Toilet Tales

A day without upsetting at least one of your children is a day wasted as far as I'm concerned. Grady has graduated Loyalist and is back home. Let the games begin. This morning was a golden opportunity we couldn't pass up. Rob and I are in the kitchen when we hear a bedroom door open and close and then the bathroom door do the same. We're not sure which of our children or their significant others has risen so early, but our question is soon answered. "Dad" a frantic bellow (Grady) "'There's no toilet paper" Queue the laughter. Rob dutifully grabs some toilet paper and Grady tells him to leave it outside the door, but he doesn't say which door. Rob gleefully leaves a pile of toilet paper on the opposite side of the hall and retreats to the kitchen. We wait expectantly at the bottom of the stairs as the bathroom door opens "Dad" he roars "You prick. Why did you do that ?" The door slams. Rob relents and moves the toilet paper closer. Grady is so ungrateful, he actually called us both assholes when he finally emerged. 

Strike 2

Strike 1 was the Santa clock, Strike 2 is the motion activated snowman, strategically placed near the front door. This happy little snowman stands about 3' high holding a lighted wreath. You can record your own festive message which is set off by its motion detector. I envisioned "Merry Christmas", "Ho, Ho, Ho" or even "Welcome to our home". My mistake was allowing Grady to record the message ... so now the first thing anyone hears as they enter the house is Grady's dulcet tones telling them to "Fuck Off". One of the dogs noticed it today - Sid had gleefully added the batteries much to Rob's dismay - so for 20 minutes all we heard was "Bark, Bark, Bark", followed by "Fuck Off" as Ren tried to attack it. All my children inherited my weird and warped sense of humour, so while Sid and I are convulsed in laughter, Rob is doing a slow burn in the kitchen. Just wait until Strike 3.

The Clock

Oh dear, Rob's Christmas is ruined. I just unearthed my Santa clock, every hour Santa pops out with a loud Ho Ho Ho followed by a cheery snippet of a Christmas song. Rob detests this clock with a passion and every year I am forced to bargain with the devil in order to add this item to the Christmas decor. This year Rob gleefully announced we were out of batteries, and happily rushed to return the clock to its box, only to have his hopes dashed when I triumphantly revealed a new packet of 20 AAs. The clock reigns supreme. Merry Christmas

The Good ???? Old Days

Grady's school is huge with 4 large parking lots, the school, one south, one behind and one in front the school. There is a fair distance between the north and south lots. So, yesterday afternoon my sister calls, offering Grady a ride home from school as she will be driving by as school lets out. She tells me she is parking in the north lot by the goal posts. I text Grady to let him know and he trots off in search of his aunt. Several minutes later Grady calls, he can't find my sister. I explain she is by the goal posts at which point Grady tells me 3 of the parking lots are near goal posts. Surmising she has actually gone to the the south lot he treks back. I call my sister, it turns out she hadn't actually made it to the school yet and she is just about to pull in - to the north lot. I call Grady, but he doesn't answer, turns out his phone was on vibrate and he didn't feel it. Never mind, he calls me a few minutes later, exasperated because Jackie isn't in the south lot either. I've lost it by this point and convulsed in laughter I explained what had happened and direct him back to the north lot. He is none to pleased and rants that he could have walked home by this time. There were a few expletives in there, but you get the gist. As I'm finishing that call, my home phone rings, it's my sister. The entrance to the north parking lot was blocked, so she drove on past the school and parked in the south lot - you've guessed it - the one that Grady has just left. I try to call Grady, but again he doesn't hear his phone. By now I have tears streaming down my face and when Grady calls back to say he is back in the north lot and still can't find Jackie, I can barely squeak out what has happened. He is apoplectic, convinced we have conspired against him and hangs up on me, but not before I received an earful of a few choice words, well actually it was only one word, but repeated several times with great gusto. I call my sister to tell her to stay put because Grady is on his way, looking at the clock I realize he is right, under normal circumstances he would have been home by now. Jackie had been talking to me through her Bluetooth, and Grady told me afterwards that as he reached the parking lot he could hear my laughter from inside the car, with doors and windows closed. He was so not impressed. Gotta love my family.

What's In The (mail) Box ?

It appears that I don't need my children home for excitement. This morning Rob had taken off to get groceries and I head out on an errand of my own. I see the cat has a dead baby bunny. Nothing I can do, except curse at the cat and head for my van. As I'm backing down the driveway I see the not so dead bunny go lickety split over the front lawn with two cats in hot pursuit. I screech to a halt, throw the van in park and race across the lawn. Well, with two dodgy hips it was more of a hobble, but you get the idea. As I'm lurching across the grass waving my arms in the air and screaming at the cats, I notice the neighbours over the road hightail back indoors. No doubt my latest antics have cemented my reputation as the local nut job. I locate the bunny, prone in the grass. Fearing the worst, I scoop it up only to have it come alive in my hand and start squirming. As I'm standing there in the middle of the front lawn clutching a wriggling rabbit, it slowly dawns on me, WTF do I do with it now ? I can't set him down, the cats are circling like sharks. I can't take him in the house. - the dog is salivating in the front window, and I can't chance a repeat of the chipmunk debacle. I do the only thing I can and shove it in the mailbox. I call my husband, who isn't picking up his phone so I shoot him a text and tell him to answer his effing phone, and then follow it up with instructions DO NOT OPEN THE MAILBOX, and head out on my errand. I make it back home before Rob who arrives as I'm cuddling the bunny. He takes one look at what I'm clutching and said "You're NOT keeping it". I can't say I'm surprised, I wasn't allowed to keep the chipmunk, nor the baby squirrel I rescued, so I'm not sure why this would be different. Rob marches the bunny down the garden where he is unceremoniously dumped in the woodpile. And all before my first cup of coffee.

Grady The Grass

The time that Sid was inexcusably rude to her father, so Rob took a leaf out of my play book and insisted she write out lines. She was up in her room, desperately trying to tape three pens together, thinking she could beat the system. We knew this because her brother snitched. Rob just trippled the number of lines she has to write. Game on.

Please, Don't Ask.

Friday afternoon and Grady is hopping up and down in the rose garden. It would appear that he had lost a shoe on the roof (and no I didn't ask). Lindsay seizes this opportunity to lock him out. Did I mention it was raining ? In a desperate attempt to dislodge his shoe, he hurled a pointed stick at the roof which promptly boomeranged off and narrowly missed impaling him in the chest, as he fell in the rose bush to avoid it. Now it was getting interesting, so Lindsay and I pulled up a chair in the front window to watch the drama unfold. We didn't have to wait long, as Grady raided the garage and found an old floor lamp. Charging down the front porch like a knight in a joust he attempted to knock his shoe off with the base of the lamp. Although he is just shy of 6' he was still coming up short. Not to be defeated, he hauled out a recycling bin and upturned it in the garden. He is still hopping on one foot, and teetering precariously on the box he grabs the outside Christmas tree for balance. As it threatens to topple over, Lindsay opens the window and hurls obscenities at him (I think the word she used was F*******). After a few nerve wracking minutes when I wasn't sure if he would break the tree, his leg or the front window, he managed to reclaim his shoe. It was at this point, as he stood triumphantly on the recycling bin in the midst of flattened rose bushes, clutching the floor lamp, that his father pulled in the driveway with Sid. To Rob's credit, he didn't give Grady a second glance, and that people is how we roll in our house.

What Grady Did Next

Probably about time for another Grady escapade. We picked Lindsay up from Guelph on Friday evening. While she and her father were gathering her belongings, Sid and I waited in the van. That left Grady up to his own devices. His eyes alit on the huge recycling bin at the top of the driveway and he decided it would be brilliant fun to hide in it and jump out at his unsuspecting sister. First he had to get in the bin. Using his phone as a flashlight he checked out the inside to see if it was "icky". I guess it wasn't enough to put him off and he proceeding to attempt to climb in. I should say at this point I was telling him to cease and desist but he wouldn't listen. He wheeled the bin over to the neighbours side of the drive and proceeded to climb on their retaining wall to use it as a launch pad. It was soon evident this wouldn't work, as once he got one leg in, the bin would start to roll away, leaving him balanced precariously doing the splits. He called for Sid's help, and she was only to happy to oblige. I'm not sure whether her intentions were to help him or injure him, but suffice to say it didn't go well and Grady was forced to hide behind the bin instead. At long last Lindsay left the house and sauntered past the recycling bins, the moment Grday had been waiting for. He leapt out, but alas Lindsay didn't even flinch however she did call him a very rude name. Poor Grady all that work for naught.

Lost And Found

 My son is a Numpty, (certain people have taken exception to the fact I call him an asshole so I thought numpty sounded nicer). Rob and I were at an appointment this afternoon so we told Grady we could pick him up after his Robotics Club. First text we get "Robotics cancelled", followed immediately by "Going to library", followed by "Nope, I'm going home". Soon after, we are on our way back home and I call my son to see if his plans had changed again, but no, he told me he was already halfway home. A few minutes later I get a panic stricken call "Mum, I'm lost come and get me", stunned silence and then my reply, "How the fuck can you get lost walking home from school ?" It turns out he had walked with (soon to be ex) friends. They told him they were taking a short cut through HERITAGE - Grady assumed they were referring to the Heritage House which is a restaurant round the corner from the end of our street, so he tagged along. Ten minutes later as they were trekking through HERMITAGE park, Grady realised his error, and that he was actually heading away from home. He had no idea where he was, so tried using the GPS on his phone but it took him even further away. That was when we received the panicked call and we had to go looking for him. Now can I call him an asshole ?

Skunked Updated

Update on the skunk debacle. Otis smells much better - but considering how bad it was before, he couldn't smell any worse. Come nightfall, each time before letting the dogs out, with the intent of scaring off any erstwhile wildlife, Rob now proceeds to walk up and down the garden, clanging a large brass bell. All he is is missing is yelling "Hear Ye. Hear Ye". Our neighbours, unaware of the recent episode, probably think he's lost the plot.

Skunked

 So, 11:45 PM Saturday night, Rob has been asleep for a couple of hours and I'm watching TV. Grady has friends over, and they are all outside enjoying themselves around the firepit. One of the guys casually mentions to Grady, I think your dog is playing with a skunk. Thats right. PLAYING. WITH. A. SKUNK. The outcome was inevitable. I heard a commotion and picked up the words "dog"and "skunk", and as soon as the back door opened, my worst fears were confirmed. I dispatched Grady to rouse his father. Waking Rob at that time of night is not a task for the faint hearted, and no way was I going to be the one to wake him up with that kind of news. Grady gently shook his father awake and then wisely took a step back and whispered "Otis got sprayed by a skunk" and took another step back. Meanwhile I'm frantically googling homemade remedies to get rid off the skunk stench, and Rob dashes off at to a 24 hour Shoppers Drug Mart to stock up on peroxide and dish detergent. He's lining up to pay and the woman at the counter views his purchases and helpfully informs him "You're gonna need baking soda with that." My husband replies "Is it that obvious ?" She wrinkles her nose and said "Yep"

Meanwhile back at home, Gradys friends have quickly abandoned the garden and are huddled, gagging at the front door, as far away as possible. Once Rob returns with supplies, he and Grady set about mixing the concoction in the kitchen. All pretences of following a "recipe" are abandoned as they dump bottles of peroxide and dish detergent and a box of baking sofa into a large bowl. The three of us (Sid was doing a pretty convincing job of pretending to be asleep) glove up and venture outside. Poor Otis had no idea what was coming. Choking and gagging we proceeded to douse the dog. Grady's friends called out a collective goodbye and beat a hasty retreat. Surprisingly the Peroxide/Dawn/Baking Soda remedy worked really well, and an hour later it was our turn to rid the odour from ourselves.

As soon as Petsmart opened this morning, Rob is off buying a vet recommend skunk shampoo and round 2 will begin shortly. Just in time to welcome the rest of the family for a turkey dinner. If you've made it to the end of this post, Happy Thanksgiving

Chihuahuas & Granny Whiskers

Me and my big mouth.  We were on our way up North,  and stopped for gas. I was driving and as usual my window was open.  Rob hopped out and started the pump, and I happened to glance at the vehicle just in front and to the left.  First there was the ugliest looking dog you have ever seen, a mean looking, pinched face, bat eared rat of a creature.  Then I noticed the passenger,  she had the visor mirror down, a pair of tweezers in her hand and she was vigourously going after her granny whiskers.  That was an opportunity I couldn't pass up so I hollered at the window at my husband, "You should see the ugly assed dog in the car next to us, and the woman is going to town on her granny whiskers".  Sid and I were having a good giggle, commenting on the dog and the woman's progress with her  tweezers.  Every now and then I'd shout out to Rob, because he was yet to answer me and so I didn't think he had heard my comments. All of a sudden, it dawned on me. If that car was next to us, then someone had to be pumping gas for that too.  Sure enough, as Rob returned to the van  he launched into a lecture. "Do you know how far you voice carries ?  I'm standing there and the other driver was right next to me and everything I heard, he heard. Couldn't you take a hint, there was a reason I wasn't answering you". So as Sid and I convulse in laughter

Double Hip Replacement

This experience was a few years ago now, but never made it further than Facebook until now....

So the big day arrived yesterday with an early morning wake up call at 4:45. I figured nothing the surgeon could throw at me would be worse than that. I so hate it when I'm wrong. We made it to the hospital in record time and after Rob nearly tipped me off the curb in my wheelchair, we discovered the admissions dept wasn't open for another half hour. Once they did, they ushered me into a small room where the nurse gave me the pre-requisite robes and then turned and said "Here is a BIG pair of pants" Yes really. I was so not impressed. After I changed into the robes, BIG pants, booties and with my hairnet at a rakish angle, Rob decides to capture it on film - and no I wont be sharing that. I decided my husband had far too much fun at my expense and sent him off to pick up Lindsay in Guelph. Next up was the IV - which took three people three attempts. Somewhere through that ordeal I passed out. I guess that is a big no no in hospital, as I was suddenly surrounded by a bevy of concerned nurses. The one who had been filleting my hand with the IV needle was stroking my face asking if I was still with her. I swear if someone told me not to go towards the light I was out of there. From there I perfected a hop step dance to the OR desperately trying to hold up my BIG pants. As soon as I entered the OR, there was a chorus of cheerful hellos and how are yours, as if they weren't about to slice and dice me. My next ordeal, was the spinal block and epidural. Two anesthesiologists worked on me, stabbing me five or six times to find the right spot. That wasn't so bad until one of them asked for the 5" needle. FFS if you going to stick that in me, at least use a code name for it. Next up the surgery, very enlightening hearing the buzzing of the bone saw and the hammering of the spikes in my femur. I say spikes, because he tried a few sizes based on the amount of hammering. Unfortunately my bone cracked and had to be wrapped in wire for support. I see many a TSA pat downs in my future. Because of that unsuspected development, the surgery took twice as long and the freezing was wearing off by the time to do my second hip and I could feel the surgeon drawing on my leg with a sharpie. I explained that to the cheery chap looking after me, and he told me not to worry, he'd sedate me. That must have worked because the last thing I remember is asking him if i could take my sawn off joints for Grady. Apparently not, who knew they were a bio hazard. In recovery i was introduced to a very chatty nurse. I asked for a cup of water. She spent the next half hour telling me about her ex-husband, his new wife, her estranged children and her mortgage situation. I never did get the cup of water. At least Lindsay and Rob were able to visit me while a waited for a bed. Once in the room, Rob trekked off to the van to retrieve my bag. Whilst he was gone Lindsay proceeded to regale me of the trips her dad took her on around the hospital, in preparation for her visit today. "I'm 20" she told me huffily, why does he think i will get lost". Rob arrived back a few minutes later but without my glasses. Lindsay offered to go back and get them. Five minutes later, Robs phone rings. You've guessed it, Lindsay is lost and hasn't made it out the building. Good job she is studying Hospitality and not cartography. So there are good days and there are bad days, and then there are days that could only happen to me

The Spelling Bee

This is almost too good to be true. My son has decided to take part in a Spelling Bee. This is hilarious in our house because he can't spell his way out of a paper bag.  Even funnier, is his reason for taking part in the contest - because it will get him out of weekly spelling tests. That's right, Boy Wonder gave up learning 15 words a week in return for over twenty pages of vocabulary, some of which I have never even heard of, let alone spell.  Words such as aesthetician, archipelago, Assiniboine, phosphorescence and vituperative. He doesn't stand a chance, whoever chose the words is an evil genius. Lest you think I am am a less than supportive parent, this is the child, who until recently spelt any word containing  a 'th' with an 'f'.  I am 'finking' he is going to be in for a shock.

Not The Waltons

Another missive that missed publication.

My husband always complains that I stay up to late. He on the other hand is tits-up on the couch by 9:00 whilst I prefer to adjourn about 1 or 2 AM. There is a reason I stay up until then, other than the piece and quiet, it is because bedtime in our house makes me crazy. Take last night for example.

For what ever reason we all decided to go to bed around the  same time, so first there is the mad scramble for one of the two bathrooms. Grady beats Lindsay by seconds and proceeds to dither around and take twice as long as usual just to annoy his sister. Meanwhile, she is on the other side of the door hissing threats and calling him unmentionable names. Sid had already gone to bed half an hour earlier but now with the commotion is awake and adding to the general noise level.

Grady finally finishes in the bathroom, dodges a well aimed blow from Lindsay and heads to his room. Then the long good nights start, it's like an episode from the friggin' Walton's.  Everybody has to say "Goodnights" and "I love yous" to everyone else.  First time around it is sweet, but by third time I've had enough and my "Good night, I love you" has become "shut the fuck up and go to sleep".

By now, it is now past 11:00 and the kids are still calling back and forth, while my threats fall on deaf ears. Lindsay decides she is going to shower - why now when she has had all evening is beyond me. Doors are opening and closing, lights flashing on and off, music playing and  cupboards are rifled through, as she searches for god know what.

Finally silence, and I'm finally drifting off when the overhead light flicks on and Lindsay announces she is going over to her girlfriends house because said girlfriend has had fight with her boyfriend.  Seriously at 11:30 ?  By now truthfully I don't even care. Off she goes, slamming front door on her way. Immediately Grady starts up, "What was that ?".  "Lindsay went to friend house".  Questions continue "Why".  Me, Don't know, don't care. Shut up and go to sleep" .

Quiet once again, and then I get a nudge from my husband. "I heard something downstairs" he whispers. "You should down and check it out" he continues.  Are you fucking kidding me ? If I go downstairs now I'm just going to keep on going and not look back.  Good night.

Worst Idea Ever

     This was originally written a few years ago - hard to believe, and my kids are all adults now - but never published, I guess better late than never ....

Apologies for the long wait, a week turned into months, and time got away from me. Thank you for your patience. For those not so patient readers - and you know who you are - that have been nagging me,  your wait is over.

     So if the neighbours haven't already banded together to have us committed, they will after this latest debacle. Grady and Sid decide to play outside, which is OK as far as ideas go.  They start by cruising the neighbourhood, Grady on his bike and Sid on an electric scooter.  I am inside reading my book, taking advantage of the lull.  I should have known better, because I'm not alone for long before the front door opens and slams shut, cutting off a diatribe from my husband, and then I hear heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs. Grady appears disheveled in the doorway. 

      Against my better judgement I ask him what happened. He mutters something about bumping into Sid and then asks me what is the best method to wash off blood. I'm sure at this point, most caring parents would leap to their feet and race to administer first aid to their offspring. If I wasn't reading such a good book I probably would have. My theory is simple, if Grady was ambulatory enough to make it down the stairs then he could probably manage to patch up his own scrapes. 

       Before long the I hear the front door open for a second time and my husband yell down "He better not be watching television" and then the door slams shut again. I wasn't sure what the latest admonishment was all about, but I realized I wasn't going to be able to continue with my book until I had got to the bottom of this.  

         The front door crashes open yet again and this time Rob informs me my daughter is in tears and my children are idiots. I'm obviously not going to get any peace, and my husbands cryptic one liners aren't really helping.  Another crash from upstairs - can no one in this house open a door normally ?  And this time it is Sid, tear stained and a scowl on her face that did not bode well.  She is also scraped up and bloody, but at least now I will get an explanation. However, Sid is not very forthcoming, other than to bemoan the fact Grady has the worst ideas ever.  

       Finally my husband arrives on the scene still muttering about the stupidity of our offspring, I'm actually surprised he feels the need to comment on this fact,I thought it was a given. At least now I have an opportunity to get to the bottom of the drama. It turns out that after Grady and his sister had motored around the neighbourhood, Grady suggested playing chicken and this is where it came off the rails. You see neither of my children know how to play chicken, at least not the part where you are supposed to veer off at the last moment, instead they gained momentum and had a head on crash at the end of the driveway.  Sid knocked Grady clear off his bike, and then proceeded to get entangled in that and the scooter.  Like Rob couldn't have seen that coming. 

  

           So now both children are in tears and storm off leaving the instruments of their downfall in the middle of the road. Rob is yelling - and probably cursing - at them to grab the bike and scooter, and it is in the midst of this melee that a passing car slows down, and our neighbour waves a cheery greeting. That good readers, is how we have yet again lowered property values in our neighbourhood.