Spelling Bee

Multifarious, paraphernalia, spurious, Pyrrhic, calcareous. I'm not sure what most of these words mean, never mind how to spell them, but they were on a list of spelling words when my son was in Grade 5 - at age elven. Seriously ? this is a boy that can't spell ordinary words - for example "have to" is written down as "hafta" and for the longest time "fink" was his version of "think". You needed the flipping Rosetta Stone to decipher half his homework. His maths skills are unparallelled, his spelling not so much. For someone who pretty much has a photographic memory, I don't know how his spelling can be so bad.

On the flip side we have Sid.  A couple of years ago she brought home her words, usually pretty tame, but one week I was thrown by "Binny". I couldn't find it in any dictionary, and I finally came to the conclusion she had copied it down wrong. Sid insisted she hadn't, and seeing as we had left it to the last minute - over the Easter weekend, I had no way of checking. Desperate, I finally found the word on a obscure online dictionary; Binny was a large species of fish found in the Nile. I was very impressed that Sid's teacher had included such a diverse word in the spelling list and commented on it when next I saw her. She gave me a strange look and said "You know that was "bunny" right ?". Like I said yesterday, you can't fix stupid. It would appear my children come by it honestly. 

I actually have to work for a living next week, so the blog will be on hiatus for a few days, resuming on February 3rd.

Can't Cure Stupid !

Lindsay whilst scrolling through her I-Pod, jumped up from her sick bed (well couch actually) to hoarsely scream "SID!!!" and high tailed it upstairs in pursuit of her younger sister, who was taken by surprise. You see when Sid earlier today, was posing in Lindsay's expensive leather jacket and posted a photo of herself in said jacket on Instagram, little did it occur to her that the owner of the jacket would stumble across it.  

Our cousin Shawn believes that Grady will one day rule the world, only to lose it to Sid. How's that theory now Shawn ?

Are You Sure It Isn't Thursday ?

I could have sworn that today was a Thursday morning. It didn't begin well with minimal sleep after crawling to bed at 2:30. I stagger to the bathroom and discover too late, no toilet paper. I yell to Grady to get some from the downstairs bathroom, but he won't go near it because Sid is having a "mega-poo" his words not mine. God only knows how long I will have to wait for that to end. Kleenex it is.
 
Next up, Lindsay is not well, but has a test, so I re-arrange my standing Friday morning coffee date with my friend Lisa in order to drive my daughter to school and collect her again an hour later. So far so good, I can manage that. 

Now we move on to the bane of my existence - lunches. I finally persuade my son (an extremely picky eater) so take left over spaghetti for lunch, but then find there is only enough sauce & pasta for one serving, and nothing comes between Sid and her "spag bog". Back to the drawing board with Grady. 

While he is humming and hawing, I proceed to fill up the drinking boxes, only to find the lids are missing. Damn! Damn! Damn! I turn around only to see the cat creeping towards Sid's spaghetti, I yell "Get the cat off the counter before he knocks over ..". Fuck! Too late, day-glo fruit punch over the counter and floor.

While this is going on, I have Sid on one side of me trying to tell me her schedule for the day. Who cares ? She is in Grade 4 student, not a CEO. Whereas Grady, not to be out done in the clammer for my attention, proceeds with a ten minute diatribe about which Lego pieces are missing from his new set. I'm not sure why he thinks I give a rat's ass, because really the only concern I have with his Lego is that I don't step on it in bare feet.

This morning is the school trip to the art gallery, and Grady switches topic, only to start nagging me (and trust me, you have not been nagged, until you have been nagged by Grady) about making sure we leave early. That would be a lot easier if Sid hadn't taken off back to the bathroom. What is wrong with that girl ? 

So there you have it, my morning in a nutshell, and not even 8:00 A.M.

How My Children Spent Their Summer

My children had amazing adventures this summer, but unfortunately I was thousands of miles away, so for this post, I have to rely on eyewitness accounts.

First, my sister took Sidney & Grady to England. We had taken Grady years ago when my father was still alive, and he has wanted to return ever since. Sid on the other hand had never been back to my home. This was actually a bone of contention with her, one day she even complained to her teacher that we had "...gone everywhere and done everything without her ..". Kind of sad actually, especially as it's true. Just wait until she realises we have next to no baby photos of her either. What can I say ? She was the third child.

Anyway, three weeks in England staying with my family, which meant 21 days geared to their every whim. Grady had a list as long as your arm of things he was anxious to see and do; Lego-land, London Eye, Tank Museum, Stonehenge, Tower of London, fossil hunting, the seaside, you name it, he wanted to experience it. Sid's list was simple - stay in a hotel !

My sister and brother-in-law own a canal boat, one of the long barges. Both the kids were looking forward to spending a few days aboard. This came off the rails, so to speak on the day when Grady fell into the canal. The water isn't deep but it is disgustingly filthy, and he was clinging to the edge of the boat for dear life. Meanwhile Sid, witnessing this from shore is screaming at him "Don't die on me now Grady! Hang on!" When they phoned a few days later to tell us about the incident, I was initially heartened to hear of Sid's concern for her brother, but then it dawned on me. At that point of the vacation they had yet to stay in a hotel - Sid's only aim for the entire holiday - and there was no doubt in her mind that Grady's untimely demise in the Kennet Avon canal, would spell a hasty end to her plans.

Unfortunately falling in the canal wasn't Grady's only mishap on the boat.  My sister was certainly worse for wear after Grady fell off the top bunk and managed to kick her in the head on the way down. After that, he complained to me, Lesley made him sleep on the floor. Can't imagine why !

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Most families, I imagine spend happy Sunday mornings, peaceful and perhaps idyllic and then there is us.  It didn't help that I sat up until 3:00 A.M. lasting night watching Season 1 of The Walking Dead, for which I blame Lindsay because she suggested it.  Fast forward to some ungodly hour this morning and Lindsay woke me up to tell me her father was taking her to the walk-in clinic because she has been hacking and sneezing for the last few days. I made a half hearted effort to get up but thought better of it. However, five minutes later my husband woke me again to give me the same message. Five minutes after that I had a cat sitting on my face. No lie-in for me today.

No sooner have my feet hit the bottom stair when Grady nabs me to remind me he needs help with his speech for school, his subject The Special Air Service. You may think because he broaches the subject, he is eager  to begin - WRONG.  It takes him a good 20 Minutes to gather paper, pen, and find the SAS book I bought for him. That's right, three items and twenty minutes' with me constantly chiding him along.  Finally we sit down, and no sooner has he written one word, when he stops to exclaim "I think this pen may run out of ink". That was the last straw "I don't care about the fucking ink"  I scream, only to have an answering shout from my husband in the next room, "Shut up, I'm on the fucking phone". You can tell how well the new "no swearing" rule is working out for us. Loud guffaws from Sid & Grady. 

Back to the speech and I discover each time I mention the word Commando, (as in the SAS troops) the children collapse in gales of laughter.  This is shaping up to be a long morning. Unfortunately Grady has the ability to be distracted by almost anything, and today is no exception. I am reading through two books and an internet page, throwing out nuggets of information, so that he decide what he wants to incorporate into his speech. That would work well if he didn't get up in the middle of it to fix a piece of Lego in the next room, or start playing with the cat. At each interruption I get more incensed. I am way beyond swearing at this point and getting so frustrated that I can hardly string two coherent words together.  Sid is greatly amused by my agitated state and delighted announces "Watch Out! She's gonna blow", followed by more peals of laughter. 

It is at that point that my brother-in-law arrives, and seeing as the kids and myself are still in our meager night clothes we scatter like nine pins to run upstairs and dress. After we were all suitably attired and sedately troop back down a few minutes later, Sid complains that in my mad dash to get to the stairs, I had body checked her out of the way. Sucks to be her.

Is it any wonder at this point - a mere 11:00 A.M. I have a pounding headache and I'm mentally calculating how long before I can take to my bed.

An Apology To Teachers

Note: This was from a year ago, but somehow never got posted. 

This heartfelt apology goes out to my daughter's current and future teachers. We have tried and epically failed at teaching her anything about boundaries, and that when it comes to the classroom, her teacher is to be respected.

Sid's lower elementary teacher had actually been able to reduce her to tears, which in itself is a remarkable feat, because nothing I threaten her with - and I can be very creative - ever gets that kind of reaction. Something tells me that Sid deliberately saves up her tears for the classroom, in the hopes that she's going to get the sympathy vote, because I know for a fact her teacher is not in the least bit fearsome. When Rob picked them up one day, he was pulled aside to be regaled with his youngest offspring's latest adventures. Apparently now that Sid's tearful routine doesn't carry the weight it once did she had taken to blackmailing her poor teacher with a dire threat, "If you keep that up, my mum's gonna blog about it!". A small part of me is filled with maternal pride that we are raising such a strong daughter, but then good sense takes over, and I wonder if I shouldn't be sleeping with one eye open.

Meanwhile, in Grady & Sid's school they have split classes and it so happens that this year they are of an age to be in the same class. Fortunately there are two teachers at that level, so the siblings can be separated. However, Grady took it upon himself to interview at least one of these poor individuals and informed the teacher that a decision had yet to be made as to who would get him in their class and in his words, I quote ".. who would be the unfortunate one to get Sid!".  Nice !  If Sid finds out about this conversation, I don't fancy his chances. Grade 6 for Grady might well be a moot point. When he did get a chance to speak to the "unfortunate" teacher, he wasted no time in telling her that she was getting Sid in her class. He should have just stopped there, but instead he came home and proceeded to relay his conversation, word by word to Sid. His final comment of "That wiped the smile right off her face" pretty much sealed his fate. 

Teenagers

I don't think I will ever understand teenagers.  Take today for instance, I get a frantic text from Lindsay who had left her English presentation at home. So as any dutiful parent would, I drop everything and drive to the school with the forgotten pages. At that point I am, in her words "THE! BEST! MUM! EVER!". Sadly, that sentiment was fleeting, because a mere few hours later when I return to the school (for the third time in one day) to carpool kids for swimming practice, I am persona non grata, as Lindsay does her best to pretend she doesn't know me. The journey to the pool is an exercise in frustration, as my futile efforts at conversation go ignored. Not sure how I went to being a shoe-in for the "Parent of the Year" award to resident Pariah in such a short time.

I know how to fix it though, the next time the kids clamber in the van, instead of relinquishing control of the radio to my daughter, I will turn up my Kris Kristofferson CD and bop away to my heart's content. Try ignoring that, Sunshine. Payback's a bitch.

While I am on the topic of teens, why is it that when I ask anything of my eldest, or remind her -in my nicest dulcet tones of course - of something that needs doing, I always get an exasperated "I know" accompanied by an exaggerated eye roll.  If she knows so goddamn much, why do I have to keep issuing reminders ?

Everything But The Kitchen Sink

My family have been on my case, so against my better judgement, today's post is about me ... and gravity.  My sister cringes when I get "too personal" in my blog, so this warning goes out to Jac, you may want to skip this one.

A known fact that I have 3 children, and I nursed each of them to the point that my husband referred to me as "Dairy Queen".  I think a heartfelt "the rat bastard" is justifiable in this instance.  Anyway, most mothers will appreciate that after breast feeding one or more children, the "girls" are never quite as perky as they once were, and no longer able to defy the laws of gravity. 

Growing up, we would take great pride in passing the pencil test - for the uninitiated, you place a pencil under a boob and if it falls down you pass the pencil test, if it stays trapped you have failed. Lindsay at 16 definitely passes the pencil test, myself not so much. We discovered this the other evening (not that it came as any great surprise) when we were joking around in the kitchen. 

After I failed the pencil test miserably, my husband (the asshole) decides he is going to try other objects, the pencil case was first - failed, followed by the ketchup bottle - failed, then apples (yes plural) - also failed, and finally, because by then my patience was wearing thin and the loud guffaws of laughter from my husband (who should have known better) and my bitchy daughter, were getting on my nerves, one final test - grapefruit, which I am pleased to report I finally passed. They were lucky I didn't lob the fucking grapefruit at their heads. I should point out, I was fully clothed throughout this embarrassing episode.  

So there you have it, a cringe worthy blog and far too much information. If anyone cares, my daughter would like to take credit for the title, she fancies herself a comedienne.
  

Men Are Still On Mars.

Continuing on from yesterday's topic that Men are from Mars, yet another example. My son was irritating me this evening by waving his Sonic Screwdriver (Dr. Who fans will understand) in my face. Taking a leaf out of Lindsay's play-book I ply him with a spritz of perfume. The effect was immediate. "It burns! It burns" he hollers, and races to his bedroom. The next thing I know, he has stripped off his pants (trousers) and then his underwear, which he proceeds to rub all over his neck and face in order to combat the odour of perfume.  WTF? WTF ? So wrong on so many levels.

Men Are Definitely From Mars!

I have two members of the opposite sex in my life - my  (as some would have it - long suffering) husband and my son who turned 12 at the beginning of January. Rarely does a day go by that a conversation with one or the other doesn't leave me shaking my head.

Take yesterday for example with Grady. Now it is no revelation that I don't do mornings. In fact I'd say with a fair degree of accuracy that I come in to my own about 11:00 A.M, peak about noon and fade quickly after 2:00 P.M. only to come alive again eight or so  hours later, co-incidentally when everyone else has gone to bed. My son on the other hand, hits the ground running - especially on weekends - and on any given day, as I'm sure his teachers can attest, he yammers on a mile a minute. Sunday morning, as I sit feebly nursing my first jolt of coffee I am vaguely aware of his diatribe in the background, only coming too when I hear an incessant "Mum! Mum ! MUM!". Once he is satisfied he has my attention he launches into a one sided conversation. "Did you know that dogs only have a 3 second memory span ? Did you ? Did you ?" I look at him in bafflement only to have him continue "No wait, maybe that's goldfish" and then he is gone.  WTF ?

His father isn't much better. Last night we had settled down in the family room to eat dinner, when he rushes off to the bathroom. He returns a few minutes later, and standing in front of me, with one hand in his mouth, holding out something to me in the other. "Wah bluh earg toth" he mumbles incoherently, motioning me towards whatever it is he has in his hand. "What the hell are you on about ?" I ask in my best concerned tone. "Wah bluh earg toth" he repeats, and this time I get the gist of it, that he has broken a tooth. A common occurrence for me with my background of English Dentistry, but something entirely foreign to my husband. 

I make the appropriate sympathetic noises, suggest he call the dentist in the morning and pointedly return my attention to the TV.  A little while later he explains that he has placed his piece of tooth in a safe place, and I must make sure not to lose it. Huh ? Not exactly sure why I would want anything to do with his broken tooth, but just for the hell of it I decide to  play along."Why are you saving the piece of tooth ?" I ask curiously. "To take in to the dentist of course" is the reply. "Surely you're not expecting them to stick it back on"  I ask incredulously "Because if that's the case, pass me the superglue and I'll save you a trip". He went off in a huff. Some people just don't have a sense of humour.

Parenting Advice - Anyone ???

Well, we are only two days into 2014 and my children are at it hammer & tongs. Grady - who is my resident snitch - crossed Sidney and she told him in no uncertain terms that she wished he had been switched at birth !  I'm proud that she is expanding her horizons, but I still can't let it stand. So I call her down and inform her that she must write out twenty times - "I love my brother and I'm glad he wasn't switched at birth". She glared at him, glared at me and announced "But I'm not glad" . Twenty lines just became fifty. I love this  punishment consequence! Not only does it serve to teach I lesson (I hope) but it also keeps the offending party quiet for a while.  I know I shouldn't encourage Grady to snitch, but he is a natural, and it is the only way I find out what is going on! The upside is, I didn't even swear - not once. If any of my readers have better ideas, I'm all for hearing them.

Dismal Failure

So there I was with January 1st looming and no resolutions in sight. I had contemplated the old stand-by of losing weight, but looking around at the mountains of calorie laden goodies left over from Christmas and the overflowing chocolate drawer (it used to be a vegetable crisper) in my fridge, I knew I was doomed before I even began. No way was I relinquishing my good English chocolate to my ungrateful offspring for the sake of a resolution.

I was desperate, I couldn't start the new year without some commitment to bettering myself, so I rashly declared to my family that I was going to stop swearing in 2014. This was met with astonished expressions followed by loud derisive laughter. It would appear that my nearest & dearest have no faith in me. Only Lindsay's friend Hannah had my back, and encouragingly said she had confidence in me. 

Fast forward a few hours, this was the first year we had allowed Grady & Sidney to stay up to midnight (maybe I'd be better off resolving not to make rash decisions in 2014). We were all watching the celebrations in Times Square with Ryan Seacrest (who personally I can't stand and think is highly overrated, just my humble opinion), so after the obligatory toast with champagne I returned my attention to the game I was playing. I was so engrossed I didn't at first notice the silence that had descended. I looked up only to see everyone smiling at me. Rob is the first to speak "You do realise we are not even 10 minutes into the New Year and you have already broken your resolution".  I was aghast, he was right dammit, I had let slip the "F" word. Lindsay the snitch wasted no time texting "I told you so" to Hannah. 

Unfortunately it wasn't an isolated incident. The next morning as I raced around the house cleaning up, my hip collided with the corner of Lindsay's dresser, and sure enough I had lapsed again, and again there were witnesses. OK, time to adjust my resolution, I will commit to swearing less, perhaps only in extreme circumstances and when I'm by myself !  Even I should be able to make that work. 

Things That Go Bump On The Roof

With our house you are never really sure how the simplest of events is going to end up. Take today for example, when we invited Rob's brother and his family over for dinner. Our nieces arrived first, with the intention of all the kids decorating Christmas cookies - yes I know it is a week past Christmas, but just go with it. The activity starts off innocently enough with colourful mittens and melting snowman, but with one stoke of an icing pen it comes right off the rails and before you know it I am looking at the cast of "The Walking Dead" iced on cookies.  There were decapitated figures, complete with oozing brains, and another one with a bullet hole and what looked suspiciously like arterial blood. Another had it's head split with an axe, while Grady included a nice addition with a "Police Line - Do Not Cross" emblazoned around one of his creations. A little disturbing, I must admit.  Even Lindsay questioned why a family get together to decorate Christmas cookies turned into a murder scene.

My husband was not to be left out of the festivities, he had a few surprises in store as well. We had all finished dinner and were sitting around talking and drinking when I noticed that Rob was nowhere to be seen. Some time later he returned through the front door. Apparently he was up on the roof because he had noticed a raccoon when he went out to call the cat.  He was most perturbed and asked if I had heard a big crash. Admittedly I had heard something, but how the hell was I to know it was my husband falling off the roof.  

Grady's Turn.

My son, has become quite the little comedian. One weekend my sainted sister took both Grady & Sid off our hands. She was supposed to pick them up on a Saturday morning, but we had snow overnight and the road conditions were bad so I said I'd drive them up to her house instead. Grady wanted to know why I was driving and I said it was because my van handles better in the snow. His response "If your van handles so well in the snow, why do you have a big dent in the side?"   He is such a sweetheart.

While he was waiting to leave, he decided he would go out and shovel the driveway.  I strongly suggested he didn't. Anyone following this blog, knows how even the simplest act can go disastrously wrong in our house. Sure enough, five minutes later he is back in the house, complaining he has hurt himself. The snow shovel had somehow bounced back and hit him in the eye. We get it sorted and walk out the door only to smack into a huge snowdrift. The little darling had shoveled all the snow UP the path, whereupon he had his accident with the shovel and walked off,  leaving the huge pile of snow right outside the front door. What a genius.

Always Sid

I'm back, and a Happy New Year to all my readers.

Oh what fun we had the weekend before Christmas. Are my children enjoying this quiet lull before the big day ? Of course not, they are fighting. Grady snitches on his sister, it would appear she had called him an idiot, not once but twice. So, in a desperate attempt to curb her tongue, I insisted she write out lines, "I must not call my brother an idiot". To begin with it was only supposed to be ten times, but by the time she had finished arguing with me, it ended up being 50. I am nothing if not draconian in my approach to parenting. Sid as usual had the last laugh, after she had finished writing her missive I asked her to show me. It turns out she had forgotten to include the word "not", so she had elegantly written in her best cursive writing - the required 50 times no less - "I must call my brother an idiot." Where did I go wrong ?.

Meanwhile, Sid flounces down to the Christmas tree and starts rummaging underneath it. Upon asked what she was doing, she told me she was removing her gift to Grady because he had said he'd hated her. This does not sit well with me and I order Grady down and inform him it is his turns to write lines "I must not tell my sister I hate her". However Grady is not going down without a fight. The 10 lines quickly become 20, then up to 50 as he continues to argue with me. By the time amount of lines required doubles to 100, even his father feels the need to step in and tell his son, "For god's sake, shut the fuck up". He doesn't listen to him any more than he does me, and as a consequence he is now at 200 lines. I can keep this up all day.