Friday 29 June 2012

Apparently I'm far From Perfect

I have now survived Day 4. We spent today at a friend's cottage and my children were angels; polite, well behaved, played nicely etc etc. All the attributes they do not normally display at home. That sort of puts the kibosh on the next blog. Of course there was the moment when they were tubing and Grady is frantically giving us the hand signal to slow down. Was he scared ? No, he was losing his trunks.

Grady did ask me tonight why I never blog about me. That is not strictly true, but to be fair, it is probably time I was in the spotlight, after yesterday's blog where I had great fun at my husband's expense.  So although I might like to think I am as close to perfection as humanly possible my husband would beg to differ. So here are some of the criticisms my husband makes of me.

How I load the dishwasher. Apparently there is a right way and a wrong way to load the dishwasher, and according to him,  I do it the wrong way. To be fair,  I had no idea about this until recently. My friend Helene was over and after I had placed something in the dishwasher, she observed Rob come behind me, and change it's placement. She called him on it, and that's when I learned that all these years he has been reloading the dishwasher when I'm out of the room. Who knew ? No problem, I'll just do what the kids do now, and leave the dishes piled in the sink and he can stick 'em wherever he wants.

My (occasional) practical joke. He took my van one evening, and left me with his car - which I hate driving - so I thought I'd have a little fun before he came home.  I set it up to look as if I had ploughed his car through the garage door. Personally I thought it was hilarious. Him, not so much. Of course it may have had something to do with the fact that he'd only just had it repaired after a collision, but honestly some people just don't have a sense of humour. On the plus side, Lindsay was able to put her CPR training to good use.

That I don't hear my children during the night. Unless I wake up gasping for air, as the Rat Bastard pinches my nostrils to prevent me snoring, I sleep the sleep of the dead. Nothing, and I mean nothing my children do can wake me. This makes Rob crazy, as he is always the one who has to get up and deal with whatever calamity occurs during the night hours.  I should admit at this point, on a very rare occasion I actually do wake up, but I know, if I lie there quietly and snore a little, he isn't any the wiser - until now.

Of course, there was also the time that Rob had been pissing me off all morning. It was one of those days where he just kept pushing my buttons. I didn't say anything, just bided my time. I knew he had to go up on the roof later on to check the flashing around the chimney, so I waited until he was up there and then took away the ladder. I found it much funnier than he did.

He'd probably like me to use a little more discretion when writing this blog, but hey, I'm on a roll. 

Happy Canada Day this weekend, I'll be back at my blog on Tuesday. 


Thursday 28 June 2012

Bat In The Bathroom

Surprisingly enough, I have survived Day 3 of  the summer break, and have yet had to threaten my offspring with any dire consequences for bad behaviour.  Great for my sanity, not so much for my blog. I am forced to dip into my reserve supply of subject matter. 

This story harkens back a few years, to when I discovered that my husband has Chiroptophobia. At the time Rob and I were living in a basement apartment of an old house in the High Park area of Toronto. We had three cats, not the felines we have now, but just as useless, and I woke up one night to a commotion in the bathroom.

I found the cats warily eying an object in the shower stall, so I called Rob, who arrived on the scene just as the object moved. The next few moments were just a blur. My husband let out a blood curdling yell, ran out the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving me trapped inside. I couldn't open the door because he was hanging on to the other side of the door handle for dear life. When he was finally able to string more than two words together in a coherent sentence, he told me the object was a bat.

I still didn't understand his reaction. After all I grew up in England - no rabies there - and my sister had a pet bat, at least up until it got squished in a door.  What was the  big deal ? Apparently it was a big deal to him, and it was going to be up to me to do something about it. I wasn't sure what, because the only tools I had at my disposal was a toothbrush and a facecloth, and I'm no MacGyver.  Rob finally agreed to leave an empty shoebox outside the bathroom door, as long as I swore an oath not to open the door until he was safely locked inside the bedroom.

Fortunately the bat didn't realise it was supposed to be a fearsome creature and it was fairly easy to catch it in the box and take it outside. I wasn't allowed back in until I showed Rob the empty shoe box through the window. 

Now to be fair to my husband, who after I read him this posting, said that I wasn't showing him in a favourable light, I will give you his version of events.  Saw bat. Calmly retrieved shoebox. Passed it through the bathroom door. Waited at a safe distance. No blood curdling scream, no hiding in the bedroom. There you go, his version.  Take your pick. Personally, I vote for mine.

And in case you hadn't guessed Chiroptophobia is a fear of bats.  I don't know if there is a phobia for wives who write blogs, but I think he may have that too.














Wednesday 27 June 2012

Return Of The Rat Bastard

I wouldn't  bit dream of calling my husband an idiot, well actually I have, and probably will do so again, but this evening it came pretty damn close. I am sitting in the basement, at the computer blogging. The window above my head is open, and Mooch, our fattest cat is sitting there surveying her domain through  the screen. All at once there is an almighty crash in the hedge outside the window, the cat squawks and leaps out of the ledge landing on me, legs akimbo and claws in attack mode. I do the only thing I can, scream and then swear loudly.  As I am applying tourniquets to staunch the flow of blood, my husbands face appears at the window. "I'm sorry" he says trying for contrite, but not quite achieving it, "Did I a scare you ?" "No" I snarl, now that I realise who is behind this.  "You didn't scare me, you scared the f***ing cat and she jumped on me" . This is met with peals of laughter, not exactly the response I was expecting. My husband, herein known as Rat Bastard, explained what had happened.  "I was trying to get Charlie (another cat) in, but he wouldn't come to me , so I thought if I threw the watering can into the hedge behind him, he'd run towards me".  "Oh yeah ?" I reply " And how did that work out for you ?" The sarcasm dripping almost as much as my blood. "Not so well" the Rat Bastard admitted.

So let me tally up, we now have one cat who probably won't come within 50 feet of the house for the rest of the night, another cat who is in hiding and will probably pee on Rob's bathroom mat just to show her displeasure, and then me, covered in bloody scratches.  Sid & Grady now want to go and play out front, "Why not ?" I said "Maybe if you're lucky, your father will throw a watering can at you too".

For normal families, the story would end here. Actually for normal families the story probably wouldn't have happened in the first place, but anyone who has been following my blog knows that, not only are we not normal, it appears that we can't even pretend to be normal either.  The Rat Bastard, egged on by his idiot offspring, decides to show them what happened with a repeat performance. The cat has finally crept out of hiding and has returned to her seat in the window. I am still busy blogging, and happened to be oblivious to this fact, but not for long, because the watering can is suddenly catapulted into the hedge again, and it is déjà-vu for me, only this time there are two little faces pressed up against the window watching the show. I hope it was worth it for them, because I am still dreaming up a suitable punishment.

As for the Rat Bastard ? Well, lets just say he will pay. I'm thinking it might be time for a new kitten ...

Tuesday 26 June 2012

What Happened To My Blog ?

So, I lay in bed last night, planning out a blog in my head. Line by line, I created my entire post and committed it to memory. This is not the first time I have done this, it is however the first time I have woken up in the morning  and have not been able to remember a damn thing, not just the details, but the whole subject. Is this a sign of age related memory problems ? Or perhaps just anxiety at the prospect of spending the next ten weeks with my children?

Therefore, instead of the illuminating, intellectual and entertaining blog I had planned, (I can't remember the blog, but I'm sure those adjectives would have applied), we will have to make do with Plan B - my children's obsession with poo. Obviously it's not going to be as intellectual and illuminating, but I hope at least still entertaining.

I can't remember when my youngest two children became obsessed with the bathroom. Both of them feel the need to make a big announcement, prior to the great event.  Sid, especially has a routine she follows. "I'm going to the bathroom" she bellows for everyone to hear. "I'm going to be in there a loooong time" is her next proclamation,  and just in case we missed the point, finally "I'm going to have a poo". This one sided conversation is carried on at top volume, so I'm sure by now, half the neighbours are aware of her intent as well.  This isn't so bad, after all it's nice to get a heads up, but the running commentary throughout the ceremony ? We really don't need that. I will resist the urge to share it with you here, suffice to say to say it happens. It would also be nice if she closed the bathroom door. But we are not done yet, if we are lucky, Sidney will grace us with a detailed account of appearance & mass after the fact.  Is this obsession normal ?

Grady is almost as bad, and the longer he is in the bathroom, the happier he is. Not so bad you might think, and it wouldn't be if he didn't bloody insist on singing the whole time. Ten weeks of this day after day, and I'll be ready for the funny farm in no time flat.  Which segues nicely to my next topic - I HAVE SURVIVED DAY 1 OF THE HOLIDAYS. Yay me !!  Of course I cheated a little, let them watch TV, then took them out to Chapters, bribed them first with books and then with lunch. No major altercations, not even minor ones. This summer might not be so bad after all.  It didn't escape my notice however, that the first day I have all three kids home,  Rob has to work extra late. Coincidence ? I think not.
 


Monday 25 June 2012

And so it begins...

Last day of school for Sidney & Grady, at least they both came home with great report cards. Grady received either "Excellent" or "Very Good" in everything but one category - Listening Skills.  Of course I zeroed in on that, but I should have known he would have an answer ready. According to him, if he got the E's & VG's in everything else he said "I had to have been listening at least some of the time".  Gotta hand it to him, he wins that round.

Meanwhile one of Lindsay's friends who shall remain nameless, but she knows who she is, spent some time with a "boy" today. Apparently this is a huge deal in Teenland, because all I could hear were ear piercing squeals from the others as the "Friend Who Shall Not Be Named " dished the details.  In fact I got kicked out of my own house  - fortunately I had to pick up the other two from school, albeit half an hour early - so the girls could fully discuss this latest development in private. If I am to be truthful, I was glad to make the escape, there are some things I am better off not knowing, even with the blog possibilities. Soon enough that will be Lindsay who will be doing the "dishing", so for now I am a great supporter of ignorance is bliss.

I did have to laugh tho' because when the FWSNBN arrived she had to make a mad dash to the bathroom. "Didn't they have a bathroom at 'his' house?" asked Lindsay.  "I'm not going to the bathroom in font of 'him'". She exclaimed in horror. The next thing I hear through the bathroom door "I'm starving as well".  "Didn't they have food at 'his' house ?" asked Jasmine or maybe Lindsay, I lost track. "Of course" replies the FWSNBN, "His mother made me lunch, but I wasn't going to eat a lot in front of 'him' so I'm starving now"   Fortunately our fridge was full of leftovers, and she didn't suffer the same compunction about chowing down in front of her besties.

Now on to my daughter, she has been hard studying hard for her exams, in socializing. I came home today, no sign of daughter #1. Apparently she was across the road alternately swimming and sunning. She came prancing in a little while later eager to show off her tan lines, that she achieved despite the SPF 45 sunscreen. Time for another lecture about damaging effects of the sun. That obviously went over her head, (or maybe she just zoned out when I starting equating my own youthful looks to staying out of the sun) because as each new friend arrives, (the house was like Grand Central Station this afternoon), they are subjected to the spectacle of her tan lines. Finally I'd had enough, and warned her the next time she did it, I'd flash my own tan lines and C-Section scar to boot.  That drew collective gasps of horror and worried glances from her friends who stared at me as if I'd lost the plot. This summer isn't shaping up too badly after all. Oh the fun I will have.

So this post goes out to the FWSNBN who has a great sense of humour, and who has graciously allowed for herself to become part of my "blogging circle" ! 


Friday 22 June 2012

Goodbye To The Week From Hell.

Today - a Thursday no less - is shaping up to be the "Day From Hell", and it has already been the "Week From Hell", in fact it has been too hellish to even blog about, so you know it's serious.  Anyway, the penultimate day of the school term and my sanity is hanging by a very thin thread.

First thing this morning, I enter the kitchen to find the dishwasher full, both sides of the sink piled with dirty dishes and fractious children.  Lindsay has started the lunches (that is how she earns her ride to school) and has already had an altercation with Grady, and I get it with both barrels "When I was his age, I was making my own lunch " Actually she wasn't, we remember it differently.  I gently explained I was in no mood to argue, and that I'd "Take care of it later" which seems to have been my standard reply this week.

Meanwhile I try to close a kitchen drawer, but something is jamming it from behind. Old kitchen, even older cupboards, and stuff is always shifting between them.  Anyway I open the cupboard door and out spills a whole pile of muffin tins. I don't know why we even have muffin tins, no one even makes muffins in our house, cookies yes, but muffins no.  Deciding that the best way to deal with this is to launch the offending muffin tins clear across the room with a well aimed kick, the resounding clatter brings Sid running. The others know better and fled the other way. Sid, bless her, asks if she can help me and I tell her to "Take the f***ing tins and throw them outside". Personally, I think it is commendable that it took me until now to utter my infamous curses. The next thing I know, Sid has obediently gathered up the tins and is heading out the back door with them.  One of these days I am going to have to sit that girl down and explain the intricacies of "Mummy Speak".

Lindsay started her exams yesterday, Latin, followed by French today. Each exam is first thing in the morning, and then she has the rest of the day to study for the next one. Yesterday afternoon, she and her friend Hannah decided to study for French in Hannah's pool. Then after that they studied out on our trampoline. I'm confident that they will both ace this exam. After the tedious afternoon of studying they decided to take a well deserved break and write out their bucket list for the summer. At the top of the list was to see the movie "Magic Mike", apparently starring the latest heartthrob with a weird name, whom personally I think is boss-eyed. I'm guessing, based on the eye-roll the girls shared, they aren't interested in my opinion. It wouldn't be so bad but the movie is about male strippers, and the chances of them of them actually crossing that off their list, is right up there with "Cleaning our rooms", which it would appear didn't even make the list. I can see how my summer is shaping up.

If I survive the next few days with my sanity intact, which frankly, is looking less likely every minute, I will be back on Monday. Have a great weekend everyone ! 



Thursday 21 June 2012

With Friends LIke These ...

My husband was talking to our neighbours this weekend and they asked when our kids were finished school. When Rob told them it was only a week to go, Bill punched his fist in the air and exclaimed "Let the swearing begin.!"  This is the same neighbour, who has been known to grab a beer, pull up a chair and listen to me "discipline" my children. He is a firefighter, and has told me many times that my spectacular strings of curses would put the fire-hall to shame. I'm not really sure that is a compliment, or even something to brag about, but let's face it I don't have much to be proud of - I can't imagine anyone wants to hear about my superior laundry skills - so I'll take it where I can get it.

Meanwhile my soon to be ex-friend Tracy was also communicating with my husband this weekend. I think I am really going to have to start keeping a closer eye on him. She mentioned how much she was looking forward to the summer holidays, because as she put it, something along the lines of "I can't wait to read Kelly's blogs, the kids are going to drive her crazy".  Thanks a bunch Tracy.

Friends and neighbours are not the only people having fun at my expense, now on to my family, in particular my son, although in this example, it was his father getting it in spades. When discussing what we could get Rob for Father's Day, Grady's great idea was a shower chair, "You know mum, the type that old people use".  I always know when that boy has been watching the Shopping Channel. His last big phase was the "Sham Wows". His only saving grace is that he didn't suggest it for Mother's Day. The sad thing is he was actually serious, and was quite disappointed when I came home without one.

However, never let it be said that I don't give as good as I get. When Grady home from camp a few weeks ago, he had some mosquito bites on his ankle. Being the resident drama queen, he grizzled and whined about them for several days. Finally I'd had enough and told him to show me. It didn't look good, the "bites" had spread from his ankle to the top of his foot, and I don't think mosquito bites are supposed to do that.  When Rob got home he took a look and promptly diagnosed Poison Ivy. I wasn't so sure and I told Grady it was his "badness" coming out. He didn't believe me but Sid did, and now she is worried that her badness will leak out as well. I am such a terrible mother.



Wednesday 20 June 2012

There Goes The Neighbourhood

I think I have discovered why people on our street have a hard time selling their homes. It may have something to do with our children. Take this morning at 7:10 . Grady looks out the front window and calls up to us "Come quick, there is a fox outside" I look out, and sure enough there is a fairly large fox happily trotting down the road. Trouble is we're not the only observers, and out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of our stupid-assed cat stalking the fox. This is the same dam cat that caused me to stay up until 2:30 AM last night - or technically this morning -  trying to get him in so he wouldn't be eaten by a marauding coyote, only to discover that he'd had a sleepover at the neighbours. (Cue string of curses about the stupid-assed cat and a few choice words about the neighbors that keep letting him in).

Anyway back to the fox, I start yelling at the cat through the window, but Lindsay took matters into her own hands, and ran out armed with a shoe which she pelts it at the cat. She won't however go out to retrieve the shoe because she is in her pajamas, and sends Grady instead, while she stands on the porch yelling (and I do mean yelling) directions. "Left, no the other left. No, I mean right. Are you blind ? Go that way. No, not that way, behind the tree. No not that tree, the other tree. Behind you. Turn around, no turn the other way. Oh My God, it's right in front of you."  This fiasco continued for a few minutes.  Did I mention that Grady is dressed only in his underwear and a pair of sneakers ?  I can but shake my head in bewilderment, and live in hope that one day I'll get notification from the hospital to tell me that all my brood were mixed up at birth, and that somewhere three nice normal children are waiting for me.

Something tells me that by the end of the summer, and by summer I mean the ten tormented weeks from hell that I am forced to share in close contact with my children - I will be found uncontrollably twitching, in a fetal position, under the kitchen table.

Tuesday 19 June 2012

"Crack" Berry

I have to confess that when I took Lindsay in to buy her new phone I purchased an extra two Blackberrys for Rob and myself.  Heaven forbid, not the model that Lindsay chose - that would have been way uncool.  Anyway we have been with Bell so long that they were practically throwing them at us for free, and after the conversation I had with that nice complimentary gentleman on the weekend, (ignoring my husband's take on it) how could I not ?

First I have to say I love my new Blackberry, the camera actually takes better quality photographs than the one we spent a mortgage payment on a few years ago.  I love the ease with which I can load photos - watch out Facebook followers - access the internet, and all the other nifty features.  I can even write my blog on the go, there is no stopping me now.

Secondly I have to say I hate my new Blackberry. The keys, both on the keyboard and the touch screen are obviously made for people with appendages much smaller than mine.  I have just realised that thanks to my chubby fingers I have been signing all my texts "Jelly", how's that for way uncool ? 

Now I have just finished a lengthy text to my boss Ava, including the number of a new rep she needs to call, only to have her text me back and say I had the wrong number. I check the voice mail messages, the number is correct. I check the rep's file, the number is correct. I send everything back to Ava with an explanation, only to get a terse reply "But I am not Ava"  Curse you fat fingers!. If that isn't embarrassing enough, I went in to edit the contact information and ended up dialing the person by mistake. I almost threw the phone across the room in panic. I think I should just stick to a rotary dial phone, I am such a Luddite.

Meanwhile, I wasn't able to figure out how to send text messages with a picture, which was a real crimp in my plans. I have no idea why I would actually need to send a text with a picture, but it's a feature of the phone, and dammit all, I want to use it. I finally accepted that I didn't have a clue what I was doing, and caved in and called Bell. Another very nice - and patient - chappy tried to guide me through the process. Whatever I was doing, it  wasn't working, so he kept sending me test messages which I wasn't getting. The technician was getting more and more frustrated, and dare I say, perhaps a little testy, and after about five minutes of this he discovered that I'd actually given him Rob's cell number by mistake. I must admit, he took it in his stride, although I'm sure he had a few choice words when he hung up the phone. Can't say I blame him really. Of course when Rob came home he mentioned that he had received all these text messages from Bell, and did I know anything about it ? I quickly changed the subject. 

Unfortunately after I hung up from Bell, I was back to square one with the picture-in-the-message thing. I don't think they have heard the last from me.



Monday 18 June 2012

Happy Birthday Lindsay

Today is my eldest daughter's 15th birthday. I am still coming to grips with the fact that I am the mother of a teenager, it makes me feel so old. But enough about me, this blog is all about Lindsay. If she only knew this, she would be cringing with apprehension.

My sisters and Lindsay's grandparents would probably argue this, but Lindsay was a bit of a homely baby, I wouldn't go so far as to say ugly, but lets just say when she had to take a baby photo to school for a Graduation montage, I recommended she take one of her sister instead. That was a year ago, and she still throws it back at me when we argue. Honestly I was just trying to save her some embarrassment.  Fortunately the homeliness was only temporary, and she has grown into a lovely young lady.

However, if there is one thing she has learned over the years, it is how to push my buttons. It makes me crazy to get the "never mind" comment, but I'm sure any parent of a teenager has gone through the same thing. 

Lindsay:  "Mum!"
Me "Yes ?"
Lindsay (louder) "Mum!"
Me (louder still) "Yes ?"
Lindsay (at top volume) " Muuuum!!"
Me (exasperated) "WHAT ?"
Lindsay "Never mind".

Last week she took it one step further. Whilst my phone was charging and unbeknownst to me she sent me several texts; "Mum" followed by "Are you there?" followed by "Hellooo", then  "I love you " and finally "Can I ask a favour ?" When I finally picked up all the missives, I replied with "What do you need?". I couldn't believe it when the next message I get is "Never mind". Is she kidding me ? I think I may have put a stop to it, when I had the final say, "Don't you ever f***ing NEVER MIND me by text again".

I'm sure given the chance she would have a few choice words to say about me, but until she starts her own blog, she is just going to have to make do with an eye roll. 

It has been pointed out to me, I should be saying nice things about my daughter on her birthday, that isn't nearly so much fun, but I will give it a shot. She is kind (to animals but not necessarily her siblings), gorgeous, smart (so you'd think she would know better than to argue with me), hard working, generous and popular among her friends. In short a daughter, anyone would be proud of.  Happy Birthday Lindsay !




Friday 15 June 2012

In Honour Of Father's Day



In honour of father's day I would like to go back to my father's diaries, to his recollections of his own father, who sadly died a few years before I was born.

I was child number 6; there were 3 more children after me, making a grand total of 9 children. My sister Violet was child number 5, but she died in infancy. She was born earlier in the war, filling the 6-year gap between Gordon’s birth and mine.

Two children born in the middle of a war; why was Father not fighting in the trenches? Luckily for his family, Father was in a “reserved” occupation (he and his boss were responsible for maintaining the roads in Droxford and region), and it was considered more important for him to be doing his job in England than to be sent to France as “cannon fodder”.

Only one incident from my early years stands out, as sharp now as when it happened. I suspect it remains clear because I am reminded of it whenever I visit my old home, where my brother Gordon’s widow, Esther, still lives.

It is a small house, but it has a large garden of mature fruit trees: apples, plums, and one large pear tree. In those days, the pear tree bore excellent fruit that was only accessible with a ladder. One day, Father was way up the ladder, with little Sid on the grass below. “Throw me down a ripe one, Dad,” I said. Dad did, and the pear struck me square on my nose with the force of a bullet. Loud wails from me and blood everywhere. It took hours to stop the bleeding, with lots of cold, wet flannels. “Put a key down his back”, was suggested, and a large iron key was found and duly slipped under my shirt. When the bleeding finally ceased, the key was retrieved, and Father was severely scolded by Mother who commented, “You should have had more sense!”, or words to that effect.

The pear tree is still in the garden, but it is now old, ivy-infested, and slowly dying. It must be all of one hundred years old. Occasionally it still bears fruit but the pears are mean little things and tasteless. One day soon, it will fall over.

Another memory relates to the pear tree – Father was not a religious man but he followed the biblical command: Six days shalt though labour and rest on the seventh. Just once he broke that rule. The week had been wet and on Sunday the sun shone. The pears needing picking, so I suppose Father hoped God would forgive him if he just once worked on a Sunday. He set the ladder against the pear tree. Part way up the ladder, a rung broke and Father slithered down to end up on his back. He swore it was God’s punishment for doing work on a Sunday and never broke his rule again.

Happy Fathers Day ! 








           

Thursday 14 June 2012

The Little "Ding"

My daughter Lindsay has been bitching and begging for a new phone for months now, vacillating between an I-Phone and a Blackberry, because her current phone (which I hasten to add she was thrilled to get three years ago), just didn't cut it anymore.  As far as I was concerned it worked just fine - after all Rob and I had the same phones, which was probably part of the problem -  and I couldn't understand what all the griping was about. I did my usual speech "When I was your age ... blah blah blah" and the updated version "I didn't get my first cell phone until I was in my 40's ... yadda yadda yadda" but to no avail.  On the night of her sleep-over this weekend, her phone mysteriously stopped working, the screen went black and nothing I tried - and believe me I tried everything - could get it to work. I scrutinized her friends suspiciously, wondering which one of these doe-eyed little innocents had shown her how to sabotage her phone. I finally had to cave and seeing as she had her own money to pay for it, agreed to take her in to the Bell store the next day.

Meanwhile, the next morning while it was still quiet, I started researching the rate plans and I talked to a lovely gentleman at Bell. I know many people consider "Bell" a four letter word in their vocabulary, which of course technically it is, but to be truthful I have always found them to be extremely helpful and I would never, ever switch to that other company whose name begins with "R". Anyway, I digress, I have to get back to the delightful man at Bell. In order to access my account he had to ask a couple of security questions, and we were several minutes into the conversation when he stopped me, "I just have to just check this" he said. "My records show that your year of birth is 1963, is that correct ?" I replied in the affirmative, to which he said "But you sound so young!"  That right there people, is a good enough reason to ensure I remain a loyal Bell customer for life. 

I repeated this conversation to each of the girls as they trouped in for breakfast. I was giddy with delight, until Rob had had enough and pointed out, "What he meant was - You sound so young, for someone who is so f***ing old".  If any of my readers know the number of a good divorce lawyer, I am currently shopping around.

So back to the phone, Lindsay finally settled on a Blackberry and of course  it hasn't left her hand. She came down stairs last night - nearly an hour after she had supposedly gone to bed - panic stricken and almost in tears because her screen was locked. "I'm going to call Tess & Tori, they'll tell me what to do" she said, her voice breaking. "No you won't. It's almost 11:00 PM. You can't call people at this time of night" I exclaimed. "Of course I can " She retorted, "They'd want to know".  Well let me tell you, if one of my friends called me at that ungodly hour to tell me their new phone was on the fritz, I'd be striking them off my Christmas card list pretty damn quick. Fortunately the issue was averted, because I just took out the battery and all was right with the world.

Meanwhile today, she is obviously enjoying her new phone because I received text, after text after text. I was almost ready to turn off my phone because I was getting sick of hearing the little ding of the incoming text alert  every two minutes. My answers were getting shorter and shorter (and don't suggest why didn't I just stop replying - because I tried that, and she reverted to text to land-line instead) until I was down to a terse "Yes" or "No" . Finally I get a message "Am I desturbing you ?"  Oh, no of course not. I am just sitting here with baited breath waiting for your incoherent, misspelled, rambling missives. Especially seeing she was supposed to be in class. Perhaps if she spent more time listening, and less time texting in English, she may actually learn how to spell "disturb'. I'm just saying !




Wednesday 13 June 2012

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

I'm never ever sure what my youngest daughter, Sidney is going to say or do next, which is what makes life interesting. The other night while I'm eating a bowl of ice-cream - which incidentally is rare for me - she came down to tell me proudly that her "Poop was green". That was the end of the ice-cream for me. I have no idea what prompted it - and I'm referring to both the colour and the announcement. But that's the kind of girl she is. My heartfelt apologies if you are reading this over breakfast.

When I was ferrying some of the girls (Rob had the rest in his car) to the ice-cream store on Saturday, Sid had snagged a ride along after a party she and Grady had just attended. In the midst of a discussion about which girl had been seen with which boy, Sidney stops the conversation dead with her proclamation "There was a midget at my party". This being so far off the Politically Incorrect scale, I refrained from asking if the midget had been a guest or the entertainment, and proceeded to explain to Sidney the insensitivity of her remark. It may have actually worked, if she hadn't been basking in the reaction (whoops of laughter) from her teenage audience.    

Sid's birthday is in the middle of August, not the easiest time to hold a party, with all her school friends on summer break. One year I conveniently "forgot" and have paid for it ever since. The last two years were a little more successful, and I made sure the invitations were handed out before the end of school. Then of course we ran into the problem of no one RSVP-ing, but I won't get drawn into that discussion here. That is a whole other rant for a different day.

With less than two weeks of school left, Sid is anxious to get her invites distributed and as only Sid can, has been pestering me about it for several days. I made the mistake of agreeing on a day in July, and Sid decided to take matters into her own hands. When I picked her up from school today I discovered that she had verbally invited not only her whole class - and teacher to boot - but two other classes as well. That is at least 60 kids, what the hell was she thinking ???   When her teacher told me what had happened, I plastered a smile on my face and had a good chuckle, and then when I got Sid alone in the van, I let loose with both barrels. Sidney calmly waited until I had finished my tirade and announced "I thought you might say that, so I decided I can take off four names" Four names !! WTF ? I was thinking more along the lines of taking off forty names. This would be a logistical nightmare, where in any universe did she think I'd be OK with this ? According to her teacher, she has already told everyone the date and that it is going to be a Luau theme. I'm not taking any chances, I'm going to move out for the whole month of July. If anyone has ideas on how to entertain a crowd of 60, pray do tell.

Tuesday 12 June 2012

The Sleepover Part Deux

Lindsay had a sleepover party this weekend. Seven extra teenage girls in the house, where do I begin ?

You would be amazed at what you hear when they forget that parents are around. Some of the interesting, entertaining  and quite frankly disturbing words of teen wisdom I overheard - at least what I can repeat here -

"Maria, do you have your pants down yet ?"  I think someone wanted in the bathroom and was scoping out the situation, at least I really hope that was it. 

"I just love popping pimples" Overheard as I'm handing out dessert. Eeeew.

"Is that your phone?" "No it's my vibrator". Please tell me I didn't really hear that one. I wasn't brave enough to continue listening after that, and stuck my fingers in my ears, tunelessly singing "La la la" to drown out the rest of the conversation. 

The afternoon started off innocently enough, the basement was in darkness and the eight of them are huddled under blankets watching "The Woman In Black".  A somewhat mediocre movie (I was hovering intermittently on the sidelines), but to hear the ear piercing screams coming from the basement you would be forgiven for assuming they were all undergoing some kind of torture. A door slams on the TV and eight girls scream in unison.  A face suddenly appears, more screams and a bowl of Cheezies flung across the room in fright. Rob sneaks around the front of the house and raps on the window above their heads, three girls shoot out of their seats, a can of pop goes flying, and another round of screams. I think one of them might even have called him an asshole - they wouldn't be far wrong. It was worth it after that to hang around and watch their reactions to the movie.

Once finished, they all came upstairs to eat pizza, but I am surprised that after all the veggies, fruit, chips, popcorn, and ice-cream they devoured during the two hours preceding dinner they were still able to find room for pizza. Perhaps almost non stop screaming helped them to work up an appetite. Pizza was followed by ice-cream cake and I must give kudos to my husband for a magnificent fumble and fortunately an even more magnificent save, when said cake almost ended up on Jasmin's head. I should have warned her it's not safe to sit on the floor in our house.  

The original plan was for them to sleep in our 13 person tent. The weather all week has been riddled with rain storms, sometimes bordering on monsoons, so it was really up in the air if they'd sleep in the tent or the basement. Rob was fervently praying the wet weather would hold off so they could sleep in the tent. As far as I was concerned, as long as the tent didn't float away they were going in it - rain or no rain. We have umbrellas so what's the problem ?

I do have to say, they were a lot quieter than the previous occasion, I was wondering if all the screaming had damaged their vocal chords. According to Rob however, there was still a ruckus drifting up from the basement before they journeyed out to the tent. Personally, I didn't hear anything, so they are off the hook. When they dragged their sorry butts in for breakfast they did file a noise complaint about the neighbours, who apparently started doing yard work ay 7:30 A.M. Again I heard nothing, it would appear that I sleep the sleep of the dead. Interestingly, those neighbours are never up that early on a Sunday, so I'm thinking the noisy yard work may have been in retaliation to the hooting and hollering that probably took place during the night and wee hours of the morning. Tess had given up on the tent and had come in to sleep in Lindsay's bed -  probably not much quieter, because she had listen to Sid snoring and farting all night long.

When the girls gradually drifted off home the following afternoon - a lot more subdued than when they arrived 24 hours earlier, I made sure to ask each and every one if they had all their belongings. They all chirped yes, and went on their merry way. Since then I have found a pair of underwear, three socks (all different), pajama bottoms, two shirts, a hoodie and a leather jacket ! I wouldn't be surprised if one of them was still huddled under the blankets in the basement sleeping, (it's hard to keep track of so many), except that after the scary movie yesterday, no one - including my own daughter - would go down there alone.

Lindsay told me after everyone went home that they all want to do it again.  I have to say that they are a great group of girls, good friends and delightful house guests, so this goes out to Diana, Hannah, Jasmin, Maria, Mary-Clare, Tess and last but not least, my newest FB friend Tori who recorded this auspicious event on film. You are all welcome any time!.



Monday 11 June 2012

My 100th Post

My daughter said I should do something special for my 100th post, my husband suggested something different.  I think they are missing the big picture, THEY need to do something special or different so that I can write about it. I thought I might have compromised - and cheat a little - and take the highlights from the previous 99 posts, but there wasn't really anything I could extract and still have it make sense. So instead, here are some of the facts  I have learned over the years.

 - I swear there are some days when my life us just one line away from a bad Country & Western song. All I need is a broken down pick-up truck - my old van came pretty close !

 - You know that saying "Don't go to bed angry"? I have my own little take on that  - stay up & plot your revenge!

 - My family will ignore me for hours, until I pick up a book, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me.

 - I think Sid has a theory, that if she is going to get into trouble for hitting her brother, she may as well hit him as  hard as she can.

 - When you are right, no one remembers, but when you are wrong, no one forgets.

 - After you have said "What?" three times, and still have no idea what your child said, I find it's easier to just agree with them. However I have got myself into some awkward predicaments that way. 

- That moment in the middle of the night, when you hear a strange noise and realise your son's hamster is making   a bid for freedom, and you're torn between checking it out and letting it take its chances with marauding cats,   while you try and get back to sleep. 

 - Finally, I should know better, but when I say "Can my day get any worse ?"  I mean it as a rhetorical question, not a challenge.


I would also like to add how much I appreciate the support and positive feedback I have received since I started this blog. I do hope everyone continues to have as much fun reading this as I do writing it. Thank you for reading.








Friday 8 June 2012

Two Children Going Cheap

I am fully prepared to sell two of my children, either into slavery or for parts, I really don't care at this moment. Since I picked them up from school they have been at each others throats and no amount of cursing from me has made any difference. I skipped right over the cajoling, bribery & blackmail and went straight to cursing, it's a Thursday, and it has been that kind of day.

I asked them to set the table for dinner, only Sidney & Grady were eating so all one had to do was fill two  glasses with water or milk and the other had to place a knife and fork at two place settings. In any other house a simple every day occurrence, but in our house an excuse to break into WWIII.

Lindsay was helping me dish up dinner and somehow she managed to look at Sid the wrong way, who then promptly threw her spoon at Grady in retaliation, even tho' he hadn't done anything. Lindsay tells her not to throw cutlery, Sid tells Lindsay to shut up. Sid gets reprimanded for rudeness.  I leave the room, and Sid decides in a snit that she isn't going to eat dinner.  Grady insists on coming to tell me that, and I tell him to just eat his own dinner, ignore his sister and to not interfere.  I thought I had made myself pretty clear, but the next thing I hear is a loud crash from the kitchen as chair is overturned and Grady started yelling at Sid.

I sped up the stairs to a mess in the kitchen. Grady, obviously not content unless he is stirring up trouble had called Sid a baby for not eating her dinner. To Sidney, at almost 8 years old, calling her a baby is tantamount to waving a red rag to a bull, and Grady damn well knows it. Sidney's retribution was swift, her drink  (fortunately in a plastic cup) was lobbed at Grady's head. It missed and went in his dinner instead. He jumped up and knocked over the chair. It was at this point that I raced in. By now I was so angry I was hyperventilating and speechless. I need not have worried tho', because Lindsay quickly took up the slack and cursed them out good and proper. She made me so proud. Sidney & Grady, who are obviously slow learners, start fighting over who is going to clean up the mess. I was more concerned with how I was going to dispose of the bodies before their father got home.

On that happy note, I hope everyone has a lovely weekend, and If I'm not imprisoned, I'll be back with the next installment on Monday.


Thursday 7 June 2012

Two Weeks & Counting

I realised today that the countdown is on, fifteen days until the last day of school followed closely two days later by my nervous breakdown. My children have ten weeks at home this summer. Factor in two weeks of camp for Grady & Sidney and that still leaves them sixty days in which to perfect their diabolical plot to see me in a straight-jacket by Labour Day. 

Every year it is the same thing, I plaster a fake smile to my face in the vain hopes that I can convince myself to stay happy and calm in the face of adversity, and like the diet I am always planning to start, it never happens. I tell myself they are only children, not evil masterminds of unspeakable terror, but they don't seem to know that.

I have heard the stories from my in-laws about the trouble my husband and his elder brother got in to as children, the neighbour's lawn furniture thrown down a well, cucumbers shoved up tail pipes; in fact they were little hooligans, and I'm actually amazed their mother didn't drown them when she had the chance. She is made of stronger mettle  than I. Surprisingly it doesn't make me feel any better about the antics of my own offspring.  If anything, it strikes fear into my heart. Sidney & Grady have heard these stories as well, so it just gives them a goal, a benchmark by which they can judge their own level of evil genius.

Lest you think my summer months will be all gloom & doom, there are some advantages to having them home, as in not having to fight to get them to school. Take this morning for example, both Sidney and Grady are supposed to wear gym uniforms today, but Sid had some long convoluted story about choir and the gym, and to be quite honest I stopped listening after about 20 seconds into the tale. Long & short she refused to wear her gym uniform, until that is, we pull into the school parking lot and she realises she is the only one that isn't.  I refrained from telling her I told you so, well actually I didn't, but it back fired, because her eyes tear up, her lower lip trembles and I end up driving her back home to change. Some days I just can't win.



Wednesday 6 June 2012

I Drew The Short Straw

I'm not sure how it happened, but I drew the short straw today. Sid had been ailing yesterday and she announced this morning that her tongue was dry so she had to stay home from school. I explained somewhat testily that her tongue was dry because she had snored most of the night and the reason I know this, is because I heard her - hence my somewhat testy nature today. I decided to let her stay home - not because of her dry tongue, but because I could see that she genuinely wasn't well.

I knew what was going to happen next, and sure enough, I find Grady moaning and writhing on my bed, clutching his stomach. "Is by any chance your tummy hurting you ?" I questioned.  To my surprise he replied "No, it's my head".  That begets the question why is he gripping his stomach ?  However I have learned with Grady that sometimes the lengthy, convoluted explanation is really not worth the preceding question, so I just let it go. "Fine" I said, "You can stay home too, why don't you go back to bed ?". That was my test, something he never willingly does, but when he tottered back to his bed and then slept for two hours, I realised that perhaps he is ailing after all.

I almost feel guilty - note almost - for doubting my children, they have been perfect little patients today. Crawling from bed to couch and back again, not asking for anything, not fighting or even bickering. Of course the fact that I have been drugging them with Children's Advil probably has nothing whatsoever to do with their lethargic approach to the day.  Whatever the cause, I'm rather liking these subdued versions of themselves, I know it won't last for long.

I did keep expecting a fight to break out, but instead they agreed on a jigsaw puzzle and sat at the dining room table, totally engrossed. When they had finished that and were on their third round of "Go Fish" I was starting to panic. I was at a loss as to how to handle these new and improved children.  When they were having lunch and Sidney accidentally flipped Grady's pizza slice into a sink of soapy water, I was immediately on guard, expecting  retaliation, but Grady just pulled out the soggy slice - fed it to the dog, soap and all - turned to his sister who was furiously apologizing, and said "Don't worry Sid, it was an accident".  Pinch me, I must be dreaming. I frantically counted out the remaining pills in the bottle of Children's Advil, convinced I must have overdosed them, but no, they had each only had two. I checked to make sure they weren't concussed or had been bitten by a radio-active spider, I ruled out vampires, aliens and a full moon. There had to be an explanation for this unusual behaviour I just had to find it, then bottle it !!  



Tuesday 5 June 2012

Dye Job Gone Wrong

Lindsay and I thought we'd save some money and buy over the counter hair colour.  My husband has always been a frustrated Vidal Sassoon, so he was game to give it a go.  I don't know whether it was poor judgement, a bad memory or just that I'm on the cheap side, but what the hell was I thinking ? If only I had heeded my own advice and remembered the infamous clipper episode, and the fact that Rob has a penchant for not following instructions, I might have saved both of us a lot of grief.

Lindsay went first, the multi-coloured streaks (pink, blue, purple and some kind of green colour) that she'd had applied professionally a while ago had long since faded and she wanted them covered up.  For me, it was just to disguise the one or two grey hairs I had noticed sprouting. Lindsay is sitting there, some of her hair turning a nice shade of orange - not exactly what she had been expecting - while Rob was working on me. Then I hear those dreaded words "Uh-oh this doesn't look good". Not something you want to hear on a good day, never mind when you're at the mercy of a vengeful husband with a bottle of hair dye. Fearing the worst, I asked what the problem was. Apparently my scalp had turned a particularly vibrant shade of pink. We are not talking a pleasant rosy hue here, this is Lady Gaga pink. I am not one to be fazed lightly, but this was a bit disconcerting. Grady of course was fascinated and I can always rely on him to put it into perspective "Oh cool mum ! It looks like your brains are bleeding out through your scalp".  OK now I'm fazed.

Lindsay, having gotten over the trauma of orange hair is having a good chuckle at my expense. Her laughter soon turned to tears however, when her father pipes up "Oh dear. I guess I should really have read the instructions a little more carefully." I thought he was joking, but no, he was serious and held up two unopened sachets marked "Step 1" as proof.  That is when things turned ugly.  "You bloody idiot"  I screeched grabbing up the box. "It says right on here on the package 3 STEPS. Count them 1-2-3. How the hell did you miss one ?" Rob in a vain  attempt to mitigate the damages, brushed right over it. "I'm sure it wasn't important"  he said hopefully. Not important ! Lindsay's hair (which should have been dark golden brown) is now black and my scalp is magenta and he thinks it wasn't important.  

At least I am still talking to my husband, which is more than you can say for Lindsay, who is giving her father a very definite cold shoulder. I didn't quite catch what she muttered to him under her breath, which is probably just as well. However, if I wake up in the morning with no hair, all bets are off and there will be hell to pay. Stay tuned.

Oh and a note to Alison, (I know you are reading this and laughing out loud) who is our incredibly patient & long suffering - PROFESSIONAL - hair stylist, we'll be in touch very soon.

For someone  - my husband - who should be sleeping with one eye open, he is not ingratiating himself by snickering at the fact I said I had only one or two grey hairs. My blog. My rules. The sooner he realises that the happier he'll be.

Monday 4 June 2012

The Parade

Ah, the Brooklin parade celebrated it's 101st year, and I think only 3 of those years it hasn't rained.  Yesterday was no different, except for the odd tornado that had appeared to have touched down the night before, and the temperature that had been a balmy 30 degrees at the beginning of the week had now dropped to a bone chilling, teeth chattering, almost but not quite snowing level of cold.  Luckily my sister was prepared, the coffee was hot,   the champagne chilled and the bagels fresh.  My brother-in-law had gamely climbed to the top of a ladder to affix large tarps across the deck to keep the impending monsoon at bay. My husband ever helpful, had aided in this exercise by trying to knock my brother-in-law off the ladder by poking him with the handle of a broomstick.  I think it is pretty obvious to all concerned that when my children do stupid things, they get that trait from their father.

My son and youngest daughter have always loved the parade, ever since they realised that people throw candies (sweets) at them, and yes I do mean "at them" and not "to them", there is a difference. This year was no different and after they had gorged themselves on a multitude of donuts, they washed it down with the sugary crap launched at them from the floats.  My daughter and two of her friends also attended, however they distanced themselves from the little kids, huddled together to keep warm. Most people who walked alongside the floats come over and handed things to the bunch of cute little children (only one was mine), and bypassed the teens, all that is except the teenage boys who bulldozed through the little kids and made a beeline for the older girls. 

My favourites in the parade are the bagpipe bands, yes really ! Yesterday there were two. Usually they stop playing by the time they reach my sister's house but this year we were in luck and both bands continued playing as they marched by. I am also partial to the baton twirlers, the somewhat bedraggled baton twirlers yesterday. In this case I have to admit to a bit of a mean steak, I watch in fascination because there is always at least one twirler that gets conked on the head with a wayward baton. Tres amusement !  We also have the Shriners in their little mini cars - perfect targets for my son with his super soaker, he wasn't going to let the cooler weather prevail. One old geezer was boogieing along trying to get the audience to join in. My husband was in full swing before he realised the old guy's attention wasn't directed at the adults but instead to the girls in front of us, who predictably reacted with equal parts horror and embarrassment.

The theme this year was "Barnyard Mardi Gras", so lots of animals in the parade; horses, donkeys, llamas and even a camel. Each float with an animal was followed by some poor sap with a bin and a shovel. What did a person have to do to get stuck with that job ?  Does someone actually volunteer for that ? Or does the float committee pick on some hapless participant that nobody likes ?  There must always be some know-it-all that pisses everyone else off  (in my house that would be me), so they get assigned to poop patrol. That is the reason you won't catch me taking part in a parade.


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Friday 1 June 2012

Eaten By A Bear

I made the mistake of letting Grady stay up past his bedtime last night. I had missed the little bugger, and he wanted to cuddle with his mummy, so I was all for it. I knew it was just a ruse to get to watch TV & stay up later, but I let it pass. Big mistake, he would not get out of bed this morning. No amount of coaxing, cajoling or threats would move him. Lindsay took her I-Pod in and blared it in his ear, he just put the pillow over his head. I bellowed at him, threatening early bed, no TV, all the usual admonishments, but to no avail. Sid took matters in to her own hands and pounced on him - that got him moving. He came down the stairs in a right state claiming Sid had chipped his tooth. We couldn't see any damage and told him to man up. Rob said "If you had got up when we had asked, this wouldn't have happened"  To which Grady replied "If I had been eaten by a bear it wouldn't have happened either" at which point he stomped back upstairs and returned to bed. I can't quite follow his logic, but I'm guessing any self respecting bear would have probably spit him back out.

Fast forward twenty minutes, and Grady still hasn't got up. I am getting reports at two minute intervals from the snitch sisters. I was working on something, so I finally said to Sid "Don't worry about it,I'll deal with him in a minute" The next thing I know she goes upstairs and I hear her yell at her brother "Mum said you have to get up NOW and if you don't she is going to come up and smack you in the balls". WTF ? Has she lost the plot ? How on earth did my "... deal with him in a minute" translate to such a threat of mammoth proportions, and for the record, that is not a threat I have ever uttered. Sid's imagination must be working overtime. It did however have the desired effect, and Grady was downstairs in record time. He wasn't exactly full of the joys of spring, but then neither am I before 10:00 AM.

Once I got rid of the children I turned into a regular "Suzy Homemaker" and cleaned the house top to bottom, I was bloody near exhausted by the time I was finished. The reason for this sudden burst of domesticity you may wonder - Lindsay said she was bringing some friends home with her after  school.  No reason to broadcast outside of the family that we live in chaos, hence the big clean. Too bad Lindsay came home solo, no friends, she had to finish a project for school. I could have cried, all those hours I could have spent blogging, wasted on cleaning the house. At least my husband will appreciate my efforts I thought, but no, the rat bastard walked in and didn't say a word. He didn't notice that he wasn't tripping over thirteen pairs of shoes in the doorway, or the absence of mega dust bunnies, or that the kitchen was sparkling - not one word did he utter. Boy, did he ever get the silent treatment. It cost him a late night run to Dairy Queen, he won't be making that mistake again in a hurry.

We are going to the Brooklin Parade tomorrow, and rain is in the forecast. It won't be the first time we have viewed the floats from under a sea of umbrellas. My sister is on the parade route, so we always watch from her house. She serves Champagne & orange juice, and some particularly delicious bagels, so I have to admit, I don't really care about the weather because I go for the food. I hope everyone has a great weekend and I'll be back on Monday.