My husband snores and as I freely admit, so do I. However the way we each deal with this scenario couldn't be more different. As I lie there staring at the ceiling listening to the snorting, grunting chainsaw that is sprawled beside me, I approach the problem in a calm and gentle manner, starting with an elbow to the ribs, which usually results in a temporary period of calm. This is quickly followed by a renewed vigour as the snores move in to top gear. Time to bring in the big guns and a swift kick to the shins. This almost always prompts a roll-over and if I'm lucky I won't have to repeat the process until the next night. That is how I deal with snoring.
Rob's approach customarily results in a near death experience for me. His trick is to hold my nose and then wait for me to breathe through my mouth, which I don't. He happily sits there watching me gasp like a fish out of water and has even been known to time these episodes. There is something seriously wrong with that man. For some reason I never wake up during these attacks, probably due to a lack of oxygen to my brain. Someday I may not wake up at all.
Turnabout is fair play, and I decided the next time I had to listen to my husband snore at 1:00 AM I would try his trick. The only trouble was I couldn't see worth a damn in the dark and flailed around smacking his head searching in vain for his nose. I didn't stop him snoring but I sure as hell woke him up and boy was he in a pissy mood - go figure !
Never one to give up, a few nights later I had a brainwave and took out the mini LED flashlight I had beside the bed, figuring I could use that to locate his schnozz and pinch it closed. Things didn't quite go as planned, and as I shined the flashlight in his face, he shot up in bed hollering "What the hell are you doing ?" Who knew those little LEDs could be so effective ?
It would appear that Rob does not appreciate being woken up in such an abrupt manner, so it looks like I may have to revert to "Plan B". I'll still use the flashlight, but I'll just thump him on the head with it instead. That should do the trick.
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
The Mysterious Rash
I have the feeling that this blog will not go down in the annals of good parenting advice, especially after today. In fact if this latest episode doesn't have Children's Aid knocking down our door, then I will probably never again have to worry about them visiting us.
Grady reacts badly to mosquito bites, as do I. I think maybe he has a higher amount of tasty British blood. There was a period of a few days in the fall that he was getting more and more bites. He had to begin with, been spending quite some time outside and I put it down to the balmy October weather that we still had active mosquitoes.
One bite on his arm turned particularly nasty and when the limb swelled to twice it's normal size, I finally relented and agreed for Rob to take him to the doctor. I'm not heartless, but let's face it, this was the same boy that tried to stay home from school with menstrual cramps, so I kind of take the wait-and-see-if-it-drops-off-first approach before we do anything hasty. One round of antibiotics later and Grady's arm is back to normal, but new bites keep appearing.
Rob and I had a tête-à-tête to try and determine the source of these bites. We ruled out bed bugs, I think it would be more widespread and only Grady seemed to be afflicted. With four cats and a dog there is always the chance of fleas, and one of the cats does occasionally sleep on his bed, but the other cats sleep on the remaining beds, so again it doesn't explain why Grady is the only one with bites.
Just to be careful, we stripped his bed, boiled all of his bedding and his floor mat, zapped everything in the drier and then sprayed down the mattress and the rest of his room with industrial strength flea spray. Lo and behold the next day, three more bites had appeared, so we were totally flummoxed. Rob suggested perhaps hives instead of bites, but we couldn't think of anything that was recently introduced that Grady would be allergic to.
I finally came up with a brilliant idea and suggested that perhaps we should have Sid and Grady swap beds for the night. That way if Sid got bitten (assuming it was bites and not hives) then we'd know it was something in the bed, but if Grady got bitten then it was probably hives.
Rob explained the plan to Sidney, who was initially excited at the prospect at sleeping in her brother's room, but then the penny dropped and she turned on him accusingly "Hang on a minute, what if I get bitten?" It didn't take long for her to suss out my diabolical plan, and it would appear that Sid was not overly keen on the idea of being dished up as bug bait. Time to sweeten the pot - I told Rob to go back and offer her 25 cents for each bite. Normally that girl would jump through hoops for less, but tonight she wasn't going for it, and the negotiations began. She was prepared to offer herself up for five dollars a bite, which was a little steep in my book. After all Grady had counted a total of eleven bites. We finally agreed on a flat fee of five dollars to spend the night in Grady's room, with or without bites. Of course, it didn't take long for Grady to cotton on to this money making scheme, and he started bartering for his share of the pot. Tough noogies to him. We decided to wait and see what happened come morning, and of course if they both had bites then we were screwed.
Post script: The following morning, no bites on either child, and Sid was $5 richer. We may never find out what caused them, but they have stopped, so that is good enough for me.
Grady reacts badly to mosquito bites, as do I. I think maybe he has a higher amount of tasty British blood. There was a period of a few days in the fall that he was getting more and more bites. He had to begin with, been spending quite some time outside and I put it down to the balmy October weather that we still had active mosquitoes.
One bite on his arm turned particularly nasty and when the limb swelled to twice it's normal size, I finally relented and agreed for Rob to take him to the doctor. I'm not heartless, but let's face it, this was the same boy that tried to stay home from school with menstrual cramps, so I kind of take the wait-and-see-if-it-drops-off-first approach before we do anything hasty. One round of antibiotics later and Grady's arm is back to normal, but new bites keep appearing.
Rob and I had a tête-à-tête to try and determine the source of these bites. We ruled out bed bugs, I think it would be more widespread and only Grady seemed to be afflicted. With four cats and a dog there is always the chance of fleas, and one of the cats does occasionally sleep on his bed, but the other cats sleep on the remaining beds, so again it doesn't explain why Grady is the only one with bites.
Just to be careful, we stripped his bed, boiled all of his bedding and his floor mat, zapped everything in the drier and then sprayed down the mattress and the rest of his room with industrial strength flea spray. Lo and behold the next day, three more bites had appeared, so we were totally flummoxed. Rob suggested perhaps hives instead of bites, but we couldn't think of anything that was recently introduced that Grady would be allergic to.
I finally came up with a brilliant idea and suggested that perhaps we should have Sid and Grady swap beds for the night. That way if Sid got bitten (assuming it was bites and not hives) then we'd know it was something in the bed, but if Grady got bitten then it was probably hives.
Rob explained the plan to Sidney, who was initially excited at the prospect at sleeping in her brother's room, but then the penny dropped and she turned on him accusingly "Hang on a minute, what if I get bitten?" It didn't take long for her to suss out my diabolical plan, and it would appear that Sid was not overly keen on the idea of being dished up as bug bait. Time to sweeten the pot - I told Rob to go back and offer her 25 cents for each bite. Normally that girl would jump through hoops for less, but tonight she wasn't going for it, and the negotiations began. She was prepared to offer herself up for five dollars a bite, which was a little steep in my book. After all Grady had counted a total of eleven bites. We finally agreed on a flat fee of five dollars to spend the night in Grady's room, with or without bites. Of course, it didn't take long for Grady to cotton on to this money making scheme, and he started bartering for his share of the pot. Tough noogies to him. We decided to wait and see what happened come morning, and of course if they both had bites then we were screwed.
Post script: The following morning, no bites on either child, and Sid was $5 richer. We may never find out what caused them, but they have stopped, so that is good enough for me.
Monday, 10 December 2012
Christmas In Our House
So today we put up our Christmas Tree, well actually our third tree, we tend to go to extremes in this house. If I had my way it would be five, but Rob put his foot down. Fair enough, we barely have room for the one we set up today.
It goes something like this, after several days of nagging from Sid & Grady, because they don't count the two artificial trees that are up and decorated, as far as they are concerned they want the real one, the one that their presents go under. "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?". This goes on and on and on, you get the picture. Finally on Saturday when Rob can't take it anymore, he announces he is going to get the tree. "Who wants to come with me ?" he asks. This is greeted with complete silence. He tries again "I'm going to get the tree, who's coming with me?". More silence. It appears that Sid & Grady are engrossed in a TV program, a repeat no less, and they're really not too bothered about getting the tree. No way was Rob going to allow that and packs them in the van under duress.
In hindsight he probably should have gone alone. Grady was in a pissy mood because they weren't going to drive several hours out into the wilderness to cut down a tree in the pouring rain, as we have done in the past. So he just complained that whatever tree Rob picked was too small. On the other hand Sid couldn't have cared less, she had discovered a puppy, a muddy puppy at that. When she arrived home she took great delight in showing me the trail of muddy paw prints all over her clothes. Yay !
We had to allow the tree to dry overnight, and the grand set up was today. The tree goes up and Rob insists it was the easiest ever, a perfect size, plenty of room to navigate around it, and totally secure. However there are not enough lights. Out goes Rob, and comes home with more lights. Plugs them into the remote control, oops no batteries, out he goes again. By this time kids have gotten bored and moved off to other pursuits. Finally after dinner, the decorating begins. Decorations go on, tree falls down, pretty much a given in our house. It would appear that the tree isn't so secure after all, and the weight of the decorations has pulled the tree away from the wall and heading towards the floor. Something else not considered, with the decorations, there is now only 6" clearance between the tree and the couch. This does not bode well. So with my kitchen scissors in hand, Rob commences to prune the tree. "What are you doing ?" I shriek, "Leave the tree alone". He argues back "There's no room to move", unfortunately this is borne out almost immediately as Sid comes charging through the gap with Grady in hot pursuit and the tree continues to shake long after they have passed.
Finally satisfied, we pack away the boxes, and sit back to admire our beautiful, slightly lopsided tree. But wait, there is movement. The cat has gone behind the tree to throw up. Just f***ing lovely. Now it truly feels like Christmas.
It goes something like this, after several days of nagging from Sid & Grady, because they don't count the two artificial trees that are up and decorated, as far as they are concerned they want the real one, the one that their presents go under. "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?", "When are we getting the tree?". This goes on and on and on, you get the picture. Finally on Saturday when Rob can't take it anymore, he announces he is going to get the tree. "Who wants to come with me ?" he asks. This is greeted with complete silence. He tries again "I'm going to get the tree, who's coming with me?". More silence. It appears that Sid & Grady are engrossed in a TV program, a repeat no less, and they're really not too bothered about getting the tree. No way was Rob going to allow that and packs them in the van under duress.
In hindsight he probably should have gone alone. Grady was in a pissy mood because they weren't going to drive several hours out into the wilderness to cut down a tree in the pouring rain, as we have done in the past. So he just complained that whatever tree Rob picked was too small. On the other hand Sid couldn't have cared less, she had discovered a puppy, a muddy puppy at that. When she arrived home she took great delight in showing me the trail of muddy paw prints all over her clothes. Yay !
We had to allow the tree to dry overnight, and the grand set up was today. The tree goes up and Rob insists it was the easiest ever, a perfect size, plenty of room to navigate around it, and totally secure. However there are not enough lights. Out goes Rob, and comes home with more lights. Plugs them into the remote control, oops no batteries, out he goes again. By this time kids have gotten bored and moved off to other pursuits. Finally after dinner, the decorating begins. Decorations go on, tree falls down, pretty much a given in our house. It would appear that the tree isn't so secure after all, and the weight of the decorations has pulled the tree away from the wall and heading towards the floor. Something else not considered, with the decorations, there is now only 6" clearance between the tree and the couch. This does not bode well. So with my kitchen scissors in hand, Rob commences to prune the tree. "What are you doing ?" I shriek, "Leave the tree alone". He argues back "There's no room to move", unfortunately this is borne out almost immediately as Sid comes charging through the gap with Grady in hot pursuit and the tree continues to shake long after they have passed.
Finally satisfied, we pack away the boxes, and sit back to admire our beautiful, slightly lopsided tree. But wait, there is movement. The cat has gone behind the tree to throw up. Just f***ing lovely. Now it truly feels like Christmas.
Friday, 7 December 2012
Brotherly Love
Grady and Sidney fight like cats and dogs sometimes, actually worse than cats and dogs, because the real felines and canine in our house never fight at all. Anyway despite the extremely creative name calling and the occasional knock-down-drag-out fight, I always hope that underneath it all they have each other's back. That ideal was almost borne out the other day.
We have a huge back yard, where the kids can roam free and play on various apparatus. Do they do that ? No they prefer to play out front instead. Ever mindful of the horror stories of children snatched off their own front lawn, I am oft times reluctant for them to play unsupervised. They are allowed out if they are together, but the rule is, unless an adult is out there with them, if one child comes in, then they both have to.
Last weekend they were playing on the driveway when Grady came in for something. After he'd been inside for a few minutes, I suddenly thought to ask him if he'd left Sid outside alone. He insisted she was OK but went back out to check. Unbeknownst to both of us, Sid had grown tired of waiting for her brother and had quietly (almost an impossibility for Sid) re-entered the house and had gone to the playroom.
Grady, after not finding his sister where he left her outside, came charging into the house in a panic, racing from top to bottom looking for the erstwhile Sid. Upon locating her playing Legos he lets her have it with both barrels, yelling "Sidney, next time you come in, you have to tell me. I thought you'd been stolen, I was really worried....". Listening to this, my eyes welled up at Grady's concern for his little sister. I should have known better tho', because my happy bubble was burst immediately as Grady continued "... I thought I was gonna get blamed for it". How touching.
We have a huge back yard, where the kids can roam free and play on various apparatus. Do they do that ? No they prefer to play out front instead. Ever mindful of the horror stories of children snatched off their own front lawn, I am oft times reluctant for them to play unsupervised. They are allowed out if they are together, but the rule is, unless an adult is out there with them, if one child comes in, then they both have to.
Last weekend they were playing on the driveway when Grady came in for something. After he'd been inside for a few minutes, I suddenly thought to ask him if he'd left Sid outside alone. He insisted she was OK but went back out to check. Unbeknownst to both of us, Sid had grown tired of waiting for her brother and had quietly (almost an impossibility for Sid) re-entered the house and had gone to the playroom.
Grady, after not finding his sister where he left her outside, came charging into the house in a panic, racing from top to bottom looking for the erstwhile Sid. Upon locating her playing Legos he lets her have it with both barrels, yelling "Sidney, next time you come in, you have to tell me. I thought you'd been stolen, I was really worried....". Listening to this, my eyes welled up at Grady's concern for his little sister. I should have known better tho', because my happy bubble was burst immediately as Grady continued "... I thought I was gonna get blamed for it". How touching.
Thursday, 6 December 2012
Life Is Good
In my never ending quest to find things that I know are going to irritate my husband, (yes I know it's cruel, but I do it anyway), I have discovered something new, totally by accident. Yesterday we got a new fridge, which was long overdue. We'd had the old fridge for over 20 years, and unlike the stove which is the same age and is in near mint condition (due to the fact, according to my family, I don't know how to cook), this appliance was in it's death throes. As it kicked in, the kitchen lights would dim and this would be accompanied by a horrendous clunking sound. Not good at all.
So back to the new fridge which has a stainless steel door, you know the kind of door that shows every little mark, especially fingerprints. The kind of door that will drive my incredibly anal husband absolutely berserk as he tries to keep it clean. I discovered this quite by chance, as I nonchalantly leaned against the fridge only to have Rob shriek (although he would deny this) in my ear, "Don't touch that, you'll leave marks".
As soon as his back was turned the rest of us were all over that fridge like a fat kid on a smarty. There were fingerprints from top to bottom. It had the desired effect, as Rob stood in the middle of the kitchen yelling at us. Drawing upon a colourful vocabulary we were called all sorts of names. "Idiots", "Assholes", "Jerks" and then back to "Idiots". His colourful vocabulary doesn't even come close to mine. Of course the more he yelled, the funnier it got - at least for us, not so much for Rob. Lindsay's BF was over for dinner, and he stood horrified as the scene unfolded. My guess is he didn't know whether to laugh with us or commiserate with Rob, so he took the easy way out and left the kitchen entirely - the coward !
A quiet dinner followed, throughout which Rob glowered at me with undisguised annoyance. As soon as he was able, he disappeared into the kitchen with a cloth to clean off the door. It's just all to easy to rile him up, but I don't think it will ever stop being fun.
So back to the new fridge which has a stainless steel door, you know the kind of door that shows every little mark, especially fingerprints. The kind of door that will drive my incredibly anal husband absolutely berserk as he tries to keep it clean. I discovered this quite by chance, as I nonchalantly leaned against the fridge only to have Rob shriek (although he would deny this) in my ear, "Don't touch that, you'll leave marks".
As soon as his back was turned the rest of us were all over that fridge like a fat kid on a smarty. There were fingerprints from top to bottom. It had the desired effect, as Rob stood in the middle of the kitchen yelling at us. Drawing upon a colourful vocabulary we were called all sorts of names. "Idiots", "Assholes", "Jerks" and then back to "Idiots". His colourful vocabulary doesn't even come close to mine. Of course the more he yelled, the funnier it got - at least for us, not so much for Rob. Lindsay's BF was over for dinner, and he stood horrified as the scene unfolded. My guess is he didn't know whether to laugh with us or commiserate with Rob, so he took the easy way out and left the kitchen entirely - the coward !
A quiet dinner followed, throughout which Rob glowered at me with undisguised annoyance. As soon as he was able, he disappeared into the kitchen with a cloth to clean off the door. It's just all to easy to rile him up, but I don't think it will ever stop being fun.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
The Boyfriend
The titular character does not refer to my imaginary boyfriend, aka the hunky UPS man, with whom my children are convinced that I am having a lurid affair - difficult to achieve such a status when my husband works from home nowadays. Instead, the boyfriend in question is Lindsay's. Yep that's right, my little girl has all growed up and got herself a man.
In the interests of preserving their privacy and saving my daughter from embarrassment, this will be the one and only blog devoted to the subject. Suffice to say he is a very nice boy, well mannered and a gentleman and we wholeheartedly approve. Did I mention he is tall? Much to Rob's chagrin at meeting him for the first time, he had to look up, I'm sure he would have much preferred to frown down upon such an interloper !
It would appear that when it comes to parenting a teen with a boyfriend, Rob and I are not on the same page, in fact, probably not even in the same book ! We had an eye opening conversation the other day and it went something like this:
Rob: Maybe I'm out of bounds, but now that Lindsay has a boyfriend, don't you think you should have a chat with her ?
Me: (Blank look) Huh ?
Rob: You know, "That Chat!"
Me: Oh right. Gotcha.
Rob: I just think it would be better coming from her mother.
Me: Well, I really don't think it's necessary, she is pretty sensible and they are nowhere near that point in their relationship, but if it makes you feel any better I'll talk to her about using condoms.
At this point, mere words cannot do Rob's reaction justice. Bug eyed, apoplectic, clutching his chest, choking on his coffee, he sputters out "Are you kidding me ? I don't want you giving her condoms, you're supposed to tell her to abstain. (There were more than a few expletives in there - talk about your potty mouth - but they are best not repeated). He continues, "I DON'T WANT YOU talking to her, EVER I'll handle it myself."
I must admit at that point I fell about laughing, who knew that my husband had long forgotten his own horny teenage days. Suffice to say when I told Lindsay about the conversation later (there are no secrets in this house), she was mortified. "You're not going to put that in your blog are you ?" she asked. "As if !" I replied......
PS: When I read this to Rob - family always has right of veto with my blog - he expressed dismay. "My mother is going to read this" he exclaimed. Right, like she doesn't remember his horny teenage years either.
In the interests of preserving their privacy and saving my daughter from embarrassment, this will be the one and only blog devoted to the subject. Suffice to say he is a very nice boy, well mannered and a gentleman and we wholeheartedly approve. Did I mention he is tall? Much to Rob's chagrin at meeting him for the first time, he had to look up, I'm sure he would have much preferred to frown down upon such an interloper !
It would appear that when it comes to parenting a teen with a boyfriend, Rob and I are not on the same page, in fact, probably not even in the same book ! We had an eye opening conversation the other day and it went something like this:
Rob: Maybe I'm out of bounds, but now that Lindsay has a boyfriend, don't you think you should have a chat with her ?
Me: (Blank look) Huh ?
Rob: You know, "That Chat!"
Me: Oh right. Gotcha.
Rob: I just think it would be better coming from her mother.
Me: Well, I really don't think it's necessary, she is pretty sensible and they are nowhere near that point in their relationship, but if it makes you feel any better I'll talk to her about using condoms.
At this point, mere words cannot do Rob's reaction justice. Bug eyed, apoplectic, clutching his chest, choking on his coffee, he sputters out "Are you kidding me ? I don't want you giving her condoms, you're supposed to tell her to abstain. (There were more than a few expletives in there - talk about your potty mouth - but they are best not repeated). He continues, "I DON'T WANT YOU talking to her, EVER I'll handle it myself."
I must admit at that point I fell about laughing, who knew that my husband had long forgotten his own horny teenage days. Suffice to say when I told Lindsay about the conversation later (there are no secrets in this house), she was mortified. "You're not going to put that in your blog are you ?" she asked. "As if !" I replied......
PS: When I read this to Rob - family always has right of veto with my blog - he expressed dismay. "My mother is going to read this" he exclaimed. Right, like she doesn't remember his horny teenage years either.
Tuesday, 4 December 2012
Things That Go Bump In The Morning
It is a well documented fact that I am not by choice an early riser. If needs must, I will stagger out of bed, rumpled and dazed and perform whatever duties may be required to ensure a smooth running of the household, and when necessary get my children to school in a timely manner. My preference remains however, to stay in bed and delay my rising until after my husband has performed these tasks and the house is again quiet. I admit to feeling a small twinge of guilt, that while I am resplendent in slumber, my better half (ha ha ha ) prepares breakfasts and lunches and marshals whatever forces are required to get the kids out the door.
So it is relief when the weekend roles around that I can sleep late without the guilty twinges, so I was not impressed to awaken early on Saturday morning to an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by Grady yelling at Sid "What did you do ?" . A muffled heated exchange follows and then I hear "That f***ing cat!". That was coming from my ten year old son. It would appear the feline in question, being chased by another had skidded across the stove top and sent the element covers crashing to the floor, causing said noise.
My more immediate concern was my husband, who by now was also awake. "Did you hear that ?" he hissed. "Yes" I whispered back, "Sounds like it came from the kitchen". "Not that" he hissed again, "Your son and his potty mouth, that's all your doing!". Geez, all hell breaking loose and that's what he decides to focus on !
So it is relief when the weekend roles around that I can sleep late without the guilty twinges, so I was not impressed to awaken early on Saturday morning to an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by Grady yelling at Sid "What did you do ?" . A muffled heated exchange follows and then I hear "That f***ing cat!". That was coming from my ten year old son. It would appear the feline in question, being chased by another had skidded across the stove top and sent the element covers crashing to the floor, causing said noise.
My more immediate concern was my husband, who by now was also awake. "Did you hear that ?" he hissed. "Yes" I whispered back, "Sounds like it came from the kitchen". "Not that" he hissed again, "Your son and his potty mouth, that's all your doing!". Geez, all hell breaking loose and that's what he decides to focus on !
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