Far be if from my husband to shy away from a fight, (can't imagine where Grady get's it from), he has been persnickety all day and now tonight he is going at it with Lindsay.

She and Mary-Clare had planned on making an apple crisp for desert, only halfway through the process Lindsay discovers she is missing several key ingredients. This immediately becomes Rob's fault (because he does the grocery shopping) but he puts it back on Lindsay because she didn't write it on the list (he does have a valid point).

Back & forth they go, and heaven forbid, Rob should suck it up and make a trip to the grocery store. Meanwhile my vision of warm apple crisp smothered in Devon custard is fast going the way of the dinosaur.  I finally volunteered to go to the store and pick up the necessary ingredients. The next thing I know my magnanimous gesture has turned into a free for all at the van where all the kids are fighting over who rides 'shotgun", because apparently they are now all coming with me. I'm sure this was Rob's cunning plan from the outset, because as I back down the driveway, he is standing in the front window waving, with a distinctly smug "gotcha" look on his face.

I returned from what can only be described as a harrowing trip to the Bulk Barn, where my children who were overcome from the overflowing bins of candy, ran shrieking through the store, like things possessed, with me in hot pursuit, hissing "Don't touch that! No you can't have it!. Put it down!". and on and on ... only to find my husband, sitting serenely in a peaceful house.  He will pay.

I have been frantically searching through my dictionary and thesaurus, looking for something new to call my husband. Something that will not offend my sister, (I'm way beyond caring if I offend my husband), but still delivers the one-two punch of "Rat Bastard". If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears. It doesn't even have to be in English - my Russian followers take note !

Holiday Monday this weekend, and back to school on Tuesday. Everybody join in, "It's the most wonderful time of the year" .  So forgive me if I am overwhelmed by the joys of shipping my offspring out the door, and a little tardy with Tuesday's post.  Happy Labour Day and have a wonderful weekend.

Fight Of The Day

Only seven more sleeps until school starts and my sanity is hanging on by a thread. Only yesterday I was thinking how quickly the ten weeks of school holidays had gone by, and how overall, my termagant spawn had actually behaved better than anticipated.

That was yesterday, today I'm in a a whole different dimension.  Lindsay hasn't caused any problems, she sleeps all morning and hangs out with Mary-Clare in the afternoon, so fairly low maintenance. As long as you don't cross her path for the first half hour or so that she is conscious, you should be OK. The other two however, a whole other story. I swear they are trying to cram a whole summer of fighting into one day. Did they suddenly wake up this morning and realise their fightin' days were numbered and they'd better get to it ? Maybe it's a full moon, but whatever the cause, they had better cease and desist, because my patience is just one railroad tie short of a train wreck.  

Grady has been banished to his room - indefinitely, while Sid is at the dining room table writing out lines. Yes, I have reactivated the ever popular punishment. At the moment she is half way through writing  "I must not wish that Grady was dead" fifty times. If I find out she has spelled dead as "ded" she'll be starting all over again, I'm just that kind of person today.  Sid of course is totally pissed off, and would dearly like to continue the diatribe she started with Grady, but knows better. I think she is ready to skip right over the "I wish you weren't my family" part of her  threat (she is a bit predictable) and go straight to "I'm going to live in a cardboard box and you'll be sorry!".  That is all very well and good in August, I'd like to see her try that in a Canadian winter.

I have admit, in between the fighting, Grady did make me laugh. Sid did something - I don't know what - that set Rob off and he growled at her "You're just like Grady!". At which point her brother, not missing a beat, sniffles, sheds a fake tear and comments "They grow up so fast". Too clever by far that boy. The beat goes on.

Mouse On The BBQ

I hope you will indulge me one more mouse story, but this is a quick one. This weekend Rob discovered yet another mouse, but this one was in the barbeque, which at least makes a change from the house. My husband, never one to shy away from an opportunity to wind up his children, proceeds to notify Grady & Sid about the find, and then goes on to tell them that he is cooking the mouse along with their hamburgers and hot dogs. Now at this point, most normal children would probably lose their appetites, or at the very least start making gagging noises. Not so with my offspring, oh no, they have a completely different reaction along the lines of  "Way cool dad ! Can we watch?" What is wrong with these children ?

But wait, it gets worse. Ten minutes later Grady & Sid are actually arguing about who gets which part of the mouse. Really ! I don't know whether to be cheered by their willingness to try something new - I bet they wouldn't squabble over brussel sprouts - or dismayed by their monumental stupidity. After all who wants to eat the arse end of a mouse ?

Throw a shrimp on the barbie anyone ?

PS According to my husband, who is quickly loosing his genius designation, the mouse that was in the BBQ was all my fault!  He argued that mouse was actually the one that I had caught and let go too close to the house. All the damn mice look the same to me - sma;ll brown and furry - but maybe this one had a distinguishing feature. Who knew ?

Rob Versus Rodent

My husband is a genius. He has found a new way to trap the overabundance of mice that have recently invaded our crawl space. We thought we would let nature run it's course and tried throwing in the various cats  - it's not like we don't have lots to choose from - and slamming the crawl space door behind them, but they were all equally incompetent. They just sat and yowled to be let back out.  I can understand with Mowgli, because the poor little bugger spends half his life being dressed up and is probably going through an identity crisis. He actually has his own clothes. My mother-in-law brought over a Santa suit for him, and Lindsay bought him a bee costume. You have never seen a cat so humiliated. I'm probably going to have PETA knocking down my door soon, at least it will make a change from Children's Aid.

Anyway, I digress, back to my genius husband and his brilliant idea for catching mice. He now deliberately leaves the bin of dog food open and sits back and waits for the mice to hop in. You always know when he has made a successful catch; first the sound of the crawl space door being flung open followed by a triumphant cry. The exuberance is determined by the number of rodents he has apprehended. He was particularly animated on the two occasions he plucked out an obviously pregnant mouse, and is still congratulating himself on those momentous seizures. The capture is always followed by a victory lap through the house and out the back door. This is usually accompanied by pleas of "Oh, it's so sweet. Can we keep him, please, please please ?"  That is actually from me, not the kids. Of course the answer is always some variant of a resounding NO! 

Perversely I actually like mice, I think they are quite sweet - but not when they are running rampant through our crawl space. In fact I used to have pet mice. At one point we had thirty-two of them. Who knew that two mice can produce up to seventeen offspring every three weeks ? My mice keeping days came to an abrupt and violent  end one weekend, when my father-in-law paid us a visit, and unbeknown to us, (and quite by accident I'm sure) allowed the cats access to the room where we housed the mice. These weren't the dysfunctional cats we have now, they were the previous generation of consummate mousers and they had been salivating in vain for months, just waiting for a chance to hone their skills on the incarcerated rodents. So when that opportunity presented itself in the guise of my father-in-law, they were ready. Rob still laughs about it today, the carnage of overturned cages and the cats lolling nearby with full bellies and bloodied whiskers. I was not as amused. As pets go, that episode in our life was a dismal failure.

Why I Love My Son

I apologise for the technical difficulties last week. Apparently some posts went out late, and Friday's not at all. It may have been more due to human error and pressing the wrong button, but I'll stick with technical difficulties for now. I have everything sorted now, so this week should be back to normal, well, my kind of normal at least.


My son Grady is 10 years old, and is known for his love of jokes, good, bad & indifferent (mainly bad). One evening he asked me if I knew any Latin. The first phrase that came to mind was Tempus Fugit, where upon he asked what it meant. "It means time flees, or flies" I explained. At which point he said "Oh, I know a joke , do you want to hear it ?" It didn't really matter if I said yes or no at this point, he was going to tell it either way.  "What flies but doesn't have wings?" he asked. Oh, wow a tough one, let me take a stab in the dark. "Would the answer be time ?" I replied. He looks at me absolutely stunned, "How on earth did you know that" he asks incredulously.   I can only shake my head, and hope stupidity isn't catching.

As smart as he is, (he also has a photographic memory) Grady is often a slow learner. One day he will learn that one of Sid's favourite pastimes is to place something of his on the floor, and then she patiently lies in wait. As soon as he bends over to pick up the bait, she pounces with ninja like stealth and gives him a wedgie. He falls for it every single time. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny.

The joke was definitely on Grady last weekend. Saturday, as I have previously mentioned was Sid's birthday. She was desperate for an I-Pod, but so that she wouldn't clue in right away I wrapped it up inside of a large flat box. I then stuffed the box with tissue paper, and Grady kindly drew on a large arrow with an "Open Here" sign, at the top of the box, just to ensure that Sidney would have to dig right down to the I-Pod at the bottom. Stick with me, I promise this story is going somewhere. Fast forward to when Sid has unwrapped her presents and Grady decides to make use of the box. He cuts out an arm hole on each side, draws on a face and puts the box over his head. It was quite long, so it reached right down to his hips. Of course he can't see where he is going, so this is the perfect opportunity for Sid and Lindsay to exact revenge for previous slights. Eventually, they lead him out the front door and down the path. He still has the box over his head, only his sisters have neglected to tell him that the arrow & large "Open Here" sign are now pointing directly at his crotch. Totally unaware of this development, he stands at the end of the driveway, happily waving at passing cars. I suppose I should be grateful that the neighbours haven't yet reported us to Children's Aid. I'm sure it is only a matter of time.

So if you happen to be driving down a street one day and see a kid in a box waving at you, wave back, it may be Grady.

Camping Adventures

Grady & Sid are in camp this week, but Lindsay is still hanging around and Rob is working from home again, so I can't celebrate having a quiet house yet, although school is so close now, I can almost taste it.

So camp got mixed reviews yesterday. Sid came home happy, happy, bounced through the front door and declared camp to be "AWESOME!" . Grady on the other hand skulked up the path with a scowl on his face, dragging his lunchbox behind him. This didn't bode well. Sure enough his first words as he trudged into the house were "I hate camp".  Considering they went to the same camp, I was surprised to get such differing views.

My first concern was that the camp bully was back. Towards the end of their last camp Grady had come home in tears because a bigger boy had pounded on him when the counselors weren't looking. Against my better judgement, I had to leave Rob to deal with it, because neither he nor Grady wanted me anywhere near the camp.   Apparently they thought I was going to cause some sort of scene, which is a bit unfair because all I was going to do was warn the repugnant little bastard to stay away from my son, and tell his parents exactly what I thought of their loathsome offspring, while casting dispersions on their obviously lacking parenting skills, all of which I think is a perfectly normal reaction for a mother to have.  

Anyway, my fears were ungrounded, there was no bully, just Grady not liking camp, which was really too bad, because we are paid up for the week and he is going each day.  Rob was quite concerned  that Grady was upset, but he need not have worried, because when they came home today he was much better spirits.  He did have one problem tho', and that is the talent show the camp is holding on Thursday. He is concerned he doesn't have any discernible talent. Sid on the other hand had no such inhibitions and spent the better part of the evening perfecting her particular talent - picking her nose with her big toe ! I'm not sure how she made out, because I couldn't stand to stay and watch.

I maintain children should come with a warning label.

Me 1: Mouse 0

My day starts in the usual manner, a scream from Sid, alerting me to a mouse in the dog food bin. Rob said he would deal with it - my hero ! - but I notice a while later he is wandering around the house appearing to be searching for something. "Did you deal with the mouse?" I ask hopefully, "Not yet" he grumpily replies, "I'm looking for something to catch it in".

OMG ! What a wuss ! "Don't bother" I snap testily,  "I'll take care of it myself".  I march into the crawl space - well it's more of a squeeze actually, because it is a really tiny door, only to hear Sidney yelling at her father "Don't let her do it, she'll get stuck"  My diet starts tomorrow !  The good news is, I didn't get stuck, but I was wedged in pretty tight and  there wasn't a lot of room to maneuver. To be fair, it wasn't just me, everything that doesn't have a home gets tossed in the crawlspace and usually remains just inside the door. It is a rare occasion that anyone needs to venture further inside.

Anyway, I am trying, despite the constrictions, to catch the mouse, only he scarpers to the back of the food bin. Who could blame him ? I can't reach him, so I start prodding at him with the scoop hoping to drive him forward, to within my grasp. Unfortunately all I succeeded in doing was burying the poor little bugger under an avalanche of kibble. I managed to excavate him safely, and went to scoop him out, but he'd had enough of this game and made a bid for freedom. I think he was dazed and confused, because when he hit the ground, he scrambled around in circles instead of heading for cover.

Meanwhile, there I am with my ass end stuck out the door, swearing at the mouse, with Rob offering his two cents from the peanut gallery behind me. "I told you I'd take care of it. You should have let me do it. Now the mouse is going to be loose in the crawlspace" droning on and on and on. My immediate concern was that the mouse would make a dash through my legs and be loose in the house instead, but I didn't dare voice that concern.  (Just as an aside, I had a typo in the word house, and the spell check gave me the option of correcting it to "Nuthouse", which is actually a more accurate description of our home).

Fortunately, thanks to my ninja like actions, I pounced and was able to grab the mouse by the tail - I think I may have mentioned in my "How To Catch Mice 101" blog - never go near the end that has teeth. This was the sorriest excuse for a mouse that I have ever seen, normally the rodents we catch (isn't that sad that I was able to use the word normally?)  are well fed creatures with shiny coats, but this one was thin and scraggly, and it's fur looked like the 'Before' picture in a hair product commercial. Even the cat managed to look disgusted as I dangled it in front of it's nose. It briefly crossed my mind to feed it before I tossed it outside, but even I knew that would be destined to end in disaster, so I dumped it in the flowerbed instead. Run, be free little mouse.

I love It When A Plan Comes Together

Anyone who has watched the A-Team, either the series from years ago, or the more recent movie will know the catchphrase "I love it when a plan comes together". Just once, I'd like to be able to say that and have it be true. Instead if I had a catchphrase, I'm sure it would be something like, well, it would have lots of swear words, and is probably something I shouldn't repeat here.

I'm pretty sure my son's plan came together, because I suspect he set me up. He got a new app for his I-Pod in the guise of  a lie detector, so he decided to try it out on me. My first attempt "I love my son" came back as entirely false. My next attempt "Sidney is my favourite" was analysed as completely true. Great, so now I have Sidney running around the house singing "I'm mummy's favourite" and Grady isn't talking to me at all. If I know him, he is probably going to take advantage of my all encompassing feelings of guilt for weeks to come. That boy doesn't forget a bloody thing. I think I see another trip to the Lego store in my future.

Grady loves watching nature programs, Discovery Channel, in fact any and all scientific programs, that pretty much guarantee his "nerdom" for the next few years, something that even sporting a pierced ear will not overcome. I was however, suitably impressed when he repeated a little nugget of wisdom that he learned recently on one of these programs. Apparently it is a proven scientific fact that if you hurt yourself, swearing will make the pain go away twice as fast. I'm not sure how it works, but who cares ? As far as I'm concerned, the boy has handed me a "Get out of jail free" card, and I'm going to make full use of it. Long live nerds !

An Ode To Sid

As I mentioned last week, Sid's birthday was on Saturday, she turned eight. So to celebrate my youngest's special day, this blog is about Sid. Where do I start ?

According to my husband, Sid is my mini-me, and I have to agree with him on this one. Not only physically - photos of me at her age are identical, except that they're in black & white - and my clothes were awful. If you ask Rob, her penchant for slamming doors and hurling objects indiscriminately across the room, are traits she gets from me, but on that I beg to differ.

To give Sid her due, you never know what she is going to say.  My favourite remains the time she called her brother stupid, which was an insult I wouldn't tolerate, and insisted that she apologise immediately to her brother. However, the forthcoming apology "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid" was not quite what I had in mind. 

Then there was the time a little while ago, when she attacked her brother with a full on assault, and if I remember correctly a weapon, reducing him to tears, and she copped it big time for her vicious attack. When Rob got home and questioned her about her version of the events, (he'd already heard my version, at top volume down the telephone wires) Sid replied "I pounded the crap out of Grady and mummy shook me like a snow-globe". To be fair, Sid's hurt was fleeting, but Grady still has a scar.

She is not always fighting with her brother, sometimes they actually get along. This afternoon they sat at the dining room table for an hour painting rocks. I don't know why, and I don't care. For all I know they were plotting my downfall, but they were happy and therefore so was I.

Sid certainly has her moments, and can be quite endearing, like the time I asked her about the picture she was drawing and she told me it was a picture of  Rob & I - as she succinctly put it - "So I can remember you when you're dead". Quite touching really.

She certainly goes through life at the off-beat of her own drum and as such is totally unpredictable. Surprisingly she sat patiently for two hours on the weekend, while Lindsay curled her hair, only to go outside and whoop it up on the trampoline with her cousins and chase her brother through the bushes - still clad in her party dress no less. At one point Rob asked her to pick up an empty pop can that she had gaily discarded on the lawn, only to have her turn round and tell him in no uncertain terms, "You must be kidding. I'm the birthday girl".

So this goes out to the birthday girl, may she never change. 

For Dog Lovers Only

I love animals, I really do, or we wouldn't have so many pets, but even I wonder sometimes what we have let ourselves in for. 

For example our dog, Badger. He is the best family dog we've ever had, and considering he was abused for the first year of his life before we got him, he has come a long way.  One evening however, he was not looked upon so kindly. My husband was loading the dishwasher after dinner, and the dog snuck over to lick the plates. 

As luck would have it, at that moment there was a knock at the front door and the dog took off like a rocket. Unfortunately, his collar was caught on one of the prongs of the dishwasher and he took the whole bottom rack with him. Dishes, and by dishes I mean our Wedgwood wedding china, went flying through the air in every direction. What goes up must come down, and it did, dinner plates, side plates, bowls, you name it, come crashing down. The noise is horrendous and sends the now panicked dog on a frantic dash through the house, still attached to the dishwasher rack, with me in hot pursuit. The kids are all crying "Poor Badger". I'm yelling "Bugger the dog, what about my dishes?", as I'm watching my bone china dinner service shatter before my eyes. 

Long story short, the dog survived, my china didn't, but we still have him ! And the person who knocked at the door ? When they heard the commotion, they couldn't get away fast enough, and if they know what's good for them, they should still be legging it. 

Meanwhile, back at the homestead, the jird has been providing endless entertainment for the cats. I caught one of them this afternoon hanging off the cage, white knuckled and salivating, while the jird eyed him disdainfully from a safe distance. The jury is still out on the jird, Rob as we all know won't have anything to do with rodents, Lindsay has an aversion to it's tail and like her father won't go near it.  Grady & I agree it's sweet little creature, even tho' neither one of us have been able to catch it, and as for Sid, well, she's forgotten all about it. She has other things on her mind, her birthday is on Saturday, and last year I brought home a kitten instead of a birthday cake, so she has high hopes for a repeat performance. 

Have a good weekend, and all being well, I should be back on Monday. 

 

An Day In The Life Of My Teen

Lindsay caught me in a week moment and I agreed to her having her friends Mary-Clare & Hannah for a sleepover. Before long, the sleepover was brought forward to include dinner, and then even further to include lunch. Breakfast the next day was already a given. I had to step in at some point and put a halt to these expanding festivities before we ended up in a full blown custody battle with the other parents.

Lunch passed quietly enough and then the posse went across the road to swim at Hannah's house.  All too soon they were back, and the next thing I hear is a ruckus in the bathroom. They had decided to rinse out the chlorine and all climbed in the shower at once (still in bathing suits), how they didn't manage to tear down the shower curtain & rail is beyond me. So now we have a trail of wet towels through the house, one each from the pool, another each for their hair, you get the picture. Peace reigned again when they took off to the mall, where from the sound of things they terrorized old people in the Tim Hortons, and had the pictures to prove it. When Rob picked them up & drove them home, they were all wearing shower caps. I'm not sure if it was meant to be a disguise, or a game of Truth & Dare, I'm just glad it wasn't me driving.  

After dinner, which was a relatively calm and sedate affair considering, it was time for facials. They scared the bejeesus out of Grady when they all trooped out of the bathroom with their faces covered in brown gunk. I don't know what it was (except that it was expensive) but it looked and smelled awfully like the stuff we scrape off the  bottom of horses hooves. Hooting and hollering they trooped out front to take photos with Lindsay's new camera. They should have gone out back instead, because I don't think they were expecting the gang of teenage boys that had happened to gather across the road. Come to think of it I don't think the gang of hormone riddled, pimply faced youths were expecting the procession of gunked up girls that trooped out of front door either.
 
Always up for an adventure they decided to go with Rob to Dairy Queen. That wasn't going to put a stop to the facial routine, so with faces covered with Biore strips they all took off for DQ. Sid & Grady never miss a trip to get ice-cream, but one look at the girls in their glory, and they decided to stay home.

Once home again it was time to move on to the hair. Two hours and a can of hairspray later, they were gorgeous. After all that time primping and preening, did they go out ? No, they settled in the basement for a marathon scary movie session. Seemed like an awful waste of effort to me, but then what do I know?  

Some Things Never Change

It is said - and I paraphrase - that no matter how much things change, they stay the same. Today's blog is about that. Way back when, before I started blogging, I would often send an email to Rob at work, telling him how my morning had gone - typically the time between when he left, to when I dragged my sorry butt back home, battered and bruised, after getting the kids to school. He started forwarding these emails to his co-workers, and soon it became a regular occurrence. Entitled "My day so far", my fan base spread, and soon Ana, Brenda,Silvana and Judy were encouraging me to start a blog.  Who knew it would end up like this.

So today's episode harkens back to the early days of 'my day so far', when my life could come off the rails and spin out of control, all before 8 o'clock in the morning. This happened a week or so ago when Maddie was staying with us. We - as in Grady, Sid and I - had to be up early, so I could take them to swimming lessons. What the hell was I thinking, booking swimming lessons at 9:00 AM ?.  This particular day, Sid was not in the best of moods, and actually neither was Lindsay, but that was because I had woken her up early so she could make me French Toast for breakfast. I don't cook but my daughter does !

Anyway while I was talking to Maddie in the kitchen, I noticed that Sid had walked in and was standing around listening to us. After a couple of minutes I asked Sid if she wanted something and she explained that she had spilled her chocolate milk. My response was instantaneous, "What the hell are you standing there for, grab a towel and clean it up" I yelled as visions of chocolate milk soaking into the couch and carpet, went through my head. Lindsay flies into action with a roll of paper towels, while Sid starts sniveling "Don't yell at me, it's not my fault".  It was her versus the chocolate milk, so I'm not sure whose fault she thought it could be. By the time she makes it back to the scene of the crime, Lindsay has done what she can, and tosses the wet towels to (or maybe at) Sid to put in the bin. That throws Sid into a tizzy, because the towels were 'dirty', and a fight ensues.

Long story short, Sid launches herself upstairs, bemoaning the fact that she has a terrible sister, a terrible mother, wishes she wasn't part of such a terrible family, and the kicker, we wouldn't miss her if she were dead. Meet my daughter the drama queen. I've had enough by this time and send Grady to the basement to grab a duffel bag which I promptly handed to Sid, and instructed her to start packing. This sets Lindsay off, and she runs around the kitchen lecturing me, "Don't do this in front of Maddie" "Why are you winding her up before swimming?" "You're making matters worse" etc etc. She was probably right on all counts, but I was on a roll, and I wasn't backing down now. If you show any signs of weakness, these kids are on it like a pack of wild dogs. Any more crap out of Lindsay, and she'd be packing her own bag. I'm sure at that point she probably spat in my French Toast.

Meanwhile Grady has gone up to talk to Sid and managed to convince her not to pack her bag. Curses !  She was so close. So here we are, not even 8:15 A.M. and I've got one daughter not talking to me, the other wanting to leave home, I hadn't even had breakfast and I still had 3 hours of swimming lessons to get through. So how is your day shaping up ?

The Cardinal Rule

I have known my husband since I was fourteen, (and by known I don't mean in the biblical sense) so you would think by now he would have a pretty good understanding of what will piss me of, or maybe he does and just doesn't care about the consequences. Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead and all that.

Cardinal Rule in my house, if I don't have to be up for anything, Do Not Wake Me. There are three exceptions to this rule, well actually only two now, I removed the life or death scenario, it was to open to interpretation. "House On Fire" is one exception, and the second is the unexpected appearance at the front door of a particular celebrity I yearn after, and realistically, I know that ain't gonna happen.

Last week I had to be up at some ungodly hour each day, in order to feed my children before swimming lessons. Apparently mothers are expected to do that. This week was also fairly busy, with various offspring needing to be ferried to different activities. However on Thursday I had a reprieve and was able to indulge and sleep in. So you can imagine my annoyance when my slumber is disturbed by a ringing telephone. Fortunately my son, who to his credit, obviously has more sense than his father, hurtled across the room and threw himself on the phone after only one ring. It was probably more of act of self preservation, they all know that I can have a slight tendency be a little uncharitable if woken too soon. Oh hell, lets not sugar coat it, I am a total bitch if I don't get enough sleep.

Despite Grady's noble efforts, the one ring of the phone was all it took, and when I make it downstairs a few minutes later, I inquire about the phone call. "Oh that was dad" he replied "He sent you an urgent email, and needs you to look at it and get back to him right away."  Fearing the worst, I log on  and check my email account. Sure enough there is a brief message from my husband, short and to the point. "Can you check the pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday, and see if I brought home the (office) bathroom key?"  Are you kidding me ? He had the audacity to wake me up for that ?  First of all I really don't give a rats ass if he is locked out of the bathroom, and secondly, best case scenario it is a 2 1/2 hour round trip to Rob's office, so even if the said key was in his pocket (which it wasn't), I sure as hell wasn't taking it anywhere.

Considering the circumstances, I think I handled the intrusion in an admirable manner. I didn't even refer to my husband as a RB (which for my sister Jackie's benefit now stands for "Ravishing Bloke", feeble, I know, but sadly it was the best I could come up with on the fly), but everyone else knows the real meaning. Meanwhile kudos to my son, at least he knew that an urgent email from his father was not a reason enough to wake me !

Family Renunion

This weekend we attended a family re-union. The original venue was struck by lightening and burned down two weeks ago, which I would have taken as an omen, a sign from the Gods not to continue, but you can't keep a good man down, and an alternate venue was found in record time. Strike 2 was when my father-in-law called us at some ungodly hour on the morning of the event to see if we were still going. This man reads my blog, he should know better than to wake me that early on a weekend.  Definitely a case of "Don't poke the bear".

The reunion was for my mother-in-law's side of the family. I had no idea there were so many of them. Our cousin Edward had done a fantastic job of organizing the event and had managed to trace & include family members descended from several generations back. As a result of his years of research, he had some very interesting stories to tell us as well, which also sort of explained a few things I had been wondering about all these years. 

One cousin, Angela, upon hearing the forecast of rain, had thoughtfully brought a bunch of crafts for the kids, to entertain them indoors. A wonderful idea, except for the bucket of beads. Oh sure, it provided quite a bit of entertainment for a while, as the kids sat there earnestly threading necklaces and key-chains, however it was inevitable that eventually the bucket of beads would be sent flying and of course it was my youngest that did it. Hundreds of beads scattered across the floor, a hazard that threatened to wipe out half the Charpentier clan in one foul swoop. The one upside, Sid didn't get to finish the necklace she was creating for me. Lest that sounds harsh, I have worn my fair share of macaroni necklaces and knotted string bracelets, I didn't need anymore.

These people certainly know how to prepare a spread. Tables groaned under the weight of platters piled high with  food. The dessert table was laden with an incredible array of delicious pies, pastries and sweet treats. Sadly, due to insurance regulations, no alcohol was allowed. Personally that was fine by me, but I would have loved to have seen a few tongues loosed by a glass of wine, and heard more details of the juicy gossip that was only alluded to in such a sober state.

However, it was still fascinating to sit back and listen to the stories and the history, and dare I say it, learn about a few family feuds as well.  Who knew ? Skeletons in the closet, dubious inheritances, questionable parentage, curses, this family has had it all.  With well over a hundred family members in attendance, no one went by the name of John.  That is the family curse, any Charpentier male that has been christened with any variation of that name, has met an untimely death at a very young age. You may well scoff at curses, but when Edward read out the long list of the afflicted, it certainly makes you wonder.  I would love to divulge more, but I know some of the clan follow my blog, so probably best to play it safe and kudos go out to Edward for all his hard work and dedication to the Charpentiers, for organizing the event.

Toaster RIP

You probably read the title and thought  "Not another mouse in the toaster episode" , well you'd be wrong, the offending object today was a pop-tart or more generically a toaster pastry.  Personally,  I think the moron that devised the pop-tart is akin to an  arch villain and should be punished as such. Maybe there have just been too many mice traipsing through our toaster, but I defy you to find me an appliance that will toast these offensive pieces of preserve filled pastry, without jamming up the works.

No sooner had I climbed out of bed this morning, when Grady accosts me with a pair of his tongs in his hands. What fresh hell awaits me now ?  Apparently Sid, not wanting to wait any longer for breakfast - have these kids not seen the multiple boxes of sugar coated crap disguised as cereal I keep in the cupboard for just such an occasion ?  - decided to take matters into her own hands and put a pop-tart in the aforementioned toaster. That is when things started to go horribly wrong. Somehow it slipped through the grill part and got stuck at the bottom.

It was at this point that Grady came to the rescue armed with a pair of silicone coated tongs. "Don't worry mum" He explains, "I unplugged the toaster first". Well actually he didn't. He had unplugged the Tassimo instead, which explained why I had  been waiting so bloody long for my coffee. Meanwhile instead of removing the pop-tart he had only succeeded in squishing it further down in the toaster.  The tongs he had used were far too wide to fit properly in the opening, so I went looking for my toaster tongs. At this point I should mention somewhere in my kitchen I have not one, but three pairs of toaster tongs. I'm not sure why they keep disappearing, but they do, so I go out and buy another pair. In frustration I upend the contents of utensil drawer on to the table, and lo and behold a pair of toaster tongs.

The trouble is, it was too little, too late for the pop tart, and the only way to dislodge it from the bowels of the toaster, was to shake the shit out of it. It was at this point Lindsay came in, took one look around the kitchen and left again. Can't say I blame her. I was finally able to remove the remains of the sticky pastry, but I'm not sure if the toaster survived the assault. Oh well, toast is overrated.  And there was still the contents of the utensil drawer to replace. How can one little pop tart cause so much trouble ?

We are all set for a big family re-union tomorrow. I hoping it will provide me with a least a week's worth of material. Have a great weekend, and I'll be back on Monday.

"Do It !"

Last week we had our cousin Madeline staying with us. The kids adore her, especially Sid who shows her delight by jumping on Maddie every chance she gets. I was really hoping my children would be on their best behaviour during her visit, but realistically I knew that was wishful thinking.

Usually with Rob not getting home until late, and Lindsay having to start work two nights a week at 6:30, we have two sittings for meals, one for the kids at a reasonable time, and the second for Rob and I later on. When the opportunity arises, we welcome the chance for the family to sit and eat together, although after the other night's debacle I'm not sure why.

Grady, who I think has had a few too many later nights, was quite belligerent and refusing to eat dinner, but I insisted he still sat with us at the table, which he did stone faced throughout the meal.  He did or said something,  I don't know what, but it pissed Lindsay off, and she retaliated by calling him "Small Balls". He immediately countered with "Torpedo Tits" and soon the insults were flying fast & furious. I couldn't keep up with who was saying what and I'm yelling at them both to cease and desist. 
 
Sid decided this would be an excellent time to squirt mustard on Grady's head. Where this notion came from I have absolutely no idea, and it is certainly not the kind of meal time behaviour that we condone. Fortunately she voiced her intentions first, giving Grady and I the opportunity to make a grab for the mustard bottle in a preemptive strike. The cap which had been securely attached, suddenly popped off as we grappled with it, and I have to admit my self preservation instincts kicked in, as I let go of the mustard and ducked for cover instead. Fortunately Rob, not as cowardly as I, made a play for the mustard bottle and wrestled it out of Sidney & Grady's grasp. He admonished them both and glared at me - like this was my fault ?  Sidney took the rebuke as she always does - grinning - but Grady decided to go one step further and started answering back.

By this point I'd had enough and told Grady to go upstairs and get into his pajamas. He was destined for an early bedtime. There was obviously mutiny in the air because he outright defied me with a resounding "No!". It was time to bring out the big guns, and I warned him that if he hadn't gone upstairs by the count of three I would drag him up there by his hair. I'm sure that is one of the reasons he keeps his hair in a buzz cut, because I find it is so much harder to grab a handful when it's short. I started counting and he continued to sit there glowering at me. Poor Maddie looked on in horror, while Sid, positively giddy with delight at the opportunity to see her brother get into more trouble, sat there chanting "Do It ! Do It!".

Grady was obviously willing to push the envelope, because he waited until the last possible second to pelt upstairs, with me hot on his heels, Sidney's cheers of encouragement echoing in my head. So much for the hopes of an enjoyable  family dinner. I haven't totally given up on my dream of a mealtime resplendent of a Norman Rockwell painting, but it might have to be with someone else's family. 

My Son, The Psychopath

Most people who meet my 10 year old son think he is a very polite, charming boy. He loves animals and can coax even the grumpiest baby to laugh. In fact when he left kindergarten to move to grade school, his teacher cried. To be fair, when Sid left a couple of years later, she cried then too, but for totally different reasons.  What they don't know is that beneath that pleasing exterior lurks the heart of a psychopath.

When Sid was born, I spent a lot of time watching the Dr. Phil show. Not that I liked the man, in fact I couldn't stand him, but at that time of day, when I was nursing Sid, that program was the only option other than day time soaps, which will never see the light of day in my house. Anyway back to Dr. Phil and my son. One day his show was about psychopaths, or maybe sociopaths - I was sleep deprived and can't remember the exact details. However, what does stand out in my memory, was when Dr. Phil listed the seven character traits of a psychopath, I realised with horror that my son had at least four or five of them. After the initial shock had worn off, and cooler heads prevailed, I later recognised that those were attributes shared by most two year old boys.  

Now that I am older and wiser, I am beginning to wonder. Not content with owning a machete, I discovered this week that Grady has been inserting thumb tacks into his foam nerf bullets, turning otherwise harmless missiles into weapons of mass destruction. To be fair he hasn't used these on his sister - yet - but it is only a matter of time. It was Lindsay that sold him out. She showed me a box he had been using for target practice, peppered with tiny little holes. He had also been shooting his nerf gun at balloons left over from a birthday party, and although I was surprised he was able to burst them with only foam bullets, it didn't occur to me to investigate further. I was just elated no one was fighting. Stupid ! Stupid ! Stupid ! You would think by now, I'd know that the time when they are not fighting, is when they are at their most dangerous.

When I questioned Grady about his latest endeavours, he replied glibly "That's OK, Dad knows about it."  Now, why am I not surprised ? I guess it's not much of a stretch for a man who gives his son a machete (and no, I have not got over that yet) to give permission for booby trapped nerf bullets.  When I took my husband to task over this latest debacle,  he admitted that he was aware of it, but thought it was just one, bullet that had been doctored,  and only for the purposes of popping the previously mentioned balloons.  Poor misguided man or village idiot ? You be the judge. 

In Their Words

My youngest two children spent the long weekend with my sister.  They had a great time, although I'm sure if Lesley heard them describe the highlights of their weekend, it wouldn't have been what she would have picked. So here is how my children spent their weekend - in their words. The first day was spent at Peterborough Zoo.

Sidney's favorite part: "They had this huge slide, and when I was halfway down I farted and it echoed and all the kids waiting at the top heard it."  Before I could frame a suitable reply - if there even was such a thing, she followed it closely with another revelation. "We saw two turtles having sex".  This was a little disconcerting, and I was somewhat disturbed by my not-yet-eight year old having such heady knowledge. "Perhaps" I countered "They were playing leap frog?"  "Oh no" Sidney responds determinedly, "They were definitely having sex, Aunty Lesley said so".

Evidently, I must have a serious chat with my sister. Our father was old school, and we had a fairly strict upbringing, at least my three sisters did. I think by the time I came along, almost fourteen years later, my parents had all but given up. Anyway, we were taught never to lie, a virtue that to this day, Lesley takes very seriously, the rest of us not so much. However, where my children are concerned, there are those occasions where you just have to lie and learn to live with it. Turtles having sex, would be one of those occasions.  

Grady not to be bested, chimes in blithely, "Look here, I took pictures of the turtles doing it so I could show you ".  This just gets better and better, now I have my ten year old son shooting porno movies of turtles. It will be a long, long time, before they go off with my sister again.

Anxious to change the subject, I asked my son what his favourite part of the weekend was. "Well" he began "Certainly not when Sidney farted on the slide, that was sooo embarrassing. When she fell off the picnic table and hit her head on the tree, that was pretty funny".  

Sidney not to be outdone, interrupts, "Grady, don't forget to tell mum about your rash"  Then she turns to me and comments slyly "Trust me, you don't want to know where it is!".

Wow, so after spending three days at a zoo, splash pad, park, pool, Toronto Island and the movies, the best they can come up with is farting, sex, head injuries and a suspicious rash. Does life get any better than that ?.

A Rude Awakening

I think we've established Rob is working from home this week - so not only do I have to fight for computer time to blog, but I also don't get the chance to sleep in. Today was no different. He comes bouncing in to the bedroom this morning at some ungodly hour, announcing "I have to put the light on, I've got something to show you". He has the kids in tow, so it obviously wasn't the first thing that crossed my mind. Oh no it was much worse than that. I open my eyes, and there he is, holding a vase of something a few inches from my face, and it wasn't flowers. There is something in the vase, and I think it's squirming, that can't be right.  I'm squinting, my eyes adjusting to the light, trying to figure it out. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

Finally, I give up guessing and ask. "What the hell is it ?" You really don't want to wake me from my slumber for this. So, this person, formerly known as my husband, gleefully replies "It's five mice !" You have got to be f***ing kidding me. Please excuse the language, but I think you'll agree these are extenuating circumstances. The man wakes me up at 7:30 to shove a jar of squirming mice in my face. Does he have a death wish ?  Who in their right minds pulls a stunt like this ?  I just cannot get over the fact that he has carried multiple mice through the house, up the stairs and into MY BEDROOM.  Anyone who follows this blog, knows that I am not daunted by a mouse or two, after all it is usually left up to yours truly to catch them, but this is taking it a bit far.

It turns out that when he went to feed the dog, Sid must have forgotten to close the lid for the dog food bin (yet again), so it was open season. Rob said that when he pulled out the scoop, the five mice were rooted in shock. He at least had the wherewithal to plonk them into a handy vase, but that must have been when he lost the plot. Most normal people would have taken the quickest route to the garden and set the mice free, but no, this imbecile takes them on a grand tour of the house, and introduces them to his wife.

When I stumbled, still bleary eyed in to the kitchen a few minutes later, Rob looked at me in surprise. "Oh, you're up"  Nothing like stating the obvious. I'm really not sure how he thought that waking me up with a jar of mice in my face was conducive to me going back to sleep. 

Just for the record, when I read this back to my (soon to be former) husband - after all, if I am to publicly call him an imbecile on the world wide web, I'd like him to know about it first - he had only one comment. "I can't believe you're whining about not getting to sleep in." Did he totally miss the part about the mice ???  In my face ??? Unbelievable.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. Monday is a holiday here in Ontario, and the youngest two kids are at my sainted sister's house for the duration. Barring any outstanding arrest warrants for justifiable homicide, I'll be back on Tuesday. 

Happy Anniversary

It is our 26th wedding anniversary today, so I should probably find something complimentary to say about my husband. Trouble is, he has been working from home this week, which means I have had to get up early, because god forbid I should get to sleep in. Then when I am up, every time I turn around, I am tripping over him. Just my luck I was looking forward to a quiet week, the two youngest in camp, the oldest working her volunteer hours, and me with the house to myself, but it was not to be.

Someone once suggested I should blog about our wedding day, so I guess now is a good a time as any.  My husband was raised Catholic, and I was raised theoretically Church of England, but more realistically, despite the fact that I once taught Sunday School - hard to believe - I ended up with more of a heathenistic bent. Anyway as a result of my godless upbringing, it was difficult to find a priest that was willing to marry us in a church, so I went to the yellow pages, picked out a non denominational minister and booked my sister's garden for the big day. She had the ideal spot, a house on a lake, in the back of beyond.

Unfortunately I had overlooked that the back of beyond was difficult to get to, and directions were sketchy at best. It was a case of "Take the right hand turn after the big blue house. Follow the signs for the small engine repair, turn off after the damaged mail box, and look for the house with a weather vane. etc etc " There were no roads names, or house numbers, so it was pretty much a crap shoot if the guests even found the place.  Fortunately most of the guests did, unfortunately the minister didn't. We had to send out a search party, and then when they didn't return, a rescue team to find both them & the minister. Remember this was before cell phones, never mind Mapquest and GPS.

Meanwhile instead of the bright sunny day that had been forecast, we ended up with a monumental storm and downpour, only hours before the ceremony was due to start. Had I mentioned this was an outdoor affair ? The tables had all been set so we are running around, me in all my finery, veil flapping in the breeze, emptying cups and saucers that had filled with rainwater.

I was starting to think that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.  My husband to be is in the garage with his brother, slowly getting hammered on gin and tonics, while we waited for the minister. My aunty Kath, who was thrilled to be my matron of honour took her duties very seriously and used this as an opportunity to give me "the talk".  To this day I still don't know if she was trying to take my mind off the disaster the day was shaping up to be, or whether she really  thought she was imparting words of wisdom. Either way it was definitely an "Eeew ! Gross! " moment, and I was forced cut her off at the pass.

Finally the minister arrived, the guests are assembled, and it is time for me to make my grand entrance. My sister's house was built on a slope, with entrances on two separate levels. The grand plan was that we leave from the basement door and I would glide up the path to the minister. It would have worked like a charm, if my aunt hadn't let the door close behind her, and the doorknob had not come off in my father's hand. Kath, unaware of what had transpired, continued blithely on her way, while I am pounding on the door for someone to come and let us out. 

By the time it came for us to exchange our vows, I laughed all the way through it, much to my father's consternation. He hadn't come all this way to palm me off on my unsuspecting groom, to see it come off the rails at the last minute. Fortunately after quaffing the G&T's I don't think Rob even noticed. Come to think of it, I don't think he's ever touched gin again, I can't say he doesn't learn from his mistakes ! 

So, Happy Anniversary to my wonderful husband. Tune in tomorrow, and you'll see just how wonderful ! 

This One Is For The Ladies

My good friend Ana emailed me some jokes the other day, and one in particular, I thought was too funny not to share.

"I woke up this morning with chest pains, and then I realised I was standing on my nipples"

When I first read it, I laughed so hard that tears were streaming down my face, Lindsay who was in the room at the time, wanted to know what I found so funny, so I told her. She just looked at me blankly. She obviously didn't have a clue. Oh, to be that young and perky again.  

I am not ashamed to admit I breast fed three children for what felt like years, so perky isn't a term that describes any part of my anatomy. When I told the joke to Rob later, he laughed hysterically. After all he can relate, many times he has been woken during the night, with me frantically pounding on him because he has rolled over and squished an unsuspecting boob.

That has probably conjured up some kind of horrific mental picture. In hindsight, this post should probably have been prefaced with some kind of warning. "This blog contains coarse language and adult content"  There. Consider yourself warned. It's all downhill from here.