the more people I meet...

You know the old line 'the more people I meet the more I like I like my cat'?

I've had a week spent among general population and I can honestly say with out a doubt that I love my asshole cat.

Spring break has been spent with both of my kids, and in order to keep them amused I have had to endure public places and group activities.

During this week I have been witness to questionable parenting, and am admittedly guilty of some of my own. I have sat in front of screaming parental banshees, seen neglect, and some folks that should have had to pass a test before procreating.
I am not the best parent ever, I am comfortable with being the Worlds Okay-est Mom.
After spending time surrounded by other people's spawn I have come to a realization.

I really like my own kids.

My own kidlets are generally nice, usually polite, and do not require much screaming at. The Spouse and I try to teach them respect for others, and reverence for adults. My kid's aren't the first ones rushing to the front of a line, pushing and shoving the others. My kids aren't the ones poking the back of your head at a theatre or kicking your seat. If our kids are misbehaving we are on them, correcting, teaching what is acceptable.

They can't be expected to be perfect, and won't learn unless they are allowed to make mistakes, but we try and use these experiences as a place to learn and we try to set an example. Especially when out in public.

There is one thing I cannot stand and that is disrespect for adults. Familiarity allows for a certain amount of ribbing, and my kids understand this. Rarely do they cross the line with adults we know well and when they do are quickly reeled in.
I was part of an exchange with one child this week that left me in awe of the balls and pure disrespect that a child can express with no familiarity. He was trying to be smart with me, his comment had an intentional cruel edge. I used this as a 'teachable moment' and I will admit it took everything in my very being to not 'school' said child and introduce him to my mastery of wise ass-ed-ness. I was a responsible adult and dealt with it swiftly with little fanfare, plus it doesn't take much to out smart a cocky 10 year old. Besides I'd feel bad for making him cry.
I trust he will think twice before showing disrespect to an adult again. If it were my child- (and if it were I'd be beyond embarrassed) I would hope another adult would be willing to step in and not allow it to go unpunished.

Having spent time with so many other kids this week I understand now, when The Boy comes home and talks to me about school mates he struggles with, why he has issues with them. When I see them in social situations and can observe how they act and talk to their peers - I get it. I can sympathize with The Boy, and understand why he wants to punch them in the throat. He's no angel, trust me I'm well aware, but I even want to turn some of them over my knee.

I'm proud of the fact that I can usually alter my kids behaviour with just a glare. Experience has taught us that a consequence quietly hissed in a misbehaving ear carries much more weight than screaming until you're blue in the face. A consequence that is also applied, not just threatened, reminds them who's in charge.

It takes a village to raise a child. We are fortunate to be part of an amazing village of great friends and neighbouring families that are like minded and are trying to raise polite, respectful people. It helps that these fellow villagers have full permission to discipline our kids just as they would their own.

This week was full of 'teachable moments' for both the kids and myself. I've been reminded that we're doing a pretty good job with our kids, and our kids are lucky to have a mum and dad that are doing their very best.  

I'm crushing hard

I'm sharing a secret. I've got a crush.

On my house.

Sound a bit crazy? Yes it is. I'm not sure you can have a crush on a building, but people do love places, certain locations and their homes. So I think a crush is acceptable.

I realized this morning as I drew the curtains in my kid's south facing rooms and welcomed the rising sun that my house is pretty great. Despite it's age and dysfunction for a modern family, I am fortunate to own it.

We live in an amazing neighbourhood, centrally located, but still suburban. In what I like to call a "mid century classic" aka a 1950's bungalow. We have nearby shops and important amenities like two cold beer vendors and a liquor store within walking distance. Great schools, safe for the kids to walk to. Add to this a large yard, a back lane, our Community Centre is right outside the front door and we have good neighbours.
Perfection.

I was hating my house for a long time, cursing it's tiny closets, lack of counter space and super small entrance ways. But as I am spending more time in it and seeing it with a different set of eyes. I'm in love.

yes I said it. I'M IN LOVE.

As I wander from room to room, doing my daily chores. I'm discovering little things about my house I love.
I love how much light it has, and I laugh at the cat as he moves from room to room following the sun and lies in warm sunny spots on beds and floors.

I love that it is cozy and I don't have to walk a mile to find a housemate. Everyone is within shouting distance.
I love it's size, because it's manageable and because of that it allows me time to snuggle and read and play and spend time with my kids.

I love that I can leave my doors unlocked, and my friends and family feel comfortable enough to walk in and spend some time whenever they like.

I love that The Boy's friends know this is a safe place to come if needed and they enjoy hanging out here.

I love that the bedrooms are full of little people and although I complain about toys and laundry and tantrums, It makes my heart swell and I wouldn't change it for anything.  

More importantly I love that this house is showing me something about myself. I don't need a grand entrance, walk in closets overfull of clothing not worn, kitchen cupboards bursting with items that are rarely if ever used. I'm learning to do more with less, appreciate the small things and I'm learning to live with my little house and it's limitations.

It's not a show home, and it never will be. But with a little TLC this house will be loving us back.

  

don't eat the yellow snow....

I am officially tired of winter. Bitch. moan. whine. complain. We received another foot of snow yesterday to add to our already large amount covering the ground, and considering Spring is supposed to be making her appearance this week, this is a cruel trick played on us northerners by Mother Nature.  ha ha MN you win. We give up, please tell Old Man Winter to back the fuck off.

The other thing that starts to bother me about snow this time of year is the pee. An accumulated season of yellow patches left behind by walking dogs and occasionally a drunk guy named Joe with good aim and a very full bladder.

All the pee bothers me because I deal with a lot of it. I feel like it's everywhere. I have two bathrooms in my home, and two male housemates, add to this mix Hurricane Girlchild who uses the bathroom while in motion most of the time along with numerous visiting male friends of The Boy and don't forget the Cat's litter box. You can imagine the amount of pee I deal with.

I should own stock  in Lysol.

Now, I don't stand up to pee. Maybe it's harder than it looks? Or maybe it just requires an amount of focus and patience that younger males don't possess. I'll have to ask my Spouse about that-he's old and wise and I'm sure rarely  misses. Perhaps I'll run a poll of adult male friends.
But focus or not, it doesn't change the fact that I clean up what seems like a lot of piss.

Imagine if you will, a home maker decked out in rubber gloves, 2 types of antiseptic cleanser in her hands,  very perturbed on her hands and knees scrubbing and close to gagging while muttering obscenities. Kinky for some. For me a twice a week endurance test.

Rest assured if you visit our home the washrooms are safe for use.   

So aside from emasculating my male room mates and house guests and asking them to sit to pee. I'll either have to put out puppy peepee pads or perhaps post a gentle reminder.

 

Stealth

Had a decent week. 

Lots of errands and Hurricane Girlchild did not hinder my efforts even though we had to endure unseasonably cold weather which made all of the running around tiresome for me. 

Her behavior surprised me. I'm used to needing (or wanting) to leave her at home in order to 'get done' what I had to. But she was a trooper this week and was her charming, adorable self as we attended appointments, shopped, lunched and had every bank teller and store clerk ooh-ing and ahh-ing over how cute she is and what an angel she was. She had every 20 something female with a uterus we encountered aching for one of their own.  

Little do they know.    

She's a ninja. 

As I washed walls this week I started doing an inventory of broken items, walls that require new paint and various other destruction left in her wake. 

Now you'll think I'm the worst mom on the planet. You're wrong. I'm the world's Okay-est Mom if you have to put a label on it. I'm not the world's worst mom and here's why - because she's a ninja. She doesn't get left alone with no supervision. Ever. However she does manage to destroy in a matter of seconds right under our noses. Because- she's a ninja. 

She can turn a bathroom into a crime scene with one bowel movement. 

In mere minutes she produced the most beautiful pencil sketch on her bedroom wall. How she even got her hands on a pencil with out me seeing I'll never know. She once single handedly picked most of the keys off of my lap top. She is soley responsible for most of - if not all of the finger prints found on our walls- all approximately 24" off the ground. A bathtub can be drained of half of it's water  in seconds, perhaps a plot to kill us as we enter the room and almost slip to our certain fate.      

She'd never get away with murder because her finger prints are on every glass or mirrored surface we pass. 

I can hear her opening cupboard doors from the next room and then the pitter patter of her running back to where she was previously because she knows she was doing something I would not approve of and I'm on my way. 

And please don't ever give her a pair of scissors- teeny tiny pieces of paper appear a'la Edward Scissorhands  and cover the floors, and couch, and table top, and are tracked down the hall...like freshly fallen snow. 

Me "Hey- how did you get those marshmallows down off of the shelf?" 

She "A little imagination."

 holy shit. CFS is going to show up on my doorstep one day. 

What is so amazing about her is the speed in which these offences occur. She's quick, and she's smart. Always one step ahead of me. I'm like Inspector fucking Clouseau- stumbling into the scene. 

I'm enjoying the time I've spent with the Hurricane this last week, we're getting to know each other as it were. Plus it's fun, I make catching her and the clean up a game so I don't burst into tears while huddled in the fetal position under my dining room table. I have to admit, being home with her has had an effect on the amount of damage and I've been able to contain the chaos, plus I'm slowly learning to anticipate her next move.      

If I sound like I'm complaining I'm not. She's funny and smart and creative and spirited-and she's a ninja.   

 

  

 

feeling run down.

Last night after I tidied up supper, I decided to put my feet up on the couch and take a break.
I'm not going to lie, this time change is kicking my ass for some reason and I've been sleeping like shit and waking up way early.
Well it didn't take long for me to be laying horizontal, head resting on a cushion, eyelids drooping.

That's when Dr Appointment stepped in.
I was quickly covered in a heavy blanket, and had the kind Dr. taking my temperature with a plastic banana. I had a fever, so I needed a toy food hamburger patty ice pack licked and stuck to my forehead.
She swiftly gave me the once over with her stethoscope, checking my feet and my knees. The stethoscope test was negative.
Next was my eyes, thoroughly checked with a plastic strawberry ice cream cone, then she looked in my ears with another ice cream cone, this time vanilla.
I'll admit she was a bit rough, and I was squirming to avoid a permanent eye injury, but she asked all the right questions, like did I have a cough? Did I have the sneezles? Did I need to go poop?

The medical team decided that Xrays and some tests were required. It took ages to get the results, but the kind Dr. took it upon herself to be responsible for the lab work and provided me personally with the outcome. I was quite relieved by the xray results, but admittedly concerned about the 'test' result.

Xray-negative. 

I think it's a virus. 

   
I was then told I had to rest and be quiet and Dr Appointment very kindly got me both a teddy bear and a big stuffed dog to snuggle with while I got better.
I was then covered in various pieces of plastic food in case I was hungry. Sofa cushions, another blanket and   I was snuggling into the best care anywhere.

My predicament was a little hard to explain when Spouse came home with The Boy and saw me buried under a mountain of toys-but as it goes in our house he was not the least bit surprised and just shook his head as he went back upstairs.

I woke up this morning feeling terrific, and despite being a bit man handled, received some of the best care I've ever had.
I even got a kiss on the forehead.

     

Week one.

Here I sit, TV blaring PBS children's programming in my ear, a pile of toys behind me on the floor and Hurricane Girlchild complaining about not having enough Pear to eat, I tried to explain that it was the last one. She does have half a Mango in her dish - that we so carefully selected together at the grocery store, but it's not a Pear, and that's what she apparently wants-at least at this minute.

Week one of my SAHM experience is over and I feel like I'm losing the battle. My loving husband reassures me he notices the difference and the small gains I have made as I attempt to reclaim my home, but I am struggling.

It's like a housekeeping black hole.

I'm trying to implement a schedule or routine. All carefully timed around the departure and arrivals of The Boy. I suppose I'm doing an OK job, but Hurricane Girlchild seems to have other plans.

Laundry- easy. I OWN IT. already caught up and our dresser drawers are bursting with clean clothes-apparently we either need larger dressers or to purge as we had no idea how many clothes we had until it was all clean and put away.

Meals and Dishes-child's play. I AM A GODDESS. meals are planned, groceries are stocked and clean up is a breeze. Salad is again a regular staple, balanced meals served at the table, enjoyed as a family AND in time for us to attend evening activities and not feel rushed.
Getting the spawn to eat the balanced meals is another story.

Look at me go.

My struggle is toys. Tiny, shiny playthings with sharp edges and velcro that sticks to every soft surface. They are in the bathrooms, living area, kitchen...it's like a plague. And no sooner do I corral  Hurricane Girlchild and assist her in putting toys away, I turn around and  'boom' a bomb has again gone off in an area where I have just cleaned.

THE PONY APOCALYPSE!
FLIP TRICKS-AGEDDON!

The Boy is not innocent in this plague, his toys are more covert, tiny wrenches and screws for teeny weeny BMX bikes and hockey cards. The hide in places like sofa cushions and the bottom of the fruit basket. Silently laying in wait until The Boy yells "where is my -insert toy here-?"  and I scream that it's right where he left it in the middle of the dining room table, or I get tired of looking at it and finally put it away.

So I have set myself a goal this week while I continue to purge toys and clothing, I am focusing efforts on getting The Hurricane to be little less ruinous. I can harness this powerful energy - it is a battle I can win.

isn't it?  


 



 

Hugs.

I woke up today to a sunny sky and the hope that spring is on it's way.

I also had a nagging sense of guilt as I hugged my son goodbye and sent him on his way to school this morning.

Today a young man I worked with is being laid to rest. I didn't know him well, but he was always friendly and quick to share a joke or witty comment. He was also in love - with a beautiful girl and the heartbreak that she must be feeling tears me apart.

Why am I telling you this? Because life isn't fair, cancer is an asshole and I can't stop thinking about his parents today. No family deserves this. The loss of a man with a life to live, experiences to have and things to accomplish.
I had the good fortune to meet this young man's father a few times at events, and he too was quick with a laugh, a story to share and friendly, like his son. I'm sure he'd give an eye to wrap his son in a hug as he walked out the door this morning.  

So if a kid is nearby give them a hug- even the grown up ones.

And if you have an opportunity to give a donation to cancer research efforts in your community I beg you to do it.

Lego Is Evil

I don't know about where you live but I'm pretty sure everyone has a buy and sell site that they frequent- Craigslist, Your Town New & Used, whatever, but I'm here to say Kijiji is fan-fricking tastic!

My week has been consumed with organizing The Boy's room. As I move furniture I have come across stray  Lego- and lots of it. It's every where. And it rarely gets played with. So it's gone. Good bye little pieces of pain inducing flotsam, vacuum cleaner clogging jetsam.

Lego is evil and brilliant at the same time.

I am selling The Boy's Lego. He has outgrown it and Hurricane Girlchild has no interest in it, and I know I don't have the patience for it to continue being an entity in our house. The mere thought of 5 more years of cleaning up those colourful, tiny, plastic pieces makes me grind my teeth. Better to have the Lego in a home that will appreciate it and play with it -and I won't have to clean it up. WINNING!

I long ago gave up trying to keep the Lego in 'sets' instead resorting to a 25 Gallon Rubbermaid bin that houses the hundreds and hundreds of pieces. Besides it was easily filled using a dustpan and broom. So now this enormous bucket of Lego is for sale, along with accessories and some books.  

                                        Can you even begin to imagine how many pieces that is?

My only mistake- and because I'm a Star Wars fan. I noted that there was Star Wars items contained in the 30+ pound bucket of Lego.

I've taken the time today to kindly respond to several Star Wars Fan Boys inquiring about one Clone Wars set in my Lego collection and questions about rare mini figures and would I consider selling just certain pieces.
Yeah OK why don't you come on over and sort through the bucket of a thousand plastic rectangles for the pieces you want and then offer me 10 cents. Hell, I'll make coffee. Welcome to the Death Star.
Fuck off.

My ad specifically stated that phone calls were preferred, but judging from the time of day these many emails were sent I've concluded that Fan Boys are nocturnal and at least have the sense to not call at 3 a.m. - that or their moms won't let them use the phone after 9.

I want the Lego to go to a good home- with kids that will appreciate how amazing and awesome it is and enjoy it and not care that there might be a couple of Mega Block pieces mixed in and are blissfully unaware that one set issued in 2008 had an incorrect figure in the box that was just distributed in Mexico.
 
I will allow my ad to remain posted and try to be patient while I wade through the scads of Star Wars nerds dissecting my old unwanted crap.

Along with Lego,  Sayonara to the fucking Pokemon cards-which are sold BTW- in less than 12 hours awesome!  

at is is selling on line, and making new friends I am. (Star Wars nerds will get that)
May the Force and dustpan be with you

A conspiracy against me

Well March has come in like a Lion and we are confined to the house due to heavy snow and a sick kid.
A perfect opportunity to do a little 'light' house keeping.

However, I am becoming suspicious about one of the members of my house hold and his motives.

The cat.

He appears innocent enough, responds to petting and meows at all the right times, but I suspect he's up to no good and is trying to thwart my cleaning efforts. (Thwart-very awesome and much underused word that I will attempt to use more)

It began with an attempted tripping in the hallway this morning as I stumbled out of bed. After I cursed his name and his Mother's he sat quietly in the middle of the corridor and adorably tilted his head and looked at me like nothing had happened. Tricky bastard.

He then silently stalked me while I peed and caught my foot with a sharpened nail by stealthily fishing his paw under the bathroom door. Very Kubrick.

Then his tactics took on a more aggressive approach- hissing at me while I swept the kitchen floor, pouncing on the beds as I pulled up the sheets and blankets. And then actually resorting to hiding under the blankets while I made the bed in an attempt to mount a sneak attack- fortunately I was able to determine the lump in the bed wasn't my husband's socks and in fact the cat.

His efforts became desperate as he attempted to trip me on the stairs while I was carrying a basket of laundry. (I'm not going to lie- it was a close call.) As I wander the house dusting and putting away toys, I can't help but notice that I'm being watched. In every room where I stop I can feel his eyes on me- burning the back of my neck. I can almost feel his hatred for my presence. Even as I type this he's positioned himself  beside me- purring-waiting for the perfect moment to thwart my writing efforts and erase all of my work by lying on the keyboard. (see how I worked thwart in there again? - awesome!)

I know what you're up to cat-    

You're going to have to learn to share the house with us. We're going to be here day in and day out. Interrupting your 22 hours of sleep by making noise. Your efforts to assassinate me will be in vain and I will still continue to feed you and clean your stinky litter box. Because that's how I roll.

Like it or lump it cat- now get the hell out of the warm, clean laundry that I just placed on the couch to fold. Because I'm the boss. "I'm the boss!"- I hiss at him as I pass his latest sleeping spot and he gives me the
f-u bitch glare and takes a swipe at me as I walk past.

Youtube is awesome and there are far too many people on the planet with cats and video cameras- enjoy some cat attacks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v71Dtj2W7pw&playnext=1&list=PL5C5D0977E7BBDAB6&feature=results_main
 

HOARDERS

Day one of my new glamorous career of home maker.
Home and ready to tackle my list of projects. The boy is off to school, beds are made and I slowly realise my arms are full of items I've gathered as I walked from room to room. Arms full of random crap belonging to my second child and I'm suddenly very aware that there isn't a single room in this entire house that has been left untouched by hurricane girlchild

and then I walk into my daughter's bedroom.

What The Fu-!
It looks like an episode of Hoarders.

How does this happen? She's only one little person. She was left playing in her room for 10 minutes while I made beds and grabbed a cup of joe and her room looks like it puked My Little Ponies and dirty socks.

We do maintenance in the evenings like most parents do because if we didn't we'd be wallowing in filth by Wednesday. A quick tidy, laundry in the hamper, toys in the basket, yadda yadda.
Yet, left to her own devices she trashes the place.

"Hey Courtney Love"
"yeah mom?"
"how come your room is such a mess?"
"because I like it this way."
okay...
"doesn't it hurt when you step on something?"
"nah- I tip toe."
seems like a reasonable approach to navigate a mine field.
"don't you like it when your room is all tidy, and your bed is made and everything looks pretty?"
hopeful pause....
"yes. I like it when it's snuggly."
fantastic.
"so can we work together and tidy your room?"
'nah- that's your job."
WTF?
"didn't you help clean up at daycare?"
"yes"
"so why is it different at home?"
"because you always do it. Because it's faster."
out of the mouths of babes.

She's right. My husband and I always do it because it's faster, because it was easier just to quickly scour the house and gather up the crap and put it away-because we didn't have time.

ah. that word again- time.

Well guess what?- now we have some time. There's a new sheriff in town and she's going to dedicate some time to getting little Ms. Love to help out a little more around the house.

So together we picked up- gathered laundry and made her bed. I did step on Princess Mi Amore Credenza's fucking pony crown and let out a loud "SHIT" - which prompted Ms. Love to repeat 'shit' as she tripped over the laundry hamper she dumped out and was using as a boat earlier.

we'll find the time to address that soon enough. baby steps.