The Last Dead Fish

I didn't kill this one I swear; it's not even my fish.  It's Teddy's Siamese Fighting Fish AKA Jaws 2.0.  Jaws the First froze to death last year.  Feeling bad for Teddy losing something he really liked I bought a new cool USB powered fish tank from Thinkgeek and we  tried again. He was doing well until winter started.  E ven a mild Sydney winter is tough for a fish from warmer waters.  Once again the internet provided the answer when I found and bought a special heater for small tanks.  The heater warmed things up just enough make the fish happy.  He liked to curl up next to the heater. In fact he scared me a few times as he didnt move around at all and I thought he was dead. Then I'd poke him with a finger he'd squirm around and I'd spend ten minutes scrubbing my hand.  It was our little game.  I know, I need a life.

Recently though,  I realized that Jaws 2.0 was no longer with us.  In fact, he seems to have shuffled off this mortal coil several days ago. There are sections of his body that are either caught in a space-time continuum loop or they have begun the decaying process. No amount of squeamish poking him was going to bring him back.

I looked around the fish tank and there are no tiny pellets of fish food. Teddy saves his aiming skills for the AFL so when he feeds Jaws 2.0 he usually feeds the desk too.  I haven't wiped up the computer area in a few days (don't judge!) so this means he hasn't been feeding the fish.  I find that odd since he actually liked Jaws 2.0 and was annoyed when I murdered the living room fish a few weeks ago.  He's done a fairly good job of taking care of his pet so that makes me wonder why he has stopped caring for one of the few things he actually likes in this house?

My bet is that he knows Jaws 2.0 is dead. He knows and he doesnt want to clean it up.  He's waiting for me to notice so I'll clean out the tank. Yes, that sounds like my duplicitous twelve year old.  THAT makes sense. 

So it's come down to a battle of wills. His desire to not risk touching a dead fish and being forced to clean something versus my desire not to touch a dead fish and my already being up to my neck in having to clean something.

It's a parenting dilemma. Sure I can march into his room, as he's home sick today and demand the removal of the late fish.

That's easy enough. However I think I want to preserve the spirit of ignoring it.  At least the spirit. I'm going to let Jaws 2.0 rest undisturbed for a bit. Not too long. Even I have a level of grossness I won't cross. But I am curious. How long will he go before he cracks and says something?

I'm taking bets on him lasting until the holidays start. When that happens he will be parking his tush at the kids computer to play on Steam as many hours as I will let him. The more time I let him sit there, the more time he has to look at the fish that ceased to be.  Soon, I bet the absence of life will annoy him into saying something.

Whatever, I'm dreaming I know. This is a kid who wore his school uniform over 24 hours the other day because he was too cold/bored/busy to change. What does he care about a decaying fish when his decaying socks don't trouble him?  At least though I can pretend for a few minutes that he will pay attention to things around him.  Then, as soon as I smack the stupid out of myself I will get down to sending Jaws 2.0 off in style.  As the last fish I think he would deserve to have the best spot in the front flower bed.

The tank however, will be Teddy's job to clean.  I'm not touching that thing on a bet. 

Solving the Problem

 Rest easier everyone! My earlier posting about being annoyed about ferreting out real sick symptoms from fake ones did not go unheard. Depending on your belief system, either  God, Allah, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Bugs Bunny or a rooster read about my plight. He/She/It heard of my troubles and sent a sure fire cure to my solution. 

The cure is my husband being sent out of the country. At first glance I understand that my husbands travel plans do not seem like an obvious cure to my woes. This is one of those moments where you have to piece together the events and the obvious solution will present itself.  Follow alone with the timeline.

Just a few days ago the girls and I drove Ted to the airport for a trip to Texas for business.  He stepped out of the car when Tessi started coughing.  An hour later as we were pulling into the shops she was barking louder than Iditarod contestants.  

The shops you say?  Why on earth would I have a sick child at the shops? No good mother would do that!  

True, good mothers would not..  However I had no choice as Connor had broken her glasses and we needed them repaired before school the next day. 

 Do you know what it's like living with sensory-challenged child who is bothered by change and her glasses are broken?  Well, it's bad enough that after two hours in the car on an airport run you'll drag a coughing and feverish kid to the shops and wait thirty minutes until the overworked chick behind the counter can take 10 seconds and replace a screw in the glasses.  That's how bad it is.

After dragging them both home I checked my calendar for the week and I noticed a large red blurb first thing in the morning.  Of course.  Monday morning is my turn to be the band parent at early morning training band practice.  Remember my turn last time, when I was late and had everyone staring at me? Well, not this time! I was going to be the good mother and get their early! Sure Tessi was sick, but its in a big hall and I'll park her at the other end with a pillow, blankie and my precious iPad.  It will be fine. No one will notice. It's a great plan.

More accurately that was a great plan until I actually woke up the next morning.  I walked into Connor's room, tripping over the cat and folded clean clothes on the floor.  Biting the sides of my mouth so I don't scream I put my hand on her forehead to gently wake her.  That's when I noticed the fever.  As she awoke she spoke nonsense as the fever was so high she was delusional.  No exactly faking that symptom.  I didn't need to put a lot thought into determining the validity of that symptom.  She really was sick and we were staying home.  So no training band. 

We spent the day with both girls lying sick in their beds with me trying to do laundry. That's more impressive if you understand that it was pouring rain the entire day and I couldn't hang anything outside. I have a dryer but its Australian so it holds about 6 things and takes an hour to work.  I have stuff strewn about the house like a festival of cotton.

That was my day until I decided to be be nice and let the girls out of their rooms to watch TV. My kindness was repaid with four back-to-back episodes of Adventure Time. There are shows that are worse I know.  But not too many.

For us though, I felt we were doing alright. Sure, it's not pleasant being stuck home with sick kids but it wasn't  too bad. I have the Internet for god's sake. I can tune of my surroundings quite well.  What I can't tune out is running out of bread and ice blocks (Popsicles American friends) No, that is not going to work. However, I have a solution. I will wait until Teddy returns from school, entrust him to watch over the girls while I duck out to the grocery store and pick up the essentials.  No problem.

No problem unless of course that is the precise moment that my car decides not to work.  Dead.  It is an ex-vehicle.  I had the keys to Ted's crappy train car so I took that.  That's fine, except I hate that car.  Ted hasn't cleaned it out since...well...ever and I can't plug my iPhone in anywhere.   Plus the seat is wonky and it kills my back.  Also its a Hyundai and my car pride is wounded for driving it.  It's juvenile of me, but there it is.  I like my Toyota Kluger. 

Driving back from my trip to the store with every other human being on the North Shore, I saw that my neighbor sent me a message saying not to worry, but Sasha had gotten out.  She returned her to our yard and shut the gate. Seems the gate had bounced open, giving Miss Thang a long overdue run for freedom.

To cap my evening nicely I spent 10 minutes wrestling the boy, the dog and two blankets.  I started off with the boy because he was deliberately teasing his sick sister and churning her into a sobbing frenzy. I took a picture of him on the floor in the blanket being jumped by the dog and threatened to post it to his Instagram account.  That's when the dog lost her ever-loving mind and tried to eat the blankets.  Ripping the blankets away from both the boy and the dog I ended up jolting Teddy into the air. Sasha took that as a cue to attack and sent Teddy into the cheap seats by slamming her jaw several inches below his stomach. Trust me, the teased sister just got the laugh of her life.  When Teddy can breathe again I'll point out how all of this was his fault.

Two sick kids, six loads of laundry and pouring rain outside so I can't hang it up, four episodes of Adventure Time, a dead car - which was caused by Connor leaving her door open for over 24 hours so the battery drained flat, an AWOL dog, fighting kids and a teen emasculated by the dog.  All within 32 hours of my husband leaving the country.

 Coincidence?  I think not.

I was hoping it wouldn't come down to this but my husband has left me no choice.  After  he returns to Australia in a few days I am going to turn him in to the government. I'm to tell them that he is trafficking drugs, laundering McDonald's Monopoly game prize pieces and he's moonlighting as Assanges and Snowden's online poker consultant.  

I will tell them anything I can come up in order to get his passport revoked.  None of it is true but I no longer care.  Every time he leaves the country my little world erupts like Vesuvius.  I'm not talking about the normal "I miss my life partner and I hate being without him" and everything falls apart around me. No, I'm talking about actual disasters occurring only when he leaves the same airspace I occupy.  It happened when we were back in Texas and he was flying over to Australia.  It continues now that he returns to the US without us. 

I don't know if he is conscientiously doing something to jack with the universe to make it turn on me or not.  At this point it doesn't matter why it happens.  All that matters is that I am going to put a stop to it.  

I'm not even upset anymore. As I type this dinner is burning on the stove, the second round of Don't touch me! I'm not touching you, I'm looking at you!  has started and I am at peace.  I've only had one small bottle of hard cider and I have come up with the obvious solution to my problems.  It's him or me and I am choosing me.

I feel better for it.  

Second Chance for Normanhurst and it's Citizens

As I have bellowed about before there is a struggle going on trying to get appropriate signage for little school.  It's been an uphill battle for more than two years.  Recently there have been a few stories written in our local newspaper.  Last week a story was published after talking with several members of the Hornsby Shire Council.  It seems now that Council is considering another look at our school and how their solution to our problem is faring.  This is a link to the most recent addition of the Hornsby Advocate. http://newslocal.newspaperdirect.com/epaper/viewer.aspx  On page 7 Tracey Findley has written a follow up article about our parking drama.  The Deputy Mayor Robert Browne was quoted as saying,  "I have to admit, I wondered how it would work. It didn't seem logical, but I'm not a traffic engineer."

Even members of council see that this is not the best solution for our little school.  I am very pleased that Council is agreeing to revisit this issue.  When Council actually sits and discusses this topic I hope they ask some very tough questions.  Perhaps questions like these:

Current Signage

1.  What child's safety is ensured by forcing them to walk by close parking and down the street?
2.  Why did you give us no parking signs and then expect us to use them as a Kiss & Drop?  Why not issue           proper Kiss & Drop signs?
3. How does forcing drivers to make loops around a heavily congested block NOT create a more dangerous situation than letting parents sit and wait 10 minutes or so for their child?
4.  There are 3 schools that empty at the same time in that area.   Two of them with teenage drivers on very narrow roads.  Is extra traffic really a good idea?


Issues with Parking Rangers

1.   Why are parking rangers only seen on Normanhurst Rd between 2:45 and 3:05?
2.    Why are they only looking at these 5 or 6 parking spaces right in front of the school and never at illegal parking in crosswalks or cars blocking residents driveways?
3.    "Unless your child is standing on the footpath AT your car, you must drive off" was the warning given to parents by rangers and police several weeks ago. Why all of a sudden are they targeting our street again?
4.  Why did a ranger tell a Normanhurst parent that "the old mayor said not to come to Normanhurst Road but there's a new mayor now so we can" and
5.  Why was I able to photograph a ranger last year resting against the school gate at 2:50, waiting for parents leave their cars unattended?  Yes, I do still have that photograph.


Hornsby Shire Council, your citizenry is not the enemy.  Please don't treat us as such. None of us want to argue with the government about parking in front of the school.  There are so many other issues that confront us all.  Please reconsider these signs and accept the voice of the people when we tell you they do not work for our community.

Adequately Judging Illness

Back in Ye Oldy Days when I was in elementary (primary) school I changed schools to join a special program for supposedly very smart children.  For the most part I hated it. My old friends disliked me for being "too good" for them and my new school friends didn't really like me because I was from "over the mountain," as in I was from a different town. Kids are fun huh?

Because I was so unhappy I developed a skill for faking illness to stay home.  I never did anything as pedantic as stick the thermometer in a hot drink but I knew how to lower my eyes, shiver uncontrollably and plead the pain of a headache with enough style and grace that I projected an image of a genuinely sick child.  The new age positive parenting gurus would probably say I maximized my acting skills.  Old school, hard core disciplinarians would say I was a manipulative, lying little snot.  I prefer the term Creative Outcome Maneuver Artist myself.  At first glance it sounds really impressive.  Of course then you go back and closely dissect the words and you can tell it's a bunch of drivel.  For a minute though, it sounds fabulous.

Returning to my ancient history lesson, my mother returned to teaching at tthe same time that I had switched schools.  This made me one of the poor down-trodden "latch key kids" news stories were just starting to report.  This consumed her with guilt and I milked that for all it was worth. My acting skills coupled with her unwavering Catholic guilt were an impressive force.  Not unlike Inertia or kids moving in on unguarded ice cream. My chance at the annual perfect attendance award was usually shot to Hell by about 3 weeks into the new school year.

Because of my previous nefarious youthful ways I felt that I had to step up my game when it came to parenting. I started early on with Teddy when he started Kindergarten with my Mommy's Stay at Home Sick Rules.  There aren't a lot of them per se, but just enough to get the job done.

1.  Sick child stays in bed except for meals and potty breaks

2.  No Gameboys, DS, Touch or anything that may be construed as fun.

3.  You can read, color and draw as much as you want.

4.  No TV....at all.

As you can imagine, each child has tested this rule as soon as they could.  Each were aghast to learn that I was actually serious. As none of my children are as irretrievably stupid as they like to act, this has created a culture of children going to school and only staying at home unless they are at Death's door.

The only deviation from these rules are when staying home isn't their choice.  For example, during the great Normanhurst Public School Chicken Pox Epidemic of 2011, all kids had free reign of any entertainment device I could throw at them.  

We were blessed/cursed in that each of my children came down with the illness one after the other.  As each child had to stay home for 2 weeks to avoid spreading contamination we had six weeks straight where I was trapped alone in the house with one kid.   Since my children were previously immunized their cases were very mild and they felt perfectly fine.   Contagious, feeling fine but confined to the house.  Not the best way to go through life. 

For readers with no children, imagne being trapped with a live action Taz, the Tasmanian Devil, who shrieks like a high-pitched Cindy Lauper.  Also Taz makes you sit next to her and watch iCarly and Big Cook, Little Cook.

I have to honest and admit that things became a little ugly during this time period.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I would have let them watch porn and teaching hospital videos on performing surgery if it meant they would have left me alone for five minutes.  It didn't come to that, but it was close....very close.

Other that that unfortunate situation my stay at home rules have worked rather well for us.  Lately though, I've been coming to the sinking realization that I am going to have to revise and revisit these rules. My precious Connor has found the Trojan Horse to sneak inside the defenses of my rules system.  

Two weeks ago she had to stay home from school, per doctors orders, for a nasty cold.  She didn't have a problem staying in bed as she got to read her Warrior Cats books all day.

Ever since then she has woken every morning complaining of some malady so she can stay home.  Threats of no tv, ipod Touch and banishment to room have simply bounced off of her. She has no problem with it. 

The really annoying thing is that now I have to pay attention first thing in the morning. Before all of this happened I'd just throw out, "Do you feel bad enough to stay in bed with no TV?" and that would force the child in question to sort out the severity of the illness. A really ill child would still beg to stay home and the wanna-be faker would skulk back to their room to finish getting dressed.  Now I need to take her temperature, check for swollen glands, and monitor food and water intake to determine real illness.  Seriously?  All before I've had my tea?  

No, no, no.  I need LESS responsibility and activity in the morning, not MORE. This does not work for me.  

I have no solution yet to this latest drama. I suppose I have to decide if I'm more annoyed that she might be staying home or forcing me to think so much first thing in the morning. It's a tough call. 

Normanhurst Parents, it's Up to You Now

Last week I spoke to a reporter from the Hornsby Advocate about our parking problems on Normanhurst Road in front of our school.  Both my girls have been walking around with a huge smile on their faces because the three of us had our picture taken and put in the paper.  Keeping in kind with my luck, we spent two days cleaning the inside of the house and the photographer decided to take our picture outside, next to my filthy car.  Of course, he did.  At this point I expect nothing less.

This is the second story she has written about our school, the parking dramas, and our arguing with council.  Some of you may recall some of the trouble I got into last year with some parents because I "didn't get my way about the parking!"  Well here we are again. One last hurrah.

Do you want to return to being allowed to park in front of the school to pick up children as we were able to before council stepped in and changed the signs? Can you handle the compromise of creating a kiss and drop, with clearly marked signs 10 or 15 minutes and allow older children to walk down to you? 

Or is it better to have everyone taking laps around a congested block with 3 schools emptying at the same time.  Perhaps park down by shops, taking up business parking and walk up? Is it OK for rangers to only ever come onto Normanhurst Rd at 2:55?  Why are the rangers only looking at people parking in that one section, never noticing people stopping next to or even in the cross walk?

Please remember that we used to be able to park right next to the school.  That parking was legal, park any time until 2 years ago when we asked for help stopping people with no school business parking there. Council's solution was a blanket sign to remove all traffic and that clearly doesn't help us. I'm sure it's very effective at  schools located on large open properties. However we are a small school bounded by a major highway, an over 55 community and located on a main street to the train. Cookie cutter solutions will not work here.  

Instead of looking at our specific solution we were handed these generic signs.  Complaining parents were told, "You got the signs you asked for" or my favorite, "What's wrong, too good to walk?"  Parents were vilified by the government for not simply accepting what we were handed. Most of us have felt sorely punished for having the gall to ask for help in the first place.

It's time now to say something back to Hornsby Council.  Agreeing with me on the street corner and by email is wonderful and I truly appreciate your support. Unfortunately it's not enough to change anything. If you do agree with me and want council to remember that they work for the people and not the other way around, please email them. Let them know that we want real help and nothing else is acceptable.

The three council members who represent Ward B which our little school resides in were approached by the Hornsby Advocate. All three have stated that they are willing to listen to concerns about the parking changes in Nornmanhurst.  If there is going to be a change made; as in returning to allowing parents to park in front of the school, it starts with these people.  

Here are their email addresses: 

Nick Berman nberman@hornsby.nsw.gov.au 
Robert Browne rbrowne@hornsby.nsw.gov.au 
Gurdeep Singh gsingh@hornsby.nsw.gov.au

Let us not forget the new Mayor:

The Honorable Steve Russell srussell@hornsby.nsw.gov.au

Speak up or forever hold your peace.

Hiding Behind a Glass Door

Well yesterday's post was fun.  I think I was smacked on the head by the Maudlin Fairy.

The bad guys won yesterday and I went to bed a dejected mess.  In my world that happens.  You can't be a crazy person,  living a crazy life with crazy people in a crazy world and not lose it sometimes.  Amazing....the words crazy written 4 times in a single sentence.  Clearly I am a writing goddess.

I went to bed last night consumed with feelings of failure and loss.  I woke up two hours later with a reminder that life goes on whether we want it to or not.

Ted and I both were awoken by a strange rumbling and whacking sound coming from downstairs.  We live in an insanely safe area so I honestly wasn't worried about an intruder, well a bipedal one anyway.  I figured some possum or steroid-infused mouse was running a muck somewhere so I opened the door to check it out. It's Australia after all.  God only knows what is lurking out there.

Immediately I noticed that Sasha was not laying down right outside our door, which is her spot at night.  That is not good.  Where is the dog?  I head down the steps and low and behold there she is waiting at the bottom of the steps her tail wagging so hard her entire body is bending in half.

Now the mystery is partially solved.  I know who is causing the noise.  Whatever the noise was, it was her and she's now trying to delay me from seeing what's she's done.  It's time to solve the case by finding out what has happened. Storming past her and yelling her name I head to the kitchen and there it is, the trash can is on it's side and the contents are everywhere.

The reason I am telling you this incredibly boring story is that I had to laugh at how Sasha handled stress of us catching her in trouble.  After cleaning up the mess Ted and I noticed she was gone and tried to find her.  She had run outside to hide from us but was standing next to the sliding door.  The clear glass sliding door.  She refused to look at us when we call her name, just stood and wagged her tail and hid behind a glass door right in front of us.

Ted and I just turned off the lights and went back to bed.  A few minutes later we heard the padding of her feet up the stairs and the loud THUMP of her landing in her bed outside the door.  This morning when I got up she was whistling and wagging her tail, genuinely happy to see me.  All was forgotten.

Maybe that's what I need to do.  When things get too much just run and hide for a few minutes. Stay in plain sight so no one worries but refuse to make eye contact and wait for it to pass.  When the furry has passed by go up and be happy to see the person.

Might even wag my tail a few times.

Demons Winning Today

This post is not a happy or funny one. If your children are neurotypical, or simply normal, then perhaps today's entry isn't for you. I am not being elitist. My babies are members of a club I'd give my soul to quit.

 I have a twisted sense of humor.  That is no shock to anyone. I admit freely to enjoying the parenting one-upmanship game sometimes. Seeing my son's face as he thinks he's pulling one over on me only to learn that I have completely won. Sometimes, yes...it is humorous to watch. Other times, no it's not fun.

I have spent the entire day trying to teach Connor to respect work that others do for her.  Namely respect the effort I put into laundry. For months now she has been taking clean clothes and either stuffing them on the floor of her closet or putting them on her bed under the sheets and sleeping with them.  Then she suddenly can't find a shirt she wants or a uniform she needs and it's a 4 alarm alert for all of us to find it.  I've tried yelling, bargaining, having her do her own laundry everything I could think of to try to stop her.  There is a lot of effort in doing laundry for five people and I think she should respect and appreciate it.

Yesterday I walked by her room and I saw a basket of clean folded clothes tipped on its side, clothes strewn everywhere.  Annoying for sure, but what sent me over the edge was trash all over her floor; combined with visibly dirty clothes now entwined with the clean ones. Walking into her room and opening the closet revealed not one but two complete school uniforms...still on their hangers....crumpled in a heap underneath a pile of clothes.

Enough.  This has to stop.  There is nothing cute or funny about this behavior. Many moms I know would just complain and clean it up themselves, arguing that its just easier to do themselves. I can not do that. Not simply just because I don't want to, but because I am actually frightened about the consequences if I do.

When you live with Autistics, no matter how mild or severe, your life is about consequences.  Every single moment in your life is broken down into different consequences for actions.  This is how my girls learn for the most part.  For many neutrotypical families its enough to say, " Please do A, B and C, " repeat request as often as needed.  

My life is constantly saying, "Please do A,B,C and if you do not, D, E and F will happen" repeat 1-30 times.  Find out that message about A and C were understood but B has been lost in the translation. Now I must think of a new consequence, perhaps G, H or I or even 1,2 or 3.  Then I repeat this another 1-50 times and hope that works. 

Here's the catch though...what leaves me in tears most days. I don't know if my consequences are too tough, or not tough enough to teach them.

I have had Connor  doing laundry all day.  By all day, I mean she has either done laundry or cleaned her room. Not being the evil monster she thinks I am, I have allowed morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea breaks.  She had time to watch her new fav movie, Alice in Wonderland this morning before we started.  She was allowed to play her iPod in her room to listen to music but chose not to.   I made her hang 3 loads of laundry out on the line, sort and fold laundry into everyone's baskets and hang 3 school uniforms each for her and her sister.

I explained she would not being going to the park at all today and that she would be doing laundry the rest of the week and that set off  a somewhat impressive sob show. Unfortunately for her I've seen 1000's of sob shows and this didn't rate too high on my list. I could give her points for variety, she did complain about 6 different tasks but I felt as if the tears were just phoned in.  She cried because she was tired, because she was cold and because she thought she saw a bee outside that was pointing its stinger at her.   I did like the pointing stinger bit. Really painted quite the picture of the bee hunting her down.  I calmed her down with every meltdown and sent her back to work.

I started to make sandwiches for the lunches during the week. What Connor failed to notice was I have spent the day doing chores as well.  I wanted to get ahead a bit because we have to leave an hour early on Monday mornings for Connor's band practice.  After she was done hanging the last bit of laundry I asked Connor bring me her lunch box.  She hemmed and hawed and said she needed a minute to throw out her sandwich crusts.  I looked over her shoulder and no crusts,  it was the whole sandwich. She lied to me.  Not for the first time.  The lunches is another problem we've been having.  For about 2 years now I've been trying to get her to eat her lunch or at least admit to me when she doesn't. 

I'm supposed to be the adult here but after an entire day of battle I was done.  How can I not be annoyed and even hurt by someone I love lying to me about something as stupid as a sandwich? 

I banished her to her room for the afternoon after decreeing that on top of the laundry she would now be making sandwiches the rest of the week.

But as I sit here typing this...both of us in tears...I have that doubt clouding my mind.  Does she understand that I am hurt?Can she understand?  Can she even grasp the importance of respect?  Am I just kicking a puppy? Is this the same as yelling at a child in a wheelchair for not putting a book away on the top shelf? I don't know anymore. I don't enjoy being the hard ass mom. Not one bit. I'm so scared that if I am not then she will grow up not knowing how to act and people won't forgive her for that. We all know and remember that weird kid...the one who acted strange or selfish. We all remember how everyone treated him or her too.

I can't bear the thought of people hurting her for things beyond her control.

Yet today I can't see that.  All I see is four months into this laundry learning lesson and two years with the lunches and I'm no further along now than I was at the beginning. It's so disheartening. If I can't teach her these things how on earth will I be able to teach her more complex issues? Things like protecting herself from predators, or how to choose friends or how to express herself in a positive way?   Right now, I'm scared I can't.

Today I don't feel like the mother, geek, or writer I have been trying to become.  I'm the evil troll mom I always joke about.  It turns out that really being the troll isn't near as much fun as pretending to be one.

Repeat Message as Often as Needed

 Back in the US I was known as well....a bit of a trouble maker.  I have opinions. More than a few.  Combining that with limited unexpressed thoughts has led me astray many times.  While I lived in Texas I definitely watched my step and constantly looked over my shoulder.  When working at a store that played a christian music station that drove me insane, I was usually humming colorful Monty Python songs.  Occasionally I would forget and that humming would morph into singing out loud.  

Look..my life was just offering up constant apologies to someone about something I had just said.  I know for a fact that I am on at least 3 different prayer lists asking for Jesus to turn my soul back to good.  My close friends back in the US have known for a while that I'm a bit out there and have, for whatever reason, decided to overlook my quirkiness. I appreciate that, I really do.

In Australia though,  I am the prude of the room.  No, Seriously, me.  My American friends are a bit in shock right now. I am the one that gasps out loud at TV commercials and what people say in newspapers and to each other in public.

Years ago I picked Teddy up at school by the picnic tables located just outside his room.  All the classrooms have outside doors that overlook a courtyard.  I sat among some very proper ladies, the "good" moms as it were, and used the time to learn about Australian culture.

One day I tripped while I was walking to school.  I limped to the tables so I could relay my tale of woe to the ladies sitting there.  I ended my story with, "and then I fell ass over tin cups right in front of everyone!"  

Ohhhhhh.  I just said ASS.  At school.  I even said it with my funny sounding American accent so it was AAAAss instead of Ahss.   Everyone heard it.   They are all looking at me with pained looks on their faces.

Realizing what I had done, just next to classroom with young innocent children nonetheless, I hung my head in shame and hoped I didn't get pummeled too badly.  I didn't have to wait long for the rebuking.  It was a different than what I was expecting though.

"I am sorry Cecelia....but...what did you just say?" came the first comment.  Damn it.  It came straight from one of the more refined mothers.  Ohhhh, this was going to be painful. I'm really going to cop it.

"Er, um, I said ass....ass over tin cups.  I shouldn't say things like that.  I'm very sorry."  I tried to look very penitent and sincere.  I wasn't, but I wanted to appear that way.  It was too soon for everyone to be disappointed in me.  Her reply was something I will remember until the day I die.

"Is that an American thing?  You see, in Australia we say ass over t*ts."  There was no oral asterisk there by the way.  She said it loud and she said it proud.  She said it 15 feet away from four different classrooms with wide open windows.  My jaw dropped; which she took that to mean that I didn't believe her.  With a rather regal defensive posture, she turned to the assembled crowd and began to ask for confirmation.

"Well, what do you lot have to say?"  "T*ts, of course", was the fast and furious response.  "What on earth does an ass have to do with a tin cup?"  It helps to read that with a bit of an accent.  

"Wot on irth does an ahss have to do with a teen cuhp?"

Interestingly enough, this was not the most awkward moment of the afternoon.  That was walking up the steps toward us.  A friend was spotted approaching and my posh and regal friend SHOUTS to her, "Oie!  Finish this sentence, "The drunken sod fell ass over...pause, pause.."  She responds with a even LOUDER "T*TS!" Only that's not enough for her to convey her meaning.  As she's speaking, she takes both hands and palms her chest in a grotesque, over-acted manner.  Just in case, I suppose, there is anyone who can't grasp her meaning.

I began to slouch under the picnic table.  I figure we have about thirty seconds until a team of flying teachers with wooden rulers edged with serrated blades come swooping out at us like the fist of God.  I harbored no illusions about my chances of survival but I was going to make them work for it. This time is actually not my fault!  

Yes. I did start it all by saying ass,  but come on!  You really can't compare that to  t*ts!  Not at SCHOOL in my opinion.  No! This is not my fault! I may be going down but they are.coming.with.me.

I wait and there is no official reprisal.  No one arrives to chastise us for our profane language.  I'm still doomed though as the women gather round and are laughing uproariously at me.  The crazy yank says tin cups.  How cute.  I think someone actually ruffled the top of my hair.

One would think that this memory should have been enough to teach me that Australians are a bit more open-minded than I'm used to, but no.  Apparently I needed yet another reminder.

Last week I learned that my daughter's class is using the song "Thank You" by MKTO for the school concert.  I didn't recognize the song but Teddy seemed overly impressed by that so my attention was caught.  "Way to make a statement" he crooned.  No, I do not like this, there has to be something wrong.  I get him to play the song and the first line is:

Yo, this one right here is for all the drop-out-of-schoolers.  The future cougars. The Mary Jane abusers.

O-kay.  Hmmmm.  Nine and ten year olds singing about mary jane abusers?  Right.  I decided to do a little research on the tune.  As with eveything I seem to need in life,  I found the lyrics online. The song is being marketed as an anthem for today's youth.  A sarcastic "thank you" to adults who have screwed everything up for them.  That's fine.  I'm cool with teen angst.  Personally I think they are right.  Also, I there's that crazy leftover "Fight the Man" attitude that isn't completely gone from me that says, "Right!  Get Em!"

Then I notice some lines in the song like this:

 So raise that bird up high  and   And them girls I'll take a few. Do what I wanna do.

Ummm, yeah.  Uh, no.  Sorry, not sure about this song at all.

Still, I don't want to be that pearls clutching parent.  It is pretty hypocritical of ME of all people, to say a song is too controversial. I have a rather eclectic selection of music in my library.  So I calmly sent an email to her teacher asking if he was aware of the lyrics, their meaning and general feelings about the song.  

He responded quickly that he had vetted it for profanity, didn't see anything but that he would talk to the principal.  I replied that I wasn't asking for the song to be changed, that I was fine with it.  I was just insanely curious to know if this registered as a little out there to Aussies or if it was just me.

He responded today that after talking with the principal they had decided to keep the song.  He was very kind and gracious as he thanked me for taking the time to look into this song.  He said they selected it because it was fun for the kids to dance to and it was timely.  He then gently reminded me that kids around the world once performed Puff the Magic Dragon before anyone knew the meaning.

Sigh....really?  I'm lumped in the same as a bunch of up-tight twits who believed the FALSE rumor that Puff was a toker? ME?! I had to be carried out of Judas Priest concert for God's sake. I used to be fun, alright?

I responded by saying, "GOOD!  I am glad that you are keeping the song.  I will be one of many parents cheering the children at the concert and wholeheartedly support it."  I told him that I was never interested in censorship but that I was curious if it was an Aussie or American thing to judge these songs a bit closely.  

Apparently it's a "Unclench!  The kids are just having fun and stop being a stick in the mud!" kind of thing.

Message received.  I am down with non-conformity and I am all about keeping things real.

Nobody better ruffle my head though.

Putting the Bling in Skylanders

Girls don't play Skylanders.  

Did you know that?  Skylanders is a BOYS game.  

Just for honesty's sake let me say right now that there's nothing on box that says that.  Activision has never come out with any statement saying that only boys are allowed to buy and play their game.  I can find nothing on any character I have bought...and oh...there have been a few....saying, "This is only for those with mismatched chromosome pairings."  If you actually take the time to look you can see that there are characters of both gender all throughout the game.  In fact one of the IT characters the gamers geeks are paying $100's to acquire on Ebay is Ninjini, a girl genie.  

By the way, you don't even have to ask.  No, my girls aren't getting a $200 toy.  If I can't have a $200 toy, they can't.  That's the rule.  They will wait like every other child of an evil troll mother for it to be released in a store for under $20.  Let it be written.  Let it be done.

So what's with all the girl haters?  It's the marketing industry that tells us it's a boys game.  All the merchandising that has been bought and placed on the shelves is geared for boys. There are Skylanders shirts, jammies, sheets, comforters,  cups, and pencil sets, towels and underwear....all boy oriented.  You want Skylanders things?  Go to the boy section of the store.  It makes sense of course. Only boys play video games right?  RIGHT?!

There is an obvious solution, I know.  To call an item a BOY or GIRL thing is society's problem.  There is nothing to stop me from buying the Sklyanders shirt or jammies and just saying, "Here ya go!"  After all, am I not the one who has been screaming for YEARS not gender stereotype kids?  Just by the shirt and hand it to Tessi.  A shirt is a shirt.  It doesn't define who she is. So what's my problem?  

Well...in a word...Tessi is my problem.  

While I don't give a rats tush if a girl wears so-called boys undies or jammies SHE DOES.  This is a girly-girl in the extreme.  She makes beauty queens look butch.  This is the kid that snorted and walked away from me in disgust when I asked if she wanted a dress or pants for her school uniform.  She point-blank refused to answer me.  But I needed no words to understand her meaning. Her snarling face and hair flip as she left room said it all.  PANTS?!!!  Don't be stupid.  

She loves her skirts and dresses.  Every winter we fight because I want her to wear pants or at least leggings underneath her dresses to keep her warm.  Nope.  It compromises the twirl factor and she isn't having it.  She is a pink and purple loving, glitter wearing, 6 pairs of shoes in every color type of girl.  There is no occasion in her mind that can't be improved by wearing a tiara.  

Anyone know that girl that flings herself down a slide, climbs a rope ladder, falls in dirt, runs full throttle and pretty much thinks Life is a perpetual "Kill the Weak One" game?  Well, I do.  That's Tessi.  Only she does it in a skirt and fabulous boots.

I'm supposed to present HER with a green or brown shirt with Skylanders on it and say here you go?

Right.  Whatever.  

Hell hath no fury like a Tessi presented with unisex clothing.

More importantly, I have to ask.  Why should I?  She likes bling.  Why can't they make gamers clothes with a little razzle dazzle?  I know it's possible to Bedazzle little girls apparel. I've seen it. I have personally waded  through the landmine field of little and tween girl clothing.  I regularly tell people that I have just been shopping at Whore's R Us.  Sequin-encrusted micro mini bikinis and genuine imitation leather pants for my 9 and 8 year girls are pretty hot and tasty and ALL the rage.  Yet I'M the crazy one because I'm looking for a dress with a video game picture on it?  

Tessi isn't asking for a lot.  As far as her regular requests go, this is pretty tame.  All she wants is to see Stealth Elf and Gil Grunt kicking tail on a polyester-cotton blend dress with a coordinating shrug jacket.  Why can't she have an adorable chiffon layered nightgown in ombre pastel shades with Tree Rex and Lightening Rod battling it out on the front?

I understand the arguments that the merchandisers hit us back with....Market Driven Orders.  Most of the buyers are for boys so yes, most of the items will be tailored to them.  Fine.  I get that.  Key word is MOST.   Didn't you watch The Princess Bride?  Mostly dead means slightly alive.  Fact.  Most of the stuff can be geared to boys but some of it should be geared to girls.

Why not try and branch out?  LEGO has finally accepted that girls like to build things.  They have been doing quite well with the Friends line.  I know.  My girls don't really care about LEGO but we have several sets of it now because it was finally something they could relate to and previously it had just been for boys.

Did you read that last paragraph?  

They don't like the product.  There are other things they want more than this product.  YET they still wanted to have some of it because before they thought LEGO was made only for boys and now they are included in the club. It never mattered before that I told them they could have LEGO.  Get if you like it.  Don't let someone you don't know tell you not to enjoy it because you're a girl!  No.  It was for BOYS according to them.  Also, they really didn't care about it.  No big loss.  Now though, someone has  thrown a plastic wig on an action figure; has them are building a cafe or a horse farm and my girls are lining up screaming to buy it.

Do you hear that marketers?  These kids are your DREAM demographic.  They don't even want your silly product but scream to buy it.  What will they do when you have a product they actually WANT?  

Oh, I shudder at the possibilities.

Well until you dig your head out this geek mom is stepping in where you have dropped the ball.  I scoured Ebay until I found this:

                                                                    

It's hard to see from the picture but its Stealth Elf is on a very purple shirt.  Two requirements met.  We have a chick Skylander and it's purple.  Check.  Just need to add a feminine touch.

Here is what I ended up giving Tessi for her birthday.

                                                                     

No bling, I know.  It's a simple dress that she can wear to the shops, park, or even as a nightgown.  It multi-tasks.  Multi-taking,  I think you all know,  is a VERY feminine trait.

Next I stumbled across some Skylanders grosgrain ribbon on Ebay.  I'm not sure how that slipped onto the market ...all I can think of is cake decorating or maybe making lanyards, I really don't know.  

\

Doesn't matter what it was for before....I know what needs to be done now.

I turned the ribbon into these. 

                                                       

                                                       

I've ended up not really the color combo on the two-bow set but it doesn't matter.  The client was THRILLED.  Her squeals ending up only being able to be heard by dogs.   In fact Miss Tessi wore the lavender bow with a red and pink dress to her bowling birthday party the other day.  Judge all you want.  She felt fabulous. Note the bling people. Note...the....bling.

I have to say I agree with her.  There really isn't too much that can't be improved with a bit of sparkle.  I may start looking at playing Skylanders myself.

Fish are OFF the Family Menu

I think fish tanks are gorgeous and have always dreamed about having the big six-foot tank full of exotic colorful fish and plants.  They take incredible work to maintain though.  I'm treading water most days trying to keep 3 kids, 1 damn dog and a cat alive; I simply don't have the time to put serious effort into fish.  That doesn't stop me from dreaming though and for well over a year I've been trying to keep fish as pets. 

Initially I started with cold, fresh water ones.  Goldfish mainly, a couple of White Widows which I called Left and Right and some tiny midget ones I just called the Zippys.  Goldfish, as sturdy as they are, surprisingly die quite often.  I began running out of room in the front flower bed to hold burials.  Not to mention the Under 9's sobbing keeners (Gaelic professional mourners) brigade was getting old very fast.  Only my girls could turn sitting Shivah into an art form. 

Finally the last two fish died and I decided to go out on a limb and try a different kind of fish.  I got a heater for the tank and began looking online for cooler, more attractive fish to try.   After all, I had already invested in the tank.  I was committed to feeding them and I learned that I could scrape the sides with an old toothbrush every so often and that was clean enough for me.  There was no reason that with a little more time investment that I couldn't keep some of the more pretty fish alive.

I found this awesome little fish called a Tetra.  It has an orange stripe on the bottom and and neon blue/green line on it's back.  Ohhh, so pretty!  Yes, this I would try.  I marched into my local fish store and found that I could get them for only $2 each!  Yes, cute and cheap.  My favorite words combined. So pleased with the frugal fish I ended up buying a Gouramis too.  I know that's his name because I just googled it 30 seconds ago.  In truth I could never remember what it was called so I stuck to Annoying Orange or just Orangie.  In the fish store I simply pointed and said that orange one there.  As I was leaving the kid suggested that I get a plant also but I had already blown my budget and promised to come back in a week.  Being the very sweet and nice kid he was, he actually believed me.  It was darling, really.

10 Tetras and Orangie.  A pleasant edition to our family.  I actually designed and built my entertainment center to house the aquarium front and center underneath the TV.  We could watch iCarly and see prancing fish all at the same time.   Magic!  Everything seemed to be working for a month or so.  Maybe two months.  Time kind of gets away from me sometimes.  

I didn't see any problems and the Tetras...now renamed Zippys, were happy with my dinky fake plant.  Orangie would whip around like a drunken sailor when I would drop in some food.  Not too much! Months ago I had learned the hard way with Goldfish #1, that fish are stupid and will eat themselves to death.  Actually, I didn't realize that was the problem until about Goldfish #4 and a few Zippy's had karked it but I finally did grasp the notion that overfeeding was bad and got the feeding under control before the new cool fish arrived.

Recently though,  I noticed that a few Zippys were missing.  That seemed odd as there's a lid on the aquarium so they weren't jumping out and committing suicide. They were simply gone.  Yes, I knew that was unusual but no, I didn't care enough to really investigate.  Looking back I do admit that this is the point I should have started investigating.  At the time I just figured that Orangie was eating the corpses and quite honestly I was happy with that scenario as it meant no funerals and wailing keeners.  Win win.

I remembered that the kid at the store said that Tetras like big schools so I thought I should replace the dearly departed.  Last week I trekked out to my neighborhood fish store and bought some new Zippys.  Then I remembered my solemn oath to return and buy plants.  I didn't want to but a promise is a promise.  So I bought two little plants and I  listened to what I needed to do in order to care for them.  Great...now I have to keep plants alive too, anyone else starting to see a problem with this?

I came home, dropped the plants in the tank, plopped the fish in and walked away.  As I do.  I came back 45 minutes later to release the fish from the bag.

SEE! I knew to do that! I'm not that terrible a fish owner. 

I noticed then that the plants didn't stay on the ground but floated up to the top.  The needles and leaves were flinging themselves off of the stalk and now the water was this weird murky green color.

You don't have to be a fish god to know that this isn't how it's supposed to work.  I turned to the experts of Facebook to beg for help.  "Tie the plants down" I got.  "Stuff them in a rock," also.  OK.  Another friend said, "just let them float."  I liked that idea the best because it involved significantly less effort.  So float away little plants.  I put in 6 drops of the fertilizer the kid at the shop recommended, turned on the light 9-11 hours a day like he said and went about my life.

Next day, every bloody fish but one Zippy and Orangie were dead.  I found two bodies but the rest were gone!  What?!?!?!?!?   Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!  I couldn't believe it.  I had actually put real effort into these guys. Real effort as defined by me for sure, but it was something extra, something more than the daily routine.  To me that was a commitment to my relationship with the fish.  I felt real betrayal at their selfish passing away.  Again I turned to the Facebook pros and this time my neighbor offered to test the water in my tank with her new spiffy testing kit.  I suppose I should have had one of those but they weren't pretty or sparkly so I really couldn't be bothered. 

I sent Teddy over with a container of water to be tested.  Well....two containers actually.  Captain Cool wasn't thrilled at being asking to do menial labor so to entertain himself he flipped the container in the air to catch it while he walked.  Would have been a good idea too if the lid had been sealed on the box.  He came home a little moist and fairly angry to get a second box.  I waited until he left to snort with laughter.  I am a nice mother after all.

The water was tested and deemed to be toxic.   Not just low or high in some levels but actually toxic.  WHOOPS!  My bad.  Apparently Orangie wasn't eating the Zippys.  They must have been decomposing somewhere that I couldn't see them and they've been poisoning the well so to speak.  The verdict was that I needed to change out a huge part of the water and and start over.  

Changing out the water of a tank is work by the way.  More than a little.  A HELLUVA lot more than I ever, ever wanted to do when I decided to get fish.  I changed out 4 liters of fresh water, being careful of my two remaining fish, trying not to scare them to death.  I even heated portions of the water in the microwave so I didn't shock and kill the remaining fish with cold water.  This is love and effort, damn it.

I did this after dropping Tessi at a friend's house to make her way to basketball and dash home to a sick Connor and angry Teddy.  I suffered through the trial of tank cleaning while blocking said children's view of Adventure Time.  It got ugly for a few minutes.  A few inappropriate names were flung out in anger.  Don't worry, I said I was sorry later.  

It was an ordeal and a real pain in the tush.  But I was determined to fix it and get my fish back!  I sent messages back and forth to Facebook Fish Gods and had a plan of action.  Things were looking up.  Orangie was happy.  Zippy kept hiding in the rock but came out at the end to score some food.  I went to bed knowing that it would be better.

This morning after determining that 2 children were now too sick to go to school and taking the third in I came back home to care for the fish.   I turned on the light and....Zippy was gone....and there was Orangie...on his back, stuffed under the rock.  

OH DEAR GOD NO!

Taking a deep breath I slowed down and remembered that Teddy's psychotic Betta Fish likes to play dead sometimes - no I'm not kidding - so I stuck my hand in to tap him and then screamed in pain.  Now the water was not actually boiling but perilously close. It was certainly hot enough for me I to run to the kitchen sink to stick my arm under cold water and look for burns.

Returning to the living room I looked at the heater inside the tank and *WHAM* was hit with a sudden vivid memory of reading somewhere online that you can't let the heater come out of the water at all when it's plugged in.  There was some line or two about it possibly breaking and then overheating the water.  Yes, I distinctly remember that....NOW.  Not yesterday when it could have been useful.  Not yesterday when I was removing large portions of the water to replace with clean water.

So that's it.  I wanted some more fish and some plants and I ended up boiling the fish alive.  I wouldn't be surprised to learn that there is a Wanted Dead or Alive poster of me up in the fish store.  I'm not even going to post the name of the store here because I'm confidant they do not want to be associated with me. 

I think it's time for me to admit defeat.  I can not keep fish alive.  I surrender, call me France, I'm waiving the white flag.  No more fish. I'm good with things on the internet so I think I'll just download the video of a fish tank and play that on the TV.  I can get the colorful tropical fish that way at least.