Stories of Boken Glass

A wine glass was broken last night. I word it strangely like because I was not the one who broke it. Yes, I was drinking from the glass but Connor was the one who broke it. Not a big deal in and of itself for sure. But the set up to the breaking of said glass,  that's the problem.

See, the girls and I were watching The Big Bang Theory on the iPad when the poor glass karked it. That too, isn't that bad.  Not the first time something has been broken during the hard core combat sport of TV watching.  Sadly, I am not being facetious. Of all TV shows however The Big Bang Theory isn't usually prone to more violent couch caliestentics. Normally I vet the episodes of TBBT very carefully because I'm not a cool mom and I think some TV shows aren't meant for kids. But that's a story of judgement for another night.  Last night though, I was relaxing with some wine and watching a show that I was sure was ok. 

I found out that Teddywas watching the same episode on the lap top but on the other couch. We are a gadget family, this really shouldn't shock any of you. Teddy discovered we were watching the same episode as I laughed at one comment and repeated it. It seems he was about 5 minutes ahead of us.  We shared a laugh over our geeky family.

A few minutes later the girls and I were watching and the scene with the four of them fighting over who gets The Lord of the Rings ring starts.  Teddy pipes up, "Watch out," and two seconds later Wolowitz and Raj start teasing Sheldon about his grandmother having sex to gross him out so he'd drop the ring.

This is when the evening dive bombs.

I yell out, "CRAP! I forgot that part!" Tessi yells, "Ew!" And Connor starts to panic.  I start yelling out, " La, la, la, la, la, " to drown out the noise of Wolowitz' bizarre impersonation of Sheldon's Meemaw. Connor throws her head back and slams my hand and wine glass into the wall and shatters it.

There is no way in Hell I can tell the desk clerk the true story of how this glass was broken. My current plan is to admit to an alright rave party that was crashed by bikers. 

Much, much less humiliating.

Decisions, Decisions

  I took the girls to a dentist appointment after school. There I learned that I had rescheduled the appointment and we were 9 weeks early. Obviously I felt thrilled about this and drove home in a foul mood. Getting all 3 situated at the table to do their homework, I threatened all with slow painful extremity extractions if anyone ate Halloween candy, fought, cried or whinned while I went upstairs to take a shower to soak my head.  Sometimes all I have left is to wash anyway the anger, annoyance and general pissiness I feel when I stuff up my job. I've had quite a few stuff ups recently and while the co-owner swears he is not looking to restructure the organization, no matter how much I plead, I've been feeling really down lately and needed to quickly alter my mood.

While in the shower I opened the window so I could listen outside to downstairs for indications of anarchy and chaos. Some quite mutterings of "Kill you while you sleep" and "I'll tell everyone at school who you're in love with" floated up to my ears. This is a good thing. As anyone with a kid old enough to crawl will tell you, silence is never to be greeted cheerfully. Silence means they are actively trying to keep quiet so they can cover somethg bad up.  You drop and run when its quiet. The other end of the spectrum is total blood letting and keening, that's not good either.  It's painful on the ears, a bugger to clean up and the neighbors can get peckish.

This playful preamble to war is exactly what I need to hear to know that I still have 10 minutes until First Blood is drawn; plenty of time to do a hair treatment!

When the shower ended I was reminded again of the power of Mother Nature though.  I turned off the water and reached down and picked up my towel. I am not legally blind but I'm close. My vision is 20/400. Well in the US it is, I have no idea what the measurements are in Australia- damn metric system. Hold your hand up in front of your face and pull back about 6 inches (Aussies, use the many free conversion apps available to see what that is in centimeters) at about 6 inches things get fuzzy and beyond that its all blurry shapes. 

However I can see well enough in my light-colored tile bathroom when a black, fuzzy shape the size of a sausage roll goes scurrying across the floor and out the door into my bedroom.

I find that in situations like this while screaming doesn't help per say, it can be cathartic. If nothing else I exercised my lungs fairly nicely. When I stopped screaming and the sobbing subsided a bit I was able to crawl out of the tub and find my glasses and put them on. Ironically the cat chose that time to saunter in and demand supper. He and I seemed to have a failure to communicate as my stuttering, hiccuping, sign language gestures pointing him to my room didn't convey the proper message.  He took it to mean,"Crazy broad isn't pouring the kibble now, I should probably groom something" Ever eager to please, Monty began beautifying himself.  My hero.

I moved a few things around and made a half-assed attempt to find the creature...lizard, mouse, rat, land shark, whatever the Hell it is.  I couldn't see it. So as the only responsible adult in the house I did the only socially acceptable thing.

I went downstairs, found Teddy and made him go look for it. Sure some of you do-gooders might balk at me sending in a kid to collect something that scares the Hell outta me. You might even be a bit judge mental and say that I should handle it on my own, like an adult.

Whatever.

I sent my first born up the stairs and turned my back on the whole mess. I give him credit, he didn't flinch. Of course by this time he'd have walked across broken glass surrounded by all the Year 6 girls screaming One Direction songs in order to get away from his sisters. Yes, I took advantage of that. Judge all you want. I'll sleep just fine. Or at least I would have if another, fundamentally more problematic.

He didn't find anything. No creature at all. This creates a real difficult situation for me.

My dilemma isn't that he couldn't find it.  I can just sleep on the couch tonight until I'm sure the little bugger is gone, no problem.  No, my problem is figuring out whether or not to tell the girls about my intruder.  If I do, Connor will become hysterical and will be terrified that whatever is up there will get her.  She will fixate on the creature not being located.We are looking at least 3 or 4 nights straight of her waking up sobbing, which will slowly dissapate over the next few weeks. No one is going to be sleeping well for a very long time.

On the other hand...she will never set foot in my room again and my 6 am "Just wanted to say hi to the cat" wake up calls will stop. I will be able to take a shower without one of them barging in to see what I'm doing that's taking so long. I can go into hiding on the weekends with my iPad and not be interrupted every 30 minutes with," I miss you Mommy, I haven't seen you in weeks," My bedroom will become my own sacred DMZ.

As God as my witness I don't know what to do.

Cure Worse Than the Disease

The flu has invaded our house...again. I naively thought we had been through the worst of it last week when Tessi dropped like a ton of bricks for 36 hours and I got a headache so bad I couldn't lift my head.  Sadly that was just a warm up and now we're back on the illness train. Just in time for the school holidays and Ted starts his new job. Excellent. Honestly, I epexted nothing less. All good stories start with "Dad was out of town" or "we were all trapped in the house" -the universe is always watching and ready to get you when you can least handle it.

This week the flu/bubonic plague/SARS virus, whatever it is, slams back into us robbing Tessi of her gymnastics camp; which she was trying to weasel out of anyway and take a day of cricket camp from poor Teddy; who really did want to go. Of course I am coming down with something as well because i was up most of the night with Himself, all these kids keep breathing their germs on me and I have no immune system.  Trying to get ahead of the game I brewed myself a cup of Horehound tea, recommended to me a while ago by a dear friend as a cold remedy.  About a month or so ago Teddy was sick and I made him drink it.  He got better, very quickly. It was like one of those hawked miracle tonics but only it worked!  I was singing the tea's praises to anyone who would listen. Now I should mention that Teddy carried on and whined about the taste being bad.  He took 20 minutes to drink a small cup and acted like it was hemlock or something. So I really didn't pay that much attention to him. I mean, this is the kid who whines about grilled cheese sandwiches tasting funny because the wrong plastic cheese was used to make it.  Be serious.  I wasn't impressed.  I've heard that its not pleasant from other people, but really how bad can it be? I've drunk Milwaukee's Best before and survived. I wasn't worried.

This is where arrogance can be your enemy sometimes. When you think you've reached a point that your life's experiences have trained you do handle everything, Life laughes at you. Laughes at you in the form of Horehound tea.  When I told Teddy I was going to drink the tea he smiled for the first time in more than 12 hours. Head splitting open from the pain of a headache and a fever so high he can barely move. Yet the thought of me drinking this tea brought him back from the dead and nearly dying. "Go ahead Mom, you'll love it. It tastes just like regular tea," this was my first warning as to what was coming. He is never that happy unless someone else is in misery.

Taking a sip, I realized that I have joined a rather unfortunate group of people. A group I call the "tasteless honest." Over the years I've met many different kinds of people in many different places. There is always someone who is brutally; if not tastelessly, honest. For example, ever been around someone who drinks something and says, "Ugh, that tastes like horse piss?" Now, usually I stand and wonder, how do they know what horse piss tastes like? If they do honestly know, why would they admit it? It's something I would be proud to share, even amongst close friends.   Now personally I've never imbibed such folly; Milwaukee's Best notwithstanding, but after this mornings drink, yes, I think I do know what horse piss tastes like. So I can join this group I suppose, with a clear conscience. I hope there are jackets.

It's been two hours since I've drunk the tea. Sadly there are no miracle improvements yet. Unless you count the smile on Teddy's face every time he looks at me and asks me if maybe Tessi shouldn't try a cup.  I just glare at him and tell him to blow his nose and shut up. I think though, that will be my one and only cup of Horehound tea.  Not sure if I'm brave enough to try another cup.  I say this not because it was too vile - again former Milwaukee's Best drinker here. It's that I'm not sure how I would feel about myself being the person who claims to know what horse piss tastes like AND went back for another cup. Usually I make fun of those types, rather vocally.

Yet Another Person Angry at Me

Once again I've angered a very important person. I'm starting to think its in my genetic make-up.  I really do have a talent . Although this time there are two major differences, 1. I am taking intense pride in my role and 2. This person is actually important.

When I dropped my son off at school this morning he was so angry he could only speak in muttering voicing and was incapable of answering his sister's baiting him to fight. That's some powerful anger.  My sin you ask? I had the unmitigated gall to have him change his sweater (jumper) and socks and sneakers to the school uniform ones.  Burning in Hell I am.

See after 5 years at Normanhurst Public my son has decided that the rules about the uniform don't really apply to him. He can choose which parts he agrees with and better yet, what he doesnt. For example, he can wear his bright burnt orange UT sweatshirt to school instead of the blue NPS one because he's cold and doesn't want to change it. Yes, Sydney has some blistery cold mornings, I think we've been averaging 10-12 degrees- thats 60-65 first thing when we wake up.  Surely its cruel to make him withstand those brutish temps for the 15 seconds it takes to switch the jumpers.  When I suggested that he could put the school one on to start with it was made abundantly clear that I was obviously missing.the.entire.point. I know that because he told me so.  

However today when I saw the white socks and sneakers and pointed them out I was told his class was partaking in a physical fitness program and he needed runners (sneakers) to wear. I gently and with love, lots of love, reminded him that at HIS insistence I paid a hefty fee for black runners that look like school shoes.  Then suddenly he didn't know where thhe shoers were. They were magically transported to the ever popular hidey hole for wayward shoes dimension. Oddly enough, I learned that the magic words to force the forces of evil to return the shoes to our universe are,"Find the shoes before I do, because if I find them, things precious to you are going away". And behold the apparence the the shoes! Truly this is the work of the Lord....

Surely at this point this boy who has worn the same clothes 4 days a week for 5 years,  understands I'm not screwing around and dresses in his uniform.  You would like to think that he was smart enough to assess the level of my annoyance and toe the line.  Yes, he toed it and then flipped the pinky toe right over it.  Walking past me I look down and the little snot still has on his white socks, not the uniform blue and gray ones.  WHY, you ask? Get this, he actually said this,"Um, we have Fitness today and um those school ones gets holes in them.". Riiiight, not his rock solid white ones, no those are are made from titanium I guess.

Evil Troll Mom sent him back to him room to try again.  Somehow he managed to survive his trials and emerged decked out impersonating an NPS student.  This all came at a high price I must say. A 17 minute ride to school with almost complete silence.  I'm crushed, just crushed I say.  Obviously I need to work harder on my interpersonal communication skills.

Baby's First Con

Sometimes something so devious happens all you can do is enjoy the show.

My girls' birthdays are in May and June. The one-two punch of birthday fever. I usually buy my little fashionistas a new outfit as a present. Connor got her assortment of clothes and accessories but I found out a month later that I missed a major desire of hers. Tessi got her clothes and boots. Boots are apparently the only thing Connor has ever wanted. Or more accurately she's always wanted them from the first second Tessi opened the box.

Connor has been suffering with her bootless feet for a few months now. Occasionally I've heard her justify her actions in a fight with Tessi by saying, "it's ok, cause you got the boots" Apparently, those are some damn fine boots.  I had no idea.  But then again, being the bad mother I am, I don't really care.  As much as my middle child may vehemently disagree I don't owe her fine footwear.  If she has to suffer this brutal Sydney winter of 18/60 degrees with simply socks and sneakers, so be it.  Life isn't fair...

Moving on, now it's a few months later and we are gearing up for the school's Education Week concerts.  Each class performs either a musical number or a play.  They dress up in fancy costumes and it's great fun for the kids.  I'm been hunting down Teddy's costumes for a few weeks, just found out that Tessi is the lead in hers (Jeez, that's another blog post in and of itself) and Connor has been bringing home bits and pieces of info about hers, no word on costumes.   Apparently they are doing some sort of rap; have no idea about what.  Alright, I'm up to my neck in bear and gruffelo costumes and helping get Tessi's entire class fitted, I don't really think about Connor's.

Now, here's when I should admit that I have a slight tendency to go a tiny bit overboard with costumes.  Halloween, dress up, plays, parades, whatever...I go a bit loony.  I sew a ton a crap, I buy the right accessories, I travel to 5 different stores to get the exact right shade of green thread.  I once spent 2 hours on the computer searching for the right Apollo 11 patches to print and sew onto to Teddy's costume when he played Buzz Aldrin.  I searched in 3 stores once for the perfect fabric to make Connor a zebra costume, then I hit 2 different op-shops until I found the khaki shirt Teddy needed so he could dress up as the hunter that shots the zebra.  I literally sewed my finger to to Connor's skirt with the sewing machine as I was trying to get the elastic in the waist.  I stopped, pulled the needle back up, swore, kept on sewing.

In short, I'm out of my buggering mind.  I know that.  It's ok.  I'm fine owning that crazy.  Most people around me accept it.  A few shaking heads but really if someone isn't shaking their head in confusion at me I don't know how to act.  What I was not aware however was how easily my neurosis could be taken advantage of by an eight year old.

Yesterday Connor got in the car after school sighing that the class had to dress up as cartoon super heroes.  Hmm, that sound like fun.  "Yea," she said, "All my friends are dressing up as Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Spider Girl.  But I don't want to do that.  I want to be different"  Really?  Connor, Miss do anything to fit in with her friends, God Forbid any one see that there is anything different about her - SHE wants to be different.  Hmm, ok.  I'm driving, trying to drown out Tessi reading "The Gruffelo" so I'll go with it.  Connor then announces that she is going to be Black Widow. 

Alrighty.  I can work with this!  During the run of the Avengers here I was pretty vocal of my love for Black Widow.  Finally a female character in a action movie that kicks ass, doesn't need help, isn't wearing 4 inch heals and has boobs the size of basketballs.  Natural of course.

Black Widow.  Cool, my daughter wants to be an independent woman who can take of herself and everyone around her.  I'm thrilled.  Immediately I start planning the outfit.  I rule out the black catsuit.  Sure, it's awesome but not practical.  Too expensive for one-time wear.  I will get a long sleeved button down black shirt and black leggings.  Yes, this will work.  My brain continues to spin, no longer hearing anything about Tessi's weird bear-like creature and his fears and morph straight ahead into authentic costume design.  I an hear Connor chanting in the back, "Black Widow is cool.  She's a real hero, she doesn't need any guy to save her"  It's just feeding the fire in my blood.  Hey!  I know it!  She's an Avenger, I'll put a large red letter "A" on her chest.  Wait a minute...a large Scarlet "A" on my daughter's chest.  No, I will not be doing that.  I read Hawthorne, I know what happens to Hester....Maybe I'll put it on her back.  Yes, that will do. 

Ok we're almost home buy now and I have the outfit planned.  I need the shirt, pants and what else?  Yes, boots she needs boots.  Nice flat, no stupid high heel, sensible ass-kicking boots.

Did you notice that?  Connor has just gotten me to say she needs boots.  You know, for the costume.  Not because she wants them.  No, no.  The costume needs the boots to be authentic.

I fell hook, line and sinker for her cunning plan.  She didn't give a rat's ass about Black Widow but she KNEW how much I liked the character and how much I'd want to make sure she looked as much like her as possible.  "Yes, Mommy, I would love to get the catsuit but that's too much money to spend on something just to wear once.  I think the shirt and leggings are perfect.  I'll need boots too, don't you think?"

Now as someone who appreciates a good con I am applauding not only her sheer tenacity, but her patience at pulling it off.  She planned this.  Choose her words carefully; timing the delivery so I would be off guard in the car.  She played me like a violin and it was brilliantly done. Now she could have been Bat Girl but there was no guarantee on boots.  Now by combining my interest (ahem, ridiculous obsession) in  accurate costume design with my joy at my girl not wanting to be one of these fake token female heroes she cemented her chances of success.This is the first step in the 12 steps of playing the system to win as far as I'm concerned.  She will need this skill to overcome the truly stupid people she will encounter in her adult like.

As a parent it is more than a little terrifying to realize how much she's been paying attention and learning how to manipulate me.  She has been stewing on these damn boots for months.  Connor has been covertly paying attention to my likes and dislikes and actively concocted a plan to ensure that she would win.  This is only the first step towards a future teeming with ways and means to drive me totally insane.  I will have to wear mirrors on my shoulders so I can watch my back with this one.

Well played, Madam.  Well played.

Job Performance Issues

Back after 2 weeks away.  No, I didn't go anywhere, the kids were home for 2 weeks.  Here in Australia there is a break of a few weeks in between terms or marking periods as we say back home.  It's good in that they don't have 3 months off all at once but it's bad in that they have 2 weeks off at once.  I say that not because I hate my kids....no I don't.  Just because I'm not the mushy gushy mom that can't stand being away from Precious Snookem's longer than a few hours doesn't mean I actually hate my kids.  What I hate is the pack of feral creatures they become when they are trapped together.  Oh like for example at home for two weeks.

Every mother (well every HONEST one) will tell you that even though they will walk through fire for their kids listening to the constant fighting, whining, crying, and general bellyaching will make even the most patient saint a psychotic hose beast beast bent on mass murder.   Alright, maybe not all mothers will admit to the last part but I do.

However even living through rough holidays and enduring ENDLESS hours of Adventure Time and listening to those damn One Direction songs - good God, REALLY?  - only a mother is crazy enough to still have nurturing feelings towards the people causing the strife.  I guess it's our version of Stockholm Syndrome.  But instead of caring for our captures we're caring about people who's so reason to get out of bed is to piss you off.

This is not normal, I understand that.  If an adult spent half as much effort lying to me, ratting out a fellow friend, picking fist fights with yet another friend or asking me the same bloody question 15 times a minute, just to hear my voice, I think you'd agree me that severing ties is required.  Or if ties couldn't be severed holding the person in open disdain would be expected.  AT THE VERY LEAST no rational person would expect me to been over backwards with concern for the little twit at the slightest provocation of fear or pain.

Unless you are a mother.  Then all rules are different and you are the bad person if you snap and tell the little cherub in question to piss off.  Yes, yes, I understand that there different rules of engagement with battles with children then with adults but this goes beyond the pale.  Any other kid pull half the crap on me that my kids pull and I'd be plotting against them too.  Just in a kinder, gentler fashion.  No blood, but a bit of public humiliation when I work Canteen.  I know my boundaries.

But my kids....that's an entirely different story.

Yesterday, after 2 weeks of not being allowed out of the same room with Connor, watching her needle and pick fights with her siblings, again listening to that damn One Direction and on and on about her new obsession with Big Bang Theory episodes, we all reached the wall.  At the end of a long day in the CBD and me furiously trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner - after Sasha ate the cheese I was going to use and serve up dinner to bored and angry kids Connor would not stop asking me which acting voice to use when saying, "What is going on?" (side note - I have NO damn clue where that came from.  She literally walked into the kitchen, stopped between me and the sandwich press and demanded the different ways of saying the phrase.  What.the.Hell?)  and I snapped, "Oh Christ Connor, look at me.  What am I trying to do?"  And my insanely annoying daughter responded with, "I know, shut up and go away"

Being the calm, responsible person that I am, I handled that comment the best way I could.  I burst into sobbing tears.  Not the pretty ones.  The tear gushing, snot-flying, splotchy ones that hiccup out of your mouth and when you try to talk you sound like you're speaking a really guttural foreign language.  Those tears. 

I have never in Connor's life said that to her.  Not once.  But since I have thought I was immediately consumed with the fear that I had scarred her for life with...what...the aura of the phrase?  I dunno, but I knew that I was instantly a bad mother and my poor baby's emotional well being was endangered.  No matter that she would have driven a tee totalling monk to drink these past few weeks and there were times I was hoping Teddy would haul off and crack her one....it didn't matter.  My mere thoughts had seeped into her brain and therefore I was bad.

This right here is how motherhood is different from other jobs.  I have never in my life felt as bad at doing a job as I do most days with motherhood.  I didn't feel that bad when I burned entire batches of popcorn when I worked at a movie theater, not as useless when I screwed up some exam scores for a testing center I worked at nowhere near as stupid when I told people the wrong law when I was a paralegal.  But have my own kid say she knows to shut up and go away?  Yep, grounds for dismissal. 

Only I can't get canned.  I can't lose this job.  So here I was last night, sobbing how sorry I was that Connor thought that and that I never said that and I didn't mean it.  Which of course made her cry because she didn't understand why I would be upset.  Another parenting win.

So if I had to self evaluate myself for the last term's productivity I'd have to give myself a Developing, with room to Improve.  I'm hoping management gives me a bit of sabbatical to reevaluate my commitment to the company.  Some place with umbrellas in the drinks.

Major Shake Up

I just had an epiphany, (major psychotic break) a revelation if you will.  As I awoke to another day of chaos I decided it was too much.

Today's morning began with the girls fighting over who got to have Monty sleep with them and Teddy sleeping through Sashsa peeing all over his floor.  As I stood in Teddy's room, trying to rescue his school backpack and uniform which had been left on the floor I listened to them argue in the kitchen over who was allowed to have a waffle or not.

I must admit that I snapped a bit.  It wasn't pretty.  The dog ran and hid under the table. Words were said.  Now I have to come up with an alternate meaning to the "horse you road in on" but there was a positive result.  I had a discussion  - can't say conversation because they weren't allowed to say a God.Damn.thing. about the concept of First World and Third World problems.  Connor was horrified about kids who not only don't eat waffles but may not eat for the day.  I think Teddy was formulating a list of weapons found in HALO in his mind but he was almost able to fake his attention.  I will give him some props for that.  Tessi was still pissed about the damn cat.  So while I was imparting knowledge about others suffering my kids weren't understanding that was my clue that they too were about to suffer.  Kids are very smart unless they are very, very stupid.

This brought me to my grand design change.  My house is bloody mess because my kids have too much crap and don't care one whit about it.  They will clean something up only if directly ordered to.  There is no desire to live outside mess just to do what they want.  Soooo, now instead of me coming up with lists of chores to be done I will start assigning rooms to be cleaned.  Each will get a room.  Before tv, computer, any bloody thing, their assigned room must be done.  Since they don't know what needs to be done, in the beginning they will have to have me inspect it every 2 minutes.  Only when these items are done can fun stuff be utalized.

Right now the 3 of them are scrambling to empty the dishwasher, clear and wipe the kitchen table, take out recyling trash and empty kids laundry baskets.  Teddy just countered with the classic, "But we only have 10 minutes until we leave"  to which I responded, "Well, I guess you're kind of screwed then, aren't you?"

The best part though, the piece de resistance, is the bedroom cleaning.  Each of them will be assigned to clean the OTHER'S room.  There will be a box for trash and a box for items that it's not sure where they belong.  The owner of the room will be allowed to go through the trash box before removal.  Now if the owner said room has items that he knows he will get in trouble for having...say candy wrappers, soda cans or his Touch, perhaps he should remove them before his eagle-eyed sister, on the hunt for WMD that she can destroy his ass with, finds them and squeals on him like a stuck pig.

I'm going to spend some time creating check lists of items to done in a room cleaning.  Kitchen: wipe table, sweep floor, Living Room: remove shoes, fold blankets, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I may even laminate them to give the lists that shiny glow of authority.

Now, will this make them appreciate things and care about the world around them?  Probably not.  However as I'm still coming down off of my adrenalin pumping rage I realize that I don't care.  They will understand cause and affect though, I'll make damn sure of that. 

Cause Mommy to crack and the affect will be Hell on Earth.

NSW Teacher's Union Strike

Growing up in the North Eastern US, as a descendant of employees of the Pennsylvania Rail Road and Western PA coal mines I was brought up to be a moderate Democrat with very pro-union feelings. Wasn't too much worse than a scab in my parents house. Picket lines were lines written in blood and pain.  They were to be honored and supported...at all costs.

Now having those same thoughts and beliefs while living in Texas made me a granola-munching, tree-hugging pinko commie, good-for-nothing soldier hater.  In fact, I used to shock many native Texans when I said how humbled I was by those in military service and how shameful it was how poorly our vets were treated. They could never reconcile that I didn't blame immigrants for poisoning the well but but still argued for vets rights. I do that a lot I think, I confuse the Hell outta people. I'm ok with that, in fact, I may put that on a t-shirt.

I mention this to try and establish some street cred for myself before I start talking about the Aussie way of striking. Let me also add that some of my very best friends are teachers...ok, that was a bit of a joke but both my parents were teachers. My father, a natural born instructor, had to leave the profession in order to provide for his family. That is an honest to goodness crime in my book.  Humanity lost something spectacular the day Frank Welch couldn't afford to teach anymore.  Well, Humanity's loss was my gain.  My mother was a principal at a Catholic school and never earned more than $25,000 a year. I know all to well what it's like living on a teachers salary and the nicest way to put it is that it sucks. You just don't get the expensive senior prom dress on a teachers salary. Yes, I'm still bitter. Leave me alone.

Trust me, I am PRO teacher. I'm such a closet socialist that I think all organized education is doing it wrong. Instructors should be rock stars and all kids should demand knowledge as their birthright.  The idea that the quality of learning is dependent on on wealth is truly obscene to me.

Yea, yea....I know, in what REAL world Che? But if you don't visualize Utopia how can there be any hope of it becoming reality? Hmmmm, yet another shirt idea...I am on a roll.  May send that bad boy off to Thinkgeek.com  Yes, I know it's not really Geek but what the Hell?  Worth a shot....

That being said, the Aussie way of striking confuses the HELL out of me. Back home union and management scum disagree. They yell at each other at a few meetings. Management says no, union says try to work without us. They strike. They leave work. Management may or may not hire loser scabs to try and do work. Strike lasts a day, a week, months or years until one side caves, resolutions are made, both sides claim victory and work resumes. The end.

Here inOz the NSW government does something to piss off the teachers. The teachers union rallies the teachers and they announce...in advance...that there will be a work stoppage... Usually 2 hours. During this 2 hours teachers have a union meeting and discuss why they are pissed and then.... now get this...they go back to work....at the time they said they would.

For tomorrow they must be extra cheesed because they have called for a 24 hour stoppage-essentially the whole day. Then they will go back to work on Thursday.

From what I can piece together the idea is that parents will be so hacked that they will demand that their government reps , called PM's, will acquiesce to whatever the teachers want.

Um...why the Hell would they do that? YOU'VE GONE BACK TO WORK ALREADY. Yes, the teacher's  didn't like what the government said they were going to do, duly noted. So what?

Let me say this again - I am PRO teacher. I'm keeping my kids home tomorrow and I have nothing but positive feelings towards my schools teachers. Let me put this in print:  I love and cherish all the teachers at Normanhurst Public School.  I think you are wonderful. You are grossly underpaid.  You are tragically under-appreciated for the work you do. If our teachers actually walked out I would support them. I would walk the picket line with them, drop off dinners to their families and bitch to every damn parliament member there is demanding that they get our teachers back.

But this kind of striking just pits the teachers against the parents. Working parents despertly trying to find extra child care for 2 hours while trying to earn a living. Parents trying to juggle the normal every day schedule of the week...this causes stress for parents...not for government.

Teachers, I love ya, but you are pissing off the wrong group. In the end teachers and parents are on the same side- quality education.  Parents want it and need it.  Teachers want it and need it. Happy educators mean quality education. We want this, I swear, but if you keep jacking with us you will force us to be against you and I promise you, the wrong people will win.  Most of all, the children will lose.

So tomorrow while our teachers are meeting and trying to develop strategies to improve school conditions and I will be trapped in a showing of Brave with at least 9 munchkins - the people who can sign off on making the changes you want?  What will they be doing?  They will be sitting on their asses, in their offices, just as they did today and just as they will tomorrow and 2 days from now. Twiddling their thumbs, waiting for the worms to turn until you are back at work. Only now,  teachers and students are a day behind in their term work, parents are frazzled and pissy about the extra work on them and the powers-that-be?  What will Mr. Barry O'Farrell and the leaders of our state government be doing?

Sitting on their asses, in their offices, on the phone telling every media agent they can what selfish prats the teachers are... all while NOT making the changes you need.


Please, re-think this plan.

Another Reason to Hate Bugs

 ****Edited because apparently I was so strung out on kids this morning I forgot to add the pictures.  Yep!  That's me, the one my friends call Techie...."*******



I have issues with insects.  Well, I'm not really sure issues is the right word.  I hate them.  Always have.  My dad is a major bug lover so I can only imagine the massive disappointment it is for him to have such an avid and vocal bug hater for a daughter.  Such is life though, we can't always get what we want.

For me bugs are either gross, annoying or downright terrifying.  Moving from the Northeastern US to Texas was a real eye-opener for me.  I encountered more weird bugs and crazy looking things than I ever thought it possible they could exist.  Then I moved to Australia.  A place that Evolution said, "Nah, nevermind.  Even I can't figure out what to change you into so I'm just going to take off"  There are things here that are simply insane.  Either in size, color or just weirdness.  I spend a great deal of my waking moments wondering, "What the Hell is that and how long do I have to live?"

As you can guess, bugs are big part of my conscientiousness.  I bitch about them constantly.  There I said it.  Now people can't complain about my whinging if I own up to it right?  No, they can but it was worth a shot.  I bring this up because I do blame a lot of my problems on bugs.  I blame my heart palpitations, my sore throats from screaming, the pain in my head from all headaches and I blame the large scar on my leg caused by last year's sick tick bite.

However this morning, I'm blaming my children's crazy behavior on a bug.  Normally even I wouldn't do that.  They've earned the right to take responsibility for their own stupid-ass actions but no, today, I blame this moth.

I saw this moth up high in my kitchen curtains the other day.  I made Teddy climb up on the counter to see what it was - yes, he is my personal canary in the mine - and low and behold it's a blue moth.  Now I'm not afraid of moth's, they are classified as simply annoying to me.  This one was blue though, something I'd never seen so I posted a picture on Facebook because this weird stuff still gets me.  This morning I noticed though that Mr. Moth is now an Ex-Moth.  Note following picture.

It seems he didn't notice the BIG ASS spider web web 6 inches from where he was resting and flew into it and Madam Spider got her some breckie....Circle of Life.  No tears on my part, one less bug in the universe.  As Agnostic Front used to say on their whirlwind metal music tours, "Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out"

I mention to the kids that the blue moth has bit it.  No big deal, right.  Nope,  this is when the Hell begins.  Connor comments that it's not blue.  It's orange.  Both Teddy and I turn to look at it.  No, it's blue.  "NO!!!" Connor insists, it's orange!!!  Then Teddy fires back that she's blind and doesn't know what she's talking about.  I, with a bit more tact, state humbly that the moth is in fact, blue.  Connor yells, "No, from my distance, it's ORANGE!"  Meaning, I assume from her perspective, but I haven't had any tea yet so I could be wrong.  Teddy takes this moment to lay straight back, on top of Connor, forcing her to fall back to keep boy cooties from touching her.  He does this, again with the assumption to look at the moth from her "distance"

This is when it all snowballs straight to the fiery pits of Hell. Connor kicks Teddy in the back for touching her, Teddy yells at her for being stupid about the moth and for kicking him.  I point out that he was laying on her and with a Tessi worthy snarl he turns to me and spits out, "I.wasn't.on.her.  I.was.over.her"  Tessi starts laughing, Connor is glowering.  I blink heavily and spit back with more venom, "I'm.looking.right.at.you.  You're.laying.on.her.right.now. DUMBASS"  He storms out, Tessi is laughing uncontrollably now.  She gets up and says, "Mommy, you know how you decorate our chairs on our birthdays? Well, you know how Connor got to pick the colors for her chair?  I want light blue and light green."  Great, now I have to hunt the shops this morning for light blue and light green crepe paper, on top of making 25 cupcakes, a cake, wrap presents, 4 loads of laundry.  No problem.

I turned to Connor and said, "YOU!  I blame you for this.  Every other year it didn't matter what color crepe paper I used and now I have to take custom orders!"  I would like to mention that this was a joke.  She was laughing....and then stopped.  The sobbing started and she ran from the table shouting, "YOU HATE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This all happened before 7:02 this morning.

All because of a dead Australian blue bug...and 3 crazy kids.

Sometimes They are are just Too Damn Funny

Tessi's birthday is in a few days.  I'm surprised you don't know about it as she has been announcing it to any carbon-based entity that stops long enough to listen.  Fair enough, she's turning 7 and birthday's are pretty damn cool.  It's the one day of the year I don't tell them, "You know, the sun doesn't rise and set on your rear end" or "It's not about YOU"  On your birthday - it is all about you.  As it should be.  However, I think there should be some limits to the extravagance. 

For example:  Yes, I will be bringing treats for the class on Tessi's birthday.  No, I will not roll out 25 tiny marzipan/fondant covers for the cupcakes and and hand draw Tessi's face on all of them.  First of all, I am a lousy artist.  Second of all, the cupcakes are mini and you wouldn't recognize the face anyway and third of all, that's insane.  Yep, she said she wanted this for her school treat.  The compromise is that I will get the cupcakes and put glitter on them.  Yes, to me that's a compromise.  That's the perk of being the leader of dictatorship.

Also, We will be having a family celebration on her birthday as is tradition.  The Birthday person gets to chose the birthday meal.  9 times out of 10 this is pizza.  This year Tessi announced she wanted to go to the Blue Gum - local pub/restaurant.  Hmmmm, when asked why she stated because they have pizza and yummy desert.  I told Tessi there would be no desert as we would come home for cake and presents.  I wish I had my camera on me to have immortalized the look on her face. I can only imagine what thoughts were screaming through her brain.  If I had to guess, I would say there was a combination of  "Jesus Christ, the old bat has finally gone off her nut" and "Did she just say Connor is getting all my presents"  There were shades of horror, disgust, terror, rage and general confusion.  I really wonder if she will go into acting some day.  I was impressed with how she was able to use her face to capture the moment and display all of those emotions.  Then she set her jaw, snarled at me, "FINE, can I have lasagna?"  Lasagna at home rather than $100 for dinner out?  "Why yes, Tessi, yes you can" 

The mom taketh away, but then she giveth back.  Since I'm now a "good" mom again we start to discus her birthday cake.  This is funny.  She says she wants a "made cake"  Hmmmm, God as my witness, I'm not sure what she means.  What the Hell is an "unmade cake"  so I stupidly ask her.  I said stupidly because based upon the look she throws at me before answering only a complete dumb ass wouldn't know what it is.   Here's her reply: It's a cake you make.  Yep, that was her pearl of wisdom that she imparted.  So I guess she was right, any dumb ass should have known that.  Okay....I'll try and tread along a little further.  I ask if she wants the puppy dog cake that I got for Connor last month and immediately got a look of pure disgust.  I guess she remembers me dropping that cake too. 

You know, you can be filled with sorrow to your core and you'll never be sorry enough for dropping one damn dog cake.

No, Madam doesn't want to risk another mushed puppy face so she wants...get this....me to cover the cake like Connor's Star Wars cake (again with the damn marzipan) and draw her face.  See, we're back to having her face on things.  What the Hell is up with that?  Only now she says since the cake is bigger than a cupcake I should also draw all her family on it too.  Sort of standing behind her looking at her with love.  This is when Teddy pipes in, " Whoa, you want a picture of us looking at you?  No way, I'm doing that"  That's when I point out that it wouldn't be a real picture, I'm supposed to draw this, remember.  Teddy says, "I don't want a picture of me staring at Tessi like that"

Now, I'll be honest.  I'm laughing my ass off right now, for more than a few reasons.  1.  I can't draw for crap.   My stick figures look obscene.  I need a ruler to draw a curvy line.  In short, I suck.  EVERYONE knows this.  Somehow I'm supposed to create some sort of loving family portrait, on FREAKIN CAKE?  Whatever  2.  Teddy's main concern is that there will be evidence, albeit cake evidence,  that he is looking at his sister with love.  I guess Homey don't play that.  3.  Tessi actually wants her face all over every damn thing all of a sudden.  Um hi, I thought the Super ID developed 3 years ago?

True to my form I decide another compromise is in order.  "Tessi, how about I make a chocolate cake with chocolate icing, cover it with the special flat cover (marzipan) and YOU draw all over it, anything you want and Connor won't be allowed to help." 

Two eyebrows shoot up.  One on Tessi, "Just me, by myself?"  One on Connor, "Wait, why can't I help?"  Of course Teddy is still grumbling about how he'd better not see himself on it.  But the die is cast.  Tessi accepts the idea happily and immediately starts planning what she's going to draw and most importantly, starts pointing out to Connor that she can't draw anything. 

So far, it's the best birthday ever.

Single Parenting

My husband flew to San Fransisco yesterday and will be gone for a few days.  His company Atlassian, is having their annual Summit conference/meeting/group meet/corporate kegger, I'm not sure what it's all about.   I do know they announce all the cool stuff they are working on and geeks around the world oooh and awe.  In a few weeks he's going to fly back to San Fransisco and attend Google's conference/meeting/group/corporate kegger and do the same thing.  Only more geeks and more ooohing and aweing.

I'm happy for him, going to Summit is a big deal and preparing for it is a major part of his job.  Plus the added bonus of getting a personal invitation and free pass to attend Google's play date is a major coup for him.  It's wonderful that he's working with incredible people in a strong company with a strong future. 

But damn it!  It really is a pain in my butt when he goes away.  Now instead of seeing the kids for an hour at night and spending lots of time with them on the weekend it's me.  Every single bloody moment we're home.  Now, before you start with the, "Sheesh, quite whining, I LOVE my kids and cherish every moment with them" just don't.  I really am not even listening anymore.  I don't trust ANYONE who can say with a straight face, "I don't mind listening the same story about a bit on iCarly 14 times in 20 minutes" and "It doesn't bother me at all to listen to them voice their dismay about what's for dinner" and "Really, is doing 4 loads of laundry a day, every day all that bad?"  It's not normal, ok.  Even when I had a paying job I got 2 fifteen minutes breaks and an hour lunch break every day.  It's expected to need a breather from work....vacations/ holidays anyone???!!!  Human being are simply not meant to do one thing all day, every day and not flip out a bit.  It's the curse of having a brain...it doesn't like monotony.  Also, I have insanely high standards of personal space.  I always have, I can't stand close talkers and when I have people crawl all over me my skin starts it itch.  By the end of the day I do NOT want any one sitting on me, fighting with their sisters and smacking into me and DO NOT STEP ON MY FEET.  I will hurt you.

So here I am and my breaks are when the kids are in school.  6 hours of freedom to do what I what, when I want.  So how did I spend today's breather?  First hour at school.  AWESOME!  I had to schedule a meeting with Tessi's extra reading teacher today as it's the only day she's in and I really wanted to make sure she was on board with the dyslexia stuff and see what we need to be doing.  Then I met with the new school counselor.  I don't want to post a lot now about that meeting as nothing is for sure but let's just say we had an excellent conversation about Cyber bullying and what parents can do about it.  More accurately, what I may have a chance to do about it.  Will fill you in later.

Next on my whirlwind Sans Children Tour?  Westfield shops.  I hit 2 stores looking for warm quilts because I found out this morning that my darling son-WHO I SHOWED HIS SISTER'S CHARRED SHEET FROM USING THE ELECTRIC BLANKET - forgot and left his on all night.  Claimed he wasn't warm enough.  So I tried to find him a good heavy quilt so I can ditch the electric blanket.  Sadly, so is everyone else in the Hornsby Shire and the only ones left were the lovely $200 ones.  Again, before you do-gooders ask, "Can you really put a price on your child's safety?"  Yes, I can.  $200 for a quilt is too damn much.  Especially the week before one kids birthday and we're STILL recovering from Teddy's sudden growth spurt and needing new school shoes, sneakers, jumper (sweatshirt) and pants.  Leave me alone, I'm trying here.

The bit of shopping a bust I head on over to next part of my fun-filled morning.  Grocery shopping!  Hot8diggedy damn!  No, actually I'm serious about that one.  Anyone with kids will know my next statement is true: After you have shopped with your children, especially after school and they are at their BEST, you will kill whomever you have to not to do it again.  You can always spot the moms who have forgotten this rule.  They are standing at the counter waiting to pay, voice horse from screaming, children either sullen or still fighting but ALL out of arm's reach and she has the LOOK on her face.  The mom look that says, "Oh yeah, shopping with kids is the 9th Circle of Hell.  I forgot that.  My bad." The resolution in her eyes not to make that mistake again is unmistakable.  So yeah, I did my shopping during the day.

The one saving grace was Dan Murphy's.  The holy land of liquor stores.  Huge, lots of selection and right between the grocery store and the parking deck.  I really couldn't ask anything more.

Now that I'm home I will spend 1 precious hour doing what I WANT! - ie play on the computer and then some chores and back to pick up the minions.  Then we will begin our afternoon performance of "Fight and Argue Until Mommy's Head Explodes"  I used to think they did many shows a day of that particular piece but I've come to learn that it's one long act with the occasional intermission.  I don't know if it has the staying power of Cats but I suspect it will be a top-billed show for quite a few years. The reviews on it are mixed but you know what rat-bastards critics can be.  How can you judge art?

Tomorrow is my last chance at freedom as then we have the weekend and it will be All Mommy, All the Time.  What's making me a little nervous is that Connor was complaining that her head hurt today....first symptom of nasty virus that's going around.  Which with my luck means she'll be home tomorrow. Since Connor is afraid to be alone in her room if she's home sick she will be attached to my hip.  That means a 3-day weekend of Up Mummy's Bum.  I've changed my mind...that is art I'm willing to judge.

So watch the news tomorrow night people, you may be in for a rare treat, "And the crazy American, before turning the gun on herself....."

Just write on my tombstone, "Here lies Cecelia, she would have made it if her husband didn't have to go to a corporate kegger play date.  Hope he chokes on the booth weasel trinkets!"

Things Not to Wake up to On a Monday Morning

I'm not a morning person.  I don't mean that I have a hard time waking up, I mean I HATE waking up and I hate anyone who wakes me up.  It's in my genetic makeup I think.  My mother wasn't a morning person, even though my father was.  In fact, I remember her telling me that when they were first married she thought she would have to kill him, because he was "so damn cheerful"  Instead my mother decided to take a hit for love and every morning woke up 30 minutes before my dad so she could get her coffee and a cigarette in so she didn't drown "the simple son of a bitch in his corn flakes" - her words not mine.  She decided to do this one morning after she made him eggs for breakfast and his hap-hap-happiness made her lean over the table and stab the yolks on his plate and storm off.  The females in my family could get rather pissy about things.

So it's nothing personal.  For the most part I can't even see who it is trying to get my attention in the morning so it could be my kids, my husband, Mother Theresa or Ed McMahon with the Publisher's Clearing House check, I still hate them and am trying to use my mind powers to make their heads explode.  Don't panic though, so far I've failed miserably at using my telekinesis powers to force unwelcome sleep disturbers to have their heads go up in a fire ball so you should be clear.  But I'll tell ya, it hasn't failed from the lack of effort on my part. The good news is that by the time my mind registers that can't use my mind to incinerate someones head  and I start to turn to find a baseball bat I usually have woken up enough to remember that it's bad to kill people and that I probably shouldn't do that.  Also, pretty much everyone knows to stay out of arms reach of me...well, MY arm's reach any way.

This morning began as all school mornings do in my house, me desperately trying to ignore the bellowing cat demanding food and ignoring the girls fighting about....oh Hell, I have no idea what they were arguing about.  They were in their rooms screaming at each other through their connecting bathroom so I just enjoyed the simple pleasure of them NOT being in the same room with me.  Giving up the ghost,  I stumble out of bed and head into the bathroom.  On the way I trip over the damn cat as Monty has given up any pretense of meowing for food and was out-and-out trying to trip my ass into his food container.  Lovely cat.  Next time I catch him sleeping peacefully I'm going to put a lizard on his nose.  Well, I would if I'd actually touch the lizard, but the idea amuses me.

There's a banging at the door and the female offspring charge in.  I'm awake enough to remember that I'm related to them so I don't start my full on frontal assault.  I do remind them that they should wait until I say, "Come in" before entering but in all honesty, none of us are listening right now.  That's when Tessi demands that I go to her room and look at the black thing that cut a hole in her sheet.  Hmmmmm, this is an usual demand so I try to wake up a bit more and counter, "Um, wait....is it alive?"  In Australia this is a crucial piece of information and depending on it's answer my plan of attack will alter dramatically.  "No, no Mummy, that's silly.  It just ate a hole in the sheet and bit me during the night.  But it's not alive"  Riiiighht.  Being an avid fan of Doctor Who, that statement did NOTHING to ease my mind.  At all.  I know perfectly well to be shit-scared of inanimate objects that may or may not bite.

So I went to her room and saw this.

My daughter's electric blanket bunched up under her sheet and burned a hole in the sheet during the night.  That's what "bit" her. 

I don't care how much you hate mornings, how hard it is for you to wake up, even if you've had no sleep for a week....seeing a real fire hazard and a threat of serious harm and even death so close to your baby's little body....you will wake the HELL up.  As I was standing there it dawned on me how close this was to being bad.  She could have been horribly burned or killed.  Fire is so quick and so deadly.  If it ignited she would have been dead before I woke up...even if I did wake up like a normal person.

But it didn't.  There was no fire and she didn't even have a red mark.  This was one of those moments that occur a thousand times in a person's life.  Something horrible almost happens but in the end nothing bad occurs.  You can choose to learn from them or you can ignore them.  Many times I do ignore them.  Usually because of lack of time, money or usually just there is no  realization of the seriousness of the matter.  However this time, I'm going to go with learn from this moment and make sure that this morning is as bad it's going to get.

 Tessi had no idea how much danger she was in. I told her the electric blanket did it but that it was OK.  She wasn't even phased by it.  In fact her biggest concern was that her sheet was ripped and she wanted to know when she was getting a new one...also would the new one be cute and not that horrible blue color.  Also, she wanted to make sure that Connor DID NOT get a new one.  Only her.

I got her rainbow polka dots...hope it's OK.

Another Morning of Insanity or as I Call it, Friday.

Some times I wake up in the morning and think this is good.  I'm in a warm safe bed and I'm happy.  I know that maybe everything isn't alright but that's ok, we're all healthy and Life is pretty good.

Then I get jarred rudely awake from that fantasy dream and have to face what my morning actually is like.  3 kids, 1 dog and cat.  All in my face.  Fortunately I married well and my husband is already out the door so I don't have that silly "take care of the husband' crap.  Right now Ted, I love you.  Top of the list Baby.  As for the bottom of the list...

This morning started off bad a few days ago.  2 days ago I got a note from school saying there was a teacher's strike this morning.  SIDENOTE!  They strike differently in Australia.  Instead of going out on strike until demands are met and grievances aired they announce a work stoppage - teachers go to meetings and then go back to work.  I'm not sure what it accomplishes.  I'm very pro teacher but I fail to see how this forces the government to back down and do the right thing.  But that's another issue.  Back to my whining....I usually find the strikes a bit annoying but I support them - 2 generations out of the Pennsylvania Railroad and coal mines...yes, I'm pro-union.  But this time I had scheduled the washer repairman to come to my house between 9:30 and 12 and now the kids wouldn't be going to school until 11.  Grrrr.  If he gets here late there's no point in me dragging them out to school for just 2 hours.  Bugger.  Ok.  I've accepted and and we're moving on.  At least I can sleep in.

6:15 am  WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP!  Connor kicks in the door.  "Morning, Mummy.  Can I come in?  Tessi had an accident and weed on her bed.  Ooooh, is that the cat?  HERE KITTY!!!  Why doesn't Monty like me Mummy?  Why is he running away?"

I respond the only way I can, "Ahrump"

She leaves and a few seconds later another WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP!  Tessi kicks the door in, "Mummy, I WEED!!!!!  I don't know why, please mummy why did I wee?  Ooooh, is that the cat?  Hi Monty!  Come back Monty!  Mummy, Why doesn't Monty like me Mummy?  No one wants me around!!!!  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I get a little more of Mummy Gumption raised and respond, "Ummmm"

This time I do wake up and stumble around until I get things cleaned up.  This is when I noticed that when Connor was sent to her room yesterday to clean she hasn't done a God.Damned.Thing.  You know how I know?  Her brand new Star Wars Fighter Pods are on the floor and under my feet.  Marvy, something new to hate more than LEGO and Littlest Damn Pet Shop.

I heard the kinder downstairs and begin the day.  No one wants to eat breakfast and honestly I don't care.  Every time I let them skip out of breakfast I can hear my mother's voice, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" scraping through my brain.  It helps to put ear buds in at that point so you can't hear that crap.

We move along and as I get tired of listening to the fighting over what show to watch - Really?  Does it matter that much if it's "Total Drama Island" or "iCarly"  Really?  Both are total shite....  So I start dispensing chores.  Yes, I became popular real quick.  Teddy takes Damn Dog on death march and the girls are sent to ignore the crap...er um, I mean clean up the crap in their rooms.  I dont' care if they are ignoring it, I just want quiet downstairs.  Teddy returns with a happy dog and I send him off to his room to clean.  That's when the next phase of my morning began.

"Oh God!  REALLY?  Sasha, REALLY??!!  Why??!!", Teddy's bellows can be heard throughout the house.  Well, so much for my quiet moment.  Now I know this isn't good.  I grudgingly head to the boy's room and yes, Sasha has pooped ALL OVER THE FLOOR.  Now I'm not one for scatological humor because I just don't see that there is anything funny but I must share with you what I learned about animals on the floor there.  I learned that when you find that the 2 gallon container of rice in the pantry is contaminated with weevils because some dumb ass didn't close the lid right you should NOT take the rice and put it out in a secluded section of the yard so the possums can have some dinner.  No.  Don't do this because instead of 5-10 possums finding it one large damn stupid pain-in-the-ass dog will find the.entire.ever-loving.batch.  Now, we do know that rice is ok for dogs to eat but it would seem that a large amount, say about 2 gallons or about 7 litres worth of rice is not ideal for one rat bastard puppy's sensitive digestive system.  It was at this point that Monty and his "drag the squealing mouse under my bed during the night" punk-ass was redeemed a bit and he moved back above Sasha in my "I Will Kill You With My Bare Hands" list.  Congratulations Monty.  

So, as I am standing there cleaning this up Teddy, God love him, is standing next to me saying, "Oh Mom, thank you so much.  I'm so sorry, Thank you."  It's sincere.  I did say, "Next time you wonder why I send your little ass over to the expensive table for Mother's Day presents, I want you to remember this"  We shared a moment there I believe.  A connection.  Don't know how long it will last but after I was done cleaning and I washed my hands in Napalm he made me a cup of tea.  I was very grateful and said so in between my shouting at Sasha, "Some day you're going to die Dog and when you do I'LL DANCE ON YOUR GRAVE!"

For my animal loving friends out there...I know many of you will find that last bit disturbing.  Please try to cut me some slack and keep in mind that I didn't hit or kill the dog.  Nor did I open the gate shouting, "VIA CON DIOS!!!"  That HAS to count for something

It's now 9:30 and now Connor is pestering me for food.  When I tell her she can't have candy she wails, "But I'm hungry!  Won't you let me eat ANYTHING??!!"  I respond, "Yes, damnit!  Go eat your breakfast!"  Sigh...damn it Mom.....

The Force was Strong with this Party

To quote Shrek, "I don't mean to brag...."  well, maybe I do.  You see, I am a bit of a Jedi Master with Star Wars parties.  Kids parties to be exact as my party tricks wouldn't work so well with the older set.  I can't see too many grown ups taking a whack at a pinata.  But then again, you never know.  Maybe I will have to think about a grown up party.  However for now, I will stick with kids.  This past Saturday we had Connor's birthday party with the Star Wars theme and all bragging aside it kicked major ass.  You know you have a winner when 2 kid leave saying, "This was the best party ever!"  And a few more pissed off when they heard it was over.

We began with this:

 Padme Amidala and Ashoka Tano in the house Ladies and Gentlemen!  Teddy was there also but starting his duties as Cabana Boy.

Of course one of the coolest parts about a party like this is naming the food.  Hoth Dogs, Sith Sushi, Qui Gon Chips, Vader Tators and Wookie Cookies.  The Wookies Cookies were the biggest hit and almost didn't happen as I was running out of time.  Tim Tams and Writing Gel go a LONG way.

The first part of our party was a welcoming in session and to entertain the kids in small groups as they arrived I put on the Xbox Kinect Star Wars game.  If you have an Xbox, Kinect and even the tiniest interest in Star Wars leave the computer now and go buy this game.  It is stunningly awesome.  Seriously.  If you are a serious gamer, in fact if you have desecrated the English language and actually turned the word game into a verb, ie, "Yes, I game on the weekends and every moment in between"  No, this game isn't for you.  But then again, neither is this blog so leave now.  But for the rest of us mere mortals, yes, this game is full of sheer brilliance.  See below.

  When the baddest man in the galaxy, Lando Calrissian is leading the troops in a Galactic dance Off - you have a winner.

We also played Star Wars Bingo.  A classic game with an extra flair.  Since not all of our guests were die-hard Star Wars lovers (I know, I thought that was weird too) I had to describe the pictures as I drew the cards out of the box.  When I called out Y-Wing on Yavin, of course my son, Head Cabana Boy Teddy, had to correct me and shout out, "She means Yavin 4!"  Thank you Pumpkin, I see where that might have been confusing to some.

Next up the traditional "Make Your Own Lightsaber and become a Jedi" section.  A hit with all ages.  This is my FAVORITE party trick because it's insanely easy.  You don't need too much fuss.  Cut a pool noodle in half, hand them a strip of duct tape to make the handle and hand them a colored circle sticker to put on to make the on/off switch.  That's it.  You really need nothing else.  Keep your eye on things though as the swinging starts immediately.  We headed across the street to get some Jedi Training - ie, Beat the Hell out of the Cabana Boys.  My older boys who were too cool for the party but not old enough to drive off on their own.

Of course, being from Texas, you aren't allowed to have a home birthday party without a pinata.  Of course, we couldn't just have a regular pinata so here is Connor and me with the Death Star Pinata.  Yes, I'm aware it looks more like the egg shaped thing from Jimmy Neutron, SILENCE!  I've decided that glitter fixes everything and the more glitter there is the more gets fixed.  Be quiet.

Then the party shifted to your more traditional fare.  Eating cake and opening presents.  Where we shifted back to our odd little universe was after the presents opened.

Another war was declared on the Cabana Boys and they were forced to flee into the rocky backyard.  As you can see Connor decided the Force wasn't enough to vanquish her enemies so she and her friends brought out the Nerf guns as back up.  Run Cabana Boys, RUN.

A great evening was had by all.  My beautiful Connor had her Star Wars party and hopefully learned that girls are allowed to be Scifi geeks too. If nothing else, thanks to this blog if someone else Googles "Star Wars Girls" there will be one normal listing amongst all the geek fan boy weirdness.

I know Teddy learned a powerful lesson as he went to bed early lamenting the speed and strength of Connor's friends and their lightsaber fighting skills.

Let that be a lesson to all:  Never underestimate a chick's ability to whack the Hell out of you with a pool noodle lightsaber.

Happy Birthday Connor.  You were the prettiest Padme I ever saw.

Parenting VS Music

I have a wicked head cold today and MUST be up and moving tomorrow and Saturday so I'm spending today doing nothing more constructive than sitting on my ass and reading.  So blogging of course came to mind.

Teddy presented me with another dilemma yesterday.  He asked me to get him the song Whistle.  Sure, I thought no problem.  As the song was downloading I noticed that the singer was Flo Rida.  I'm not into hard core rap but I have heard of him.  So I listened to the song.  Pretty, catchy, well bubble gum music.  Hmmm, very odd considering this dude's rep.  I have a hard time catching all the lyrics so I searched Google and came up with the lyrics.  Here they are case you don't know the tune.


Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

I'm betting you like bebop
And i'm betting you love creep mode
And i'm betting you like girls that give love to girls
And stroke your little ego
I bet i'm guilty your honor
But that's how we live in my genre
When I hell I pay rottweiler
There's only one flo, and rida
I'm a damn shame
Order more champagne, pull it down hellstream
Tryna put it on ya
Bet your lips spin back around corner
Slow it down baby take a little longer

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby

It's like everywhere I go
My whistle ready to blow
Shorty don't leave a note
She can get any by the low
Permission not approved
It's okay, it's under control
Show me soprano, cause girl you can handle
Baby we start snagging, you come in part clothes
Girl i'm losing wing, my bucatti the same road
Show me your perfect pitch,
You got it my banjo
Talented with your lips, like you blew out candles
So amusing, now you can make a whistle with the music
Hope you ain't got no issue, you can do it
Give me the perfect picture, never lose it

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby

Go girl you can work it
Let me see your whistle while you work it
I'mma lay it back, don't stop it
Cause I love it how you drop it, drop it, drop it, on me
Now, shorty let that whistle blow
Yeah, baby let that whistle blow

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby


Okay - yes this song is about exactly what you think it is. Since my mother-in-law reads this blog let's just use the polite terminology and say oral sex.  Teddy wasn't trying to pull a fast one on me and sneakily get me to get him a naughty song.  I know this because I talked to him and I saw his face when I asked him if he knew what, "blow my whistle" meant.  Horror doesn't quiet describe it.  He really just heard the song and thought it was catchy.  Like a Bruno Mars song.

Here's my dilemma.  I like all different kinds of music.  ALL kinds, Hell there are even 3 or 4 country songs I listen to.  I listen to some pretty out there kind of stuff too. Songs I don't think people would associate with Mom Crowd. Rob Zombie, Godsmack, Rammstein and the like.  I also love songs with obscene lyrics.  Cee Lo Green, LOVE THAT SONG!  I also love Monty Python and South Park songs.  My husband used to be a serious thrash metal devotee.  Is this one of those times I should be hypocritical and deny my son a song he likes simply because the lyrics are a bit risque?  I know I have to be a hypocrite about drinking, speeding while driving and some of my computer keyboard antics.  I get that.  I'm constantly temding Ted, "Don't laugh at that!! We are not on his side any more!!!" Also I have NO problem about cutting out songs because they extol the virtues of "beating the hoes"  No problem whatsoever.  I also ban music because in my opinion it sucks.  Sorry, step back Boy Bands, just not cool with it.

Where is the line drawn in the parental hypocrisy?  I'm not for censoring music.  Be who you are.  If I don't like it I won't drink the cool aid.  I WANT my kids to be that way.  I want them to grow up and have them want artists to be free.  I want them to scream against injustice.  Champion the little guy.  Be superheroes...no capes though.  Incredible taught me that was dangerous.

On the other side I really don't want my kid learning about sexual techniques yet.  He's not even 12.  He has his whole life to be a grown up and deal with grown up issues.  I want him to be a kid, a real kid for as long as it's helpful to him.


Of course what's sticking in my craw is THIS song:

Come out Virginia, don't let me wait.
You Catholic girls start much too late.
Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate.
I might as well be the one.

Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray.
They built you a temple and locked you away.
Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay
for things that you might have done.
Only the good die young.
That's what I said,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd.
We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud.
We might be laughing a bit too loud,
aw, but that never hurt no one.

So come on Virginia, show me a sign.
Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line.
The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind
never lets in the sun.
Darlin', only the good die young.

I tell ya,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation.
You got a brand new soul,
mmm, and a cross of gold.
But Virginia, they didn't give you quite enough information.
You didn't count on me
when you were counting on your rosary.

They say there's a heaven for those who will wait.
Some say it's better, but I say it ain't.
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints,
the sinners are much more fun.

You know that only the good die young.
Whoa, oh, baby.
That's what I said,
I tell ya,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

Said, your mother told you "All that I could give you was a reputation."
Aw, she never cared for me,
but did she ever say a prayer for me?

Come out, come out, come out Virginia, don't let me wait.
You Catholic girls start much too late.
Sooner or later it comes down to fate.
I might as well be the one.
You know that only the good die young.

I'm telling you baby.
You know that only the good die young.
Only the good die young.
Only the good,
only the good die young.

Only the good die young.
Only the good die young.



I remember the furor this song caused. People went bat-shit crazy about this song. A song about a young guy desperate to hook up with his girlfriend. I remember even years later when I was in high school hearing how this song was banned in most schools-are these really the people I want to line up along side?

The Effect of TV on a Normal Mind.

Being a child of the seventies I have watched a fair amount of TV.   Alright, a LOT of TV.  I grew up watching wholesome (because it was the only thing on) family entertainment.  Well, at least what passed my mother's eyes as wholesome.  I only watched Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley and Brady Bunch behind her back because she hated those shows.  I saw All in the Family, Soap, MASH, Masterpiece Theatre, Monty Python, Battlestar Gallactica, Star Trek, and re-runs of the the classics, Leave it to Beaver, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie and some other shows in black and white, I just can't remember.  Hmmm, maybe that list of shows does explain a bit about my personality.

It's true, what you see does influence you.  Watching those shows I saw family life portrayed in ways that were hideously NOT like my life.  One would think that would have taught me that TV is not reality but no.  Instead I grew up hoping to have that idyllic setting in my house.  At least that's what I think I did.  I have no conscience memory of pining for this Utopian lifestyle but I think I must have.  I mean why else would my reality drive me so damn crazy if I wasn't secretly wishing for a better way.  If I knew and understood that in reality kids are psychotic - especially in the morning, wouldn't I have accepted years ago that it will not be any different? 

No.  Obviously, deep seated in the recesses of my mind there was a message implanted that gets triggered like the sleeper agents in Battlestar Gallactica, the new one, not the old one.  Yes!  That's it.  Messages get turned on and off in my brain telling me that families don't have to act like this and if I keep struggling like the stupid spawning salmon I will achieve the goal..the Harmonious Family.  That must be it.  There is no other possible rational explanation for me to keep trudging along trying to correct this insane destructive  behavior and instead embrace it and just try to keep the house standing.  It's TVs fault.  Whew.  What a load off of my mind.

So tomorrow when Teddy and Connor start sniping at each other 30 seconds after waking I will just sip my tea.  10 minutes later when they are still going at it I will casually play on my phone.  I'll do that instead of what I did today which was snapping, "Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph you two!  Stop talking to each other.  Don't look at each other, don't stand near each other, don't touch each other, DO NOTHING!!"  See that got me nothing because not 2 minutes later Teddy starting griping at Connor for dropping the bread bag on the floor and Connor retaliated by yelling back.  See, I would have saved myself the aggravation if I had just accepted the futility of it all.

This is liberating.

The next time Tessi starts sobbing because Connor never lets her talk instead of me replying, "Pot, meet Kettle, nice of you two to meet"  Now the sarcasm is funny but it doesn't help.  Because deep inside I'm hoping that Tessi will some day realize, "Hey, does she mean that I do that too?"  Of course she won't.  And why?  Because life is nothing like TV.  Real kids don't learn life lessons in 22 minutes.  It takes YEARS, if ever.  Right now, I'm voting on never.  I've had Teddy in my life for 11 1/2 years and after all this time he still doesn't understand that whatever he does I will find out about it and I will get angry when he gets caught.  He honestly believes he can fool me.  Teddy is utterly baffled when I know that when he's been sent to his room to clean and 20 minutes later he stumbles out and it looks the same I know that he hasn't done anything.  I'm not exaggerating.  He stood there yesterday seething with anger when I told him I knew he was lying about cleaning.  He could not imagine how I had figured it out.  But now I see what my mistake was...it was when I yelled threatened and argued with him.  Now I know that watching happy  TV families has led me to believe that when you tell someone to clean their room they will do it.  What I should have done was walked in, seen the filth and tell him to try again.  When he starts to sputter that he has been cleaning I will just use the Air Horn app on my phone.  Then I will say, try again and walk out.  Rinse, lather, repeat.

See, no yelling.  I accept that he's going to lie and I get to use my iPhone in a fun way.  This could work. I have a constant battle with sore throats and headaches.  Maybe implementing this acceptance of lunacy will help me cut down on that.  Just walking around the house tripping on Littlest Pet Shop pieces, the Nerf bullets and more Barbie shoes than Mattel ever meant one household to have I see that all my yelling and cajoling have not helped.  Because I have been searching for that Norman Rockwell picture of the life I've ended up with physical pain and a near permanent eye-twitch.

So join in with me people.  It's time to lower your standards.  When you feel the need to ask, "Are you out of your mind?"  Remember the answer is yes.  It's them, not us.    Accept the lunacy and ride the wave of stupidity.  You will have to remind them flush the toilet 4 years after they've started using it.  They will pour milk into the bowl until it overflows for no other reason than they can.  Your two oldest children will get into a screaming match with each other over who has to turn the TV off AND then glare at you and say they weren't fighting.  As sure as death and taxes these are the absolute truths of life with kids.

Save your sanity people.  Speak softly and carry the Air Horn App.  And watch TV about psychopaths.  THAT'S reality TV.