. If I deserve it, I get a ticket, but please god, not with the kids in the car, because I would never, ever hear the end of it. After I drop off the kids at school, I head to Tim's, salivating in anticipation of breakfast. Now I discover the reason for the mysterious lack of cars on the road, they are all in the flipping Tim's drive-thru. Remember my blog on the drive-thru where I haven't paid attention and driven right past the order point, well it happened today, only not to me but to the idiot in front of me. When I do it, it's quirky, if it is someone else they are an idiot. Luckily I was paying attention, and left her plenty of room to back up again.
Finally my time to order and horror of horrors they don't have my sesame seed bagel. See! It's the Thursday curse again. I take the closest thing to it, which apparently is an "everything" bagel, and they weren't kidding. I could taste onions and cinnamon in the same bite. What is wrong with these people, are they trying to poison me ? At least I had the comfort of my extra large coffee. The drive home was considerably slower, I didn't want to spill one drop of this nectar of the gods. The cup was too hot too hold, but it was also way too tall for the cup holder, so I drove home like an old granny, keeping all four tires on the ground even around corners. According to my husband I usually take corners on two wheels, but he is prone to exaggeration. After all this is the guy who spends nigh on a mortgage payment every week at the grocery store, but we still ran out of coffee. I'm not sure what he buys, but it certainly wasn't Nabob or Maxwell House. This is the part where I would normally call him a pillock, but I dare not just in case he reads it. Every now and again he does. I usually read the blogs out to him before I post them, because that way I can creatively edit as I read it. I don't want to take any risks, because after all it is Thursday.
So my curse continues. I am out and about over lunch, so I decide to try Tim's again, since my breakfast bagel was such a roaring success. Actually it's not much of a decision, I'm hardwired to select Tim's over anything else. Anyway I try out a new location, the only problem is, I somehow ended up in the lane for the car-wash instead of the drive-thru. I've always hated car-washes at the best of times - I have a tendency towards claustrophobia - but ever since Grady started watching a program called "Curious & Unusual Deaths" (I'm not sure if it is for pure entertainment value, or if he is learning from it. Either way, I should probably be a bit concerned) where a person met his untimely and somewhat messy departure at a car-wash, I avoid them like the plague. Not to mention it's still Thursday, so technically anything could happen. I've watched every one of the "Final Destination" movies, and my imagination is running rampant.
So what to do ? what to do ? what to do ? Either go forward and face my inevitable demise at the hands of the giant roller brushes, or try reversing back out of the car wash lane. Fortunately it is pouring with rain, so there is no one behind me. The latter option seems to be the safest bet, so I close my eyes, grip the steering wheel and go for it.
After reading this to my dear husband (editing out the bit out about him being a pillock) he called me a loser. So if we are going to stoop to that level, I have a few choice names for him too, and trust me "Pillock" is probably the most complimentary of the lot.
Oh and by the way - when reversing out the car-wash lane, I did actually have my eyes open. Have a good weekend everyone, and if I survive the rest of Thursday, I'll be back again on Monday.
.
Thursday 3 May 2012
Eeew
So, my niece Brittany tells me that our latest addition, "The Jird", should have protein included in her diet each week, and suggested among other things meal-worms, which is where the "Eeew" factor comes in. Off I trot to see Al at "Mr Pet" who is usually my go-to guy for anything animal related. I walk in today and proudly proclaim that I have a Jird, and he looks at me as if I had just announced that I had a sexually transmitted disease. "A what ?" he asks. "A jird" I reply, now a little less sure of myself. He looks at his assistant, (who between you and me looked a bit simpleminded, and probably couldn't tell a cat from a dog on a good day) and asks her if she knows what it is. Of course she gives him blank look. He turns back to me "I've never heard of it. Do you mean an African-something-desert-something-fluffy-tailed-Kangeroo-Rat ?". Actually, nooo, I'm pretty sure I mean a jird. I'm really hoping I don't have an African whatever Kangeroo Rat. Now I have his attention and he starts rattling off questions, What does it look like ? Does it bite ? Can you handle it ? I don't know, I haven't been able to catch the little bastard yet, it takes off every time I stick my hand in the cage. Only Grady has managed to catch it and put it in his hamster ball, which was actually hilarious, like a scene straight out of a cartoon.
Anyway back to Mr Pet and the meal worms. I was expecting him to be able to answer my questions, instead of which, now I'm not even sure I know what I have. How many meals worms should I get ? He suggests two or three but gives me half a dozen. What do I do with the extras ? This is all new to me. He tells me to keep the spare ones in a jar with bran cereal, and some cantaloup. Are you kidding me ? These are supposed to be food, not another freaking pet. I'm not keeping anything in a jar. So off I go with $1.12 worth of meal-worms in a bag. They were really gross, and gave me the willies. I have no problems with mice, bats or even bees, but something that wiggles or slithers, keep it the hell away from me. I tried to pass the bag to Lindsay but she screamed and ran, I went to hand it to Grady and he did the same thing. How did I manage to raise such a bunch of wussies ? I guess yours truly gets to feed the f***ing meal-worms to the jird.
I decided to take the easy way out, opened the bag at arms length and shook the meal-worms into the food bowl. That wasn't so bad, until Lindsay pointed out the obvious "The jird's asleep. What if the meal-worms crawl out of the cage before she eats them?". Oh, crap, crap, crap I didn't even think of that one. There was no way in hell I was sticking my hand back in that cage. I can only hope they were concussed when I shook them out the bag. When will I ever learn ?
Anyway back to Mr Pet and the meal worms. I was expecting him to be able to answer my questions, instead of which, now I'm not even sure I know what I have. How many meals worms should I get ? He suggests two or three but gives me half a dozen. What do I do with the extras ? This is all new to me. He tells me to keep the spare ones in a jar with bran cereal, and some cantaloup. Are you kidding me ? These are supposed to be food, not another freaking pet. I'm not keeping anything in a jar. So off I go with $1.12 worth of meal-worms in a bag. They were really gross, and gave me the willies. I have no problems with mice, bats or even bees, but something that wiggles or slithers, keep it the hell away from me. I tried to pass the bag to Lindsay but she screamed and ran, I went to hand it to Grady and he did the same thing. How did I manage to raise such a bunch of wussies ? I guess yours truly gets to feed the f***ing meal-worms to the jird.
I decided to take the easy way out, opened the bag at arms length and shook the meal-worms into the food bowl. That wasn't so bad, until Lindsay pointed out the obvious "The jird's asleep. What if the meal-worms crawl out of the cage before she eats them?". Oh, crap, crap, crap I didn't even think of that one. There was no way in hell I was sticking my hand back in that cage. I can only hope they were concussed when I shook them out the bag. When will I ever learn ?
Wednesday 2 May 2012
The Sleepover From Hell
Harkening back to the weekend, when I got home on Saturday afternoon, to my chagrin the house was still full of children. So much for my specific instructions to have everyone gone by the time I returned. I think this was Rob's attempt at payback.
Somehow Lindsay talked me into letting the seven girls stay for a sleepover. Those damn Bacardi Breezers are my weakness - I'm not sure at that point if I'd had too many of them or not nearly enough. Now I'm sure my husband hates me. He is blowing up air mattresses whilst fixing me with a steely eyed glare - definitely not a happy little camper. Somewhere in town, there are seven sets of parents, all thinking the same thing about us "Losers !".
Who knew that teenagers could find enough to talk about until 4:00 O'clock in the morning !!! At top volume no less. Unbeknownst to this gaggle of girls, the heating duct directly above their heads was connected to the duct beside my bed, so I heard pretty much most of the conversation - what I could understand at least. I'm sure teenage girls have their own private language. I would love to give you some insight in to the secret world of teenagers, but unfortunately my poor sleep deprived brain can't remember anything - except for looking longingly at the clock every few minutes, begging for the noise to abate so that I could get to sleep. Of course that didn't stop me from telling the girls over breakfast that I had heard everything that went on. It was so worth it to see half of them turn white with shock and the other half blush bright red. At least a couple of them sidled up to me after, and whispered "Did you really hear everything?". Payback's a bitch, and you don't mess with the master. It didn't impact their appetite tho', I have never seen three packets of bacon and a mile high stack of pancakes disappear so fast.
Apparently they were having so much fun no one wanted to go home, despite my frequent and apparently way too subtle offers of giving everyone a ride home. They all agreed that we were awesome parents, apparently based solely on the fact that their (obviously much smarter) parents would never have allowed all the ruckus we had tolerated. I'm not sure whether we should feel honoured or duped. Eventually, the fond farewells began, with cries of "I'll text you later". Really ? Are you kidding me ? What can they possible have to text about after talking non-stop for near on 24 hours ?
If Lindsay's short temper was anything to go by this afternoon, I'm guessing there are now seven sets of parents somewhere in town, who aren't feeling quite so smug any more !
.
Tuesday 1 May 2012
Sex 101
I did suggest on Friday, that my husband should maybe write the blog for Monday. Instead I will write it about him. So, Saturday afternoon, Lindsay was hosting a surprise birthday party for her friend - seven teens in attendance. Grady & Sid both have friends over, and I am not home. Therefore my long suffering husband gets all the kids to himself. At this point, Rob is insistent that I make it clear there were twelve in all. Whatever !!
In an understandable effort to escape the loud raucous house filled with teenage girls, and oh my god they were loud - the boys meanwhile were being loud & raucous outside, so technically the neighbour's problem - he took Sid and her friend to the stables. Unfortunately he didn't realize that there were two recent additions - stallions no less. I'm not sure how to put this delicately but the horses were well endowed (the expression "hung like a horse" comes to mind) and of course don't the kids spot this immediately.
As well as the girls, another little boy (not with us) was also visiting, and the three of them stood lined up along the fence, open mouthed, in perfect awe of the display in the paddock. As soon as the boy exclaimed "Oh my god, what is that?" Rob knew exactly what was coming next. Meanwhile Sid's friend has never seen anything like it (I'm sure that is probably true for a lot of people) and she in turn asked if the appendage was an extra leg, which according to the little boy also had a foot on the end. Trust our daughter to know exactly what was going on, and she announced knowingly "Oh for goodness sakes, it's his wiener". Not exactly technical, but close enough.
It would appear that with several mares in close proximity, the horses were, well, excitable, so I think the kids got more of an eyeful than Rob had bargained for. He is not comfortable discussing this topic at the best of times (his "talk" with Grady, has already been documented), so he was very quick to shut down any questions, and hustled the kids off to play with the kittens instead. At least that is something he can't blame on me.
Meanwhile, on a similar subject, Grady has "That Talk" at school this week, I can't wait for the fall-out from that one. It's bad enough that he has been going around the house today, singing a particularly vulgar but catchy little ditty taught to him by his father, and then Rob actually has the audacity to lecture me when I swear ! .
.
In an understandable effort to escape the loud raucous house filled with teenage girls, and oh my god they were loud - the boys meanwhile were being loud & raucous outside, so technically the neighbour's problem - he took Sid and her friend to the stables. Unfortunately he didn't realize that there were two recent additions - stallions no less. I'm not sure how to put this delicately but the horses were well endowed (the expression "hung like a horse" comes to mind) and of course don't the kids spot this immediately.
As well as the girls, another little boy (not with us) was also visiting, and the three of them stood lined up along the fence, open mouthed, in perfect awe of the display in the paddock. As soon as the boy exclaimed "Oh my god, what is that?" Rob knew exactly what was coming next. Meanwhile Sid's friend has never seen anything like it (I'm sure that is probably true for a lot of people) and she in turn asked if the appendage was an extra leg, which according to the little boy also had a foot on the end. Trust our daughter to know exactly what was going on, and she announced knowingly "Oh for goodness sakes, it's his wiener". Not exactly technical, but close enough.
It would appear that with several mares in close proximity, the horses were, well, excitable, so I think the kids got more of an eyeful than Rob had bargained for. He is not comfortable discussing this topic at the best of times (his "talk" with Grady, has already been documented), so he was very quick to shut down any questions, and hustled the kids off to play with the kittens instead. At least that is something he can't blame on me.
Meanwhile, on a similar subject, Grady has "That Talk" at school this week, I can't wait for the fall-out from that one. It's bad enough that he has been going around the house today, singing a particularly vulgar but catchy little ditty taught to him by his father, and then Rob actually has the audacity to lecture me when I swear ! .
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