First Grade Sucks

My boy is having a hard time adjusting to first grade. It breaks my heart. He has always been the child who leaps out of bed, completely ready to take on the day. He dresses himself, asks for breakfast and is waiting by the door 10 minutes before he needs to be, waiting for everyone else to catch up. He loved Kindergarten. Never once did he ask not to go. He asked to stay home every day of this past week :(.

When I asked why he wanted to stay home he said that he just didn't feel like going. There are little factors that seem to be contributing to his angst. Apparently there has been a little playground scandal. Fred tried to kiss Jane and my boy was upset and did his best to protect Jane from Fred's unwanted advances ( names changed to protect the innocent ). This upset him. He is in a class of 20 now instead of 11. He goes full days, 5 days per week. He's in a hallway that multiple grades use and sometimes he gets jostled and shoved a bit.

I realise that these are all small little issues and given time, he should adjust and get over them, but my heart hurts that his normally Happy Go Lucky self is so troubled and I don't feel like there is much of anything I can do about it. I've been helping out in his classroom a couple of days a week and he really loves having me there. I doesn't feel like enough.

I'll cut the umbilical cord eventually, I swear. But look at this happy, carefree, boy. Could you stand to see him so troubled?

Junk Mail: Isn't it Magical?

Things I have learned from my junk e-mail folder today:

I can buy printer ink for 76% off!

If I open this e-mail, 1000s of Canadian singles are waiting for me!

I can recieve a free gift with my AARP membership! (what is AARP?)

I have 4 friend requests for something called F*ckbook minus the *.

I too can enlarge my penis!

Six pack abs are just 4 simple payments of $19.95 away.

Wow. I almost wish I had a penis.
Your random picture for today: My kid in a kilt many years ago.

Raisins are an abomination.

I don't like raisins. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I hate them, but I dislike them intensely. I also feel sorry for them. They have been drained of their grapey glory, shriveled into a pathetic shadow of their former plump succulence. They are disillusioned, disenfranchised, and dehabilitated. I repeat, raisins are an abomination.

Raisins do not belong in baked goods. They also do not belong in trail mix, but they get put there just the same. There's nothing quite like the anticipation of the flavour of a perfect chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. The aroma; heavenly. The goldeney, chocolatey appearance; enticing. How many of us have been lured in by the promise of chocolatey goodness only to encounter the unwelcome, slippery, squish of the dreaded, leathery, raisin? False advertising, I say! At least trail mix is obvious.

Who is with me? This world is populated by two kinds of people: those who willingly consume raisins and those who do not. Which kind are you?

Guess what, guess what, guess what!!

About 3.5 months ago (give or take) I was in a community theatre production entitled "No Crime Like the Present". It was a dinner theatre, we did 6 shows and it was so much frigging fun but the reason I bring it up is because at the end, while packing everything up to leave, my Blackberry went missing.

Now, it wasn't a particularly nice Blackberry, nor was I particularly attached to it. It was the one that came free with the 3 year plan, but it had videos of my kids on it and it was my phone. I called the theatre director, e-mailed all the members of the cast, informed the members and the minister of the church where the play was held, searched the place high and low twice, made a general nuisance of myself, but it was all for naught. I decided I had to accept that it was gone and move on, but man, was that hard. I just knew it was in that church somewhere, but damned if I knew where.

I got a loaner phone. A phone which I loathe. Loathe! But I was grateful also due to the fact that the loaner phone was free. Turns out the crappy phone that comes free with the contract costs about $100 to replace. I am way too cheap for that. So, yay! Crappier loaner phone. I dealt. I used the yucky loaner phone and considered myself fortunate.

Fastforward to yesterday. The lovely gentleman who deals with the trash and general maintenance at the church called. Seems they were cleaning out a cabinet in the room we used as a dressing room and guess what they found shoved under a couple of baskets? I'll give you a hint, it wasn't Jimmy Hoffa!

My Blackberry! In its pretty, blue, otterbox, case. I am so happy!! I'm so happy I needed two exclaimation points and normally I detest surpuflous punctuation.

So, yay! Monday! Bring it on.

And because every blog post needs a picture, here is my kid with wax lips:

Listen...

Do you hear it? It's the sound of...nothing. It's been 2 months since I've heard...nothing. I'm not sure if I like it. I could get used to it. It will go away at 3:30.

Kids - back in school
House - total mess
Me - still in jammies, drinking coffee

This must end.

Blergh.

Snot

Do your children pick their noses and smear it on their bedroom walls? If you'd asked me yesterday, I would have told you no. But not today.

Today, my husband and I are putting together a bunk bed for our boys. In order to accomplish this, the loft bed currently occupying the space had to be disassembled and removed. There, behind the side slats awaited a crusty surprise.

Did you also know that trying to remove dried snot from painted walls can actually remove said paint? Again, I learned that today.

Why are children so gross?

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.

A New Beginning

I have resolved to become a better blogger thanks to a beloved family member. So, here goes.

Right now Manitoba is a floody place. Luckily for us, we live in an area that is largely unaffected. My babies are growing way too fast for me. Jacob will be 9 at the end of August and Kieran is a newly minted 5 year old. Where does the time go? They're entirely too grown up and say things that are entirely too grown up. A little while ago Kieran said to me "Feel my muscles, Mama. Feel how big they are!" so I obligingly did so and made the appropriate exclaimations (lied) about how big and strong his muscles were. He then insisted I watch him lift the coffee table which I did and again exclaimed how big and strong he was. He put his hand on his hip, sort of like he is in the picture, and said very nonchalantly "Yeah. I've been eating".

Jacob is almost done with grade 3. That means grade 4 is right around the corner. I'm not ready to have no babies.

My tiny little baby boy turned 2

Srsly. How did this happen? This seems like just last week:

:


And then he got bigger



And bigger

AND BIGGEST!!

An Ode To Julie

How do I love thee? My Elvis loving, Vegas eloping, travelling, tattooed friend? A lot and often.


That is all.

Baby it's cold outside

Bring the spring.

Hello? HELLO? Is this thing on?

Does anyone still read this? ANYONE?!

That is all.