haven't I done this before?

Like many families this past week we have been fielding questions regarding terror attacks and trying to make sense of the recent Boston Marathon sadness.

The Boy is very sensitive, and tries to understand why people would want to hurt or kill strangers that did no harm to them - at an event no less that celebrates human kind and it's total amazing-ness 26.2 miles for crying out loud! that's fricking incredible- people from all over the globe come together to do that!
Humans rule!

Spouse and I fumble around for reasons that will make sense to a 9 year old, so he can wrap his head around it, but there really is no grey area for a little boy, it's all black and white - and discussions about ideology, religion and radicals seem to just confuse him more.

Maybe we shouldn't allow him to watch the news, perhaps we are better off keeping him sequestered and ignorant of the world and it's problems. I think that may be a fool's errand.

For the record we do not allow viewing of CNN, I find their style of delivery exceedingly alarmist. The poor kid would be an emotional mess and a candidate for anxiety meds. Anderson Cooper is easy on the eyes, but the fear mongering is enough to even make me want to crawl under my bed, and I'm a cold hearted bitch.  

So the other day while we watched highlights of the capture of the suspects, in between his rapid fire questions I tried to explain to him why these men would want to do such a thing, but along with the rest of the world, not knowing myself exactly why.

I looked The Boy in the eye and explained that terrorism takes many forms, and isn't always like September 11 when the terrorists attacked New York City and hijacked all of the airplanes.

His response "blink, blink, blink." blank stare.

I forgot, because I've 'done' this before, experienced it live in my living room, felt the fear and seen the resulting chaos. I've had this experience, he has never, ever seen anything like this before.
Holy shit- I forget he's only 9. Here I am trying to give him something to relate this tragedy to and he has no idea what the hell I'm talking about. HE WASN'T EVEN BORN THEN. Jeez Louise, good job opening that can of worms, give your head a shake Mum. If the poor kid was struggling to wrap his head around this act, good luck trying to explain a huge religion based organisation that wants the entire western way of life destroyed.

I won't allow them to destroy our little part of the world. I am attempting to teach The Boy tolerance and understanding by relating these acts to school yard affairs. It may not be the best way to give this sort of event weight, but it is a way that The Boy can relate how these men were feeling to his own feelings sometime. Bullies are bullies whether they be in the schoolyard a Government or a Terrorist. The only thing you can control is how you react, learn to work within the system to achieve change rather than attempting to destroy it..

I think he's got it. A 9 year old boy's take on the world, "those guys acting out like that was wrong. Those poor people shouldn't have had to die." Good enough for me, it's the world as he sees it.

He told me yesterday that he wants to be a Police Officer and help people.

My work here is done. 

 

Making your own is as easy as 1...2...3...fuck me.

I made the mistake the other day of 'liking' a facebook page. Regret is a polite way of saying how I feel about this unfortunate choice.

I 'liked' this page thinking it couldn't be all bad, the chick who runs it used to be a fucking video jockey on a music network in the 80's for jebus' sake. ROCK N ROLL!
Her tips and tricks and parenting stories will be cool and edgy and wicked awesome. Because she was cool and edgy and wicked awesome.

KILL. ME.

posts like
'what's your favourite pasta_____________"  fill in the blank. for real? 
'what's your favourite colour?___________" if I saw 'purple!' in the comments section one more time I was going to hang myself.

It took a lot of restraint to not be a sarcastic bitch and respond to these stupid questions with answers like "The Tre Formaggii at Cin Cin on Robson" and "Anti establish Mint"

What is this grade 6 and we're passing 'get to know you ' notes?  I'm expecting the next status update to be
"have you ever kissed a boy?
Seriously.
15 thousand moms getting this daily update twaddle -get your heads examined.

So after two days I am attempting to 'unlike' this facebook page-and cannot. "oops something has gone wrong. try again later" bite me facebook. I want this drivel off of my news feed. STAT.

Now I'm sure Video Jockey cool chick has some administrator running the page for her. Most likely a clueless intern, under 25, grasping for ideas to post to the 'mummy' crowd. Make your own soap- chambray and floral skirts-recipes for shit like Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad - "a quick side dish" and articles about Tori Spelling and her post baby bikini bod. Is it putting too much pressure on women to get back into shape after childbirth? You know what? it is, and I'm sure her surgical team would agree. AND I DON'T CARE.

Obviously this page is too upscale for me. I would love and enjoy the Basil & Peach Bocconcini Salad. My spawn wouldn't. I'm certain Spouse would raise an eyebrow then ask me what Bocconcini is.

I use the net as a resource. I look for new dinner ideas that my picky kids and Spouse will actually eat. I look for ideas on organisation, research learning disabilities and dealing with tantrums and thumb sucking.

I don't care that every yummy mummy in the GTA "ABSOLUTELY LOVES PURPLE'   don't forget the exclamation marks!!!!!!  

I will continue my attempts to unlike this page. My heart is a little bit broken, I SO wanted to support a Canadian Woman and fellow mom. I am apparently not part of the 'in crowd', and refuse to join the yummy mummy over achiever's club. My Video Jockey has lost her edge. It's a shame- it's like a snapshot from the Stepford wives.  My VJ crush has ended.

Let's get real 'yummy mummies' I'm sticking to the The KISS method.
Keep It Simple Stupid.
I'm going to keep providing healthy, simple meals, seek solid, common sense child rearing and relationship advise from my own team of 'experts' -my friends and family that have raised kids and not gone to school for a hundred years and lived a life. I'm going to continue to be my mom self, cool and edgy and wicked awesome.

ROCK N ROLL!!!   

Purple is SO last year dumbasses. ORANGE is in.

"Pam call my Mom!"

I've been itching to write, keeping me from it is an extra body in the house this week that's kind of been cramping my style.

Spouse has been home- with a 'MAN COLD'. If you've never had one it's a debilitating disease.  Characterized  by lots of audible moaning and groaning, rendering the sufferer weak and infirm. Strict bed rest is required in order to shake the 'man cold' aka couch and video game rest-this plague is known to sap the energy and goodwill of the victim's partner as well. It is a terrible illness and needs to be eradicated. I may organize 'Mancoldstock', or 'Mancold AID' in order to raise funds to help and fight this awful plight on man kind.  

Now I don't mean to poke fun. I have been with this man for a century and know the routine by now. I just end up calling everything he catches a 'Man Cold' because it almost always ends up with him running to the Dr. and needing meds.

I've had the same sucky sinus infection that he currently has and I wouldn't want to be sitting at the office either. But, I did. I would drag myself into the office, or work from home. Yet I never would get much work done at home because as soon as The Boy found out I was going to be home he  would suddenly catch a mystery ailment and require some nursing. Spouse would call 15 times a day to check in and quite often find his way home on days when I was 'resting'  interrupting what little quiet time I may have enjoyed.

I'm just that popular.

On the other hand I am my own worst enemy. On days when I was home sick, I would often be able to make my way to the laundry room and get a load or two in. I would break out the bleach and give everything a good once over so no one else would catch the bug. Scrubbing toilets and door handles, in hopes that I would exterminate the disease in my house.

That's what makes a 'man cold' different I think. All work screeches to a halt, the sofa becomes a makeshift shelter and the XBox gets a workout. "Pam call my mom"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPhQ_pQXU1M
this ad is genius.
 
I get nervous when Spouse spends this much time at home. I can see the wheels in his head turning.
What this means - projects are coming.

His view from the prone position on the couch this week was up the basement stairs to our back entrance way. A disregarded  part of the house, left alone while we tried to renovate the rest. Now that the meds have kicked in and he's able to act human and actually hold a conversation, we 'discuss' his plans. His sole focus is on the neglected entrance. Debate and review. Eye roll and sigh. Reel things in. Discuss, debate, review...you see a theme developing here?

This is what I dread. I play nice and allow him to think his ideas are 'new' and have never crossed my mind. Meanwhile, I have already mentally redesigned the entire house from floor to rafter complete with paint colours and flooring choices. I have a note book to prove it.

It's like a dance, but I'm leading, although he doesn't know it. After a century of marriage you get savvy. I am usually able to negotiate and get my way on these projects- achieving the results I had always planned. This project however was NOT on my priority list around here. So goodbye Urine yellow circa 1977, which covers Avocado green a'la 1965, who knows what lies beneath that...Next time he gets a cold, I'm going to strongly suggest he go into the office.  

Say Hello to Sico 6194-42 Gobi Dunes 

does it make you feel welcome? 

 

 

In...a...MINUTE!!!!!!

If procrastination was an Olympic sport The Boy would be the Michael Phelps of the event.

I have just sent him packing off to school after fucking WWXXXXXXII. We have more arguments than WWE has smackdowns and it makes me weary.

I'm pretty sure half the time he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and I think that's what frustrates me the most about it. He has three things to do in the morning. THREE.
Eat
Dress
Get to School on time.

I've even resorted to writing these 'tasks' down and posting them on the fridge as a reminder for him. But day in, day out, the first hour of my day is spent arguing about his 'ailment of the day', what's for breakfast, the amount of time it takes to eat that breakfast, the amount of time it takes to get dressed, what footwear will be allowed by me, choosing a touque (a knit hat) and a half a dozen or so other small arguments about non essential things - at the very point where my blood pressure has finally hit the roof and there is no time to spare, he requests a ride to school.

Are you fucking kidding me? 

First off I haven't had a coffee yet. Don't mess with me until I've had at least one cup. Even Spouse knows that rule.

So because you danced around in your gotch, picked at your breakfast, changed your shirt 6 times,  punched the Hurricane, admired yourself in the bathroom mirror and wandered aimlessly through the house for 10 minutes all the while I am in the back ground chirping, let's get moving, let's hustle, you're going to be late...after all of this you WANT A RIDE?  A 2 minute ride? to the school? that's a block away?
Did you fall and bang your fucking head?

This morning routine is nothing new. It's been going on for ages. I had to stop and ask myself how on earth I did this every single damned day when I was working. Getting both The Boy and Hurricane dressed and fed, my self showered and dressed and then all of us including King Procrastination out the door.
The only thing that has changed is that he is walking to school now. The 'dump and run' of this working mom is no longer.

Many a morning I was ready, in the car - with it running, while King Procrastination lumbered down the walk. Every halting step of his making my blood boil as I watched the clock. I can only imagine my face as it appeared to him through the glass, like some demented mime screaming with no sound. I'm surprised he never broke down into laughter.

Now that I've had a cup of joe, and slowed my breathing, I'm rethinking my tactics. You see, we've recently been advised that The Boy has a Learning Disability, memory deficiencies and a small chance that he's ADD. (a story for another time) This new insight into his mind and the way he thinks gives us some new tools to work with and a new perspective for getting him to stay on task. I just have to remember to breathe.

This week's lesson will be a refresher on respect for others, accountability and being responsible.
THREE things, I'll make a list and post it on the fridge.  
  


 

OH MY QUAD!

Today I was engaged (polite way of saying goaded) to participate in a 30 Day squat challenge. What started out as me being a wise ass (no pun intended) cracking jokes on facebook has turned into the beginning of some long overdue daily exercise. Many of you have probably seen this floating around the internet, on facebook and in emails. When I searched for this image, hundreds of them came up, one for every month, some for squats, some for sit ups, some for other things that looked like they really hurt.

I personally like the name SQUATAGEDDON

This image happens to not have a picture of a 25 year old fitness model in the centre of it doing a squat. I didn't need (or want) to look at her perfect backside any longer. I'll refer to her image when I need to correct my form while doing my daily squats. (I may or may not pretend I'm biting her perfectly airbrushed bottom while I'm squatting)

I'm fat, I'm over 40 and I am having a love affair with my sweatpants. (pants that rarely see sweat except maybe when I vacuum) I know I need to look after myself better. With some self discipline this is a great way to start. Boot Camp isn't for me right now, besides I fucking hate burpees. 

(If you don't know what those are you need to google it, and get on the hate wagon with me) 

I feel like I look much like this. Put some heels on me and I'm a goddess, or just a pig on stilts. 

There's a lot of time and money invested in this body.

My loving Spouse is very kind and assures me I'm actually much more like this stunner. In my eyes she truly is beautiful. Milky skin, ample breasts and a large curvy bottom. (Very slap-able.) Ultra feminine.

racy- I like it! 

This gorgeous lady is probably a North American size 10 but by today's Hollywood standard, enormous, tabloid fodder, and considered to be overweight- by who I'm not sure, some business people somewhere I suppose who are imposing a standard of beauty in order to sell under sized clothing they disguise as 'slim fit' which actually translates to we're in this to make more money, and it's not enough that this crap clothing is made overseas, so in order to make even more money we're cutting corners and cutting fabric. 

'slim fit' - my big white ass.    

This womanly figure my friends is my goal. 

So as part of my promise to myself when I began this stay at home journey, I am going to start exercising. Starting with my friendly cross country squat challenge- I am attempting to finally shed this baby weight that I've been lugging around for 10 years. I promise not to Susan Powter you with all of my success. 

"STOP THE INSANITY!" let's be realistic, I love potato chips, red meat and most of all booze. 

I'm not going to be running any marathons, doing Iron Man races or downing crazy medicinal shakes. 

I like to jiggle when I walk 

  

Hangin' in a sweatbox with my shorty

Thanks to a very kind local radio personality (LTI you rock! and your wife is adorable) my cred with the shortys went up about 100% yesterday. We were lucky enough to be given tickets to see a hip hop show, headlined by an artist The Boy really likes, and share his very first concert experience together.
Once again solidifying my title as WORLD'S OKAY-EST MOM.

Spouse and I are old concert goers from way back. So we knew what to expect and were prepared for questions that The Boy might have while out at the show.

I could tell that The Boy was a bit over whelmed. I was forced to stop and view the experience that I have had a hundred times through his eyes and have to admit, he was a good sport and showed as much patience as a 9 year old boy could muster with eyes wide open. This was something very new, and not an NHL Hockey game viewed from a luxury suite, or cushy symphony seats. (spoiled kid)
This seemed dirtier, for lack of a better word.

The list of experiences roll like this
- the waiting. rush seating, (or standing). Hanging out in a cold line up with a bunch of rowdy older teens and twenty somethings. Patience is a virtue and the concept of not having a seat number was a little hard for him to grasp. I was very reassuring. "there will be enough room for everyone- I promise"

-being searched at the door. Door staff were great and allowed The Boy to go through with me, a benefit of being 9. Eyes rolled while Mum joked with the female security staff about the amount of crap in my 'mom' purse and how it's a catch all for our kid's junk. "why do they have to search my hat? I'm just a kid?" Meanwhile I'm thinking, be grateful they didn't make you remove your shoes and socks, show your waistband, look inside your mouth and pat you down little buddy.

-being singled out in line by kind security guard. I could tell he was almost mortified when the friendly  security guard asked The Boy if this was his first concert. Busted, as all eyes turned to see him and smile. "It's gonna be loud buddy" said kind security man. The Boy's eyes almost popped out of his head, heeding the warning, and he glanced over his shoulder to me looking for reassurance that this was going to be OK.
"No louder than Monster Trucks man"  

- Pink Gorilla suit guy. There's one in every crowd and I take that for granted. "why is that guy dressed in a pink gorilla suit?" obvious question. Answer. not so obvious as I struggled to come up something that made sense to a very sensible kid. I said that he probably wears it to every concert, and sometimes to school. The Boy and I laughed.

- Swearing. Yes it's Hip Hop and there's tonnes of it. The Boy is subjected to enough of it around the house to understand the context, and knows better than to repeat what he hears. He can thank me, the world's Okay-est Mom and Spouse for that lesson. However I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting how many
f-bombs and times the word shit were actually used.

-Weed. The big one, I knew it was coming. The ever present smell and the always entertaining spectacle of a rush of security guards tackling a pot smoker. Pure joy for me, because I do love being witness to a good behind the back tackle. But something completely foreign to The Boy. and for that I am glad.
The topic was briefly discussed while we walked to the car from the theatre, 'what was that smell?' asked the boy. The venue was small and I have to admit, even the smoke got to me after a while (my age is showing). But not the worst exposure to weed I've ever encountered by a long mile. I tried to explain in simple terms weed, pot, grass, dope. Grasping for words he may be familiar with and very relieved when he looked at me like a deer in the headlights. He had no fucking clue. WINNING.Yo.

I did my very best to fit in and not embarrass The Boy.
I used restraint and didn't resort to my 'street' language by starting and ending every sentence with 'yo'
yo, parking was sketchy, yo.
I even looked up how to dress properly for the event. You can find anything on the internet.      
http://www.wikihow.com/Dress-Like-a-Rapper

So The Boy is returned, no worse for wear, and early no less. 

He pulled the pin, was tired and was very surprisingly responsible knowing it was a school night -

and appears to have very little scarring. 

we are safe and sound, back in our crib, yo. 

I could have stayed though....yo. cuz that's how I roll.  

Party Animals

I can't make this shit up. 

I just turned the corner and entered the laundry room to find Hurricane Girlchild perched dangerously on top of an overturned laundry basket, reaching for a juice box on a shelf that is easily 5 feet high.

"What are you doing?" I calmly ask. 

"Nothing" is the response. 

Hm. I wonder if the staff at Children's Hospital would buy that as an answer? Ma'am how did your daughter smash all of her teeth out and ruin her face? She was doing Nothing. really.  

All I can think is Great. More ammunition for the authorities. 

  

The other night while we tidied up after dinner we could hear beer cans clinking. Now, if you know us this isn't a strange sound in our home and wasn't the least bit disturbing to us except both adults in the house were together upstairs.   

Spouse poked his head down the stairs and caught this. Hurricane Girlchild playing with a flat of empties. 

Judging by the nudity on the loveseat beside her it was going to be quite a shaker.
Not to mention Dora and Boots already passed out on the floor.  

What could she be possibly be doing with those we asked each other. Because we are a little demented we waited it out and this is what we saw. 

I was afraid to ask what the Banana was for. 

When questioned about the beer cans and stuffed animals Hurricane responded with much glee and dancing about "It's a party!" We of course started to worry about what she sees as adult role models drinking beer and having a "party". In our minds quickly analyzing how often we drink, and how much we are exposing the kids to. 

Guilt quickly overwhelming me. 

So I asked Hurricane how come her animals were drinking beer. "it's not beer mom" was her reply- "They're having juice."   "and they need some cookies- can I have some cookies?" 

Who am I to say no? 

Besides I was so relieved to know we hadn't scarred the kid for life. "COOKIES FOR EVERYONE!"

Despite the nudity and unexplained presence of fruit it was a relatively quiet affair and the party was tidied up after last call and the cookies were gone. 

Then Stuffed Dog said  

"I DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GO BUT YOU CAN'T STAY HERE!" move toward the doors ladies and gentlemen...

I dodged a guilt ridden bullet, and was once again reminded that I'm not the worst mom ever and our kids have wicked imaginations. 

 These floozies were still trying to get in.
Ladies. It's not an after hours club- hit the bricks. I'll call you a cab.