If I am able to catch him, I am going to pummel my son. I had spent the afternoon "helping" Lindsay with an essay she had to write for driving school - what a complete waste of time - and while we are still finishing it, Grady turns up and starts firing questions at me. I tell him to wait as I am talking with Lindsay. Totally ignoring this, he asks a second time. Again I tell him to wait and then a third time, this boy just doesn't get it. A moment later I conclude with Lindsay and turn, now totally pissed off, to speak to my son.
"You know better than to interrupt. What do you want ?" I ask him, in a non too friendly manner. "I need Gracie's (his cousin) number" he told me. I handed him the sheet of phone numbers and he has the audacity to hand it back to me and tell me to read it out to him. That's when I lost it . "F***ing read it yourself, you lazy little s**t" I told him.
It is at that point I hear peals of laughter coming from his I-Pod and I realise the little sod is on chat with his friend Crispy, who has heard every single word out of my potty mouth. I'm pretty damn sure the little brat set me up. Now I have to spend next week avoiding Crispy's mum in the school parking lot, or trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why her son's vocabulary has suddenly grown exponentially.
Monday 19 May 2014
Friday 16 May 2014
You Know What Day ....
And this is why I live for Thursdays. It is not even 8:00 and after numerous threats of grievous bodily harm, I finally have all three children up and moving. However things are not progressing as I would like.
Sidney is dancing around the house with musical drumsticks (which are actually loud, obnoxious and not at all musical) and chanting "The power of three will set us free". She has been consumed watching Charmed on Netflicks. All I can wonder is, when will I be set free ?
Grady, who is notoriously difficult to get moving has a spring in his step this morning because he found a spider, and can now gleefully torment both his sisters. As he creeps towards Lindsay, she spies him in the mirror and cuts him off at the knees "Get the f*** out of my room before I hurt you". Spoken with all the love and devotion that only a teenager can muster.
I do what all wise parents do in this situation, grab my coffee and escape to the basement, leaving my offspring to fight to the death. I will venture back when it is time to leave for school, to see if any are left standing. Give me a mouse over my kids any day.
Sidney is dancing around the house with musical drumsticks (which are actually loud, obnoxious and not at all musical) and chanting "The power of three will set us free". She has been consumed watching Charmed on Netflicks. All I can wonder is, when will I be set free ?
Grady, who is notoriously difficult to get moving has a spring in his step this morning because he found a spider, and can now gleefully torment both his sisters. As he creeps towards Lindsay, she spies him in the mirror and cuts him off at the knees "Get the f*** out of my room before I hurt you". Spoken with all the love and devotion that only a teenager can muster.
I do what all wise parents do in this situation, grab my coffee and escape to the basement, leaving my offspring to fight to the death. I will venture back when it is time to leave for school, to see if any are left standing. Give me a mouse over my kids any day.
Wednesday 14 May 2014
The Mother Of The Year Award Goes To ....
... Apparently not to me. It would appear that I have been harbouring under the illusion, that despite what I admit to in my blog (and all the rest that I don't) I have more than adequate parenting skills. My children beg to differ.
I insist our children do chores. I am always ready to chime in with the old "When I was your age ...." to make the point that I had to endure so much more in my life. The request to empty the dishwasher, feed the dog, or heaven forbid clean the bathroom, is often met with incredulous looks and the sort of horror you would expect from bamboo shoots jammed under their fingernails.
Another bone of contention is that I although I am happy to frequent McDonald's on occasion, I am not prepared to make it a regular hangout and sometimes my kids will just have to sit down and eat a home cooked meal. I may sound like Gordon Ramsay when I am in the kitchen, but there is where any resemblance ends. I am a reasonable cook, so I hardly think it is necessary for Grady to go through the grimaces, gagging noises and general all around impression that I have served up a side order of Cyanide every time I expect hm to eat - wait for it - his vegetables. The horror.
I was probably in my 40s before I got my first cell phone, so I'm not sure why my son feels he is entitled to one at the tender age if 12. None of his friends have one, so what exactly is he planning on doing with it if he got one ? Regardless, I am a bad mother because I won't shell out a pile of money so he can use it as an excuse to thumb his nose at his sister.
On the subject of phones, Lindsay who plagued me for months to get her a Blackberry (back when Blackberry's were "in") had it for a few short weeks until she changed her mind and wanted an I-Phone. I however know my daughter, and had insisted the said Blackberry was insured. That is why she is on her third or maybe fourth such model after the previous devices fell down the stairs and into the toilet. Separate occasions that is, not all at once. The fact that her father has a brand new fancy I-Phone for work and really couldn't care less about it, has riled Lindsay up even more.
All things considered, I think my children have it pretty easy. I could certainly make life harder for them if I tried, but I haven't given up my dream of that ever elusive award.
Monday 12 May 2014
Harbingers of Spring
Although most people here in the frozen North re celebrating the approach of spring, I am a little hesitant to welcome the warmer weather. And by warmer, I mean any temperature that isn't double digits below freezing, everything is relative. You see, Spring means mice, birds and chipmunks. In fact, pretty much anything that our cats can hook their little claws into.
It was bad enough that over the winter there was a small brown furry critter frozen to our front porch. Every morning on my way to the van, I would poke at it and ponder on what exactly it was. Too large for a mouse, too small for a chipmunk, it had me stumped. Finally one day Grady saw me prodding it and asked what I was doing. I explained I was trying to determine what it was. "Oh that's easy" he replied, "Its a rabbit's foot". Eew gross, it never occurred to me it would be only part of a creature, which begs the question, where is the rest of it ?.
Yesterday it was a mauled bird left on my doorstep, today I witnessed two of the cats playing Piggy-In-The-Middle with a mouse. Add in the resident possum and raccoon watch the fun begin.
Friday 9 May 2014
Shut Up, Or You'll Eat it !
My parenting skills probably leave a lot to be desired, but they work for me, and no one has called Children's Aid on me yet, so I can't be doing too badly. My children know that when I issue a threat - or consequence as I like to term it - I will carry through. Head first into a snow pile, tied to a chair until homework is finished or completely empty the playroom of toys, if I've threatened it, I've done it.
My husband on the other hand is hopeless. On one spectacular occasion when the children were at their worst, Rob burst out "If you don't stop right now I'm going to ...." There was a long pause followed by "... I don't know what I'm going to do, but I will do something". It was at that very point, he totally lost whatever leverage he would ever hope to have with our children. They are like Hyenas, they can smell fear, and they knew they had him. It is a rare occasion that Rob is able to utter a threat without one of the kids harking back to "that moment" and start laughing.
My children never, ever run out of topics to argue about, yesterday it was bird guts. Yes you read that correctly. One of our cats had left yet another offering on our front step. He must have got hungry at some point, because all that remained were a few entrails and an indiscriminate feather, which is the only reason I knew it had once been a bird.
My children are fascinated with this pile of gore and begin to speculate, "That's its brain" ventured Grady, "No" argued Sid "It is a stomach". Lindsay offers her opinion as a Grade 11 student who has passed one course in Biology, "Any idiot can see that's the heart", and so the fight began. I shouldn't be surprised that my children are gathered on the front step loudly arguing about bird parts, but I am. The neighbours across the road are never going to be able to sell their house, all the time my children live here.
The argument escalates and starts to turn nasty. These are the moments I live for. "The next child who argues about the bird organs.." I bellow out the door, "Will be made to eat it". All conversation ceases immediately, and nervous glances are exchanged. No matter how diabolical and highly implausible the threat may be, not even Grady wants to take the chance that I will carry through, and that dear readers is how it is done.
My husband on the other hand is hopeless. On one spectacular occasion when the children were at their worst, Rob burst out "If you don't stop right now I'm going to ...." There was a long pause followed by "... I don't know what I'm going to do, but I will do something". It was at that very point, he totally lost whatever leverage he would ever hope to have with our children. They are like Hyenas, they can smell fear, and they knew they had him. It is a rare occasion that Rob is able to utter a threat without one of the kids harking back to "that moment" and start laughing.
My children never, ever run out of topics to argue about, yesterday it was bird guts. Yes you read that correctly. One of our cats had left yet another offering on our front step. He must have got hungry at some point, because all that remained were a few entrails and an indiscriminate feather, which is the only reason I knew it had once been a bird.
My children are fascinated with this pile of gore and begin to speculate, "That's its brain" ventured Grady, "No" argued Sid "It is a stomach". Lindsay offers her opinion as a Grade 11 student who has passed one course in Biology, "Any idiot can see that's the heart", and so the fight began. I shouldn't be surprised that my children are gathered on the front step loudly arguing about bird parts, but I am. The neighbours across the road are never going to be able to sell their house, all the time my children live here.
The argument escalates and starts to turn nasty. These are the moments I live for. "The next child who argues about the bird organs.." I bellow out the door, "Will be made to eat it". All conversation ceases immediately, and nervous glances are exchanged. No matter how diabolical and highly implausible the threat may be, not even Grady wants to take the chance that I will carry through, and that dear readers is how it is done.
Wednesday 7 May 2014
They're Baaaack !
By they, I'm not referring to the mice - they have never really gone away - but to bigger pests - raccoons. Followers of my blog may recall about this time last year we discovered to our horror, that we had a horny raccoon living in our attic. Don't ask how we knew it was a horny raccoon, some details are best left out.
My husband was already fast asleep when I went to bed last night and as I lay there contemplating the best way to off him and put a stop to the snoring, I heard other more ominous sounds. At first I thought it was just one of the kids stumbling in the dark on their way to the bathroom, but when I received no answer to my shout out "Who is making all that noise?", I listened again and realised it came from the roof.
It was too early in the year for Santa, no access for a burglar, so that left the only possibility - a raccoon attempting to pry off the roof tiles and gain access to the attic. Little bastard. This was definite a task for my husband, I'm so glad I didn't go ahead with my plan to off him. I hiss "Rob, wake up there's a raccoon on the roof". No response. Tried again but louder, still nothing. I crawled right up to his ear "ROB! THERE IS A RACCOON PULLING OFF THE ROOF TILES".
That got him moving. He grabbed flashlight and was outside in no time flat. All of a sudden I heard a succession of loud thumps. It would appear that my husband was in the front yard hurling objects indiscriminately at the roof. There goes the real estate values again. I'm not sure if he hit anything, and he didn't actually see the raccoon, so my best guess is it has moved on. We are never so lucky, I'm pretty sure there is going to be a Part II to this tale.
My husband was already fast asleep when I went to bed last night and as I lay there contemplating the best way to off him and put a stop to the snoring, I heard other more ominous sounds. At first I thought it was just one of the kids stumbling in the dark on their way to the bathroom, but when I received no answer to my shout out "Who is making all that noise?", I listened again and realised it came from the roof.
It was too early in the year for Santa, no access for a burglar, so that left the only possibility - a raccoon attempting to pry off the roof tiles and gain access to the attic. Little bastard. This was definite a task for my husband, I'm so glad I didn't go ahead with my plan to off him. I hiss "Rob, wake up there's a raccoon on the roof". No response. Tried again but louder, still nothing. I crawled right up to his ear "ROB! THERE IS A RACCOON PULLING OFF THE ROOF TILES".
That got him moving. He grabbed flashlight and was outside in no time flat. All of a sudden I heard a succession of loud thumps. It would appear that my husband was in the front yard hurling objects indiscriminately at the roof. There goes the real estate values again. I'm not sure if he hit anything, and he didn't actually see the raccoon, so my best guess is it has moved on. We are never so lucky, I'm pretty sure there is going to be a Part II to this tale.
Monday 5 May 2014
The Nght Of The Dreaded Semi
So here it is the Thursday of the big dance and my house was invaded my a clutch of teenagers. Lindsay assured me that they wouldn't be here until later, but when my dear sister overheard this conversation, she offered to bring in pizzas so they could all have dinner here. Yay ! Gotta love my sister. I should mention, she dropped the pizzas and then ran ! She always was the smart one.
I asked Lindsay how they were all supposed to get ready in her bedroom - small, cramped and very messy - and she informs me they are taking over the whole floor. So guess who spent all day Thursday cleaning their bedroom - and it wasn't Lindsay! I warned Rob and Grady to stay downstairs for the duration, on account of the fact that there would be girls wandering around in various stages of undress. Poor Grady, in another couple of years, he would probably jump at such an opportunity, but right now he doesn't know what he is missing. He just mumbled in disgust about all the perfume.
All went fairly smoothly. After all, everything is relative, and this is our house, so "smoothly" here could be the equivalent of "apocalyptic" in another abode. That is until Sid went up to bed and we heard "OH MY GOD look at this mess!" Sure enough her room (she shares with Lindsay) was strewn from one end to the other with various items of clothing, from underwear to outerwear. I assume the plan was for the girls to gather their belongings when they came over the next night for their sleepover. In the meantime, Sid must traverse an obstacle course of under-wired bras to get to her bed. "I'm not impressed" she kept muttering.
Next up it was Grady's turn, and as he enters the bathroom we hear another "Oh My God".
followed by cursing and then "There are curling irons and straightening irons everywhere up here". At this point I'm not sure if I should be impressed or concerned that he is aware and recognizes the difference between a curling iron and a straightening iron. I'm just glad he didn't notice the thong underwear discarded with gay abandon behind the bathroom door. Poor little bugger would have been traumatised.
I asked Lindsay how they were all supposed to get ready in her bedroom - small, cramped and very messy - and she informs me they are taking over the whole floor. So guess who spent all day Thursday cleaning their bedroom - and it wasn't Lindsay! I warned Rob and Grady to stay downstairs for the duration, on account of the fact that there would be girls wandering around in various stages of undress. Poor Grady, in another couple of years, he would probably jump at such an opportunity, but right now he doesn't know what he is missing. He just mumbled in disgust about all the perfume.
All went fairly smoothly. After all, everything is relative, and this is our house, so "smoothly" here could be the equivalent of "apocalyptic" in another abode. That is until Sid went up to bed and we heard "OH MY GOD look at this mess!" Sure enough her room (she shares with Lindsay) was strewn from one end to the other with various items of clothing, from underwear to outerwear. I assume the plan was for the girls to gather their belongings when they came over the next night for their sleepover. In the meantime, Sid must traverse an obstacle course of under-wired bras to get to her bed. "I'm not impressed" she kept muttering.
Next up it was Grady's turn, and as he enters the bathroom we hear another "Oh My God".
followed by cursing and then "There are curling irons and straightening irons everywhere up here". At this point I'm not sure if I should be impressed or concerned that he is aware and recognizes the difference between a curling iron and a straightening iron. I'm just glad he didn't notice the thong underwear discarded with gay abandon behind the bathroom door. Poor little bugger would have been traumatised.
Friday 2 May 2014
I've Lost The Plot
Lindsay approached me a few weeks ago about having a sleepover this weekend. Definitely not, I told her, we have plans on Sunday and have to make an early start. She countered with Friday night instead. My Friday evenings - like my Sunday mornings are sacred - a quiet time to veg after a busy week. I asked Lindsay why someone else couldn't host the sleepover, and she assured me that someone else would, but was she allowed to go ? That I was OK with.
Fast forward to this week and Lindsay sidled up to me. "Don't forget the sleepover Friday " she said. "No problem" I replied, "Whose house are you going to?" At this point she faltered, suddenly lost for words. "Um, actually we are all coming here" she told me. "You're what ?" I squeaked. "You told me I could have a sleepover on the Friday", she complained, now getting defensive.
"No" I explained, "I told you you could GO to a sleepover on Friday, there is a big difference". This is where the suck-up starts. "But Mum" She pleads, "Everyone loves coming here, they always have the best time, and my friends all love you". Yeah, right, and I bet the parents love me even more, because they are all off the hook. Somewhere Friday evening, eight sets of parents will be toasting each other with a glass of chilled Chardonnay, in their quiet homes, praising themselves for dodging that bullet.
I don't know why I am the only parent who agrees to this. Probably because my parents always let me have sleepovers when I was a kid. The difference was, we had a huge plot of land and my father built me a shed at the bottom of it just for that purpose. We were never in the house.
However back to Lindsay, it appears she isn't finished with the surprises, and as she waltzes off she tosses back "Did I mention..." and no she definitely didn't "...That everyone is coming here Thursday evening to get ready for the Semi dance". WTF ? Seriously ? Of all her friends we probably have the least amount of room, and now a whole gaggle of girls are coming over to prep for a dance. I really wasn't sure how I was going to break the news to my husband. I've definitely lost the plot !
Fast forward to this week and Lindsay sidled up to me. "Don't forget the sleepover Friday " she said. "No problem" I replied, "Whose house are you going to?" At this point she faltered, suddenly lost for words. "Um, actually we are all coming here" she told me. "You're what ?" I squeaked. "You told me I could have a sleepover on the Friday", she complained, now getting defensive.
"No" I explained, "I told you you could GO to a sleepover on Friday, there is a big difference". This is where the suck-up starts. "But Mum" She pleads, "Everyone loves coming here, they always have the best time, and my friends all love you". Yeah, right, and I bet the parents love me even more, because they are all off the hook. Somewhere Friday evening, eight sets of parents will be toasting each other with a glass of chilled Chardonnay, in their quiet homes, praising themselves for dodging that bullet.
I don't know why I am the only parent who agrees to this. Probably because my parents always let me have sleepovers when I was a kid. The difference was, we had a huge plot of land and my father built me a shed at the bottom of it just for that purpose. We were never in the house.
However back to Lindsay, it appears she isn't finished with the surprises, and as she waltzes off she tosses back "Did I mention..." and no she definitely didn't "...That everyone is coming here Thursday evening to get ready for the Semi dance". WTF ? Seriously ? Of all her friends we probably have the least amount of room, and now a whole gaggle of girls are coming over to prep for a dance. I really wasn't sure how I was going to break the news to my husband. I've definitely lost the plot !
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