Some days I think I'm living in the Twilight Zone, everyone seems to get what is going in except me. Take the other night for example, I am helping Grady with his homework - spelling this time. One of his words was pterodactyl, and I'm spelling it out for him "Silent P- t-e-r-o-d-a-c-t-y-l" so he can write it in a sentence when suddenly he convulses in laughter. No words, just loud guffaws as he holds his stomach with one hand and points at me with the other. I have absolutely no clue what caused this disruption, and then I hear his father in the kitchen laughing along with him. "Will someone please tell me what is going on ?" I demanded, only to have Grady tell me, tears streaming down his face, "You said silent pee'". I guess you have to have a "Y" chromosome, to get it.
Meanwhile Rob is in a twilight zone of his own. He is convinced the cat is toying with him. He (Rob) is still having too much of a good time catching mice in the crawlspace - the man really needs to get a hobby - but he has now discovered that every time he takes the captives out to the neighbour's wood pile, (unbeknownst to the neighbours I might add) at the bottom of the garden, he is positive the cat sneaks down behind him and brings one of the mice back to the house, only to dangle it right in front of my husband. Guaranteed to send him into a tizzy, but then it really doesn't take much !
He was proven right on Monday evening, Lindsay and two friends were studying (yeah right, I'm not that gullible) at the dining room table when they noticed Mowgli lazily toying with a mouse. To give them their due, not one of them reacted, no screams, no jumping on chairs, they made me proud. Lindsay casually pointed it out and they all went back to work. It is a sad state of affairs that no one actually bothered to even retrieve the mouse, until Rob finally made the effort sometime later.
Friday 28 September 2012
Thursday 27 September 2012
Even More Things I learned The Hard Way
As every parent knows, you are always learning from your children ans here are more of the gems I have learned over the years.
- Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Mayan end of the world predictions within earshot of your children, even the teenager, unless you want to spend the next several months explaining why you are not going to build a fall out shelter in your basement.
- It is very important to teach your children how to apologize properly. When your youngest calls her brother stupid, and you tell her to say sorry, you may need to clarify that "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid" does not constitute a proper apology.
- Choose carefully what you tell your children. For example; Rob thought it was hilarious when he told our children that I lost my front tooth in a bar brawl, and their teacher asked me how it happened. I was actually hit the face with the muzzle of a rifle, which probably raises even more questions, so maybe I'll stick with the bar fight after all.
- When your child tells you she doesn't feel well and asks if she cuddle in bed with you. Say NO and lock her in the bathroom. If you don't, she will hurl with the force of a scud missile, and you will spend the morning washing your bedding, and scrubbing projectile vomit off the floors and walls !
- When ranting at your children, do not slam your fist on the table for emphasis. Trust me, it hurts like a son of a bitch.
- You may be able to win a battle with one child or even two of them at the same time, but if it goes off the rails with any more than that, accept that you are outnumbered and admit defeat.
Any finally, remember, no matter how sweet your children are now, I can guarantee you, at some point they will become a walking advertisement for the use of birth control.
- Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Mayan end of the world predictions within earshot of your children, even the teenager, unless you want to spend the next several months explaining why you are not going to build a fall out shelter in your basement.
- It is very important to teach your children how to apologize properly. When your youngest calls her brother stupid, and you tell her to say sorry, you may need to clarify that "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid" does not constitute a proper apology.
- Choose carefully what you tell your children. For example; Rob thought it was hilarious when he told our children that I lost my front tooth in a bar brawl, and their teacher asked me how it happened. I was actually hit the face with the muzzle of a rifle, which probably raises even more questions, so maybe I'll stick with the bar fight after all.
- When your child tells you she doesn't feel well and asks if she cuddle in bed with you. Say NO and lock her in the bathroom. If you don't, she will hurl with the force of a scud missile, and you will spend the morning washing your bedding, and scrubbing projectile vomit off the floors and walls !
- When ranting at your children, do not slam your fist on the table for emphasis. Trust me, it hurts like a son of a bitch.
- You may be able to win a battle with one child or even two of them at the same time, but if it goes off the rails with any more than that, accept that you are outnumbered and admit defeat.
Any finally, remember, no matter how sweet your children are now, I can guarantee you, at some point they will become a walking advertisement for the use of birth control.
Wednesday 26 September 2012
Pet Peeve Part II
These pet peeves are not in any particular order, but this particular one is near the top - unhelpful sales staff. In the past I have worked in retail and the food industry (although obviously not in the kitchen) so I know it isn't easy. However when I am ready to make a purchase and part ways with my hard earned cash, or more likely, highly charged credit card, (which by the way, I like to keep at the max, so if they get stolen no one can use them. Rob doesn't agree, but I think it has a certain logic), I do not appreciate having to wait at the counter, tapping my foot, while the sales girl and her girlfriend rehash the previous night's unfortunate double-date with Tweedle Dum & Tweedle Dumber. Not my concern.
There was once an unfortunate incident at a dry cleaners, when the girl behind the counter planned her upcoming Saturday night in technicolor detail over the phone, while we stood waiting for Rob's dry-cleaning. After several minutes of this nauseating one side conversation I politely (yes really!) suggested that she might like to continue her call after she had served her customers. The girl glared over at me and said "Take a pill lady". Rob looked stricken, he took one horrified glance at her and gasped something to the effect of "Do you realise what you've just done ?" and back pedaled out of the store so fast he left skid marks on the floor. He is not one for confrontation.
This was back in the days when I had an appalling temper, and was more apt to lose it. My temper hasn't changed much over the years (the kids can attest to that) I just don't have enough energy to indulge it as frequently now. Anyway back to the girl who told me to take a pill, what happened next wasn't pretty. While Rob hovered anxiously outside the store, I let her have it with both barrels. If I remember correctly, the dry-cleaning was free, and I do believe the company is no longer in business, and good riddance.
Tuesday 25 September 2012
How I spent My Sunday
My day begins benignly enough when I notice three out of the four cats hovering in the kitchen. They had already been fed, and my husband announces to no one in particular "Mouse alert in the kitchen" No one takes much notice, sad really that we are so blasé about it. Rob, not prepared to be ignored, exclaims louder "There is a mouse in the kitchen between the oven and the wall". I'm not sure what he expects to accomplish, because (a) I couldn't care less, and (b) I have no plans on squeezing behind the stove to capture an erstwhile mouse. Even the cats gave up, so for all I know it is still there.
I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.
The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open.
I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted. Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them.
One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body !
Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?. Like I said - One eye open honey !
I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.
The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open.
I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted. Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them.
One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body !
Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?. Like I said - One eye open honey !
Monday 24 September 2012
Teenage Angst
My daughter's friends know I write a blog, in fact most of them follow it, so when they gather en masse at our house and discuss in strident tones the various topics I will reveal here, they must know that they are fair game.
This evening's debacle began with an innocent question from Lindsay a couple of days ago "Can Tori come over after school on Thursday and watch a movie?" I had no problem with that as long as she was up to date with her homework. I do remember however, asking at the time "Is it only Tori ? What about everyone else in your posse?" No, categorically it was only Tori coming over, apparently no one else was interested. Of course I knew that was going to change, and sure enough, the next day I get a text "Can MC come to ?" By this time I've totally forgotten about the arrangements for Thursday evening, and a confusing conversation is haltingly texted back and forth. Between my cursed fat fingers and Lindsay's incomprehensible abbreviations I don't think either one of us had a clue what the other was on about, but somehow it turned out I unwittingly agreed to throwing in a pizza along with the movie.
Today when I was out and about I get several texts in quick succession " Can Diana come too?" followed by "and Tess?" and then "We have to eat early because MC has a dentist appointment". By now we are almost up to the full complement of the posse, which I had kind of assumed might happen, and as suspected the rest showed up anyway. No problem, I can handle this.
I thought teenage boys ate a lot of groceries, they have nothing on teenage girls. As soon as the first group walk in the door, they head straight to the kitchen, and then not one, not two but a chorus of three voices float down to me "Is there anything to eat ?" A loaf of bread and half a jar of peanut butter later, it is time to get down to business. This is when the fun starts. Bear in mind that these conversations are carried on in the kitchen, while Rob is trying to work a few steps away.
I will not use names, although I am sorely tempted, but they know who they are. First up for discussion was underwear, or at least lack there of and which of these bevy of girls go commando. Did I ever get a few surprises! Now you understand why I am not naming names! From underwear they moved on to shaving, and started comparing who had the prickliest legs, I think they stopped at the removal of underarm hair, much to Rob's relief. Even with two daughters, he is not used to this intimate level of discussion.
The second horde of girls breezed in, this was like the D-Day landings in Normandy, as wave after wave of teenagers arrived at our door. After much shrieking and clamouring - it seems the only way they can carry on multiple conversations is at top volume, with each successive announcement louder than the previous, a sudden silence fell over the house. I called up to Rob (I'm not stupid, I hid in the basement) to find out what had happened, only to be told they had moved up to the bathroom to remove blackheads on each others backs. To borrow the teenage vernacular, Eeew! Gross!. When I was that age, my friends and I wouldn't even admit to having blackheads on our backs, never mind "Here, have a go at popping them". Lindsay has only just started Grade 10, what the hell can I expect over the next two years?
I have to give these girls credit for one thing, I was hitting a dry spell with my blog, but not anymore. So this goes out to a lovely group of girls; (in no particular order) Hannah, Mary-Clare, Diana, Tess & Tori, with many thanks for the inspiration !
This evening's debacle began with an innocent question from Lindsay a couple of days ago "Can Tori come over after school on Thursday and watch a movie?" I had no problem with that as long as she was up to date with her homework. I do remember however, asking at the time "Is it only Tori ? What about everyone else in your posse?" No, categorically it was only Tori coming over, apparently no one else was interested. Of course I knew that was going to change, and sure enough, the next day I get a text "Can MC come to ?" By this time I've totally forgotten about the arrangements for Thursday evening, and a confusing conversation is haltingly texted back and forth. Between my cursed fat fingers and Lindsay's incomprehensible abbreviations I don't think either one of us had a clue what the other was on about, but somehow it turned out I unwittingly agreed to throwing in a pizza along with the movie.
Today when I was out and about I get several texts in quick succession " Can Diana come too?" followed by "and Tess?" and then "We have to eat early because MC has a dentist appointment". By now we are almost up to the full complement of the posse, which I had kind of assumed might happen, and as suspected the rest showed up anyway. No problem, I can handle this.
I thought teenage boys ate a lot of groceries, they have nothing on teenage girls. As soon as the first group walk in the door, they head straight to the kitchen, and then not one, not two but a chorus of three voices float down to me "Is there anything to eat ?" A loaf of bread and half a jar of peanut butter later, it is time to get down to business. This is when the fun starts. Bear in mind that these conversations are carried on in the kitchen, while Rob is trying to work a few steps away.
I will not use names, although I am sorely tempted, but they know who they are. First up for discussion was underwear, or at least lack there of and which of these bevy of girls go commando. Did I ever get a few surprises! Now you understand why I am not naming names! From underwear they moved on to shaving, and started comparing who had the prickliest legs, I think they stopped at the removal of underarm hair, much to Rob's relief. Even with two daughters, he is not used to this intimate level of discussion.
The second horde of girls breezed in, this was like the D-Day landings in Normandy, as wave after wave of teenagers arrived at our door. After much shrieking and clamouring - it seems the only way they can carry on multiple conversations is at top volume, with each successive announcement louder than the previous, a sudden silence fell over the house. I called up to Rob (I'm not stupid, I hid in the basement) to find out what had happened, only to be told they had moved up to the bathroom to remove blackheads on each others backs. To borrow the teenage vernacular, Eeew! Gross!. When I was that age, my friends and I wouldn't even admit to having blackheads on our backs, never mind "Here, have a go at popping them". Lindsay has only just started Grade 10, what the hell can I expect over the next two years?
I have to give these girls credit for one thing, I was hitting a dry spell with my blog, but not anymore. So this goes out to a lovely group of girls; (in no particular order) Hannah, Mary-Clare, Diana, Tess & Tori, with many thanks for the inspiration !
Friday 21 September 2012
Happy Birthday Rob !
My dear husband (affectionately aka Rat Bastard) is facing a milestone birthday today. I had forgotten just how much older he is than I am! I won't say which milestone birthday it is, but I have just discovered as I'm sitting here stuffing my face full of chocolate (a bad habit I have got into as I blog) that Rob is the same age as the "After Eight" chocolates, at least according to what it says on the the box I am determined to work my way through this evening, which is probably more exciting than anything I can think of to write about.
I first met my husband to be when I was fourteen, although I was dating his older brother at the time. This was thanks in part to my sister, who didn't know what else to do with me when I was in Canada on a summer long visit, so she set me up with the eldest son of her friend & neighbour. Years later, she still likes to take the credit for our happy union, conveniently forgetting that had it gone her way, I would be with Rob's brother, whom I'm sure, still gives thanks for his lucky escape.
If you were to ask Rob, he would have yet another version of of how history played out. I seem to be the only one who does not have a Swiss cheese memory. As far as he is concerned - and this is the story he likes to tell our children - our relationship began when I pinned him up against the barn door, and he was terrified. Of course, you'd have to question why he followed me out to the barn in the first place, and the way I remember it (and really that is the only version that counts - it is my blog after all), it was dark, I tripped, fell on him and at the same time stuck my hand in an exposed electrical outlet, resulting in a jolting shock and a burn to my hand. Believe me, that you don't forget. Anything else Rob has to say about it is at best questionable, and probably total bollocks.
Despite his colourful memories, I must give him his due, he has stuck by me, not an easy feat over the years, and fathered three wonderful children. Oh hell, where is this sentiment going ? Who am I kidding ? I've given him the best years of his life, and as for the kids, while Lindsay has turned out OK, the other two are little hooligans. Still let it be said, Happy Birthday to my awesome husband! I love you !
I first met my husband to be when I was fourteen, although I was dating his older brother at the time. This was thanks in part to my sister, who didn't know what else to do with me when I was in Canada on a summer long visit, so she set me up with the eldest son of her friend & neighbour. Years later, she still likes to take the credit for our happy union, conveniently forgetting that had it gone her way, I would be with Rob's brother, whom I'm sure, still gives thanks for his lucky escape.
If you were to ask Rob, he would have yet another version of of how history played out. I seem to be the only one who does not have a Swiss cheese memory. As far as he is concerned - and this is the story he likes to tell our children - our relationship began when I pinned him up against the barn door, and he was terrified. Of course, you'd have to question why he followed me out to the barn in the first place, and the way I remember it (and really that is the only version that counts - it is my blog after all), it was dark, I tripped, fell on him and at the same time stuck my hand in an exposed electrical outlet, resulting in a jolting shock and a burn to my hand. Believe me, that you don't forget. Anything else Rob has to say about it is at best questionable, and probably total bollocks.
Despite his colourful memories, I must give him his due, he has stuck by me, not an easy feat over the years, and fathered three wonderful children. Oh hell, where is this sentiment going ? Who am I kidding ? I've given him the best years of his life, and as for the kids, while Lindsay has turned out OK, the other two are little hooligans. Still let it be said, Happy Birthday to my awesome husband! I love you !
Thursday 20 September 2012
Why NASA Won't Be Calling Anytime Soon
I love my children, I really do, and I think on the most part they are smart kids, however there are days when I shake my head in wonderment, and not in a good way. So here are the top 5 reasons NASA won't be calling our house any time soon:
5) I wouldn't say that my son excels at sports, but he certainly does try his best. After his first baseball game at school, he came home all excited. "Our team didn't win" he said beaming, "but I scored a goal". That's right a goal, in baseball. That alone may be the first clue as to why his team didn't win.
4) Lindsay mistook the Branston pickle for chocolate sauce and poured it all over Grady's ice-cream. Fortunately he wasn't stupid enough (or maybe hungry enough) to eat it.
3) As parents we are not immune to stupidity either. Rob backs down the driveway in my van and bumps into his car which was parked behind. No harm done (gotta love those polymer panels) except to his bruised ego because we all witnessed it.
2) I back down the driveway and bump into Rob's car, still parked behind. Thank goodness he did it first, because then he was in no position to lecture me. He was actually in his car at the time, so technically it was still his fault for not moving out of my way fast enough. I also had the bonus thrill of catching sight of his panic stricken face in the rear view mirror as I made impact.
And the number 1 reason we won't be hearing from NASA anytime soon - Grady has spent the last couple of days bemoaning the fact he is an only child. Now, I'm not sure what they are teaching him in maths, but the last time I looked I still had three children. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on his part.
5) I wouldn't say that my son excels at sports, but he certainly does try his best. After his first baseball game at school, he came home all excited. "Our team didn't win" he said beaming, "but I scored a goal". That's right a goal, in baseball. That alone may be the first clue as to why his team didn't win.
4) Lindsay mistook the Branston pickle for chocolate sauce and poured it all over Grady's ice-cream. Fortunately he wasn't stupid enough (or maybe hungry enough) to eat it.
3) As parents we are not immune to stupidity either. Rob backs down the driveway in my van and bumps into his car which was parked behind. No harm done (gotta love those polymer panels) except to his bruised ego because we all witnessed it.
2) I back down the driveway and bump into Rob's car, still parked behind. Thank goodness he did it first, because then he was in no position to lecture me. He was actually in his car at the time, so technically it was still his fault for not moving out of my way fast enough. I also had the bonus thrill of catching sight of his panic stricken face in the rear view mirror as I made impact.
And the number 1 reason we won't be hearing from NASA anytime soon - Grady has spent the last couple of days bemoaning the fact he is an only child. Now, I'm not sure what they are teaching him in maths, but the last time I looked I still had three children. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on his part.
Wednesday 19 September 2012
My Pet Peeves
Take seat and get comfortable, this could go on for a while.
What is with the god awful ice-cream flavours they are marketing to kids nowadays? I think "Super Kid" and the equally insidiously named "Cotton Candy" ice-creams must be amongst the most toxic substances known to man - other than my friend Raquel's Coconut & Peanut Butter Meatballs, which is a whole other story, and not mine to tell (Sorry Raq !). I have no idea what my husband was thinking (obviously he wasn't) when he brought home a tub of this crap. I don't know what is in this stuff, I could try reading the ingredients, but I can't pronounce most of them and of those that I can, I have absolutely no idea what they are. I'm guessing at the very least they must be radioactive, based on the way the stuff positively glows in the dark. In case you are wondering what started this rant (honestly some days it doesn't take much to set me off). I was trying to get some stains off the kitchen counter, Mr.Clean Magic Eraser and I are on a first name basis. There were some very persistent marker (or so I thought) stains, so I started in on my kids as to why they had crayoned all over the counter, only to have them tell me it wasn't marker but Cotton Candy Ice-Cream. WTF ? This stuff won't come off. I can't imagine what it does to their insides.
Stupid people - I have always been told I don't suffer fools gladly , and I have no time for stupid people. I have met some village idiots in my time, but I came across the Grand Poo-bah last week. I was stopped at some lights, when a woman turns left into the adjacent lane. The only thing is, she is waving a cigarette around in one hand, a cell phone in the other, so I can only assume she is steering with her knees. On top of that she has a yappy little dog sitting on her lap, hanging halfway out of the drivers side window. As she careens around the corner she misses my front bumper by maybe a few inches, I honestly thought she was going to hit me, and I think by the sudden panicked look on her face she thought so too. I let out a blistering string of curses, telling her exactly what I thought of her as she cruised by, and she had the audacity to ask me what my problem was.
Which brings me to my final pet peeve, at least for today - lazy drivers who refuse to indicate. They may know they are about to slam on the brakes and take a corner on two wheels (although actually that sounds like something my kids would say I do - but at least I indicate) but a little advance warning would be nice people. I admit I am not perfect (although I think some days I come pretty damn close) but at least I like to think I am a courteous driver. My husband is often the worst offender, I have to bite my tongue when he is driving especially in my (now deceased) van, I kept reminding him that the indicators worked, (one of the few things that actually did) and he should try using them. If I didn't think we'd end up in a ditch, I'd lean across him and turn them on my self.
I'm sure if he bothers to read this, I will be in for some blistering comments, but I'll take the chance.
What is with the god awful ice-cream flavours they are marketing to kids nowadays? I think "Super Kid" and the equally insidiously named "Cotton Candy" ice-creams must be amongst the most toxic substances known to man - other than my friend Raquel's Coconut & Peanut Butter Meatballs, which is a whole other story, and not mine to tell (Sorry Raq !). I have no idea what my husband was thinking (obviously he wasn't) when he brought home a tub of this crap. I don't know what is in this stuff, I could try reading the ingredients, but I can't pronounce most of them and of those that I can, I have absolutely no idea what they are. I'm guessing at the very least they must be radioactive, based on the way the stuff positively glows in the dark. In case you are wondering what started this rant (honestly some days it doesn't take much to set me off). I was trying to get some stains off the kitchen counter, Mr.Clean Magic Eraser and I are on a first name basis. There were some very persistent marker (or so I thought) stains, so I started in on my kids as to why they had crayoned all over the counter, only to have them tell me it wasn't marker but Cotton Candy Ice-Cream. WTF ? This stuff won't come off. I can't imagine what it does to their insides.
Stupid people - I have always been told I don't suffer fools gladly , and I have no time for stupid people. I have met some village idiots in my time, but I came across the Grand Poo-bah last week. I was stopped at some lights, when a woman turns left into the adjacent lane. The only thing is, she is waving a cigarette around in one hand, a cell phone in the other, so I can only assume she is steering with her knees. On top of that she has a yappy little dog sitting on her lap, hanging halfway out of the drivers side window. As she careens around the corner she misses my front bumper by maybe a few inches, I honestly thought she was going to hit me, and I think by the sudden panicked look on her face she thought so too. I let out a blistering string of curses, telling her exactly what I thought of her as she cruised by, and she had the audacity to ask me what my problem was.
Which brings me to my final pet peeve, at least for today - lazy drivers who refuse to indicate. They may know they are about to slam on the brakes and take a corner on two wheels (although actually that sounds like something my kids would say I do - but at least I indicate) but a little advance warning would be nice people. I admit I am not perfect (although I think some days I come pretty damn close) but at least I like to think I am a courteous driver. My husband is often the worst offender, I have to bite my tongue when he is driving especially in my (now deceased) van, I kept reminding him that the indicators worked, (one of the few things that actually did) and he should try using them. If I didn't think we'd end up in a ditch, I'd lean across him and turn them on my self.
I'm sure if he bothers to read this, I will be in for some blistering comments, but I'll take the chance.
Tuesday 18 September 2012
A Typical Evening In Our House
Normally, it is the mornings when our house is fraught with peril, but the evenings are also known to have their share of excitement, take this one for example; not too long ago.
My youngest, who after dinner has consumed a chocolate
mousse, a yogurt and copious amounts of fruit is wailing how hungry she still is,
at which point her father sarcastically offered her cat food. What the hell was he thinking ? While she is far from impressed, her brother thinks this is
hilarious, and wastes no time in winding her up. However, It didn't take her long
to wipe the smile off his face with a well aimed blow to the
arm.
I step in at this point and send the youngest to bed, where upon the screaming reaches fever pitch and she has a total melt down, accompanied by slamming doors and objects hurled indiscriminately across her bedroom. I should add, that the first door slam wasn't up to her usual standard, so she went back and did it again ! She isn't satisfied until she causes the whole house to shake.
Not wanting her to get away with this behaviour, I order her back down stairs, and tell her to try it again - but quietly. After shooting me a venomous look she stomps back up the stairs, and slams the door - again. Game on ! I can do this all night if necessary - & sometimes it is.
The evening is shaping up nicely, my son still in tears, bemoaning the fact that he has the worst sister ever, whilst eldest daughter has now joined the fray screeching at her younger sister to shut up because her hamsters have delicate hearing. Never mind that she is now making more noise than the other two put together.
Meanwhile, Rob has given up on whatever he was trying to do, and is making a frantic dash around the house closing any open windows, because,
god forbid, the neighbours should hear the carrying on - like that ship hasn't sailed already.
As far as I am concerned, no good will come from hanging around, so I take the dog and make a strategic retreat to the basement until the commotion dies down. Fun times !
As far as I am concerned, no good will come from hanging around, so I take the dog and make a strategic retreat to the basement until the commotion dies down. Fun times !
Monday 17 September 2012
Homework Nightmares
I'm so happy the children are back at school and doing homework again - NOT. Grady especially, despite his photographic memory - which actually does more harm than good - has the attention span of a gnat. Trying to get him to settle and concentrate on his homework is a chore requiring herculean effort on my part.
The burden starts soon after the kids return home, usually commencing with an innocent question "Grady, do you have any homework?". Typically the first inquiry goes unanswered, prompting me to try again, usually with the same result. I follow this with a full out bellow."GRAY-DEEE !! Do you have any homework tonight?" At this point the boy deigns to reply, "Dunno". By now, I've had enough, I retreat and let the matter slide until after dinner, lulling him into a false sense of security, but before he can leave the dinner table, I pounce. "Grady, check your backpack for homework". An exaggerated sigh followed by "In a minute". and I counter with "NO. DO. IT. NOW" in a tone that allows no argument.
So finally almost two hours after my initial query, I manage to get him to sit down with his maths book. I celebrate by returning to the kitchen and clear up the dishes. Five minutes later I check up on him but the little bastard has escaped. Sidney the snitch informs me he is in his bedroom playing Legos. Time to bring out the big guns "Grady, what the **** are you doing ? Get your arse down here now and do your homework" This is usually followed by a threat of some kind, the severity of which is determined by my rapidly increasing bad mood. After five minutes and still no sign of my son, I am forced to march upstairs and bodily drag him back down to his homework.
It would seem that the delay tactics have only just begun. Grady manages to finish the first question but then tragedy strikes in the guise of a broken pencil. Five minutes to find a sharpener, another five minutes to determine that it won't work, and then ten more minutes to find another pencil, apparently any old pencil just isn't good enough. By now, I am more often than not in full blown curse mode, and my fingers are just itching to strangle him. While he arms himself with a new pencil, I in turn arm myself with a newspaper. No, I am not going to sit down and do the crossword, I am instead going to use it as a weapon. I would prefer to use a taser, but I believe there is a law against that, so instead I roll up the newspaper and smack him upside the head every time his mind wanders. I have tried other implements, but I've found the newspaper works best. It gives a satisfying "thwack" when it makes contact and doesn't leave a mark. I am more than happy to impart these tidbits of parental wisdom, feel free to use them.
The burden starts soon after the kids return home, usually commencing with an innocent question "Grady, do you have any homework?". Typically the first inquiry goes unanswered, prompting me to try again, usually with the same result. I follow this with a full out bellow."GRAY-DEEE !! Do you have any homework tonight?" At this point the boy deigns to reply, "Dunno". By now, I've had enough, I retreat and let the matter slide until after dinner, lulling him into a false sense of security, but before he can leave the dinner table, I pounce. "Grady, check your backpack for homework". An exaggerated sigh followed by "In a minute". and I counter with "NO. DO. IT. NOW" in a tone that allows no argument.
So finally almost two hours after my initial query, I manage to get him to sit down with his maths book. I celebrate by returning to the kitchen and clear up the dishes. Five minutes later I check up on him but the little bastard has escaped. Sidney the snitch informs me he is in his bedroom playing Legos. Time to bring out the big guns "Grady, what the **** are you doing ? Get your arse down here now and do your homework" This is usually followed by a threat of some kind, the severity of which is determined by my rapidly increasing bad mood. After five minutes and still no sign of my son, I am forced to march upstairs and bodily drag him back down to his homework.
It would seem that the delay tactics have only just begun. Grady manages to finish the first question but then tragedy strikes in the guise of a broken pencil. Five minutes to find a sharpener, another five minutes to determine that it won't work, and then ten more minutes to find another pencil, apparently any old pencil just isn't good enough. By now, I am more often than not in full blown curse mode, and my fingers are just itching to strangle him. While he arms himself with a new pencil, I in turn arm myself with a newspaper. No, I am not going to sit down and do the crossword, I am instead going to use it as a weapon. I would prefer to use a taser, but I believe there is a law against that, so instead I roll up the newspaper and smack him upside the head every time his mind wanders. I have tried other implements, but I've found the newspaper works best. It gives a satisfying "thwack" when it makes contact and doesn't leave a mark. I am more than happy to impart these tidbits of parental wisdom, feel free to use them.
Friday 14 September 2012
My New Best Friend
I have a new best friend, her name is Tina. She used to be a mere acquaintance, but now she is my "bestie" and has rocketed straight to the top of my Christmas card list. You may wonder why this paragon of virtue has been honoured with such accolades ? She has done what no sane person would do and has taken my two youngest children for the evening (it's a work night for Lindsay too - bonus!). What's more she is going to do it every week, and she follows my blog, so she knows what my children are like ! I am so excited I would literally sing her praises if I could, however unlike my husband, I fully realise I can't sing, so I wouldn't subject anyone to it.
Anyway, I digress, Tina is the local Scout master, and she suggested that Sid & Grady might like to join the group and benefit from all the opportunities the Scouts have to offer. Never mind the kids, I'm just giddy to have the benefits of a child free evening. Grady was a bit reticent at first until he heard all about the bows and arrows, pocket knives, axes and bonfires! Apparently no machetes allowed tho'. Shame.
Sid meanwhile has already started to plan what she is going to take to the first camp. She is such a girl ! I'm not sure where in the tent she is going to put the thirteen stuffed toys that are at the top top her list, but that is all Tina's problem now !!
Grady was very impressed with his friends' Daniel & Matthew's merit badges. I don't think he has quite grasped the concept tho'. When he saw the "pet" badge, he figured he was a shoe-in, and started tallying a badge per pet. I didn't have the heart to break it to him that having twenty odd pets doesn't guarantee one badge never mind twenty.
So thank you Tina, and I hope you are still talking to me when you return!
Anyway, I digress, Tina is the local Scout master, and she suggested that Sid & Grady might like to join the group and benefit from all the opportunities the Scouts have to offer. Never mind the kids, I'm just giddy to have the benefits of a child free evening. Grady was a bit reticent at first until he heard all about the bows and arrows, pocket knives, axes and bonfires! Apparently no machetes allowed tho'. Shame.
Sid meanwhile has already started to plan what she is going to take to the first camp. She is such a girl ! I'm not sure where in the tent she is going to put the thirteen stuffed toys that are at the top top her list, but that is all Tina's problem now !!
Grady was very impressed with his friends' Daniel & Matthew's merit badges. I don't think he has quite grasped the concept tho'. When he saw the "pet" badge, he figured he was a shoe-in, and started tallying a badge per pet. I didn't have the heart to break it to him that having twenty odd pets doesn't guarantee one badge never mind twenty.
So thank you Tina, and I hope you are still talking to me when you return!
Thursday 13 September 2012
There Goes The Neighbourhood
I often wonder what our neighbours think of us. The families either side of us and opposite are good friends, the other neighbours are more of a nodding acquaintance. Those are the people that must shake their heads in puzzlement as we go about our fractured lives.
Case in point: this morning. The kids are on their way out the door for school when a loud squawking ensues. One of the cats has caught a bird. This is an event in itself, because that particular cat is normally filed under the heading of "useless". Upon witnessing said bird and cat, Sid yells for help. Grady meanwhile makes a dive through the flower bed, flattening my lavender bushes, intent on a rescue mission. Rob leaves the house and joins the fray. The bird is creating a right commotion and Sid shouts out "Is it still alive?". Really ? "Ah, no Sid, birds normally continue to squawk like that and flap their wings long after they are dead!" Honestly, I used to have such high hopes for that girl.
By now the chase is on, the cat is in the lead, with the still screeching bird clamped firmly in his jaws, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he weaves between the bushes. Grady is in hot pursuit, with my husband bringing up the rear, and around and around the front garden they go. Sid meanwhile, is motionless in the driveway, hands held up to her face, slack jawed with a stricken expression, a resemblance not unlike the Edvard Munch painting, "The Scream". Despite their best efforts, the bird didn't make it. Not that it really stood much of a chance once the Keystone Cops were on the scene.
Last week it was a similar scene, same MO but different players. I had left the house in time to see the one cat that actually catches anything, intent on making a little chipmunk his next meal. Now I happen to like chipmunks, and was not going to tolerate such wanton death and destruction, so I did the only thing I could and screamed for Rob. To give him his due, he was out of the house in a flash, fearing the worst, (however, I'm not sure what that could be in my driveway at ten in the morning), and I start yelling staccato instructions that probably only he would understand "Charlie! Chipmunk! Stop Him!" And off we go.
Anyone witnessing our journey up and down the driveway, around the tree, through the rose garden and between the vehicles, would probably not have noticed the cat and the chipmunk hugging the ground, but our antics were certainly visible. I can just imagine the subsequent conversations go something like this;
"Saw that strange family down the road again today"
"Oh yeah, what were they doing this time?"
"The usual, chasing each other around the garden, yelling & screaming"
'Those damn kids are so unruly"
"Wasn't the kids this time, it was the parents".
At least the chipmunk made it !
Case in point: this morning. The kids are on their way out the door for school when a loud squawking ensues. One of the cats has caught a bird. This is an event in itself, because that particular cat is normally filed under the heading of "useless". Upon witnessing said bird and cat, Sid yells for help. Grady meanwhile makes a dive through the flower bed, flattening my lavender bushes, intent on a rescue mission. Rob leaves the house and joins the fray. The bird is creating a right commotion and Sid shouts out "Is it still alive?". Really ? "Ah, no Sid, birds normally continue to squawk like that and flap their wings long after they are dead!" Honestly, I used to have such high hopes for that girl.
By now the chase is on, the cat is in the lead, with the still screeching bird clamped firmly in his jaws, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he weaves between the bushes. Grady is in hot pursuit, with my husband bringing up the rear, and around and around the front garden they go. Sid meanwhile, is motionless in the driveway, hands held up to her face, slack jawed with a stricken expression, a resemblance not unlike the Edvard Munch painting, "The Scream". Despite their best efforts, the bird didn't make it. Not that it really stood much of a chance once the Keystone Cops were on the scene.
Last week it was a similar scene, same MO but different players. I had left the house in time to see the one cat that actually catches anything, intent on making a little chipmunk his next meal. Now I happen to like chipmunks, and was not going to tolerate such wanton death and destruction, so I did the only thing I could and screamed for Rob. To give him his due, he was out of the house in a flash, fearing the worst, (however, I'm not sure what that could be in my driveway at ten in the morning), and I start yelling staccato instructions that probably only he would understand "Charlie! Chipmunk! Stop Him!" And off we go.
Anyone witnessing our journey up and down the driveway, around the tree, through the rose garden and between the vehicles, would probably not have noticed the cat and the chipmunk hugging the ground, but our antics were certainly visible. I can just imagine the subsequent conversations go something like this;
"Saw that strange family down the road again today"
"Oh yeah, what were they doing this time?"
"The usual, chasing each other around the garden, yelling & screaming"
'Those damn kids are so unruly"
"Wasn't the kids this time, it was the parents".
At least the chipmunk made it !
Wednesday 12 September 2012
Advice For Pet Owners
With the amount of animals, amphibians and fish that we have in and out of our house, I consider myself a bit of an expert when it comes to pets. I am more than willing to impart some of this hard earned knowledge, so get comfortable.
I have to start by stating the obvious, for example; make sure if you have more than one rabbit they are both the same sex - I can't stress enough, the importance of that. We made that mistake, and paid for it dearly. Once the errant offspring were named, Rob knew we'd never be allowed to get rid of them, so our only choice was to get the males fixed. We learned the hard way - is there any other ? - that it costs more to fix a rabbit than it does a dog. I believe our vet took his family on a Hawaiian cruise on the back of that mistake.
Skunks; if there is even a hint of a skunk within a 10 mile radius, keep your dog indoors, no matter how much it has to pee. The only thing worse than having a dog sprayed by a skunk, is having two dogs sprayed by a skunk. If you should have the misfortune of experiencing a skunk attack, forget about tomato juice, it does NOT work. Neither does toothpaste, ketchup, vanilla essence, baby shampoo, or any other asinine remedy that someone helpfully suggests. Nothing works, not on the dog, not on you, and not on the furniture. The only thing that takes away the eye watering, gag inducing stench is time. About eighteen months should do it. Don't say I haven't warned you. Actually, now that I think about it, there is something worse than having two dogs sprayed by a skunk, and that is having three particularly stupid cats nailed by the vindictive little bastard.
Which leads me to my next piece of advice, never ever attempt to give a cat a bath. If your cat does require a bath for any reason, pay the money and hand him over to the professionals, trust me it is worth it. The one time we attempted it, the cat shot straight up the tiled wall of the bathroom like a rocket, taking most of the flesh from my arms with it.
If you have cats, keep the toilet lid closed, lest a cat falls in. Believe me, this has happened in our house more times than we can count, and it cannot be a co-incidence. A cat soaked in toilet water is not happy, nor is the person (usually me) who has to trail behind and clean it up. Granted the first few times it happens, when summoned by the splash and screech of the victim, it is hilarious to watch the bedraggled and extremely irate cat, haul itself out of the toilet bowl whilst trying to maintain its dignity. Do not attempt to go to its aid, that can only end badly. See "cat bath" above - same outcome.
We also have three African Dwarf frogs, not sure why but we do. They are actually quite cute, but before you go out and buy some, be warned they are horny little sods, and unless you want to explain to your own offspring, why one frog is constantly "hugging" the other two, get a fish instead.
What can I say about hamsters, other than to avoid them like the plague. We used to have have five hamsters (now only three), and although they are cute, they are not social animals, so we also had five cages. They are nocturnal, so do not believe the idiot in the pet store when they tell you "Don't worry, you can train them to be diurnal" They LIE. Hamsters come out at night and cause a really loud ruckus on their wheels, this is just what hamsters do, and there is nothing you can do to change it.
The sad thing is I am probably responsible for most of the animals that have crossed our threshold, along with those that haven't, so I only have myself to blame. I heard recently that chipmunks are really easy to tame, so that is what I'm working on next.Of course if Rob has his way it will be a guinea pig or two or three. Where will it end ?
I have to start by stating the obvious, for example; make sure if you have more than one rabbit they are both the same sex - I can't stress enough, the importance of that. We made that mistake, and paid for it dearly. Once the errant offspring were named, Rob knew we'd never be allowed to get rid of them, so our only choice was to get the males fixed. We learned the hard way - is there any other ? - that it costs more to fix a rabbit than it does a dog. I believe our vet took his family on a Hawaiian cruise on the back of that mistake.
Skunks; if there is even a hint of a skunk within a 10 mile radius, keep your dog indoors, no matter how much it has to pee. The only thing worse than having a dog sprayed by a skunk, is having two dogs sprayed by a skunk. If you should have the misfortune of experiencing a skunk attack, forget about tomato juice, it does NOT work. Neither does toothpaste, ketchup, vanilla essence, baby shampoo, or any other asinine remedy that someone helpfully suggests. Nothing works, not on the dog, not on you, and not on the furniture. The only thing that takes away the eye watering, gag inducing stench is time. About eighteen months should do it. Don't say I haven't warned you. Actually, now that I think about it, there is something worse than having two dogs sprayed by a skunk, and that is having three particularly stupid cats nailed by the vindictive little bastard.
Which leads me to my next piece of advice, never ever attempt to give a cat a bath. If your cat does require a bath for any reason, pay the money and hand him over to the professionals, trust me it is worth it. The one time we attempted it, the cat shot straight up the tiled wall of the bathroom like a rocket, taking most of the flesh from my arms with it.
If you have cats, keep the toilet lid closed, lest a cat falls in. Believe me, this has happened in our house more times than we can count, and it cannot be a co-incidence. A cat soaked in toilet water is not happy, nor is the person (usually me) who has to trail behind and clean it up. Granted the first few times it happens, when summoned by the splash and screech of the victim, it is hilarious to watch the bedraggled and extremely irate cat, haul itself out of the toilet bowl whilst trying to maintain its dignity. Do not attempt to go to its aid, that can only end badly. See "cat bath" above - same outcome.
We also have three African Dwarf frogs, not sure why but we do. They are actually quite cute, but before you go out and buy some, be warned they are horny little sods, and unless you want to explain to your own offspring, why one frog is constantly "hugging" the other two, get a fish instead.
What can I say about hamsters, other than to avoid them like the plague. We used to have have five hamsters (now only three), and although they are cute, they are not social animals, so we also had five cages. They are nocturnal, so do not believe the idiot in the pet store when they tell you "Don't worry, you can train them to be diurnal" They LIE. Hamsters come out at night and cause a really loud ruckus on their wheels, this is just what hamsters do, and there is nothing you can do to change it.
The sad thing is I am probably responsible for most of the animals that have crossed our threshold, along with those that haven't, so I only have myself to blame. I heard recently that chipmunks are really easy to tame, so that is what I'm working on next.Of course if Rob has his way it will be a guinea pig or two or three. Where will it end ?
Tuesday 11 September 2012
Fun Times
Prior to the start of school, we had a wonderful weekend with friends at their cottage. I spent two days sitting on the dock with Lisa, admiring a beautiful lakeside view. Together we solved all the world's troubles, whilst I drank myself into happy oblivion, it doesn't take much, two coolers and I'm done. Meanwhile Scott and Rob took all the kids extreme-tubing. Extreme-tubing is much like regular tubing, except you try to drown the kids. As the boat corkscrews around the lake, riding over its own turbulent wake, the tube goes airborne, and the kids fly off one by one. If I had been sober witnessing this, I would have probably been concerned, but being happily inebriated as I was, really who cares ? With three children, it's not like I don't have a spare. The tube is really a misnomer, as it was actually shaped like a large couch, and as Lisa pointed out, as the heads bounced up and down above the back of the seat, it looked like a giant game of Whack-A-Mole. You would think that a few minutes of the white knuckle, bone jarring, head bashing fun would be enough, but no they were at it for hours. Personally, I wouldn't have lasted two minutes.
Rob decided it would be fun to try water-skiing again, something he hasn't done in over 30 years. I tried to warn him that it was a younger man's sport, but in the end the reality was his life insurance was up to date and the mortgage gets paid off if anything happens to him, so why not ? Go for it. After he went through all the hand signals with Hannah & Lindsay who were spotting & photographing, (Lisa and I electing to stay on dry land), it did occur to me that my husband's life was essentially in the hands of two teenagers. At that point I suggested that he introduce a new signal, beat his fists on his chest for "I need a defibrillator NOW". Fortunately that wasn't necessary. However, today he is regretting his rash decision, as he hobbles around with every muscle and joint aching. I really did start out being sympathetic towards his plight, but quite honestly it was just too much work.
We had taken the dog with us and he had a fine old time, right up until he fell off the end of the dock. After that, he was a lot more cautious. Unfortunately he is terrible on car rides, so normally I avoid it at all costs, but I relented for this weekend. He gets incredibly excited at the prospect of going in my van and we spent the 2 1/2 hour return journey with Badger yipping and whining the whole way. At one point Rob, with his sanity hanging on by a thread, grabbed the nearest thing he could - a Kleenex box - and started wailing away behind him, yelling "Shut Up" - eyes still on the road. He realised he'd completely missed the dog, when an angry Sid pipes up "OW! What was that for?". If the dog wasn't enough of an irritant, Grady & Sid had learned a jaunty little ditty taken from a sign in the cottage bathroom. Trust me after only ten minutes of listening to them sing "In the land of fun & sun, we don't flush for #1", over and over, I was more than ready to flush them. Good times.
So this goes out to Lisa, Scott & Hannah, with hearty thanks for a wonderful weekend.
Rob decided it would be fun to try water-skiing again, something he hasn't done in over 30 years. I tried to warn him that it was a younger man's sport, but in the end the reality was his life insurance was up to date and the mortgage gets paid off if anything happens to him, so why not ? Go for it. After he went through all the hand signals with Hannah & Lindsay who were spotting & photographing, (Lisa and I electing to stay on dry land), it did occur to me that my husband's life was essentially in the hands of two teenagers. At that point I suggested that he introduce a new signal, beat his fists on his chest for "I need a defibrillator NOW". Fortunately that wasn't necessary. However, today he is regretting his rash decision, as he hobbles around with every muscle and joint aching. I really did start out being sympathetic towards his plight, but quite honestly it was just too much work.
We had taken the dog with us and he had a fine old time, right up until he fell off the end of the dock. After that, he was a lot more cautious. Unfortunately he is terrible on car rides, so normally I avoid it at all costs, but I relented for this weekend. He gets incredibly excited at the prospect of going in my van and we spent the 2 1/2 hour return journey with Badger yipping and whining the whole way. At one point Rob, with his sanity hanging on by a thread, grabbed the nearest thing he could - a Kleenex box - and started wailing away behind him, yelling "Shut Up" - eyes still on the road. He realised he'd completely missed the dog, when an angry Sid pipes up "OW! What was that for?". If the dog wasn't enough of an irritant, Grady & Sid had learned a jaunty little ditty taken from a sign in the cottage bathroom. Trust me after only ten minutes of listening to them sing "In the land of fun & sun, we don't flush for #1", over and over, I was more than ready to flush them. Good times.
So this goes out to Lisa, Scott & Hannah, with hearty thanks for a wonderful weekend.
Monday 10 September 2012
Dawn Of The Guinea Pig
Sunday night, and the class guinea pig returns to school tomorrow - still in one piece, as I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. I'm sure some of you have tuned in this morning expecting a different outcome, so I'm sorry to disappoint. It was touch and go for a bit tho' when we discovered that the cat could stick it's paw (& claws) through the bars of this cage. We are used to smaller rodents, with less space between the bars, and therefore the cat can usually only glower and drool. I say "cat" singular, because the other three lazy bastards wouldn't know a rodent if it fell on their head. Only the one cat shows an interest, but unfortunately even he draws the line at mice.
My more immediate concern is how my husband has reacted to our weekend guest. As soon as Grady arrived home from school on Friday afternoon, he announced he was taking Becky out. Alarm bells go off, and I immediately grab my husband in a panic. "What the hell is he talking about ? He's only ten. Who is Becky and where does he plan on taking her?" Fortunately, as it turns out, Becky was the guinea pig, (who on earth names a guinea pig Becky, I'd like to know?). A little while later Rob calls me to come and look at my son, who is lying on the floor, the guinea pig perched serenely on his chest, chirping as he is grooming her. "Isn't that sweet ?" whispers my husband, as I eye him suspiciously. I can feel a definite disturbance in the force, something is not right. By Friday evening, Rob is dropping innocent one liners "That guinea pig is quite cute" and "I'm surprised the guinea pig doesn't smell" and by bedtime he is actually talking about getting a guinea pig once the rest of the hamsters have kicked off.
Now I like the guinea pig and all, in fact I used to have one when I was Grady's age (also a class pet that I ended up with. So that is where it all began !) but we have clearly defined roles in this house. Mine is to want a new pet, beg and plead and generally kick up a fuss until I get it, and Rob's role is to keep saying no until I wear him down. We have been doing it that way for years, and it works. For him to suddenly turn around and suggest bringing an animal into the house concerns me. My first thought, is that he got a kick to the head when he was riding, but he insisted not, he just liked the guinea pig. Okay fine, I'll play along for now.
The next thing I know, as I am trying to read this afternoon (usually an open invitation for the family to bug me on mass) he starts on about the guinea pig again, only this time he has upped the ante. "Guinea Pigs are social animals aren't they ?" he begins. "Yes" I reply cautiously, not liking where this conversation is going. He continues "So if we get two, they could go in a cage together?" Where the hell did this come from ? I'm back to my "kicked in the head" theory again. But he hasn't finished. "I was thinking about where we could keep them, and I thought I could build a stand for their cage". It's worse than I thought, far worse. Once he starts planning on building things it means he is deadly serious. "Where were you thinking of putting this stand ?" I asked. "Right over there" he said pointing at the wall, "We'll just get rid of your bookshelves". Now he has gone too far, he really has lost the plot. Over my cold dead body, is he moving my bookshelves for the sake of a guinea pig cage. I will get rid of my children (and now definitely my husband) before I get rid of my books. It is going to be interesting to see how this one plays out. I must not forget to give Grady's teacher a really big "thank-you" when I see her next.
My more immediate concern is how my husband has reacted to our weekend guest. As soon as Grady arrived home from school on Friday afternoon, he announced he was taking Becky out. Alarm bells go off, and I immediately grab my husband in a panic. "What the hell is he talking about ? He's only ten. Who is Becky and where does he plan on taking her?" Fortunately, as it turns out, Becky was the guinea pig, (who on earth names a guinea pig Becky, I'd like to know?). A little while later Rob calls me to come and look at my son, who is lying on the floor, the guinea pig perched serenely on his chest, chirping as he is grooming her. "Isn't that sweet ?" whispers my husband, as I eye him suspiciously. I can feel a definite disturbance in the force, something is not right. By Friday evening, Rob is dropping innocent one liners "That guinea pig is quite cute" and "I'm surprised the guinea pig doesn't smell" and by bedtime he is actually talking about getting a guinea pig once the rest of the hamsters have kicked off.
Now I like the guinea pig and all, in fact I used to have one when I was Grady's age (also a class pet that I ended up with. So that is where it all began !) but we have clearly defined roles in this house. Mine is to want a new pet, beg and plead and generally kick up a fuss until I get it, and Rob's role is to keep saying no until I wear him down. We have been doing it that way for years, and it works. For him to suddenly turn around and suggest bringing an animal into the house concerns me. My first thought, is that he got a kick to the head when he was riding, but he insisted not, he just liked the guinea pig. Okay fine, I'll play along for now.
The next thing I know, as I am trying to read this afternoon (usually an open invitation for the family to bug me on mass) he starts on about the guinea pig again, only this time he has upped the ante. "Guinea Pigs are social animals aren't they ?" he begins. "Yes" I reply cautiously, not liking where this conversation is going. He continues "So if we get two, they could go in a cage together?" Where the hell did this come from ? I'm back to my "kicked in the head" theory again. But he hasn't finished. "I was thinking about where we could keep them, and I thought I could build a stand for their cage". It's worse than I thought, far worse. Once he starts planning on building things it means he is deadly serious. "Where were you thinking of putting this stand ?" I asked. "Right over there" he said pointing at the wall, "We'll just get rid of your bookshelves". Now he has gone too far, he really has lost the plot. Over my cold dead body, is he moving my bookshelves for the sake of a guinea pig cage. I will get rid of my children (and now definitely my husband) before I get rid of my books. It is going to be interesting to see how this one plays out. I must not forget to give Grady's teacher a really big "thank-you" when I see her next.
Friday 7 September 2012
R.I.P. Wilbur
Sadly we are down one more animal. Lindsay's dwarf hamster Wilbur,
has bitten the dust. He was actually my favourite of the hamsters. I quite thought he had personality, but then maybe I'm not the best judge of character.
Being a dwarf hamster he had a saucer type exercise device, instead of the regular wheel which the bigger hamsters use. This contraption drove us crazy with the squeaking (don't forget hamsters are nocturnal) so we solved the problem by applying olive oil. Perhaps we applied too much because as soon as Wilbur picked up speed - Bazinga! He'd fly right off. This didn't daunt him, and back he'd go in the saucer, whip around a few times and then sail across the cage again at warp speed. I rather think he enjoyed being the world's first flying hamster, and it was as funny as hell to watch. By the way, it wasn't his Mach 10 flights that killed him, he actually died of old age. Just wanted to set the record straight.
Fortunately Wilbur's funeral was handled with a little more decorum than the previous debacle. Although it is a sad state of affairs when you have to set out the ground rules beforehand. Namely, do not stomp on the hamster coffin to flatten it, do not play catch with the hamster coffin and under no circumstances offer up the corpse to the dog because having him eat it, is easier than burying it. This would be understandable perhaps if I were giving these instructions to my ten year old son, but no, these admonitions were directed at my husband. Even after that, I still caught him whispering promises to the dog.
Meanwhile Grady came home from school on his first day, elated because his class has two pets, a hamster & a guinea pig. Guess who is on guinea pig patrol for the first week and gets to bring it home for the weekend ? Wahoo ! I think his teacher hates me. She is actually very nice, and I used to quite like her, right up until the time she palmed off the African Dwarf Frogs on Grady, and he wasn't even in her class at the time. She had better not be getting any bright ideas this time around. I know this will get back to her, so I should just warn you Ms Z., that the last guinea pig we looked after for someone, is pushing up daisies alongside the dearly departed hamsters - just sayin'. He hasn't even brought it home yet, but already Grady's latest mission is to persuade his father to let him get a guinea pig. I don't need a crystal ball to know how that conversation is going to go, unless of course we need to replace the class pet .....
Keeping my fingers crossed. Have a great weekend everyone, and I'll be back on Monday - unless of course I'm at the pet store ...
Being a dwarf hamster he had a saucer type exercise device, instead of the regular wheel which the bigger hamsters use. This contraption drove us crazy with the squeaking (don't forget hamsters are nocturnal) so we solved the problem by applying olive oil. Perhaps we applied too much because as soon as Wilbur picked up speed - Bazinga! He'd fly right off. This didn't daunt him, and back he'd go in the saucer, whip around a few times and then sail across the cage again at warp speed. I rather think he enjoyed being the world's first flying hamster, and it was as funny as hell to watch. By the way, it wasn't his Mach 10 flights that killed him, he actually died of old age. Just wanted to set the record straight.
Fortunately Wilbur's funeral was handled with a little more decorum than the previous debacle. Although it is a sad state of affairs when you have to set out the ground rules beforehand. Namely, do not stomp on the hamster coffin to flatten it, do not play catch with the hamster coffin and under no circumstances offer up the corpse to the dog because having him eat it, is easier than burying it. This would be understandable perhaps if I were giving these instructions to my ten year old son, but no, these admonitions were directed at my husband. Even after that, I still caught him whispering promises to the dog.
Meanwhile Grady came home from school on his first day, elated because his class has two pets, a hamster & a guinea pig. Guess who is on guinea pig patrol for the first week and gets to bring it home for the weekend ? Wahoo ! I think his teacher hates me. She is actually very nice, and I used to quite like her, right up until the time she palmed off the African Dwarf Frogs on Grady, and he wasn't even in her class at the time. She had better not be getting any bright ideas this time around. I know this will get back to her, so I should just warn you Ms Z., that the last guinea pig we looked after for someone, is pushing up daisies alongside the dearly departed hamsters - just sayin'. He hasn't even brought it home yet, but already Grady's latest mission is to persuade his father to let him get a guinea pig. I don't need a crystal ball to know how that conversation is going to go, unless of course we need to replace the class pet .....
Keeping my fingers crossed. Have a great weekend everyone, and I'll be back on Monday - unless of course I'm at the pet store ...
Thursday 6 September 2012
Reality Check
Over dinner yesterday evening, Lindsay told me that she'd be late home from school today, because she and her friend Tori were going to the salon where they get their hair done for a make-over. Apparently, the young lady who does the aesthetics (and I can only assume because my spell check didn't go haywire, I have that correct) needs to prepare a portfolio and wanted to use the girls as models for some "before" and "after" shots.
Lindsay went on to say that Alison (the salon owner & faithful blog follower!) suggested I should come in and do it as well. I was sitting there, feeling quite flattered, thinking perhaps it might be a fun thing to do, that is until Lindsay continues "She wants some middle aged models too". Wow. Way to burst my bubble. After all, she could have just said "models of all ages", but no she had to make that middle age jab.
Of course, Grady the resident comedian, takes that comment and runs with it. "So mum" he begins, "Does that mean you are middle aged or that you were born in the Middle Ages ?" Cue the laughter. I suppose it is at least a step up from the dinosaur age, which is when he usually implies I was born.
Keep in mind, these were the self same children who were begging me for gobs of money the night before. So in a span of 24 hours I have gone from being the "Best Mummy Ever!" to a washed up old fart. There is nothing like one's children to give one a reality check. Me thinks this brood needs to be taught a lesson, and as soon as I take my Geritol and have a nap, I'll get right on it.
Lindsay went on to say that Alison (the salon owner & faithful blog follower!) suggested I should come in and do it as well. I was sitting there, feeling quite flattered, thinking perhaps it might be a fun thing to do, that is until Lindsay continues "She wants some middle aged models too". Wow. Way to burst my bubble. After all, she could have just said "models of all ages", but no she had to make that middle age jab.
Of course, Grady the resident comedian, takes that comment and runs with it. "So mum" he begins, "Does that mean you are middle aged or that you were born in the Middle Ages ?" Cue the laughter. I suppose it is at least a step up from the dinosaur age, which is when he usually implies I was born.
Keep in mind, these were the self same children who were begging me for gobs of money the night before. So in a span of 24 hours I have gone from being the "Best Mummy Ever!" to a washed up old fart. There is nothing like one's children to give one a reality check. Me thinks this brood needs to be taught a lesson, and as soon as I take my Geritol and have a nap, I'll get right on it.
Wednesday 5 September 2012
The First Day Of School ...
.... Or otherwise fondly referred to as "Welcome To Hell!"
So, one day at school, and it all comes apart at the seams. Sidney ended up bringing home her over large zippered binder that was the cause of a knock-down-drag-out-fight in the middle of Walmart last month. Turns out after all that I was right, (was there ever any doubt ?) and that she isn't allowed to have it in the classroom because it is too big. To wit; one pissed off child, one smug mother.
Next it is Grady's turn. He is short certain classroom supplies. My admonition of "Six duo-tangs are more than enough, what do you need more for ?" comes back to haunt me. Turns out after all I was wrong, (how could that be ?) as Grady announces that he does in fact need more. To wit; one chastened mother, one smug child.
Meanwhile, I gradually embark upon the transformation from mother to ATM, as the requests for funds begin to mount; lunch money, cheques to cover class trips, cash for agendas, curriculum books and finally payment for the ubiquitous school photos. This is the one that really gets me, I actually have to pay for the bloody photos before they are even taken, never mind getting to see them. What if that is the day my normally beautiful daughter wakes up looking like Quasimodo ? Granted, an unlikely scenario, but if it happens ? Too bad, 'cause I'm stuck paying for the pictures anyway.
As they commence to empty their back-packs, my blood runs cold at the thought of that chore I dread at the beginning of each school year; having to fill out the loathsome emergency contact forms - in triplicate. I have filled out identical forms for each child, every year for at least the past six years. Every year it is exactly the same information, we haven't moved house, the phone numbers haven't changed, the same emergency contacts are alive and kicking, and the kids still haven't developed any life-threatening allergies or serious medical conditions over the holidays - although we came pretty close on a couple of occasions, but probably best not to get into that.
I'm so tempted to fill in the forms with bogus information this time, and see if anyone notices. So what's the worst that can happen ? I'm sure they don't need my phone number again. With all the trouble Sid has gotten into, they probably have me on speed dial anyway. As for the "Authorised Pick-Ups", I'm certainly not too worried about an unauthorized person taking the kids home at the end of the day. They sure as hell wouldn't keep them for very long. After all, have you met my children ?
Rob thinks I am being a little harsh, but I don't see him stepping up to fill in the damn forms. I didn't complete this much paperwork when I applied for a mortgage or even my passport. I'm sure all these documents are part of an evil scheme by school administrators everywhere, to avenge themselves on the parents. Oh well, one day down, only 108 to go until Christmas break.
So, one day at school, and it all comes apart at the seams. Sidney ended up bringing home her over large zippered binder that was the cause of a knock-down-drag-out-fight in the middle of Walmart last month. Turns out after all that I was right, (was there ever any doubt ?) and that she isn't allowed to have it in the classroom because it is too big. To wit; one pissed off child, one smug mother.
Next it is Grady's turn. He is short certain classroom supplies. My admonition of "Six duo-tangs are more than enough, what do you need more for ?" comes back to haunt me. Turns out after all I was wrong, (how could that be ?) as Grady announces that he does in fact need more. To wit; one chastened mother, one smug child.
Meanwhile, I gradually embark upon the transformation from mother to ATM, as the requests for funds begin to mount; lunch money, cheques to cover class trips, cash for agendas, curriculum books and finally payment for the ubiquitous school photos. This is the one that really gets me, I actually have to pay for the bloody photos before they are even taken, never mind getting to see them. What if that is the day my normally beautiful daughter wakes up looking like Quasimodo ? Granted, an unlikely scenario, but if it happens ? Too bad, 'cause I'm stuck paying for the pictures anyway.
As they commence to empty their back-packs, my blood runs cold at the thought of that chore I dread at the beginning of each school year; having to fill out the loathsome emergency contact forms - in triplicate. I have filled out identical forms for each child, every year for at least the past six years. Every year it is exactly the same information, we haven't moved house, the phone numbers haven't changed, the same emergency contacts are alive and kicking, and the kids still haven't developed any life-threatening allergies or serious medical conditions over the holidays - although we came pretty close on a couple of occasions, but probably best not to get into that.
I'm so tempted to fill in the forms with bogus information this time, and see if anyone notices. So what's the worst that can happen ? I'm sure they don't need my phone number again. With all the trouble Sid has gotten into, they probably have me on speed dial anyway. As for the "Authorised Pick-Ups", I'm certainly not too worried about an unauthorized person taking the kids home at the end of the day. They sure as hell wouldn't keep them for very long. After all, have you met my children ?
Rob thinks I am being a little harsh, but I don't see him stepping up to fill in the damn forms. I didn't complete this much paperwork when I applied for a mortgage or even my passport. I'm sure all these documents are part of an evil scheme by school administrators everywhere, to avenge themselves on the parents. Oh well, one day down, only 108 to go until Christmas break.
Tuesday 4 September 2012
Back To School
I am convinced that back to school requires more planning than took place for D-Day. Not so much for Lindsay now that she is in High School - although that does come with its own set of challenges, namely clothes shopping, which I try and avoid like the plague. I hate the mall with a passion, and anytime I do get dragged there kicking and screaming - and that is before I even have to open my wallet - it is like a journey into hell, I can smell the sulphur and hear the cries of the dammed.
It is the younger two children who are still at a Montessori (which after 13 years I still spell wrong) school that take me to the brink of insanity. The umpteen packages of Kleenex that are to be donated are relativity easy - although unless they plan on dealing with the Spanish Flu or the Bubonic Plague, I'm not sure why they need so many. Then there is the uniform - white shirts on my children ? Really ? Doomed from the outset. Follow that with three pairs of shoes each, locker shelves and then the classroom materials which read like a bloody inventory list for Business Depot. I don't so much mind the second mortgage I have to take out to purchase the supplies, but I do resent having to rent a U-Haul to transport everything to school on the first day.
So here we are, school starts tomorrow and I am dizzy with excitement - my children not so much. Sure they are looking forward to the social aspect, but the work ? No. Mind you, to be truthful I'm not too thrilled with that facet myself, at least where the homework is concerned. I fear the dreaded weekly spelling tests and cringe at the thought of the ghastly current events. I can only imagine the tantrums that will ensue in trying to get their work done on time - never mind the kid's reactions, that's just mine.
The more I think of it, the less excited I am. After all, I'm not good with early mornings and making lunches, add to that ferrying the kids back and forth and let's not forget those days where, in a last minute panic I run helter-skelter through the house trying to locate a relatively clean uniform shirt. Wow! At this rate I'm going to talk myself into home schooling the little delinquents, and I think we all know what a debacle that would turn out to be.
So goodbye to a long lazy summer, and hello to the start of a new school year. I managed to remain sane - everything is relative - for the ten weeks my darling children were at home, so I'm sure I can continue to hold it together for term time. If not, you'll be the first to know. Good luck to everyone returning to school, teachers and students alike.
It is the younger two children who are still at a Montessori (which after 13 years I still spell wrong) school that take me to the brink of insanity. The umpteen packages of Kleenex that are to be donated are relativity easy - although unless they plan on dealing with the Spanish Flu or the Bubonic Plague, I'm not sure why they need so many. Then there is the uniform - white shirts on my children ? Really ? Doomed from the outset. Follow that with three pairs of shoes each, locker shelves and then the classroom materials which read like a bloody inventory list for Business Depot. I don't so much mind the second mortgage I have to take out to purchase the supplies, but I do resent having to rent a U-Haul to transport everything to school on the first day.
So here we are, school starts tomorrow and I am dizzy with excitement - my children not so much. Sure they are looking forward to the social aspect, but the work ? No. Mind you, to be truthful I'm not too thrilled with that facet myself, at least where the homework is concerned. I fear the dreaded weekly spelling tests and cringe at the thought of the ghastly current events. I can only imagine the tantrums that will ensue in trying to get their work done on time - never mind the kid's reactions, that's just mine.
The more I think of it, the less excited I am. After all, I'm not good with early mornings and making lunches, add to that ferrying the kids back and forth and let's not forget those days where, in a last minute panic I run helter-skelter through the house trying to locate a relatively clean uniform shirt. Wow! At this rate I'm going to talk myself into home schooling the little delinquents, and I think we all know what a debacle that would turn out to be.
So goodbye to a long lazy summer, and hello to the start of a new school year. I managed to remain sane - everything is relative - for the ten weeks my darling children were at home, so I'm sure I can continue to hold it together for term time. If not, you'll be the first to know. Good luck to everyone returning to school, teachers and students alike.
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