Child Unit 2 and our surrogate son from down the street play nicely together, most of the time. As all things do, sometimes democratic relations break down, and feelings are hurt. Today wasn't one of them.
Today, something got into them and they decided that they wanted to clean. I found it rather odd, but went along with it as far as I could take it.
They started off by clearing supper dishes. (Horray!)
Then there was washing them by hand! (We do have a dish washer.) (Another horray!)
When that was all done, they were still looking for things to wash. Turning to my left, nothing great there. Turning to my right, I spied a cat. Well, not any cat. THE cat. THE bitchy one who's meow sounds painful, guttural. Like she's going to hork up her stomach with every cry. She's sitting there, just staring at me.
Remember the close up of the Principal's eyes in Feris Bueller's Day Off when he's on the bus? I had that moment.
"Um, you could wash the cat!"
The child units perk up. "What's that? We can wash the cat?"
"Yah. Take Purr. She's not been doing a good job on herself lately."
Ca-ching. Pay back time.
And off they trot with her, after negotiating what tub they can bathe her in.
-- insert evil grin here --
Time passes ... about seven whole minutes ... followed by children thumping down the stairs
A dry cat skips up and sits on the desk to my right.
"Hey. What's this. She's back already?"
"Yah. She wouldn't stay in the bath tub."
"Nice try kids. Let me know when you need her again to dress her up in doll clothes!"
Like I said - it's pay back.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
I've dropped off the face of the earth
"So, so long and thanks for all the fish" she said as she drifted over the side.
The way things are going, those might be the last words ever heard from me.
Between my exam-driven insomnia, which is resulting in a tremendously short fuse, I'm starting to fantasize in some of the scenarios that I get to discuss in my French class. If you were stranded on a desert island ... wouldn't that be wonderful right about now. Oh. Is that pause too long. I guess I drifted ... I kind of woke myself up when the drool puddled on my shirt. That lucid dreaming is going a bit too far.
Since I last checked in, I got a lot ofshit stuff done. (CU-2 doesn't want me to be using language like that around the younger ones! Ooops.)
This last week was one of the quieter weeks I've had in the month of March. Looking ahead to April, it looks quiet on the week days. Stupid on the weekends though. (The Huz is co-teaching his final CPR classes before he can hang out his own shingle. I'm scheduled for not one, but two strategic meetings for two different organizations, plus a day-long workshop on kids on the ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) range, and to boot, it's in French.
Better be eating my Wheaties!
Then there's Spring. And I see the freaking mud in the yard and I think about sneaking out at 3 in the morning to go and play in the mud and build raised garden beds and prepare the earth for I don't know what, because, if anything is like last summer, I went to my parent's cottage for three weeks during the height of the season and the skunks got my vegetables.
I promise myself this year will be different. I'll be successful to raise peas and lettuces and tomatoes. I won't be taking three weeks off straight (I have that week in December where I am needed at home after all) and something will sort it self out for child care so everyone's needs are cared for.
And then, there's part of a conversation I've had with PC about going back to drawing, and I mean really going back to drawing - not just the sketches I've been trying to work on based on her tutorials.
And the triggers of pangs of needing my own work space after reading an article from Meg Ruffman, actress-come-carpenter and tv-based handiwoman. And the pile of cardboard that I saw destined for the landfile outside the Timmy's down town. I know I could do something with it. I just need a place to stash the stuff and a space to sit down and draw and design.
I'm holding onto that illusion for now, at least. Or, maybe I can squelsh the feelings I've got for a while longer. I've got stuff to do that pays the bills.
The way things are going, those might be the last words ever heard from me.
Between my exam-driven insomnia, which is resulting in a tremendously short fuse, I'm starting to fantasize in some of the scenarios that I get to discuss in my French class. If you were stranded on a desert island ... wouldn't that be wonderful right about now. Oh. Is that pause too long. I guess I drifted ... I kind of woke myself up when the drool puddled on my shirt. That lucid dreaming is going a bit too far.
Since I last checked in, I got a lot of
This last week was one of the quieter weeks I've had in the month of March. Looking ahead to April, it looks quiet on the week days. Stupid on the weekends though. (The Huz is co-teaching his final CPR classes before he can hang out his own shingle. I'm scheduled for not one, but two strategic meetings for two different organizations, plus a day-long workshop on kids on the ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) range, and to boot, it's in French.
Better be eating my Wheaties!
Then there's Spring. And I see the freaking mud in the yard and I think about sneaking out at 3 in the morning to go and play in the mud and build raised garden beds and prepare the earth for I don't know what, because, if anything is like last summer, I went to my parent's cottage for three weeks during the height of the season and the skunks got my vegetables.
I promise myself this year will be different. I'll be successful to raise peas and lettuces and tomatoes. I won't be taking three weeks off straight (I have that week in December where I am needed at home after all) and something will sort it self out for child care so everyone's needs are cared for.
And then, there's part of a conversation I've had with PC about going back to drawing, and I mean really going back to drawing - not just the sketches I've been trying to work on based on her tutorials.
And the triggers of pangs of needing my own work space after reading an article from Meg Ruffman, actress-come-carpenter and tv-based handiwoman. And the pile of cardboard that I saw destined for the landfile outside the Timmy's down town. I know I could do something with it. I just need a place to stash the stuff and a space to sit down and draw and design.
I'm holding onto that illusion for now, at least. Or, maybe I can squelsh the feelings I've got for a while longer. I've got stuff to do that pays the bills.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
my letter is C
Needing a kick in the back of my chair, I asked Jen to send me a letter for this meme from Small Town Mom. Name 10 things I like, all beginning with the letter she assigned me: C.
Maybe because it's been a rough week, (pre-teen kids can be soooooooooooo moody!), interrupted sleep, and general life in this nutty house, I'm feeling the need to wrap myself in cotton wool and think of a few of my favorite things. (This post was actually started sometime LAST weekend!)
1. Candy - actually sugar in it's nicest and refined sense. Like in cakes, and cookies and candy corn. But then, that's not a particularly interesting fact because I think most people share a similar love of sugar.
2. Carol - This happens to be the name (with variant spellings) of many important people in my life. My mother-in-law happens to top the list. I'm going public and outing myself with this news. I really like my mother-in-law. Man, am I lucky too. I know of a parcel of people who have mother-in-laws that are difficult. She's my go-to girl when things get difficult.
3. C-levels - what I'd actually like to obtain when I write my French exams next week. C = B+ to A range. An E means you're exempt from ever having to write the tests again. EVER. I've seen studying, since September, just to get my B levels! (That's the equivalent of a C to a B- in a university level course.)
4. Curls - I've got amazing curly hair. It's a cross between a Jew-fro and a poodle. As a kid, I kind of ignored my hair. As an adult, I've fought with it, wanted to divorce it, chemically straightened the life out of it, and have now come to accept that I need to get a Bishon Friezé when I'm older, just so that we're fashionable and match.
5. Cancun - or some where equally warm. My sister just came back from the Grand Cayman Islands and writes of a glorious week of scuba diving and lolling on the beach in 28 degree Celcius weather. I'm kind of jealous of that. Then again, she lives further North and deserves a break from the ice and snow jams she faces 10 months of the year.
6. Cripes! This exercise isn't as easy I thought it would be when I asked Jen for the letter for the meme. It's taken me the better part of a week to get this far. And, to support this entry, I like the word cripes. I don't say it out loud very often and seeing it written, it reminds me of my childhood when real swearing, like we hear these days, was less fashionable.
7. Contemporary - I've fallen in love with the home style. Growing up, I used to love Connecticut Loyalist for home styling. Now that I've hit my middle age (I'm assuming I'm at the top of the heap now and everything else is just headed for the great retreat), my tastes in food and in housing has changed considerably. I now love the sleek, monastic lines of contemporary houses like Jens, or those I find in Dwell magazine (I have such a crush on this mag!). It's not like I'm ever going to live in a house like that, or that mine will change. (The Huz likes country styling, so we've compromised somewhere in the middle, to 1970s-self-storage-unit chic.)
8. Cartoons - love 'em. The original Bugs Bunny show. Calvin & Hobbes. Archie. (I think I still have a speudo-crush on Jug Head.) I still buy Archies now and again for Child Unit 1 on the expressed condition that he lends them to me afterward.
9. Community - I heart mine in a BIG way. Could it be the walkability. The culturual centre? Not just. It's the people. There's just something about the people that live in and around this place. I like 'em and they make this a place worth living in.
10. To paraphrase the great Cookie Monster - C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me. And C is for oatmeal-raisin cookie dough that I'm too lazy to finish baking, so I've packed some raw dough in my lunch box for tomorrow. Maybe I'll get around to baking the last of the cookies tomorrow night. Or maybe I'll just make a new batch. The chocolate chips are calling to me!
Oh cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C.
Maybe because it's been a rough week, (pre-teen kids can be soooooooooooo moody!), interrupted sleep, and general life in this nutty house, I'm feeling the need to wrap myself in cotton wool and think of a few of my favorite things. (This post was actually started sometime LAST weekend!)
1. Candy - actually sugar in it's nicest and refined sense. Like in cakes, and cookies and candy corn. But then, that's not a particularly interesting fact because I think most people share a similar love of sugar.
2. Carol - This happens to be the name (with variant spellings) of many important people in my life. My mother-in-law happens to top the list. I'm going public and outing myself with this news. I really like my mother-in-law. Man, am I lucky too. I know of a parcel of people who have mother-in-laws that are difficult. She's my go-to girl when things get difficult.
3. C-levels - what I'd actually like to obtain when I write my French exams next week. C = B+ to A range. An E means you're exempt from ever having to write the tests again. EVER. I've seen studying, since September, just to get my B levels! (That's the equivalent of a C to a B- in a university level course.)
4. Curls - I've got amazing curly hair. It's a cross between a Jew-fro and a poodle. As a kid, I kind of ignored my hair. As an adult, I've fought with it, wanted to divorce it, chemically straightened the life out of it, and have now come to accept that I need to get a Bishon Friezé when I'm older, just so that we're fashionable and match.
5. Cancun - or some where equally warm. My sister just came back from the Grand Cayman Islands and writes of a glorious week of scuba diving and lolling on the beach in 28 degree Celcius weather. I'm kind of jealous of that. Then again, she lives further North and deserves a break from the ice and snow jams she faces 10 months of the year.
6. Cripes! This exercise isn't as easy I thought it would be when I asked Jen for the letter for the meme. It's taken me the better part of a week to get this far. And, to support this entry, I like the word cripes. I don't say it out loud very often and seeing it written, it reminds me of my childhood when real swearing, like we hear these days, was less fashionable.
7. Contemporary - I've fallen in love with the home style. Growing up, I used to love Connecticut Loyalist for home styling. Now that I've hit my middle age (I'm assuming I'm at the top of the heap now and everything else is just headed for the great retreat), my tastes in food and in housing has changed considerably. I now love the sleek, monastic lines of contemporary houses like Jens, or those I find in Dwell magazine (I have such a crush on this mag!). It's not like I'm ever going to live in a house like that, or that mine will change. (The Huz likes country styling, so we've compromised somewhere in the middle, to 1970s-self-storage-unit chic.)
8. Cartoons - love 'em. The original Bugs Bunny show. Calvin & Hobbes. Archie. (I think I still have a speudo-crush on Jug Head.) I still buy Archies now and again for Child Unit 1 on the expressed condition that he lends them to me afterward.
9. Community - I heart mine in a BIG way. Could it be the walkability. The culturual centre? Not just. It's the people. There's just something about the people that live in and around this place. I like 'em and they make this a place worth living in.
10. To paraphrase the great Cookie Monster - C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me. And C is for oatmeal-raisin cookie dough that I'm too lazy to finish baking, so I've packed some raw dough in my lunch box for tomorrow. Maybe I'll get around to baking the last of the cookies tomorrow night. Or maybe I'll just make a new batch. The chocolate chips are calling to me!
Oh cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Gone, but not forgotten
That'd be my brain, not me.
I'm still here. In body. Mostly.
After surviving the ridiculously over-scheduled first three weeks of March (including March break madness), things are calming down a bit. I actually have nothing scheduled for any other evening this week until Friday night! Woo hoo. (Tonight The Huz did stand-on duty as parental supervision/bouncer/Girl Guide Cookie toughie, so I was the point person for child wrangling.)
I hope to get back to my regular rounds of lurking and occasionally posting on other people's blogs this week, as tonight I've cleared through almost all of my residual paperwork that comes with household and volunteering duties.
For those of you following the French training fracas, I'm down to one week before I write the comprehension and grammar exams. Nine days to the oral exam.
Over at Nat's place, her main squeeze goes for the poking and prodding tomorrow. This is possibly the only time in one's life where a person actually wants to get a "C" on their exam. J'envoie des pensées positives, en français !! (Merci babelfish!)
I'm still here. In body. Mostly.
After surviving the ridiculously over-scheduled first three weeks of March (including March break madness), things are calming down a bit. I actually have nothing scheduled for any other evening this week until Friday night! Woo hoo. (Tonight The Huz did stand-on duty as parental supervision/bouncer/Girl Guide Cookie toughie, so I was the point person for child wrangling.)
I hope to get back to my regular rounds of lurking and occasionally posting on other people's blogs this week, as tonight I've cleared through almost all of my residual paperwork that comes with household and volunteering duties.
For those of you following the French training fracas, I'm down to one week before I write the comprehension and grammar exams. Nine days to the oral exam.
Over at Nat's place, her main squeeze goes for the poking and prodding tomorrow. This is possibly the only time in one's life where a person actually wants to get a "C" on their exam. J'envoie des pensées positives, en français !! (Merci babelfish!)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Dinner
At one point in time I tried to make fudge. It didn't turn out well. (It got a bit rolled and then squeezed, so when I went to present it to the recipient, it kind of looked like a poo sample.)
Tonight, The Huz prepared dinner and topped fudgy attempts. He decided he wanted to take a Citizen's recipe that they'd showcased last week out for a test drive. He bought some unsuspecting round steak that he marinated and bundled overnight. It was in the oven, under covers before I ever got to see it.
When I did, it made a lasting impression on me. In the dish, I wasn't sure if it was an animal's penis or a rope of shit. Seriously. And be thankful that I didn't take a picture of it. (I had to have him mash it up for me before I sat down for dinner.)
And, even before eating it, I told him he was never to use the recipe again.
On a more funner note, The Huz teased me with a post about a 5-minute, microwavable cake.
So, being the good experimentor I am, I let two of the kids loose in the kitchen while I tried to take another through the deep hells of homework.
It turned out rather ok, though the complaint was that it was too much and too dry. I picked at it afterwards. If you have a real hankering for cake and have some ice cream, or amazing coffee around, it might be worth a shot.
Here's the recipe:
5 minute cake
Put in the microwave for 5 minutes.
Watch as the cake crests (oooh, ahhh). No need to panic. It will collapse after the heat is done.
Eat.
Tonight, The Huz prepared dinner and topped fudgy attempts. He decided he wanted to take a Citizen's recipe that they'd showcased last week out for a test drive. He bought some unsuspecting round steak that he marinated and bundled overnight. It was in the oven, under covers before I ever got to see it.
When I did, it made a lasting impression on me. In the dish, I wasn't sure if it was an animal's penis or a rope of shit. Seriously. And be thankful that I didn't take a picture of it. (I had to have him mash it up for me before I sat down for dinner.)
And, even before eating it, I told him he was never to use the recipe again.
On a more funner note, The Huz teased me with a post about a 5-minute, microwavable cake.
So, being the good experimentor I am, I let two of the kids loose in the kitchen while I tried to take another through the deep hells of homework.
It turned out rather ok, though the complaint was that it was too much and too dry. I picked at it afterwards. If you have a real hankering for cake and have some ice cream, or amazing coffee around, it might be worth a shot.
Here's the recipe:
5 minute cake
- coffee mug
- 4 tablespoons flour
- 4 tablespoons sugar
- 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
- 1 egg
- 3 tablespoons milk
- 3 tablespoons oil
Put in the microwave for 5 minutes.
Watch as the cake crests (oooh, ahhh). No need to panic. It will collapse after the heat is done.
Eat.
How to take care of a run away juvenile delinquent!
Nightly, supervised walks!
That stops him in his tracks!
That stops him in his tracks!
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I am so behind
I think I'm first. Especially with blogging about happy, sunny, fun subjects.
I went to an organized breakfast on Saturday, for local bloggers, and realized how much a whiner I really am. It seems that this spot actually becomes the last spot for me to just drop the bomb when everything else has already unraveled.
I am so sorry to my five (or fewer readers) that I've lost my whit or any ability to say anything remotely interesting.
It was during the breakfast, while whining to Zoom about my not liking my kids, that she asked me why I had them if I felt that way. My only answer was that it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I've given extensive further thought to this. I didn't ask for these kids. When I looked in the catalog, I asked for the well behaved, pre-molded, academically competent good ones that they showed on the cover. At least, that's what I thought I want. I didn't expect to get:
THE DIVA
A too soon to be teenager, who's got learning and social issues that put him in the range of maybe a ten year old. And that's a maybe. I don't know were his learning/social issues end and being a boy starts. (Grandma Tim suggests that a lot of what I'm going through is just boy shit.)
His choice to distance himself from the rest of the family doesn't help because I tend to leave him alone way to long (my opinion, not his) and he's falling between the cracks, 'cause he's not demonstrative they way his sibs are.
THE FAVORITE
This is my academically successful pre-teen who has everything - brains, beauty, can sing, can dance, can act, and is just the tiniest bit under-motivated. She expects things to just drop into her lap as she's capable of batting eye lashes and manipulating people into doing and getting things for her (kind of like her bio-dad). She pulls one hell of a huff when some one actually pushes back and says no. (Her tantrums are nothing compared to the next one though.)
This kid is the easy kid. Very very likeable. She gets elected to do the fun stuff with others (like when some one wants to go shopping) in place of me because she's fun and agreeable most of the time. She's got good social skills and is highly communicative. Everyone who meets her remembers her for good manners.
THING 3
When I'm mad, or irrasable, I refer to my children as Thing 1, 2, 3 and 4. We're having a bad night tonight with Thing 3. She had a fun day out at a birthday party. Came home. Got to have a TV dinner (dinner in front of the TV watching Ace of Cakes) and then went out for a walk. When we got to Bridgehead (near our original destination), she started spouting off about wanting one of their amazing cookies. Although I can sympathize with her, the answer was no. I'd baked today. Pretty freaking amazing chocolate chip cookies, I think, and she could have those at home. The tantrum starts. We get her home in one piece, thanks to my surrogate son (the kid who lives down the street and has almost moved in with us because of his regular prescence in our home). At home she starts up again. The Huz actually put his foot down. She decided to do what she does best, push the envelope. She took a cookie and stuffed it into her pie hole.
We had a similar issue last week where she decided to whine at me for the time it took for her to leave the school and hit Giant Tiger. I told her she had a choice between whining or eating her snack that we'd just got. (Chocolate is very cheap and very fresh at GT.) She whined her response. You can see where this is going.
At home, while putting away the groceries, I remarked to The Huz that I couldn't find the chocolate I'd paid for. He said that Thing 3 had asked if she could throw out the wrapper in our garbage can in our bathroom (hide the evidence). There was much shrieking and gnashing of teeth and all-in-all, it resulted in one of the toughest penalties I've handed out yet.
The Huz sends Thing 3 to bed. The cycle begins. Thowing herself into full physical tantrum and shrieking, The Huz tags off on me. (Thing 4 has already done damage to him - back strain.) The look of terror that comes across her face when I give her the look. "I want Daaaadddyyyyyy!" is repeated over and over and over again while I giver her options of walking or being hauled up the stairs over the shoulder, fireman style. She's no longer such a small thing and me getting pitched backwards down the stairs is becoming a reality. Doesn't help when she holds onto the railings. Daaaadddyyyyy comes up behind me for reinforcement and pries off her curled fingers from the railing.
Upstairs, she's deposited in her bedroom, where she kicks out her legs under her, doing a hell of a lot more harm then I could do. She's peeled from her day clothes, all the while screaming "I'll listen." (We actually do give her chances to change into her jammies by herself, or with help. It really doesn't help our side of things because she starts back into the broken record about wanting what ever got her into trouble in the first place.)
Teeth are brushed and fingers are pointed to the bed. That we've all suffered through the change of day light savings and it is her bedtime seem to be pointless.
Doors are closed as a period to end the sentence of the day. Eventually things do quite down. Not without a lot of reassurance that tomorrow is a clean slate and we'll start again then.
THING 4
AKA the juvenile delingent? How about the runaway? At just 2, I'm getting a taste for what to expect later on I guess.
Last night the mother-ship was over giving The Favorite a bit of one-on-one time. They spent part of the day cleaning up Favorite's room (what'd I tell you about the manipulative side of things?) and deciding that because she wasn't happy with her bedding, maybe she should get some new stuff. (Eyes rolling here. New? OMG, I can't remember the last time I bought brand new bedding! It's usually more of the new-to-me kind.)
Post-dinner hour, I was getting the tour of the After, being all too well familiar with the Before. I get a call from The Huz: is Thing 4 upstairs? A quick check. Nope. What's up? He's not downstairs either. WTF?!
The Huz runs onto the back porch and sees a 2 1/2 foot thing bobbing down the street. After assuring himself that it wasn't the racoon, he calls back up to me to say we've got a runner. I skim over the 11 stairs, body check The Huz as I get out the back door. He's still trying to pull on footwear. Silly man. Why do you think I'm always wearing some kind of appropriate for outdoors footwear?!
I run like a Clidesdale with bad bladder control issue down the street. It's dark and he's on the wrong side of the street, outside of the lamp range. I still reach Thing 4 before The Huz does, though he's not far behind. Unbelievably, Thing 4 is completely dressed for the occassion. Boots, polar fleece and a coat. (The polar fleece is overkill - it was still quiet warm out from the day.)
The Favorite has followed out of the house. Did I say before that she's also known as the responsible one? Diva is clueless. Thing 3 is already in bed, we hope asleep. The Huz carries Thing 4 home. I change.
Life goes back to its regular rythm.
Pick a day, any day and add to this mix anything something different. I don't know head licem, a municipal bus strike, general illnesses, weather, school issues, a non-responsive co-parenting household, aging parents, language training, day light saving time, Spring.
Hi. My name is Mirigo and I have a <> problem.
I feel that I could have managed three ok. Possibly with fewer problems. Four is what I've got now. When the older kids are more functional, it'll probably be ok. Right now it's rough. It's been a rough winter. And I'm a whiner. At least I've got my own blog ;-).
I went to an organized breakfast on Saturday, for local bloggers, and realized how much a whiner I really am. It seems that this spot actually becomes the last spot for me to just drop the bomb when everything else has already unraveled.
I am so sorry to my five (or fewer readers) that I've lost my whit or any ability to say anything remotely interesting.
It was during the breakfast, while whining to Zoom about my not liking my kids, that she asked me why I had them if I felt that way. My only answer was that it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I've given extensive further thought to this. I didn't ask for these kids. When I looked in the catalog, I asked for the well behaved, pre-molded, academically competent good ones that they showed on the cover. At least, that's what I thought I want. I didn't expect to get:
THE DIVA
A too soon to be teenager, who's got learning and social issues that put him in the range of maybe a ten year old. And that's a maybe. I don't know were his learning/social issues end and being a boy starts. (Grandma Tim suggests that a lot of what I'm going through is just boy shit.)
His choice to distance himself from the rest of the family doesn't help because I tend to leave him alone way to long (my opinion, not his) and he's falling between the cracks, 'cause he's not demonstrative they way his sibs are.
THE FAVORITE
This is my academically successful pre-teen who has everything - brains, beauty, can sing, can dance, can act, and is just the tiniest bit under-motivated. She expects things to just drop into her lap as she's capable of batting eye lashes and manipulating people into doing and getting things for her (kind of like her bio-dad). She pulls one hell of a huff when some one actually pushes back and says no. (Her tantrums are nothing compared to the next one though.)
This kid is the easy kid. Very very likeable. She gets elected to do the fun stuff with others (like when some one wants to go shopping) in place of me because she's fun and agreeable most of the time. She's got good social skills and is highly communicative. Everyone who meets her remembers her for good manners.
THING 3
When I'm mad, or irrasable, I refer to my children as Thing 1, 2, 3 and 4. We're having a bad night tonight with Thing 3. She had a fun day out at a birthday party. Came home. Got to have a TV dinner (dinner in front of the TV watching Ace of Cakes) and then went out for a walk. When we got to Bridgehead (near our original destination), she started spouting off about wanting one of their amazing cookies. Although I can sympathize with her, the answer was no. I'd baked today. Pretty freaking amazing chocolate chip cookies, I think, and she could have those at home. The tantrum starts. We get her home in one piece, thanks to my surrogate son (the kid who lives down the street and has almost moved in with us because of his regular prescence in our home). At home she starts up again. The Huz actually put his foot down. She decided to do what she does best, push the envelope. She took a cookie and stuffed it into her pie hole.
We had a similar issue last week where she decided to whine at me for the time it took for her to leave the school and hit Giant Tiger. I told her she had a choice between whining or eating her snack that we'd just got. (Chocolate is very cheap and very fresh at GT.) She whined her response. You can see where this is going.
At home, while putting away the groceries, I remarked to The Huz that I couldn't find the chocolate I'd paid for. He said that Thing 3 had asked if she could throw out the wrapper in our garbage can in our bathroom (hide the evidence). There was much shrieking and gnashing of teeth and all-in-all, it resulted in one of the toughest penalties I've handed out yet.
The Huz sends Thing 3 to bed. The cycle begins. Thowing herself into full physical tantrum and shrieking, The Huz tags off on me. (Thing 4 has already done damage to him - back strain.) The look of terror that comes across her face when I give her the look. "I want Daaaadddyyyyyy!" is repeated over and over and over again while I giver her options of walking or being hauled up the stairs over the shoulder, fireman style. She's no longer such a small thing and me getting pitched backwards down the stairs is becoming a reality. Doesn't help when she holds onto the railings. Daaaadddyyyyy comes up behind me for reinforcement and pries off her curled fingers from the railing.
Upstairs, she's deposited in her bedroom, where she kicks out her legs under her, doing a hell of a lot more harm then I could do. She's peeled from her day clothes, all the while screaming "I'll listen." (We actually do give her chances to change into her jammies by herself, or with help. It really doesn't help our side of things because she starts back into the broken record about wanting what ever got her into trouble in the first place.)
Teeth are brushed and fingers are pointed to the bed. That we've all suffered through the change of day light savings and it is her bedtime seem to be pointless.
Doors are closed as a period to end the sentence of the day. Eventually things do quite down. Not without a lot of reassurance that tomorrow is a clean slate and we'll start again then.
THING 4
AKA the juvenile delingent? How about the runaway? At just 2, I'm getting a taste for what to expect later on I guess.
Last night the mother-ship was over giving The Favorite a bit of one-on-one time. They spent part of the day cleaning up Favorite's room (what'd I tell you about the manipulative side of things?) and deciding that because she wasn't happy with her bedding, maybe she should get some new stuff. (Eyes rolling here. New? OMG, I can't remember the last time I bought brand new bedding! It's usually more of the new-to-me kind.)
Post-dinner hour, I was getting the tour of the After, being all too well familiar with the Before. I get a call from The Huz: is Thing 4 upstairs? A quick check. Nope. What's up? He's not downstairs either. WTF?!
The Huz runs onto the back porch and sees a 2 1/2 foot thing bobbing down the street. After assuring himself that it wasn't the racoon, he calls back up to me to say we've got a runner. I skim over the 11 stairs, body check The Huz as I get out the back door. He's still trying to pull on footwear. Silly man. Why do you think I'm always wearing some kind of appropriate for outdoors footwear?!
I run like a Clidesdale with bad bladder control issue down the street. It's dark and he's on the wrong side of the street, outside of the lamp range. I still reach Thing 4 before The Huz does, though he's not far behind. Unbelievably, Thing 4 is completely dressed for the occassion. Boots, polar fleece and a coat. (The polar fleece is overkill - it was still quiet warm out from the day.)
The Favorite has followed out of the house. Did I say before that she's also known as the responsible one? Diva is clueless. Thing 3 is already in bed, we hope asleep. The Huz carries Thing 4 home. I change.
Life goes back to its regular rythm.
Pick a day, any day and add to this mix anything something different. I don't know head licem, a municipal bus strike, general illnesses, weather, school issues, a non-responsive co-parenting household, aging parents, language training, day light saving time, Spring.
Hi. My name is Mirigo and I have a <> problem.
I feel that I could have managed three ok. Possibly with fewer problems. Four is what I've got now. When the older kids are more functional, it'll probably be ok. Right now it's rough. It's been a rough winter. And I'm a whiner. At least I've got my own blog ;-).
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Self-doubt
I think it comes with the territory, self-doubt does. Or, at least comes with the season.I've been going through a rough patch between parenting, and work and pursuing my passion for photography. A lot of questions and few answers. Seems I'm not alone. I don't mind. I actually enjoy the company ;-)
Funny thing that - that self-doubt. While I was roaming around, void of adult company this past weekend, I was having a conversation in my head about canning my now multi-year initiative of showing my work through the display space I created in my home. I guess I'd stirred up enough of something that, that same day, not but an hour or two later, I got an unexpected visit from three septuagenarians who were looking for MY gallery space.
They were early (I usually have the house tidied for visitors, and baking in the oven by 2 o'clock). I had borscht on the boil. Not the cookies I'd been planning. They came. I babbled, at a loss this weekend for words. My head so far stuck in a pity-me hole that I wasn't prepared. We had a very short visit.
They weren't planning to by anything. We chatted about the February show that was about to be flipped. She pointed to the middle one.
How much? Hmm. Well. Framed ... yes, it's much more expensive. Let me show you what it looks like. Yes. Yes. I recommend their services. They do such a nice job.
Unframed? Yes. Ok. Take it now? Just a minute. Let me find an envelope.
I was buoyed for most of the rest of the day while I sat on my news that I'd closed the deal.
Photography is a hard sell in Ottawa. And I did it.
Maybe I should keep things going a little longer ...
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