Sleep

I have a queen sized bed. There Is just enough room for two adults to sleep comfortably. There's even sort of enough room for an occasional child, say, under the age of 5. There is not room for two adults, two children and assorted cats. Unfortunately, sometimes, that is our reality.

There are problems with this arrangement. Our children used to be smaller. They are now 6 and 9 which = too big. They have long, pointy limbs which = too much.

So, my husband is away for work this week which means my children think they should be able to sleep in his spot. Being the level headed and diplomatic parent I sometimes pretend to be I am, I told them that they could each have a turn. The first night went pretty well. The youngest slept with me with very minimal kicking and poking. The second night the oldest joined me and things were ok until 3:46 am. He's a flailer and, while I was dealing with this ok, it was not ideal. But, I digress, 3:46 arrived and the youngest wakes up to find that he is alone in their room. I am awakened to the sound of his pitiful crying downstairs. Too tired to be in possession of common sense or reason, I shout down "Kieran, just come upstairs!".

So now I have two children and one adult in my bed. Perversely, my cats see this as some sort of happy fun time and decide to invite themselves to the party. This = 5 mammals in one queen sized bed. But the smallest boy won't stop fidgeting and the cats won't stop squeezing into that spot between my thigh and leg that completely limits any ability to move, so at 4:47 I kick the extra human and both cats OUT. The boy goes back to his bed, but the cats come back. Oh, how I wish that I had a bedroom door. I don't have one. I know I've mentioned this before. I have baby gates, but they just laugh at those.

Partial illustration of typical wake up positions on weekends. Note there is a foot by my shoulder:

I miss Nova Scotia and more random thoughts...

I do. I love it here. I love my friends, but I miss the ocean. I miss the fog and the salt air and the sand dollars and the cobbles. How do you reconcile wanting to be in two places at once?

/melancholy

My husband is away and will be all week. It sucks because I kinda like having him around.

Today will be an awesome day! It is supposed to hit 30 celcius. I forsee some pool time.

So, that's it. Short and boring.

Nova Scotia:

Today my boy is 10: Ode to Jacob

This boy. The one who made me a Mama. I have him frozen in my head somewhere around 5 and it always shocks me when I realize he isn't. So, an ode to Jacob. How do I love thee?

I love the way your eyes crinkle up and disappear when you smile.

I love your sweet heart and the way you think of others

I love how you love animals and babies and how you squee when you see something/someone cute.

I love that you are still full of hugs and kisses and cuddles, even though you're clearly not a baby anymore

I love your evil laugh and your mischievious sense of humour

Most of all, I just love you. I am blessed that you came into my life and the world is a better place because you are in it. I love you, my boy, all the way up to the moon and back two times!

Warning: Cat related swearing within.

Caveat: I do not submit this blog post to complain. I submit it because it is funny. I have the utmost appreciation for my husband, I swear!

My husband, like Jesus, is the son of a carpenter. He is pretty handy, I must say, but due to the origin of his parentage, he believes himself capable of taking on almost any carpentry related task. In most situations, he is amply qualified and does an amazing job. Other times, he misses the mark. Not by much, but the mark is still missed. Example: He installed a new door. It does not close properly. When you pull it shut behind you, it does not latch and bounces back open. He assures me that it closes just fine, I'm just closing it improperly. Say what? I assured him that I have not altered my door closing methods much in the last 15 years so he could go pound rocks. I said it nicely, I swear.

This door-not-shutting-right is an issue mainly because I have two indoor cats. The Asshole is one of them. One of the things that makes him an asshole is that he is an escape artist. He seems to know when the door has not latched properly and will bat at it until he's opened it enough to squeeze through, take off and hide under the nearest vehicle. Add two children, who just slam the door behind them when they exit or enter, to the mix and you have a recipe for much frustration. Imagine arriving home to be greeted by your strictly indoor cat in the middle of your drive way, front door wide open, blowing in the breeze. This has happened more than once. I am less than impressed.

So, today is windy. The door has randomly blown open 3 times already and the cat has escaped twice. Hence he has been stalking the door, lying in wait for the next blow open. I have recieved the standard "You don't close the door properly" lecture no less than twice already. I'm over it. Anyhow, I am folding laundry in the kitchen and I hear my husband enter. Not 20 seconds later, I hear the door blow open. Fortunately, husband is still in the vicinity. I hear "Nah, no NO!" then a pause and a quiet "You bastard" and the door slams shut and bounces open once again. Heh. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish when he came back inside with the cat slung over his shoulder.

Why do we have cats again? Oh yeah, they suck you in cuz they're cute.

Be Careful With Your Words

Did you know that if you title a blog post something like "All Random, All The Time!" you may possibly be risking referral traffic from an amateur p o r n site? I did not. I have been educated. Ok.

I was not shocked and appalled per se, but lets just say that being confronted by unexpected penis images and drinking hot coffee are not compatible activities. There are now some pretty interesting pictures in my computer cache to be deleted.

I think that being confronted with penises when you are not expecting them is, really, never a good thing. The stealth penis should be reserved for things like stagette parties and college dorm pranks. Stealth penis in your kitchen while your children watch Pokemon in the next room elicits a whole bunch of emotions that I don't really want to explore just now.

So, I feel in comfortable saying that the stealth penis is rarely a good thing. I'm going to stop saying penis soon, I promise.

Moving forward, I resolve to not click on unknown links, even though they may appear benign. You never know where stealth penis (penii?) might be lurking.

ACK! I almost forgot the picture!

It's me as a Beaver Leader. Somehow, it fits ;).

Wednesday was interesting...

I had an interview. It was ok. I don't feel like I knocked it outta the park, but I don't feel like I bombed horribly either. I'm a poor judge of these things.

A dear friend watched my children for me. No small feat as she has 3 boys of her own. She's pretty much my hero now. I need to do something really nice for her.

So, interview, ok, done, end of discussion. Lets talk about my cat. He's an asshole. He feels compelled to knock everything off of any surface he chooses to place his furry butt on. Why? Because he's an asshole. Last night he batted a Corningware bowl off the upstairs landing, causing it to fall down the flight of stairs and shatter into a billion pieces. I have never seen a dish in so many pieces before. I heard a "ting!" and then it just exploded. Stupid cat.

Fast forward several hours: I am peacefully sleeping in my bed. Cat jumps up on top of my night stand and starts methodically batting things off. First it's body spray. I wake up, but I ignore him. Then a plastic water cup. I ignore him still. Then my fricking lamp hits me in the face. I reiterate, he's an asshole.

If I had a bedroom door, this wouldn't be an issue, but I don't have a bedroom door. More on that later. That said, I don't know if it would solve the problem because the stupid cat does not like closed doors. He stands on his hind legs and drags his paws over it repeatedly like he's a demon and the door is the gate to hell, mrrowing pitifully. Why? Because he's an asshole.

 

But we love him and he loves us. Even though he's an asshole.

All Random, All The Time! Or: If I were a super hero

I would like to have the power to point at things and have them be clean and organised at the speed of light. Sort of a cross between Superman and Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeanie.

I do not have this power. You have only to walk into my home to deduce this. I also have children in whom I have failed to instill cleanliness as a necessity.It isn't for lack of trying, I swear. "Put away the toys? But I have other toys I am playing with now! I don't have TIME! to put away the toys I WAS playing with, MOM! " or "I like the Monopoly money spread all over the floor. That's where I keep it on purpose! It's already clean". I could go on, but I won't.

My cat seems to think that my dining room table is his lounge. No amount of removal, reproval nor misting on my part has served to disabuse him of this notion. You see, the table gets the best sunshine in the morning and is the best place to make eye contact with the humans who are typing blog posts when they are supposed to be serving you breakfast. It is also, apparently, more comfortable than any other piece of furniture in the whole world.

Which brings me back to my super power. IF everything was always clean and organised, would I really care so much about the furry cat butt sprawled over my dining room table? Yeah, probably. So, the supersoaker hasn't yet outlived its usefulness. It does compell him to get down...for 15.87 seconds. Then he jumps back up. I've squirted him no less than 6 times while typing this post. He, like my children, is lucky he's cute. It has saved their lives on more than one occasion.

The Wall and Random Musing.

 One new blog post in and I've hit it (The Wall). I don't know what to write. The cursor blinks mockingly. My cat yowls, wanting breakfast, and yet I sit...writing about not being able to write. Mmkay.

I don't like Mondays. I know I'm not original or alone in this. I'm out of coffee. Seriously. Out. Of. Coffee. Stupid Monday. It's all your fault. There are little cat nose prints all over my dining room window. It's kinda cute, but mostly gross. Someone should clean that up. Of course a clean window will just be an invitation to more kitty nose prints.

A friend brought me coconut foot cream. It smells like coconut and mint...like Christmas on the beach. I want to eat it. I can't, of course, because it's foot cream, but confessing it makes me feel better.

A not-extremely-close-friend but really--sweet-nice-friend just had a baby boy and I'm trying to figure out excuses to go over there and sniff his little baby head. Maybe I'll make her lasagna. That should earn me a baby head sniff, shouldn't it. I am an unrepentant baby sniffer.

I think this is the best I can do for a Monday. I'll do better when Monday is gone.

Random picture for today: What it looks like when you let a 6 year old paint your toenails.

Kay, so I lied.

I said I resolved to be a better blogger. Well, I did resolve to be, but apparently I lack follow through. Part of this is due to the skill I have cultivated in the art of avoidance but mostly it comes from a place of boring. My life as I see it really isn't that interesting to the outside world. I really enjoy it, but I enjoy stuff many other people see as mundane. Not that I embrace mediocrity. Quite the contrary! I seek to make the mundane extrordinary! For example, I pickle beets. Not just any beets, no! The very best, tastiest, beets ever! Pickling beets? Yes, mundane. Product of mundane pickling? Pure, magenta, awesome!

So, what's new? Lots and nothing. I am currently unemployed which means my house is clean(er) but that's about it. I still feel busy. It's summer and my children feel very strongly that is my job to entertain/stimulate them on an intellectual level, and play with them while still keeping my house from looking like a cyclone struck it. Well, fly lady can suck it. I'd rather play. I still manage to keep the socks crust free and the toilet relatively sparkly, but that's about it. My floor is kinda sticky in one spot, but I figure the cat will find it and lick it clean. Okay, that's sort of a lie. I thought about it, but then I felt guilty and cleaned it.

I'm bunny sitting for a friend. Bunnies make me talk funny. "Ah, da widdle bebeh bunneh! She's jussa widdle bebeh bunneh wif da softest widdle bunneh furs an softy widdle ears!". It's not pretty, but I own it. I want one of my own to love. My children support me in this insanity. My husband (picture Cyril Sneer minus the cigar) does not. And so there will be no bunneh...until I eventually wear him down. Mwah ha.

Okay, so that seems like enough.

Picture: Why? Because blog posts are boring without pictures.