This past week is March Break, the week that children stay home from school, and this year it is in weather than in the most part precludes them from going outside. In addition the clocks went ahead so we have all lost an hour of sleep. The week is doomed.
Day 1.
My brother-in-law has thrown himself on the short sword and offered to take Sidney & Grady to the Science Center for the day. Yay for Uncle Guntis ! At the very last minute, Sid wants a cooked breakfast, but I'm getting dressed so Grady offers to make her eggs. He has done so before, so it shouldn't be a problem. We both learned a valuable lesson that morning. Mine was, don't assume because Grady has done something correctly before, he will do so again. For Grady, he has to remember to remove the element covers before turning on the elements. Add element covers to shopping list.
I knew we had some spare element covers - or so I thought, but I couldn't find one. I asked Rob about them and he was strangely silent. Lindsay however was ready to chirp like a cheap canary. As it turned out, just a few days earlier, Lindsay had made the same mistake and Rob covered (no pun intended) for her. He hurriedly replaced the burnt cover and disposed of the evidence, telling Lindsay "Your mother will never know". Rookie mistake, the mother ALWAYS knows.
Wednesday 19 March 2014
Monday 17 March 2014
The Joys Of Cat Ownership
I am not totally convinced this is "blog worthy", but it has never stopped me before, and anyway my long suffering husband is insistent that I put it out there, I think perhaps he is looking worldwide for sympathy - god knows, he doesn't get any at home.
Friday night, I stumble to bed at 2:00 AM. There is a reason for this - Rob has a cold and snores like a thing possessed. He is usually up early on the weekends (the only quiet time he gets), so I figure if I go to bed at 2:00 A.M. and he is up about 6:00 A.M. I have reduced the time he is breathing germs on me to four short hours, and I may be lucky enough not to get sick.
Let me tell you, it was a hellish night. I have the mouth breather beside me, who still has the audacity to try and plug my nose, but I keep swatting him away like the gnat he is, because I am not able to sleep. The reason for this is the damn cat. She has gone on a vomiting rampage. All night long I hear that awful honking sound, in fact I don't think there is any word to truly describe it. I could hear her moving through the house, getting ever closer. I was in a bit of a dilemma, had Rob heard this commotion ? If so, why wasn't he getting up and doing something about it. On the other hand, if he was still asleep and I woke him up then it would be obvious I had heard it and not done anything. What to do ? What to do ? In the end I did nothing. Safe in the thought that Rob would eventually be the first one up and end up having to deal with it anyway.
Turns out he was and he did. according to him cleaning up nine piles of vom. Too bad he missed the tenth pile right beside my side of the bed that I promptly stepped in when I got up. Fucking cat !!
Friday night, I stumble to bed at 2:00 AM. There is a reason for this - Rob has a cold and snores like a thing possessed. He is usually up early on the weekends (the only quiet time he gets), so I figure if I go to bed at 2:00 A.M. and he is up about 6:00 A.M. I have reduced the time he is breathing germs on me to four short hours, and I may be lucky enough not to get sick.
Let me tell you, it was a hellish night. I have the mouth breather beside me, who still has the audacity to try and plug my nose, but I keep swatting him away like the gnat he is, because I am not able to sleep. The reason for this is the damn cat. She has gone on a vomiting rampage. All night long I hear that awful honking sound, in fact I don't think there is any word to truly describe it. I could hear her moving through the house, getting ever closer. I was in a bit of a dilemma, had Rob heard this commotion ? If so, why wasn't he getting up and doing something about it. On the other hand, if he was still asleep and I woke him up then it would be obvious I had heard it and not done anything. What to do ? What to do ? In the end I did nothing. Safe in the thought that Rob would eventually be the first one up and end up having to deal with it anyway.
Turns out he was and he did. according to him cleaning up nine piles of vom. Too bad he missed the tenth pile right beside my side of the bed that I promptly stepped in when I got up. Fucking cat !!
Friday 7 March 2014
I Actually Chose This Life ...
Sometimes I give myself a whack upside the head, when I remember I actually made an educated choice to bear children. Today was no exception.
Normally Thursday are my day of woe, but fate threw in a Friday this week as well. Torrential rainstorms the night before, meant a dripping kitchen ceiling the next morning. I had woken up feeling like the proverbial crap, so I really wasn't in the mood to deal with well, just about anything.
I was anxious to get the children to school on time this particular morning. They were going bowling (yes, bowling, that was not an auto correct), and woe betide them if they missed the bus and I had to bring them back home with me.
First off, the dog decides to do a runner. Normally the back yard is contained and he can't breach the fence, however with the ice storm before Christmas and the felling of our neighbour's tree across our fence, he has on occasion been able to mount an escape.
I had enough to do as it was, the last thing I needed now was for a fight to break out between Grady & Sid, which of course it did. Sid's concern that the bowling alley wouldn't have a washroom (thank you Grady for planting that idea into her head), prompted her to go for her second "marathon poo" that morning. Even Grady has commented, "There has to be something wrong with that girl".
My requests for my children not to wind each other up, had obviously fallen on deaf ears, because I suddenly hear a wail from the basement bathroom. "Muuum, Grady is bothering me". How is that possible ? Grady has gone outside to feed the rabbits. I open the back door to find the culprit, knee deep in a snow bank (in his uniform trousers no less), outside the ground level bathroom window, tapping on the glass and leering in at his sister. Seriously, you want to do that now ?
Understandably his sister, upon vacating the bathroom is righteously indignant and vows revenge upon her sibling. This prompts me to read them both the riot act to ensure they know that bowling balls and pins are not to be used as weapons. I have done all that I can, if Grady ends up sprawled unconscious in a bowing lane, it won't be my problem.
Next week is March Break - a week to have all my children home, and too damn cold to go out. Brilliant planning. My blog will be on hiatus for the duration, as I will be living it, every blessed day. I will return on Monday, 17th.
Normally Thursday are my day of woe, but fate threw in a Friday this week as well. Torrential rainstorms the night before, meant a dripping kitchen ceiling the next morning. I had woken up feeling like the proverbial crap, so I really wasn't in the mood to deal with well, just about anything.
I was anxious to get the children to school on time this particular morning. They were going bowling (yes, bowling, that was not an auto correct), and woe betide them if they missed the bus and I had to bring them back home with me.
First off, the dog decides to do a runner. Normally the back yard is contained and he can't breach the fence, however with the ice storm before Christmas and the felling of our neighbour's tree across our fence, he has on occasion been able to mount an escape.
I had enough to do as it was, the last thing I needed now was for a fight to break out between Grady & Sid, which of course it did. Sid's concern that the bowling alley wouldn't have a washroom (thank you Grady for planting that idea into her head), prompted her to go for her second "marathon poo" that morning. Even Grady has commented, "There has to be something wrong with that girl".
My requests for my children not to wind each other up, had obviously fallen on deaf ears, because I suddenly hear a wail from the basement bathroom. "Muuum, Grady is bothering me". How is that possible ? Grady has gone outside to feed the rabbits. I open the back door to find the culprit, knee deep in a snow bank (in his uniform trousers no less), outside the ground level bathroom window, tapping on the glass and leering in at his sister. Seriously, you want to do that now ?
Understandably his sister, upon vacating the bathroom is righteously indignant and vows revenge upon her sibling. This prompts me to read them both the riot act to ensure they know that bowling balls and pins are not to be used as weapons. I have done all that I can, if Grady ends up sprawled unconscious in a bowing lane, it won't be my problem.
Next week is March Break - a week to have all my children home, and too damn cold to go out. Brilliant planning. My blog will be on hiatus for the duration, as I will be living it, every blessed day. I will return on Monday, 17th.
Thursday 6 March 2014
Don't Poke The Bear
I apologise if this is a repeat. This post was supposed to have gone out on February 20th, but apparently was still sitting in Draft. Not sure what happened. I will blame it on technical difficulties.
Grady was being particularly obstreperous this morning, not wanting to get up, not wanting to feed the rabbits, whinging about emptying the dishwasher - all chores he knows he has to do before school.
This morning his resistance was particularly galling because I had to get him to school 45 minutes early (which meant I had to get up earlier and we all know how I feel about that) because he had a Badminton practice. I know, most of the kids his age are hockey players, this is Canada after all, but sadly he has inherited his parents athletic prowess (as in non existent) so for him, Badminton it is.
So, after repeated entreaties for Grady to get moving, and fifteen minutes later he was still huddled on the edge of the bed contemplating his bedroom floor, I decided to just get on with making lunches and then do his chores myself.
But wait, that is not the end of it. Revenge will be mine. When Grady is sitting at the lunch table today with all his little hockey player friends, he will open his lunch box and discover his sandwich nicely presented in a Disney Princess sandwich bag. He should know better than to mess with me - on a Thursday morning no less. Bwah hah hah hah!
Grady was being particularly obstreperous this morning, not wanting to get up, not wanting to feed the rabbits, whinging about emptying the dishwasher - all chores he knows he has to do before school.
This morning his resistance was particularly galling because I had to get him to school 45 minutes early (which meant I had to get up earlier and we all know how I feel about that) because he had a Badminton practice. I know, most of the kids his age are hockey players, this is Canada after all, but sadly he has inherited his parents athletic prowess (as in non existent) so for him, Badminton it is.
So, after repeated entreaties for Grady to get moving, and fifteen minutes later he was still huddled on the edge of the bed contemplating his bedroom floor, I decided to just get on with making lunches and then do his chores myself.
But wait, that is not the end of it. Revenge will be mine. When Grady is sitting at the lunch table today with all his little hockey player friends, he will open his lunch box and discover his sandwich nicely presented in a Disney Princess sandwich bag. He should know better than to mess with me - on a Thursday morning no less. Bwah hah hah hah!
Wednesday 5 March 2014
Part 3 - The Grand Finale
By the time I got home - windows still open - Rob was close behind me, so I left the cat in the kennel cab. There was no way in her current state that I wanted her running through the house, especially as her favourite hiding spot was under our bed.
After Rob had shown not one iota of sympathy at my aforementioned adventures, he went down to the laundry room to clean off the cat. It didn't occur to me that he may need help, but quite honestly too bad if he did, I was sorely ticked about what I'd had to endure.
It was a while later that I ventured downstairs and I thought I heard a faint cry for help from behind the closed door of the laundry room. I hollered back "Do you need help ?" No answer, all I could hear was running water and a howling cat. A couple of minutes later I heard it again "Help!" I yelled back, "I'm here what do you want?" Still no answer. At this point most people would have probably got up, wandered over, opened the door and checked for themselves. I'm not most people, and I stayed put. The next cry was louder "WILL SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN HERE AND HELP ME". That was my cue to call up to my son. "Grady! Dad is calling you. He needs your help". Well why not ? I know Rob didn't specifically ask for Grady, but close enough. To give Grady his due, he didn't hesitate, and went straight in to assist his father.
It would appear that Rob is standing over the laundry room sink struggling with a drenched cat. Grady stood there aghast as Rob yelled at him to get some shampoo. He obviously hadn't thought this through, if he had, he would have taken the shampoo in with him. Typical. Grady scuttles out of the laundry room, cursing "It's like frickin' Twister in there" he growled, "Poo and puddles all over the floor, you can't move without stepping in something" and proceeds to give me a demonstration, which is unfortunate, because his father is still yelling for the shampoo.
It is a good job Grady hung around to aid Rob because I would not have been much help. It is extremely difficult to offer any useful assistance when one is consumed by gales of laughter. By this time Lindsay and Sidney had joined me, curious in spite of themselves, to see what the commotion was about. I tried to explain, but all I could do was laugh. From what I could hear, (no way was I going in the laundry room) Rob had shampooed and rinsed the cat and now needed to dry it off. You have to appreciate this is a voluptuous cat, so when Rob is yelling at his son to grab him a towel, and Grady optimistically offers up something barely bigger than a facecloth, Rob explodes "Are you kidding me Grady ? Have you seen the size of this fucking cat ?". That was it, I lost it, totally incoherent. The girls weren't much of an improvement. If there is one thing we can do well, it is to laugh at another's misfortune. The worse off they are, the better, and if the object of that laughter is their poor long suffering father, then that is when we laugh the loudest.
I'm happy to report that the cat is doing much better, and give it another day or two, my husband may actually start talking to me again.
After Rob had shown not one iota of sympathy at my aforementioned adventures, he went down to the laundry room to clean off the cat. It didn't occur to me that he may need help, but quite honestly too bad if he did, I was sorely ticked about what I'd had to endure.
It was a while later that I ventured downstairs and I thought I heard a faint cry for help from behind the closed door of the laundry room. I hollered back "Do you need help ?" No answer, all I could hear was running water and a howling cat. A couple of minutes later I heard it again "Help!" I yelled back, "I'm here what do you want?" Still no answer. At this point most people would have probably got up, wandered over, opened the door and checked for themselves. I'm not most people, and I stayed put. The next cry was louder "WILL SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN HERE AND HELP ME". That was my cue to call up to my son. "Grady! Dad is calling you. He needs your help". Well why not ? I know Rob didn't specifically ask for Grady, but close enough. To give Grady his due, he didn't hesitate, and went straight in to assist his father.
It would appear that Rob is standing over the laundry room sink struggling with a drenched cat. Grady stood there aghast as Rob yelled at him to get some shampoo. He obviously hadn't thought this through, if he had, he would have taken the shampoo in with him. Typical. Grady scuttles out of the laundry room, cursing "It's like frickin' Twister in there" he growled, "Poo and puddles all over the floor, you can't move without stepping in something" and proceeds to give me a demonstration, which is unfortunate, because his father is still yelling for the shampoo.
It is a good job Grady hung around to aid Rob because I would not have been much help. It is extremely difficult to offer any useful assistance when one is consumed by gales of laughter. By this time Lindsay and Sidney had joined me, curious in spite of themselves, to see what the commotion was about. I tried to explain, but all I could do was laugh. From what I could hear, (no way was I going in the laundry room) Rob had shampooed and rinsed the cat and now needed to dry it off. You have to appreciate this is a voluptuous cat, so when Rob is yelling at his son to grab him a towel, and Grady optimistically offers up something barely bigger than a facecloth, Rob explodes "Are you kidding me Grady ? Have you seen the size of this fucking cat ?". That was it, I lost it, totally incoherent. The girls weren't much of an improvement. If there is one thing we can do well, it is to laugh at another's misfortune. The worse off they are, the better, and if the object of that laughter is their poor long suffering father, then that is when we laugh the loudest.
I'm happy to report that the cat is doing much better, and give it another day or two, my husband may actually start talking to me again.
Tuesday 4 March 2014
Part 2 - At The Vet's Office
So we arrive at the vets. It is as cold as a witches tit, to borrow a somewhat colourful expression from my grandmother, but all the windows are open in the van, in a futile effort to escape the toxic fumes from the cat carrier. There is no vacant parking spot, so I send Sid into the vet's with the cat, whilst I wait to park the van. Even after I have accomplished this, I seriously contemplate staying in the van, after all it's not like I'm actually needed. However common sense prevails and I venture in. I explain the issue to the receptionist, and then again to a technician, a third time to another technician, and finally to the vet himself.
By now in a closed examination room, the smell is so bad that Sid is coughing and my eyes are watering. The vet palpates the cat's abdomen and determines the blockage is too far up for an enema to do any good, so he decides to take the cat out back for a rectal exam. Rather him than me, and we settle down to wait.
He returns a few minutes later and proceeds to shove his gloved hand in front of my face. "Look at this" he says, as I desperately try to do anything but, "This is what I found in her rectum, fecal matter and blood". Seriously, you couldn't have just told me that, you had to show me as well ?? WTF ? Is this pay back because I'm making him shove a finger up my cat's arse, rather than spring $300 for an x-ray ? If at that point I had a concerned expression on my face, it wasn't out of concern for the cat, but instead that I might puke at any minute. I don't handle those sort of things very well, that is what my husband is for.
The vet disappears to gather medication and one of the technicians returns with my cat, who now looks as pained as I do. They have administered fluids under her skin, and the technician was concerned because she was "leaking". "Don't worry" she reassures me "If the leaking starts again, just hug her close and it will stop it." I look at her in abject horror. Does she seriously think I am going to clasp a shit covered, fluid leaking cat tight to my ample bosom, when I am wearing my new winter coat. "Uh huh" I manage to squeak out. "Sure I can do that". Over my cold dead body, I will.
The cat by now, has no fight left in her - and really who can blame her, and although I am expecting another fight with the kennel cab, she couldn't get in it enough. I get the instructions for the medication - pills and syringes - jolly good fun that will be, settle up the bill, which brings fresh tears to my eyes and then make tracks for home. Little did I know it then, but the fun was just about to begin.
By now in a closed examination room, the smell is so bad that Sid is coughing and my eyes are watering. The vet palpates the cat's abdomen and determines the blockage is too far up for an enema to do any good, so he decides to take the cat out back for a rectal exam. Rather him than me, and we settle down to wait.
He returns a few minutes later and proceeds to shove his gloved hand in front of my face. "Look at this" he says, as I desperately try to do anything but, "This is what I found in her rectum, fecal matter and blood". Seriously, you couldn't have just told me that, you had to show me as well ?? WTF ? Is this pay back because I'm making him shove a finger up my cat's arse, rather than spring $300 for an x-ray ? If at that point I had a concerned expression on my face, it wasn't out of concern for the cat, but instead that I might puke at any minute. I don't handle those sort of things very well, that is what my husband is for.
The vet disappears to gather medication and one of the technicians returns with my cat, who now looks as pained as I do. They have administered fluids under her skin, and the technician was concerned because she was "leaking". "Don't worry" she reassures me "If the leaking starts again, just hug her close and it will stop it." I look at her in abject horror. Does she seriously think I am going to clasp a shit covered, fluid leaking cat tight to my ample bosom, when I am wearing my new winter coat. "Uh huh" I manage to squeak out. "Sure I can do that". Over my cold dead body, I will.
The cat by now, has no fight left in her - and really who can blame her, and although I am expecting another fight with the kennel cab, she couldn't get in it enough. I get the instructions for the medication - pills and syringes - jolly good fun that will be, settle up the bill, which brings fresh tears to my eyes and then make tracks for home. Little did I know it then, but the fun was just about to begin.
Monday 3 March 2014
The Blog To End All Blogs
This isn't the end of my blog, I just thought the title was better than the other options of "Constipated Cat" or "Fecally Challenged Feline", oh yes, this is shaping up to be a real humdinger.
For people just starting out with my blog, we have a house full of animals including four useless cats. One of these cats occasionally, for want of a better phrase, gets "bunged up". Probably because she eats anything and everything that isn't nailed down (except for mice, she has an aversion to mice). This is usually not a problem, as she rights herself within a day. This time around, we were not so lucky, and sparing you the sordid details that caused us to come to this conclusion, Rob determines the cat needs to go to the vet for an enema.
"Jolly good" says I, "You just go right ahead and fix it up honey". Unfortunately he does, for 4:20 in the afternoon, when he is otherwise engaged at work, and I have no option but to catch the - reeking - cat and cart it off to the vets office myself. Bastard.
First we have to coax it out from under my bed. Rob on the other end of the phone, helpfully suggests using a broom. I opt for shaking the cat cookies, and sure enough she slinks out into the hall where I am lying in wait. I swoop in, grab the cat, and holding her at arms length in case she squirts, yell at my kids to grab the cat carrier.
There is no response, I yell again. Still nothing. The cat meanwhile has had enough of this nonsense and is squirming like crazy. The ass end stinks, and I am doing my best to keep her as far away from my nose as possible. Subtlety is lost on my children so I scream, "Someone get the fucking cat carrier. Now!". To be fair, I had asked Grady to bring the carrier in (it was just outside the back door) when I had gone to locate the cat. As usual he wasn't paying attention and had toddled off to tear the garage apart to look for it.
By now, the cat has clued in that this does not bode well, and as I try and lower her into the carrier, she is fighting it every inch of the way, limbs akimbo, and hissing loudly. It is always nice to know that when needs must, I can rely on my children. Sidney and Lindsay are backing away in horror, shirts pulled dramatically up over the lower half of their faces, as they let out muffled whines, "It smells, I'm gonna throw up". Grady is poking ineffectually with one hand at the cat, trying to push her legs into the carrier, while his other hand is clasped over his nose. My curses alternate between the cat and my husband, who, still at the office is blissfully unaware of the chaos erupting at home.
I finally head for the door, and Sid who now thinks this could be a fun trip, decides to come too. We'd hadn't even backed out of the driveway before she is complaining bitterly about the stench emanating from the carrier. No going back now, she is in it for the long haul.
I am going to pause here and continue tomorrow. Believe me, the best is yet to come. Stay tuned.
For people just starting out with my blog, we have a house full of animals including four useless cats. One of these cats occasionally, for want of a better phrase, gets "bunged up". Probably because she eats anything and everything that isn't nailed down (except for mice, she has an aversion to mice). This is usually not a problem, as she rights herself within a day. This time around, we were not so lucky, and sparing you the sordid details that caused us to come to this conclusion, Rob determines the cat needs to go to the vet for an enema.
"Jolly good" says I, "You just go right ahead and fix it up honey". Unfortunately he does, for 4:20 in the afternoon, when he is otherwise engaged at work, and I have no option but to catch the - reeking - cat and cart it off to the vets office myself. Bastard.
First we have to coax it out from under my bed. Rob on the other end of the phone, helpfully suggests using a broom. I opt for shaking the cat cookies, and sure enough she slinks out into the hall where I am lying in wait. I swoop in, grab the cat, and holding her at arms length in case she squirts, yell at my kids to grab the cat carrier.
There is no response, I yell again. Still nothing. The cat meanwhile has had enough of this nonsense and is squirming like crazy. The ass end stinks, and I am doing my best to keep her as far away from my nose as possible. Subtlety is lost on my children so I scream, "Someone get the fucking cat carrier. Now!". To be fair, I had asked Grady to bring the carrier in (it was just outside the back door) when I had gone to locate the cat. As usual he wasn't paying attention and had toddled off to tear the garage apart to look for it.
By now, the cat has clued in that this does not bode well, and as I try and lower her into the carrier, she is fighting it every inch of the way, limbs akimbo, and hissing loudly. It is always nice to know that when needs must, I can rely on my children. Sidney and Lindsay are backing away in horror, shirts pulled dramatically up over the lower half of their faces, as they let out muffled whines, "It smells, I'm gonna throw up". Grady is poking ineffectually with one hand at the cat, trying to push her legs into the carrier, while his other hand is clasped over his nose. My curses alternate between the cat and my husband, who, still at the office is blissfully unaware of the chaos erupting at home.
I finally head for the door, and Sid who now thinks this could be a fun trip, decides to come too. We'd hadn't even backed out of the driveway before she is complaining bitterly about the stench emanating from the carrier. No going back now, she is in it for the long haul.
I am going to pause here and continue tomorrow. Believe me, the best is yet to come. Stay tuned.
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