I think that there may be something wrong with my new best friend Tina. Today she took my children on a Cub hike, and then offered not only to keep them for the rest of the day, but to feed them dinner and then drive them home again as well. This in itself is above and beyond the call of duty, but what concerned me, was when we were leaving, she thanked me for my children. Maybe she was strung out on cold medication, or had nefarious plans to sell their organs on EBay, but I don't think so. The issue ? No one has ever, ever thanked me for my children before. Indeed, back when I birthed the little buggers, even my husband didn't thank me ! The ungrateful RB. So I do hope Tina isn't becoming unbalanced. Of course after she reads this, she may have some choice words to unbalance me.
I have to say though, my children are really enjoying the Cub activities. As a leader, Tina has some fantastic ideas, and a endless supply of patience. The other evening when they came home from their meeting , Sidney actually came up behind her brother and gave him a hug. She wasn't even trying to give him a wedgie. It was a proper hug, heartfelt even, not like the perfunctory clinches I insist they give each other in the process of apologizing for a transgression. I have discovered that for my children, being forced to your embrace your detestable sibling, can sometimes be the worst punishment of all.
The one concern I do have however, is the part of the Cub uniform known as the "Necker". This seemingly inoffensive accessory might just as well be labelled "Noose" and come with a big flashing neon sign that says "Choke Here". I am always telling my children "Don't put that around your neck, you'll strangle yourself" Just one of those admonishments as a parent you are expected to use. But now, as they get dressed in their uniform, I am just waiting for that day when Grady casts dispersions upon Sid's efforts as a fellow Cub, and her hands will be tightening on his necker quicker than stink. But hey, that's what memories are made of.
I will be taking a short hiatus from blogging. I have unwittingly taken on full time employment, albeit temporary and it has seriously cut in to my blogging time. I will return as soon as I can. Thank you for reading.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Mayhem At The Roundabout
So continues the saga of why I am not in a hurry for my daughter to learn how to drive. If you read yesterday's blog, you'll understand why I did not look favourably upon my bullying driving instructor. Determined they could do better, two of my friends decided that they would take upon themselves, the task of teaching me how to drive.
I should mention that these friends were in the Royal Engineers, and part of their job was to drive the huge army transport lorries (trucks) around England's winding country lanes. I guess when you are behind the wheel of something that size, you just have a different perspective of the road. But I was in a small car, not a three ton truck, so many a time I found myself getting close up and personal with a hedgerow, because even I didn't dare to play chicken with the double-decker bus barreling towards me on lane ways that were little wider than a goat path.
Take the English roundabouts for example, normally you need nerves of steel to navigate those circular merry-go-rounds of terror, but not the way I was educated. Apparently there was only one way to successfully maneuver those road blocks, and that was head on. I was instructed to race up to the roundabout with reckless abandon, and if the way was clear, rocket off around it. If not, then you slammed on the brakes and hoped for the best. What can I say ? At seventeen you think you are invincible. To be fair, these somewhat unorthodox driving lessons (and I can honestly say all parties were sober, we were crazy not stupid) did take place in the wee hours of the morning, when the roads were pretty much empty. Even so, it took a couple of near misses, the second of which was with a police car giving chase (I think army sappers and the police were taught to drive in pretty much the same manner), that gave me pause for thought, and I wisely decided to move indefinitely to the passenger seat instead.
It was only with the imminent arrival of Sid that I was forced to move from passenger to driver. Rob had a recurring nightmare of driving endlessly around town dropping off three children to multiple activities, while I stayed home and did, well whatever. So although wiser now, and obviously far safer behind the wheel, I haven't forgotten what it was like to be seventeen and fearless, and that alone is a good enough reason for me to want to keep Lindsay off the roads.
I should mention that these friends were in the Royal Engineers, and part of their job was to drive the huge army transport lorries (trucks) around England's winding country lanes. I guess when you are behind the wheel of something that size, you just have a different perspective of the road. But I was in a small car, not a three ton truck, so many a time I found myself getting close up and personal with a hedgerow, because even I didn't dare to play chicken with the double-decker bus barreling towards me on lane ways that were little wider than a goat path.
Take the English roundabouts for example, normally you need nerves of steel to navigate those circular merry-go-rounds of terror, but not the way I was educated. Apparently there was only one way to successfully maneuver those road blocks, and that was head on. I was instructed to race up to the roundabout with reckless abandon, and if the way was clear, rocket off around it. If not, then you slammed on the brakes and hoped for the best. What can I say ? At seventeen you think you are invincible. To be fair, these somewhat unorthodox driving lessons (and I can honestly say all parties were sober, we were crazy not stupid) did take place in the wee hours of the morning, when the roads were pretty much empty. Even so, it took a couple of near misses, the second of which was with a police car giving chase (I think army sappers and the police were taught to drive in pretty much the same manner), that gave me pause for thought, and I wisely decided to move indefinitely to the passenger seat instead.
It was only with the imminent arrival of Sid that I was forced to move from passenger to driver. Rob had a recurring nightmare of driving endlessly around town dropping off three children to multiple activities, while I stayed home and did, well whatever. So although wiser now, and obviously far safer behind the wheel, I haven't forgotten what it was like to be seventeen and fearless, and that alone is a good enough reason for me to want to keep Lindsay off the roads.
Monday, 1 October 2012
My First & Very Nearly Last Driving Lesson
Lindsay turned fifteen this summer, and in only eight short months she can apply for her driver's licence. That thought fills me with dread. I think sixteen is far too young to be behind the wheel of a car. I first started driving in England when I was seventeen, and it was another country and twenty five years later before I actually got my licence.
My godparents paid for my driving lessons when I turned seventeen. My instructor, an ex-policeman, who unbeknownst to my well meaning godparents, was a bully, as mean as the day was long. On my very first lesson, he picked me up from college and took me to the middle of Winchester, a busy city with a confusing array of one way streets and little old ladies with blue hair and drag along shopping carts who thought nothing of stepping out in front of a moving vehicle without warning. After five minutes of dodging wayward pedestrians, I was hyperventilating and in a near faint, but the fun was just beginning.
My instructor decided to get his jollies that day by having me try a hill start in a standard car. Clutch, brake, accelerator, gear shift, was he crazy ? How the the hell was I supposed to figure that out ? So there I am at the lights, with a big assed Euro bus right behind me, trying to figure out how to get the car from "stop" to "go". The angry French bus driver went from shaking his fist to shouting obscenities at me, as the traffic lights turned from green to red, again, and again and again. He obviously didn't see (or didn't care) the big red "L" hanging on the back of the car, and no, it wasn't for "Loser" but for "Learner". My instructor, not to be outdone by the bus driver, starts shouting a few rude words of his own. I had never been called a "Stupid Bitch" before (I told you he was a bully) and I didn't much care for it.
Finally, and I don't know how, I managed to get the car up the hill. As soon as it was able, the bus came roaring past me, only to run out of lane, and proceeded to sideswipe front end of the car, as he tried to pull in front. You could say my first lesson had come to a crashing end. But wait, there is more to come. Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment.
My godparents paid for my driving lessons when I turned seventeen. My instructor, an ex-policeman, who unbeknownst to my well meaning godparents, was a bully, as mean as the day was long. On my very first lesson, he picked me up from college and took me to the middle of Winchester, a busy city with a confusing array of one way streets and little old ladies with blue hair and drag along shopping carts who thought nothing of stepping out in front of a moving vehicle without warning. After five minutes of dodging wayward pedestrians, I was hyperventilating and in a near faint, but the fun was just beginning.
My instructor decided to get his jollies that day by having me try a hill start in a standard car. Clutch, brake, accelerator, gear shift, was he crazy ? How the the hell was I supposed to figure that out ? So there I am at the lights, with a big assed Euro bus right behind me, trying to figure out how to get the car from "stop" to "go". The angry French bus driver went from shaking his fist to shouting obscenities at me, as the traffic lights turned from green to red, again, and again and again. He obviously didn't see (or didn't care) the big red "L" hanging on the back of the car, and no, it wasn't for "Loser" but for "Learner". My instructor, not to be outdone by the bus driver, starts shouting a few rude words of his own. I had never been called a "Stupid Bitch" before (I told you he was a bully) and I didn't much care for it.
Finally, and I don't know how, I managed to get the car up the hill. As soon as it was able, the bus came roaring past me, only to run out of lane, and proceeded to sideswipe front end of the car, as he tried to pull in front. You could say my first lesson had come to a crashing end. But wait, there is more to come. Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment.
Friday, 28 September 2012
The Twilight Zone
Some days I think I'm living in the Twilight Zone, everyone seems to get what is going in except me. Take the other night for example, I am helping Grady with his homework - spelling this time. One of his words was pterodactyl, and I'm spelling it out for him "Silent P- t-e-r-o-d-a-c-t-y-l" so he can write it in a sentence when suddenly he convulses in laughter. No words, just loud guffaws as he holds his stomach with one hand and points at me with the other. I have absolutely no clue what caused this disruption, and then I hear his father in the kitchen laughing along with him. "Will someone please tell me what is going on ?" I demanded, only to have Grady tell me, tears streaming down his face, "You said silent pee'". I guess you have to have a "Y" chromosome, to get it.
Meanwhile Rob is in a twilight zone of his own. He is convinced the cat is toying with him. He (Rob) is still having too much of a good time catching mice in the crawlspace - the man really needs to get a hobby - but he has now discovered that every time he takes the captives out to the neighbour's wood pile, (unbeknownst to the neighbours I might add) at the bottom of the garden, he is positive the cat sneaks down behind him and brings one of the mice back to the house, only to dangle it right in front of my husband. Guaranteed to send him into a tizzy, but then it really doesn't take much !
He was proven right on Monday evening, Lindsay and two friends were studying (yeah right, I'm not that gullible) at the dining room table when they noticed Mowgli lazily toying with a mouse. To give them their due, not one of them reacted, no screams, no jumping on chairs, they made me proud. Lindsay casually pointed it out and they all went back to work. It is a sad state of affairs that no one actually bothered to even retrieve the mouse, until Rob finally made the effort sometime later.
Meanwhile Rob is in a twilight zone of his own. He is convinced the cat is toying with him. He (Rob) is still having too much of a good time catching mice in the crawlspace - the man really needs to get a hobby - but he has now discovered that every time he takes the captives out to the neighbour's wood pile, (unbeknownst to the neighbours I might add) at the bottom of the garden, he is positive the cat sneaks down behind him and brings one of the mice back to the house, only to dangle it right in front of my husband. Guaranteed to send him into a tizzy, but then it really doesn't take much !
He was proven right on Monday evening, Lindsay and two friends were studying (yeah right, I'm not that gullible) at the dining room table when they noticed Mowgli lazily toying with a mouse. To give them their due, not one of them reacted, no screams, no jumping on chairs, they made me proud. Lindsay casually pointed it out and they all went back to work. It is a sad state of affairs that no one actually bothered to even retrieve the mouse, until Rob finally made the effort sometime later.
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Even More Things I learned The Hard Way
As every parent knows, you are always learning from your children ans here are more of the gems I have learned over the years.
- Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Mayan end of the world predictions within earshot of your children, even the teenager, unless you want to spend the next several months explaining why you are not going to build a fall out shelter in your basement.
- It is very important to teach your children how to apologize properly. When your youngest calls her brother stupid, and you tell her to say sorry, you may need to clarify that "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid" does not constitute a proper apology.
- Choose carefully what you tell your children. For example; Rob thought it was hilarious when he told our children that I lost my front tooth in a bar brawl, and their teacher asked me how it happened. I was actually hit the face with the muzzle of a rifle, which probably raises even more questions, so maybe I'll stick with the bar fight after all.
- When your child tells you she doesn't feel well and asks if she cuddle in bed with you. Say NO and lock her in the bathroom. If you don't, she will hurl with the force of a scud missile, and you will spend the morning washing your bedding, and scrubbing projectile vomit off the floors and walls !
- When ranting at your children, do not slam your fist on the table for emphasis. Trust me, it hurts like a son of a bitch.
- You may be able to win a battle with one child or even two of them at the same time, but if it goes off the rails with any more than that, accept that you are outnumbered and admit defeat.
Any finally, remember, no matter how sweet your children are now, I can guarantee you, at some point they will become a walking advertisement for the use of birth control.
- Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Mayan end of the world predictions within earshot of your children, even the teenager, unless you want to spend the next several months explaining why you are not going to build a fall out shelter in your basement.
- It is very important to teach your children how to apologize properly. When your youngest calls her brother stupid, and you tell her to say sorry, you may need to clarify that "Grady, I'm sorry you're stupid" does not constitute a proper apology.
- Choose carefully what you tell your children. For example; Rob thought it was hilarious when he told our children that I lost my front tooth in a bar brawl, and their teacher asked me how it happened. I was actually hit the face with the muzzle of a rifle, which probably raises even more questions, so maybe I'll stick with the bar fight after all.
- When your child tells you she doesn't feel well and asks if she cuddle in bed with you. Say NO and lock her in the bathroom. If you don't, she will hurl with the force of a scud missile, and you will spend the morning washing your bedding, and scrubbing projectile vomit off the floors and walls !
- When ranting at your children, do not slam your fist on the table for emphasis. Trust me, it hurts like a son of a bitch.
- You may be able to win a battle with one child or even two of them at the same time, but if it goes off the rails with any more than that, accept that you are outnumbered and admit defeat.
Any finally, remember, no matter how sweet your children are now, I can guarantee you, at some point they will become a walking advertisement for the use of birth control.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Pet Peeve Part II
These pet peeves are not in any particular order, but this particular one is near the top - unhelpful sales staff. In the past I have worked in retail and the food industry (although obviously not in the kitchen) so I know it isn't easy. However when I am ready to make a purchase and part ways with my hard earned cash, or more likely, highly charged credit card, (which by the way, I like to keep at the max, so if they get stolen no one can use them. Rob doesn't agree, but I think it has a certain logic), I do not appreciate having to wait at the counter, tapping my foot, while the sales girl and her girlfriend rehash the previous night's unfortunate double-date with Tweedle Dum & Tweedle Dumber. Not my concern.
There was once an unfortunate incident at a dry cleaners, when the girl behind the counter planned her upcoming Saturday night in technicolor detail over the phone, while we stood waiting for Rob's dry-cleaning. After several minutes of this nauseating one side conversation I politely (yes really!) suggested that she might like to continue her call after she had served her customers. The girl glared over at me and said "Take a pill lady". Rob looked stricken, he took one horrified glance at her and gasped something to the effect of "Do you realise what you've just done ?" and back pedaled out of the store so fast he left skid marks on the floor. He is not one for confrontation.
This was back in the days when I had an appalling temper, and was more apt to lose it. My temper hasn't changed much over the years (the kids can attest to that) I just don't have enough energy to indulge it as frequently now. Anyway back to the girl who told me to take a pill, what happened next wasn't pretty. While Rob hovered anxiously outside the store, I let her have it with both barrels. If I remember correctly, the dry-cleaning was free, and I do believe the company is no longer in business, and good riddance.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
How I spent My Sunday
My day begins benignly enough when I notice three out of the four cats hovering in the kitchen. They had already been fed, and my husband announces to no one in particular "Mouse alert in the kitchen" No one takes much notice, sad really that we are so blasé about it. Rob, not prepared to be ignored, exclaims louder "There is a mouse in the kitchen between the oven and the wall". I'm not sure what he expects to accomplish, because (a) I couldn't care less, and (b) I have no plans on squeezing behind the stove to capture an erstwhile mouse. Even the cats gave up, so for all I know it is still there.
I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.
The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open.
I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted. Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them.
One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body !
Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?. Like I said - One eye open honey !
I had bigger fish to fry today. In a weak moment I had agreed to let Grady hold a Nerf war. For those without a 10 year old boy, a Nerf gun fires foam rubber bullets and unless used as a club, it is relatively harmless. I say relativity, because my son is capable of crafting weapons of mass destruction out of something as ubiquitous as a roll of toilet paper. Anyway, his buddies at school decided they wanted to have a Nerf war, and because we have the biggest back yard (we have half an acre, so it's hard to argue with that logic) and because the other parents are too sensible to agree to such shenanigans, the vote was unanimous to hold said battle at our house.
The day dawned bright and sunny, despite my fervent prayers for rain, and the boys start rolling in at 1:00, armed to the teeth with Battle Strikers, missile launchers and god only knows what else. The RB casually mentions that he is taking Lindsay to her babysitting gig (fair enough) and then on to the farm to ride. Hang on a minute, that means I am left alone with all these little hooligans. I must protest, but as far as Rob is concerned I agreed to it, so it's my problem, not his. Fine, be like that, but I strongly suggest he sleep with one eye open.
I am expecting a court summons any day now. I'm sure after this afternoon the neighbours will spare no expense in trying to get us evicted. Over three hours of hooting, hollering and blaring whistles (that was Sid's contribution to the hullabloo) and I really can't say I blame them.
One nice - but obviously misguided - mother dropped off her son and handed over a bag of Lindt chocolates "In case they got hungry" she tells me. To hell with that, I had chips and crap for that eventuality, I'm not wasting Lindt on a bunch of 10 year old neanderthals. But don't I hear the little snitch telling all his friends, "My mum brought chocolate for us". Over my cold dead body !
Meanwhile my husband makes it back from riding just in time to meet all the parents at the door as they arrive to collect their offspring. Doesn't he just stand there and take all the accolades, smiling and joking, telling the adults that their little darlings were so well behaved. Truthfully he was correct, they are a nice bunch of kids, but how the hell would he know how they behaved when he spent the afternoon with his horse ?. Like I said - One eye open honey !
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