Yesterday was an exceptionally busy day. I worked up quite a sweat washing floors and straightening up in the morning, then it was off to a ball wind-up and then to the fair. It was during the housework portion of my day that I began to notice an increased need for Kleenex due to the excessive sneezing and snot production. Then it was off to the ball park where I literally wanted to rip my own throat out. So so very itchy. So before heading to the fair I stopped at home and took some Reactine.
I must preface this by saying this is Reactine my son purchased when he went to Europe in April. They are much bigger pills than the stuff we get here in Canada. I was slightly concerned but the itchy throat and abhorrent mucous production involved made me a likely candidate to take just about anything. So I did.
Off we went to the fair which is really just a sociologist's dream. Or anyone who enjoys people watching. Why do some people look at the fair as an opportunity to shake what their mama gave them? I'm not saying they were actually dancing but I saw so many unsupported breasts and uncontained bellies it was just not okay. And always with the booty shorts. Please for the love of God unless you are under 25 and in shape and have all your own teeth and they are not rotten, please put the booty shorts away. It's not fair to me, to you, or your children or anyone else.
And the children. Suffer the children. I saw a four year old girl with a mullet. She had cute little jeans and a top on but a mullet. Hardcore mullet. No blending. So so very sad. She has no choice in the matter. Sob.
The carnies themselves are always a source of amusement and fear as well. Leathery skinned, toothless and bleary-eyed they are running contraptions we willingly put our little face-painted, sometimes mulleted children on and hope for the best.
Back to the Reactine though. After a long day of housework and child focused activities it was time for Mom and Dad to do a little recharging so we headed over to a friend's house for a drink or two. I, of course, took my very new bestest gal pal, Grape Vodka, and off we went. To be clear I only had maybe four drinks. I was home by midnight and made a stop at McDonald's on the way home. I ate a cheeseburger, six nuggets and some fries. Yes I'm aware I have food issues. Anyway, I was in bed by 12:30 at the latest and promptly passed out.
This morning I first attempted getting out of bed around 8:30. I am not nauseous, no headache, all in all I felt fine. Then I got up and felt like maybe I was in the Funhouse with the tilty floor. I staggered to the bathroom, remembered there wasn't any toilet paper and rather than get another roll, careened back to bed. What the fuck? I laid down where the bed continued to spin for a moment or two. Then I decided I really had to go so got up and tried again with more success. It comes and goes in waves. When I was cleaning up cat vomit this morning (I think my cat binges and purges) I had to lean up against the wall.
I'm blaming this entirely on the Reactine. I took it well in advance of the drinking (like eight hours before) but why else so dizzy? And given I have roughly 12 hours of laundry ahead of me and cupcakes to bake for a Kindergarten year-end party tomorrow, I need to get my sea legs back! Ha, I 'm not even sure that's an appropriate reference. It's the Reactine.
Damn you to hell Seasonal Allergies!
:
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Calves Don't Like Humping
Completed another road trip today. I swear to God, no word of a lie, I think in the last week I've logged close to 2000 km. I was going to Bengough today which is right in the heart of rural Saskatchewan. Well wait, pretty much all of Saskatchewan is 'rural'. Today though I saw something I really enjoyed. One calf was trying to hump another calf who was less than appreciative. I enjoyed this a lot. What I did not enjoy was trying not to hit the thirty-odd gophers and other rodent-like creatures hell bent on crossing the highway. I don't like these animals but I don't want to run them over either. Little fuckers have a death wish though. I hit one. Probably my first one ever. Sigh. It was sad.
I'm watching America's Got Talent which seems to be more 'Who has the Saddest Story and Passable Made-up Talent with which to Accompany It'.
MY EYE WON'T STOP TWITCHING. I didn't sleep well last night and to add to my stress-induced insomnia my three year old amped up the fun by peeing in my bed.
I also had to drive a Cavalier today so no music save for the radio. I tried to listen to the Gospel Hour but couldn't do it. As soon as they asked people to "pray for them or maybe even financially contribute to their cause" I was out. I don't think Jebus was a capitalist.
To sum it up I feel like the calf I saw being violated today...poor little fucker.
I'm watching America's Got Talent which seems to be more 'Who has the Saddest Story and Passable Made-up Talent with which to Accompany It'.
MY EYE WON'T STOP TWITCHING. I didn't sleep well last night and to add to my stress-induced insomnia my three year old amped up the fun by peeing in my bed.
I also had to drive a Cavalier today so no music save for the radio. I tried to listen to the Gospel Hour but couldn't do it. As soon as they asked people to "pray for them or maybe even financially contribute to their cause" I was out. I don't think Jebus was a capitalist.
To sum it up I feel like the calf I saw being violated today...poor little fucker.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
Father's Day. Blah. I know that's not very nice. I did get my husband a gift and cards and got up with the boys this morning and let him sleep in. Also, the dog decided, as he oft will on holiday type of days, to shit on the rug in the basement. So, with respect to Father's Day, I cleaned it up. I should add we went out last night and I was running on about five hours sleep and may have been a tad hungover, so cleaning up doggy diarrhea was a huge feat and show of love for my husband.
I attempted to call my Dad tonight. He wasn't home. He likely does not even realize what today is. He's not good with dates. In recent years I called him to with him a Happy Birthday on his birthday and he was not even aware that's what day it was. He keeps birthdays written down and in the last couple of years has really improved on remembering them.
My Dad and I aren't close. We now, at this point, have a sort of mutual respect for each other. On my part it's bred out of the realization he is my dad, he was there for my younger days and does the best I think he can at this point. There's not a lot of give and take between us. We see each other once every couple of years. He's seen my youngest child maybe twice and the second one not much more. At this point, that's okay. I'm not into forcing relationships and as it stands our kids do fine with this set up, so good enough.
When I was 12 I found out my Dad is not actually my biological 'father'. Because, at that point, I had decided I was not a fan of my Dad, and I had some help with this, I was thrilled. I imagined 'father' as a rich man coming along to save me from the depths of despair in my trailer in Elstow. The funny part is it never dawned on me there was any difference in parentage between myself and my siblings despite the fact they are both very Caucasian looking and I had a year round tan. My 'father' is from El Salvador. Anyway, he and I finally spoke when I was 18 and met in my early 20s. He is not rich. He is not poor. He did not save me and I don't want him to. When I separated from my first husband, he chose at that time, to separate from me. He is a very traditional Catholic Latino man. Our one face to face meeting included him speaking to my husband in front of me as if I weren't there and looking alarmed every time I voiced any opinion. I have lots of opinions. So not necessarily a match made in Heaven.
I've had bad luck across the board in this department. My Dad didn't come to my Grade 12 Graduation because he had a flying fishing trip booked. A-hole. My Graduation, I felt, was particularly significant given I had given birth during the second half of Grade 11, raised my son, sometimes on my own when his dad was away at school, and managed to maintain an average of above 90% for all four semesters of Grade 12. When the fish are biting, you've gotta do what you gotta do I guess.
Then came my University Convocation. He had a cold. Couldn't make it. That one, that one I could not let go. So I got half-cranked on wine one night and called him to share my thoughts and feelings on this. Again it may be prudent to add I am the first person on either side of the family to earn a University Degree but the event was pretty low-key. Which is probably why I will nearly kill myself making my children's various graduations and coming-of-age events into actual events full of fanfare, balloons and cake. It's why I'm the lunatic mother on the the sidelines of the soccer field, football field, volleyball court and soon, the ice, cheering to the point where they may have suggested I should tone it down. Actually my daughter's actual words were: "I can't hear the coach over you yelling 'Stay with it!'".
This is a self-serving, slightly self-pitying little diatribe so I will end on a more positive note. If there is anyone, besides my husband, I want to wish a Happy Father's Day to, but can't anymore, it's my Grandpa. He is the first man who made me feel like the most special person in the world. As a child (and maybe still now, truth be told) I had a really hard time saying the words 'I love you' out loud. Like I didn't say it. Ever. Unless I was leaving him. Then I mustered up every bit of wherewithal I had to make sure I told him I loved him before leaving. I loved him very much. He's been gone for over ten years now and I still think about him all the time. I think about him when I'm feeling proud of myself and/or my children and I think about him when I'm not proud of myself because I always always wanted to make him proud of me. He was a quiet man with an unbelievable sense of humour. He may have liked a drink or two as well. What matters is though, is I always knew he liked me. I knew I mattered to him. Last summer we sort of accidentally drove past the road leading to 'his' cemetery. I haven't been back since the day he was buried. We didn't stop that day because I felt my family didn't need to see my fall apart but I unsuccesfully fought back tears in the vehicle knowing I was that close to him. I need to go back. But when I do it will be with a beer for him, a beer for me, some Sen-Sen and the song Coca-Cola Cowboy.
Happy Father's Day.
I attempted to call my Dad tonight. He wasn't home. He likely does not even realize what today is. He's not good with dates. In recent years I called him to with him a Happy Birthday on his birthday and he was not even aware that's what day it was. He keeps birthdays written down and in the last couple of years has really improved on remembering them.
My Dad and I aren't close. We now, at this point, have a sort of mutual respect for each other. On my part it's bred out of the realization he is my dad, he was there for my younger days and does the best I think he can at this point. There's not a lot of give and take between us. We see each other once every couple of years. He's seen my youngest child maybe twice and the second one not much more. At this point, that's okay. I'm not into forcing relationships and as it stands our kids do fine with this set up, so good enough.
When I was 12 I found out my Dad is not actually my biological 'father'. Because, at that point, I had decided I was not a fan of my Dad, and I had some help with this, I was thrilled. I imagined 'father' as a rich man coming along to save me from the depths of despair in my trailer in Elstow. The funny part is it never dawned on me there was any difference in parentage between myself and my siblings despite the fact they are both very Caucasian looking and I had a year round tan. My 'father' is from El Salvador. Anyway, he and I finally spoke when I was 18 and met in my early 20s. He is not rich. He is not poor. He did not save me and I don't want him to. When I separated from my first husband, he chose at that time, to separate from me. He is a very traditional Catholic Latino man. Our one face to face meeting included him speaking to my husband in front of me as if I weren't there and looking alarmed every time I voiced any opinion. I have lots of opinions. So not necessarily a match made in Heaven.
I've had bad luck across the board in this department. My Dad didn't come to my Grade 12 Graduation because he had a flying fishing trip booked. A-hole. My Graduation, I felt, was particularly significant given I had given birth during the second half of Grade 11, raised my son, sometimes on my own when his dad was away at school, and managed to maintain an average of above 90% for all four semesters of Grade 12. When the fish are biting, you've gotta do what you gotta do I guess.
Then came my University Convocation. He had a cold. Couldn't make it. That one, that one I could not let go. So I got half-cranked on wine one night and called him to share my thoughts and feelings on this. Again it may be prudent to add I am the first person on either side of the family to earn a University Degree but the event was pretty low-key. Which is probably why I will nearly kill myself making my children's various graduations and coming-of-age events into actual events full of fanfare, balloons and cake. It's why I'm the lunatic mother on the the sidelines of the soccer field, football field, volleyball court and soon, the ice, cheering to the point where they may have suggested I should tone it down. Actually my daughter's actual words were: "I can't hear the coach over you yelling 'Stay with it!'".
This is a self-serving, slightly self-pitying little diatribe so I will end on a more positive note. If there is anyone, besides my husband, I want to wish a Happy Father's Day to, but can't anymore, it's my Grandpa. He is the first man who made me feel like the most special person in the world. As a child (and maybe still now, truth be told) I had a really hard time saying the words 'I love you' out loud. Like I didn't say it. Ever. Unless I was leaving him. Then I mustered up every bit of wherewithal I had to make sure I told him I loved him before leaving. I loved him very much. He's been gone for over ten years now and I still think about him all the time. I think about him when I'm feeling proud of myself and/or my children and I think about him when I'm not proud of myself because I always always wanted to make him proud of me. He was a quiet man with an unbelievable sense of humour. He may have liked a drink or two as well. What matters is though, is I always knew he liked me. I knew I mattered to him. Last summer we sort of accidentally drove past the road leading to 'his' cemetery. I haven't been back since the day he was buried. We didn't stop that day because I felt my family didn't need to see my fall apart but I unsuccesfully fought back tears in the vehicle knowing I was that close to him. I need to go back. But when I do it will be with a beer for him, a beer for me, some Sen-Sen and the song Coca-Cola Cowboy.
Happy Father's Day.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Karma?
Just as a point of interest, my assigned vehicle today was: A minivan.
ooo, one more thing: If you're 33 years old, as I am, you should be an adult. I mean obviously don't throw away your watter bottle microphones, but be a fucking grown up.
That's all I have to say about that.
ooo, one more thing: If you're 33 years old, as I am, you should be an adult. I mean obviously don't throw away your watter bottle microphones, but be a fucking grown up.
That's all I have to say about that.
Sporadic Bouts of Bitchiness
What does it mean if twice in one week you crave a cigarette? Well probably not much if you are a smoker but if you quit nearly eight years ago? Well then I think that means you had one fuck of a week. At one point today I was literally willing to peel off my own skin such was my level of irritation. Accompanying that was the strong urge to smoke. Happened Wednesday too; well not so much wanting to do the skin-peeling thing Wednesday but I had company for part of my travels today...hence the strong desire to rip off my skin.
The music didn't even help. Plus I'm a selfish bitch when it comes to music. When I hear a song I like, I don't wish to be spoken to. One should try to even keep the breathing to a minimum. My companion today would not have accepted that concept. My companion asked me, without exaggeration, nearly 14 times if we were there yet, over the span of ONE HOUR. Therefore we listened to the radio.
This is going to be a random post.
I saw a woman today who is roughly the same height as me but maybe 15 pounds heavier wearing a top with a tie around the waist. Now if you possess the much coveted 'hourglass' figure, this is a nice choice. Emphasize the waist.However, if you are built like me, and this woman was, it's a shape akin to a potato on sticks and the waist shall NEVER be the focus.
I was compelled to use my water bottle as a microphone upon hearing "Your Love" by the Outfield on the way home. Experimented with it as if I were an actual singer. You know how some artists have their lips pressed right to the mike? I was trying to see why. I learned I would probably sing with the microphone pressed only to my top lip.
I know. Scary.
Further frightening news: I bought throat lozenges this morning in an effort to keep my throat in tip top shape so I could sing for the next 7 hours I was going to spend in my vehicle. It worked. I did struggle a little through some Patsy Cline but I really think I nailed the Outfield song.
I also have rediscovered my love for Pearl Jam's 'Yellow Ledbetter'. I love love love the guitar in this song. I mentioned as much to my son the other day. His response was "isn't that the song where you can't understand anything he's saying?" Um yes it is but I tried really hard to hear the lyrics tonight and as per usual I was left swaying with my eyes closed to the guitar riffs with my water bottle microphone clutched to my chest and sang the line: "I know, I know". (Ironically the only part of the song I do know). The rest sounded like vowels and only vowels. Still and always will be a fan favourite though.
Best dancing song today: 'Say Hey (I Love You)' by Michael Franti and the Rebel Rockers
Best text I received today: 'JESUS HELP ME. THIS LADY KEEPS YELLING TO HER BOYFRIEND THROUGH THE WINDOW SAYING THINGS LIKE 'I miss you already' and 'behave'. (This incidentally came from my 13 year old daughter; she was on the bus. I like her).
Things I almost hit today: a deer, a coyote and a black Ford truck.
Well that pretty much sums it up. 'TGIF' my ass.
The music didn't even help. Plus I'm a selfish bitch when it comes to music. When I hear a song I like, I don't wish to be spoken to. One should try to even keep the breathing to a minimum. My companion today would not have accepted that concept. My companion asked me, without exaggeration, nearly 14 times if we were there yet, over the span of ONE HOUR. Therefore we listened to the radio.
This is going to be a random post.
I saw a woman today who is roughly the same height as me but maybe 15 pounds heavier wearing a top with a tie around the waist. Now if you possess the much coveted 'hourglass' figure, this is a nice choice. Emphasize the waist.However, if you are built like me, and this woman was, it's a shape akin to a potato on sticks and the waist shall NEVER be the focus.
I was compelled to use my water bottle as a microphone upon hearing "Your Love" by the Outfield on the way home. Experimented with it as if I were an actual singer. You know how some artists have their lips pressed right to the mike? I was trying to see why. I learned I would probably sing with the microphone pressed only to my top lip.
I know. Scary.
Further frightening news: I bought throat lozenges this morning in an effort to keep my throat in tip top shape so I could sing for the next 7 hours I was going to spend in my vehicle. It worked. I did struggle a little through some Patsy Cline but I really think I nailed the Outfield song.
I also have rediscovered my love for Pearl Jam's 'Yellow Ledbetter'. I love love love the guitar in this song. I mentioned as much to my son the other day. His response was "isn't that the song where you can't understand anything he's saying?" Um yes it is but I tried really hard to hear the lyrics tonight and as per usual I was left swaying with my eyes closed to the guitar riffs with my water bottle microphone clutched to my chest and sang the line: "I know, I know". (Ironically the only part of the song I do know). The rest sounded like vowels and only vowels. Still and always will be a fan favourite though.
Best dancing song today: 'Say Hey (I Love You)' by Michael Franti and the Rebel Rockers
Best text I received today: 'JESUS HELP ME. THIS LADY KEEPS YELLING TO HER BOYFRIEND THROUGH THE WINDOW SAYING THINGS LIKE 'I miss you already' and 'behave'. (This incidentally came from my 13 year old daughter; she was on the bus. I like her).
Things I almost hit today: a deer, a coyote and a black Ford truck.
Well that pretty much sums it up. 'TGIF' my ass.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Friends
Friends. I used to consider myself both lucky and not when it came to friends. Lucky in that the few that I had were of the highest quality; unlucky in that I didn't have a real wide circle of friends. I have a storied history with friendship.
When I was little, my very first best friend's name was Amber. I, however, insisted on calling her "Hamber". That's all I really recall about that friendship. Well that I do believe 'Hamber' had some cooler toys than I and I think I was quite bossy. Sorry.
Next was my friend, Jaycee. This is where my lifelong issue with comparing myself to others began. Jaycee had a Cabbage Patch Kid before me. Jaycee and I both got 'Preemie' CBP's the same Christmas. Then she got twins. She had like eight of those fucking things! I had two. Meredith Flora was the preemie and Mindy Theresa was my 'Cornsilk' hair Cabbage Patch Kid. She would've been fantastic had 'Santa' not thought it too cute to get me a CPK with glasses because I had glasses. Fuck. You. I hated my glasses. The last thing I needed was a reminder of the bane of my existence. So Mindy 'lost' her glasses pretty early on into Christmas morning. Anyway, Jaycee also had a kick ass collection of Barbies and cool Barbie stuff but still had the audacity to steal the skates from my 1988 Olympic Barbie. Anyway, I could never wrap my head around why she had so much more than I did. Then, in Grade 4, her Dad went to jail for "selling beer" and let's just leave it at that.
Next would probably be my friend Brigette. A friend who wholeheartedly embraced hair metal with me. A friend who let me bully her into playing dolls long past anyone else our age wanted to play dolls. In my defense, she was the youngest of five kids and she had some really cool dolls of her older sister's. Yeah, I know, still mean and still lame. I was mean to Brigette more times than I care to remember or share. She did not deserve it and I am lucky she never kicked my ass.
My point is, and I do have one, aside from those early friendships and two or three adult friendships, I have been known to say, on more than one occasion, that I prefer male friends to female.
I love men. In all regards. It always seemed to me they were more fun, less offended by my foul language, listened to better music and did not want to discuss, ad nauseum, "girly things".
Well now I'm 33. I still have my fair share of male friends, some of whom I'd consider best friends. Now though, I have a strong contingent of wonderful women whom I'm proud to call my friends and even prouder that they consider me the same.
Today, for example, I needed to get Justin Bieber tickets for my daughter but had a hair appointment booked for the same time the tickets went on sale. With that, I left my Visa with the girls and asked them to get the tickets for me. They did and got kick ass seats at that!! There was much drama and a little perspiration involved but they rock! These girls are not only great ticket-getters but these women I've come to know in the last four years, have taught me to really appreciate the privilege it is to belong to a female circle of friends.
At this point though, I think it's beyond boy vs. girl. All in all at this state I consider myself more than lucky when it comes to friends. Today, in particular, one friend who is the very antithesis of what I am, in that he is always positive, laid back and generally just makes people feel good about themselves; well, let's just say I'm glad he's my friend and glad he'll continue to be so for many years to come.
And finally, I can't blog about my friends without giving Vodka an honourable mention. Tonight she has upped the ante with a delightful grape flavouring. I really like her a lot.
Thanks a million times over to Trisha and Nadia. Get well soon to Ron. To everyone else, to quote the infamous and now sadly, nearly all extinct 'Golden Girls': Thank You for Being a Friend.
When I was little, my very first best friend's name was Amber. I, however, insisted on calling her "Hamber". That's all I really recall about that friendship. Well that I do believe 'Hamber' had some cooler toys than I and I think I was quite bossy. Sorry.
Next was my friend, Jaycee. This is where my lifelong issue with comparing myself to others began. Jaycee had a Cabbage Patch Kid before me. Jaycee and I both got 'Preemie' CBP's the same Christmas. Then she got twins. She had like eight of those fucking things! I had two. Meredith Flora was the preemie and Mindy Theresa was my 'Cornsilk' hair Cabbage Patch Kid. She would've been fantastic had 'Santa' not thought it too cute to get me a CPK with glasses because I had glasses. Fuck. You. I hated my glasses. The last thing I needed was a reminder of the bane of my existence. So Mindy 'lost' her glasses pretty early on into Christmas morning. Anyway, Jaycee also had a kick ass collection of Barbies and cool Barbie stuff but still had the audacity to steal the skates from my 1988 Olympic Barbie. Anyway, I could never wrap my head around why she had so much more than I did. Then, in Grade 4, her Dad went to jail for "selling beer" and let's just leave it at that.
Next would probably be my friend Brigette. A friend who wholeheartedly embraced hair metal with me. A friend who let me bully her into playing dolls long past anyone else our age wanted to play dolls. In my defense, she was the youngest of five kids and she had some really cool dolls of her older sister's. Yeah, I know, still mean and still lame. I was mean to Brigette more times than I care to remember or share. She did not deserve it and I am lucky she never kicked my ass.
My point is, and I do have one, aside from those early friendships and two or three adult friendships, I have been known to say, on more than one occasion, that I prefer male friends to female.
I love men. In all regards. It always seemed to me they were more fun, less offended by my foul language, listened to better music and did not want to discuss, ad nauseum, "girly things".
Well now I'm 33. I still have my fair share of male friends, some of whom I'd consider best friends. Now though, I have a strong contingent of wonderful women whom I'm proud to call my friends and even prouder that they consider me the same.
Today, for example, I needed to get Justin Bieber tickets for my daughter but had a hair appointment booked for the same time the tickets went on sale. With that, I left my Visa with the girls and asked them to get the tickets for me. They did and got kick ass seats at that!! There was much drama and a little perspiration involved but they rock! These girls are not only great ticket-getters but these women I've come to know in the last four years, have taught me to really appreciate the privilege it is to belong to a female circle of friends.
At this point though, I think it's beyond boy vs. girl. All in all at this state I consider myself more than lucky when it comes to friends. Today, in particular, one friend who is the very antithesis of what I am, in that he is always positive, laid back and generally just makes people feel good about themselves; well, let's just say I'm glad he's my friend and glad he'll continue to be so for many years to come.
And finally, I can't blog about my friends without giving Vodka an honourable mention. Tonight she has upped the ante with a delightful grape flavouring. I really like her a lot.
Thanks a million times over to Trisha and Nadia. Get well soon to Ron. To everyone else, to quote the infamous and now sadly, nearly all extinct 'Golden Girls': Thank You for Being a Friend.
The Eternal 13 year old in Me
I may have just had a small temper tantrum because I was trying to watch a clip of Eclipse but could not hear it because my husband as the audacity to be watching the freaking news and it would appear my six year old is attempting origami with an empty microwave popcorn bag.
Just thought you should know.
Just thought you should know.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Guilt is a Vicious Girl
Okay, so obviously it isn't any secret that I don't care for my job much. Unfortunately, on one level I do care what people think about me. How are these two things related?
In my neverending quest to be away from work with a legitimate reason, you'll remember how desperate I was for my children to get the chicken pox. They did. What that amounts to is less than 20 days worked since April 30th. (This is partly due to forced holidays taken the first week of May due to child care issues). Couple that with an insanely busy workload and it spells trouble. So eventually, no matter how much I hate it there, I do feel responsible for my work and don't like having to leave it for others to do.
Last night my youngest was up a lot with fever and a cough; this morning I decided it best to keep him home since he was coughing to the point of nearly vomiting. Then by 11 a.m. he was asking to go play outside. Guilty conscience kicked in and I called my child care provider and asked if it'd be okay if I brought he and his brother. She said yes so off to work I went.
I have so much work to do I don't even know where to start. Tomorrow should be a busy day and hopefully a productive one. I do have some banked time to use so was planning on getting my hair done but am feeling guilty about that too. It may not matter though as by 7 tonight, the little man's temperature was back up to just over 101 and he was in rough shape. I gave him some Advil and it did perk him up but what will the night bring? Tomorrow morning?
I don't know...what I do know is if he is sick, and I have to stay home (and it's me who has paid sick leave so it's not really a viable option for Mr. Man to stay home), that bitch Guilt will have me feeling like an ass when I call in to work.
I can't believe I'm actually hoping to be able to go to work tomorrow. It's wrong on a number of levels.
And on that note, he's awake, crying and coughing right now....
In my neverending quest to be away from work with a legitimate reason, you'll remember how desperate I was for my children to get the chicken pox. They did. What that amounts to is less than 20 days worked since April 30th. (This is partly due to forced holidays taken the first week of May due to child care issues). Couple that with an insanely busy workload and it spells trouble. So eventually, no matter how much I hate it there, I do feel responsible for my work and don't like having to leave it for others to do.
Last night my youngest was up a lot with fever and a cough; this morning I decided it best to keep him home since he was coughing to the point of nearly vomiting. Then by 11 a.m. he was asking to go play outside. Guilty conscience kicked in and I called my child care provider and asked if it'd be okay if I brought he and his brother. She said yes so off to work I went.
I have so much work to do I don't even know where to start. Tomorrow should be a busy day and hopefully a productive one. I do have some banked time to use so was planning on getting my hair done but am feeling guilty about that too. It may not matter though as by 7 tonight, the little man's temperature was back up to just over 101 and he was in rough shape. I gave him some Advil and it did perk him up but what will the night bring? Tomorrow morning?
I don't know...what I do know is if he is sick, and I have to stay home (and it's me who has paid sick leave so it's not really a viable option for Mr. Man to stay home), that bitch Guilt will have me feeling like an ass when I call in to work.
I can't believe I'm actually hoping to be able to go to work tomorrow. It's wrong on a number of levels.
And on that note, he's awake, crying and coughing right now....
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Sweet Pox
So here it is, a Wednesday night at nearly quarter after 10, and I'm slowly sipping on a beer and checking my various favourite sites. You wanna know why? Well, because, dear Friends, Reese finally got the much coveted chicken pox! I worked a total of eight days in May between holidays and Rhett's pox and June is off to a fine start as well!
Really it's going to bite me in the ass, hard, upon returning to work full time because the work keeps piling, the crises keep coming and it's just all awaiting my valiant return.
For now though, I shall focus on the positive for two reasons: I don't have to go to work tomorrow and I'm slightly buzzed from the beeeer. tee hee. Anyway, so far Reese is holding up well. Slightly less energetic than usual but not too itchy yet, but it's early. I promise to take veery good care of him as a reward for earning back my love and taking his hit for 'Team Mommy Stays Home from Work'.
Disregard the spelling errors. This too can be attributed to my friend in the can. Ha ha. That sounds like my friend is in the bathroom. No, this is my liquid friend in an aluminum can. I'm fancy like that. No glass for me, thank you very much.
Really it's going to bite me in the ass, hard, upon returning to work full time because the work keeps piling, the crises keep coming and it's just all awaiting my valiant return.
For now though, I shall focus on the positive for two reasons: I don't have to go to work tomorrow and I'm slightly buzzed from the beeeer. tee hee. Anyway, so far Reese is holding up well. Slightly less energetic than usual but not too itchy yet, but it's early. I promise to take veery good care of him as a reward for earning back my love and taking his hit for 'Team Mommy Stays Home from Work'.
Disregard the spelling errors. This too can be attributed to my friend in the can. Ha ha. That sounds like my friend is in the bathroom. No, this is my liquid friend in an aluminum can. I'm fancy like that. No glass for me, thank you very much.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Yes He is My Favourite
My family often accuses me of favouring my youngest child. Three year old Rhett. I previously wrote about how he may or may not have me wrapped around his finger. At times I have felt slightly guilty about this but today, I don't.
I don't because, bless his three year old little heart, he saw his brother was not going to comply with my never-ending quest to have a valid reason not to go to work and he promptly got the chicken pox. FOR A SECOND TIME.
How do I not give him a little extra snuggle for that? Or maybe even whisper sweet nothings about him being my favourite in his ear when no one else is around? He is putting his soft little toddler body through a second spell of itching and potential scarring just so I don't have to go to work. Or at least that's how I see it...
If you follow along and remember, he broke out with the pox Monday before last. Which meant I got to stay home from Tuesday to this Tuesday because of the long weekend. I went back to work two days ago and am home again today. He has sprouted three new solid pox and the beginnings of three others on his face. I love him so much. And with any luck at all, the six year old will still eventually get them.
That is, if he wants any of my love, he will.
I don't because, bless his three year old little heart, he saw his brother was not going to comply with my never-ending quest to have a valid reason not to go to work and he promptly got the chicken pox. FOR A SECOND TIME.
How do I not give him a little extra snuggle for that? Or maybe even whisper sweet nothings about him being my favourite in his ear when no one else is around? He is putting his soft little toddler body through a second spell of itching and potential scarring just so I don't have to go to work. Or at least that's how I see it...
If you follow along and remember, he broke out with the pox Monday before last. Which meant I got to stay home from Tuesday to this Tuesday because of the long weekend. I went back to work two days ago and am home again today. He has sprouted three new solid pox and the beginnings of three others on his face. I love him so much. And with any luck at all, the six year old will still eventually get them.
That is, if he wants any of my love, he will.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Help Needed
As I become further immersed in the world of blogging one thing has become very clear. My title sucks. Not of the actual posts; if you ask me, some of those are quite clever. I'm referring to the actual blog title. I recently stumbled across one titled "Mommy Wants Vodka." Now why in the hell didn't I think of that? There is also "The Sassy Curmudgeon" and a whole host of clever catch-ily titled blogs out there.
"Searching" was originally chosen in an effort to reflect how this blog was a way of me looking for a way out of my job or maybe for a sliver of contentment in my life. Which I suppose it still is but still, I think I, or we, could come up with something better.
Thinking back the common themes of my blog are hating my job, loving and hating Vodka, and parenting. How should one combine all those? I suppose I could change it to "I Hate My Job and Drink Only to Cope". Not catchy or all-encompassing enough.
So friends and neighbours, any suggestions??? Throw any and all you got at me, because I'm completely drawing a blank.
Thanking you in advance for what I'm sure are going to be some kick ass ideas!
"Searching" was originally chosen in an effort to reflect how this blog was a way of me looking for a way out of my job or maybe for a sliver of contentment in my life. Which I suppose it still is but still, I think I, or we, could come up with something better.
Thinking back the common themes of my blog are hating my job, loving and hating Vodka, and parenting. How should one combine all those? I suppose I could change it to "I Hate My Job and Drink Only to Cope". Not catchy or all-encompassing enough.
So friends and neighbours, any suggestions??? Throw any and all you got at me, because I'm completely drawing a blank.
Thanking you in advance for what I'm sure are going to be some kick ass ideas!
Friday, May 21, 2010
Out of Ideas
I want to write about something but am drawing a blank. Maybe I'm slightly distracted by my normally reserved daughter's gyrations to the Glee soundtrack in the kitchen. Maybe I'm too tired. Maybe I've run out of things to say. That's really unlikely though.
My husband wants to go out tonight. We've talked about taking in a movie. Do you people know what time a late show starts these days? Freakin' 10:15. I'm not really comfortable falling asleep in the theatre. Don't get me wrong, I've done it before and so would like to avoid it. Actually I wouldn't have minded falling asleep during 'Inglorious Basterds' but the theatre was freezing so no such luck.
He also suggested drinking. I'm not really in the mood for that either. I'm tired. My three year old must have just won a Guinness World Record award this week for the child with the most energy in the history of the world while 'down' with the chicken pox. I'm afraid I'd have one drink and nod off.
He though, had a very stressful week as he is working for the real-life equivalent of, well I want to say Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond but I'm not really sure that encapsulates it. Ryan really is patient by nature but this woman has put him over the edge. She gave him food and he THREW IT AWAY. He does not throw food away. Ever. He really does not like her and having met her myself and having her ask me my name three times within seven minutes, I can't say I'm a fan either. She then decided she'd remember my name, Angela, by associating it with 'angel' as in and she said: "Ryan's wife is an angel. Angela." Okay then, I guess I'll remember her name with the following: 'Marilyn is a moron'. I think if Marilyn could've read my mind the other day, that is if she isn't illiterate, and believe me I have my suspicions, she'd have a whole other word association with which to remember me by.
Gotta go, time to Busta' Move.
My husband wants to go out tonight. We've talked about taking in a movie. Do you people know what time a late show starts these days? Freakin' 10:15. I'm not really comfortable falling asleep in the theatre. Don't get me wrong, I've done it before and so would like to avoid it. Actually I wouldn't have minded falling asleep during 'Inglorious Basterds' but the theatre was freezing so no such luck.
He also suggested drinking. I'm not really in the mood for that either. I'm tired. My three year old must have just won a Guinness World Record award this week for the child with the most energy in the history of the world while 'down' with the chicken pox. I'm afraid I'd have one drink and nod off.
He though, had a very stressful week as he is working for the real-life equivalent of, well I want to say Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond but I'm not really sure that encapsulates it. Ryan really is patient by nature but this woman has put him over the edge. She gave him food and he THREW IT AWAY. He does not throw food away. Ever. He really does not like her and having met her myself and having her ask me my name three times within seven minutes, I can't say I'm a fan either. She then decided she'd remember my name, Angela, by associating it with 'angel' as in and she said: "Ryan's wife is an angel. Angela." Okay then, I guess I'll remember her name with the following: 'Marilyn is a moron'. I think if Marilyn could've read my mind the other day, that is if she isn't illiterate, and believe me I have my suspicions, she'd have a whole other word association with which to remember me by.
Gotta go, time to Busta' Move.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Critic's Choice
I don't get it. I am currently reading a book that won the 'Man Booker Prize' in 2007. I don't even know what that is but when a book has won an award, any award, one assumes it is a good book. What I have found, more often than not, is these award winning books seldom make me smile. They are dark books full of dark wordy imagery. I don't overly enjoy these books. So why am I reading it? I have a strict rule, made for myself by myself, to finish every book I start no matter how much I dislike it. So there, I'm obligated. Plus, in this instance, I'm waiting for the author to just get to the point already. I'm waiting for the climax, one would say. However, like many women, I just don't think I'm going to get there. At least in this instance.
It's called 'The Gathering' by Anne Enright and is about a large Irish family. So far the biggest thrill of this book has been the cultural references and language. I enjoy that no matter what. 'Angela's Ashes' was also about a large Irish family but it was entertaining despite the dark theme of it all. This book also has a dark thematic element but is also convoluted and aimless.
Maybe it's me. I consider myself an intelligent person. I also enjoy being entertained but what seems to be the common cultural perception is the darker or worse or more confused one feels after reading a book or watching a movie, the more critically acclaimed it is. Why do we have to feel unhappy or disconcerted after seeking out entertainment? I suppose thought provoke-ment is a positive thing but really, and this maybe attributed to the work I do, I don't want to think that hard while being entertained. I want to laugh and feel good upon completion. After watching the movie 'Monster' with Charlize Theron a few years back I was angry and wanted to cry. So yes, excellent acting and story but I did not feel good or entertained. I cannot tell you how many times I've watched 'Anchorman' with Will Ferrell. It did not win any awards. I always feel good and highly entertained after watching. Also good acting.
I love lamp.
Okay, maybe it is me.
Stay Classy San Diego (which I believe means "whale's vagina").
It's called 'The Gathering' by Anne Enright and is about a large Irish family. So far the biggest thrill of this book has been the cultural references and language. I enjoy that no matter what. 'Angela's Ashes' was also about a large Irish family but it was entertaining despite the dark theme of it all. This book also has a dark thematic element but is also convoluted and aimless.
Maybe it's me. I consider myself an intelligent person. I also enjoy being entertained but what seems to be the common cultural perception is the darker or worse or more confused one feels after reading a book or watching a movie, the more critically acclaimed it is. Why do we have to feel unhappy or disconcerted after seeking out entertainment? I suppose thought provoke-ment is a positive thing but really, and this maybe attributed to the work I do, I don't want to think that hard while being entertained. I want to laugh and feel good upon completion. After watching the movie 'Monster' with Charlize Theron a few years back I was angry and wanted to cry. So yes, excellent acting and story but I did not feel good or entertained. I cannot tell you how many times I've watched 'Anchorman' with Will Ferrell. It did not win any awards. I always feel good and highly entertained after watching. Also good acting.
I love lamp.
Okay, maybe it is me.
Stay Classy San Diego (which I believe means "whale's vagina").
Cheated
Remember how Rhett the 3 year old has chicken pox and yesterday he was extra cuddly? Well he still has chicken pox but is slightly less cuddly. In fact you can hardly tell he's sick. At this very minute he's doing laps around the house.
Um, I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the benefits of a sick child but they are supposed to have less energy and be quiet pathetic little souls who watch movies on the couch and ask for juice. Instead my child is attempting to re-enact Avatar.
He got up at 5 a.m. today. At 12:30 p.m. he announced he was ready to sleep and did so for two hours, thank Jebus. I had a nap too followed by the rapid succession inhaling of a chocolate pudding and chocolate covered granola bar but I'm still bitchy. I need to keep a stash of actual chocolate hidden in my house for just such occasions. However, much as with cookies, if I know it's here, it's not hidden and it's gone.
Sigh. Anyway, I am mature and good enough of a mother to appreciate the fact that my little boy is not suffering. I just want him slowed down a little. Is that too much to ask?
I think not.
Um, I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the benefits of a sick child but they are supposed to have less energy and be quiet pathetic little souls who watch movies on the couch and ask for juice. Instead my child is attempting to re-enact Avatar.
He got up at 5 a.m. today. At 12:30 p.m. he announced he was ready to sleep and did so for two hours, thank Jebus. I had a nap too followed by the rapid succession inhaling of a chocolate pudding and chocolate covered granola bar but I'm still bitchy. I need to keep a stash of actual chocolate hidden in my house for just such occasions. However, much as with cookies, if I know it's here, it's not hidden and it's gone.
Sigh. Anyway, I am mature and good enough of a mother to appreciate the fact that my little boy is not suffering. I just want him slowed down a little. Is that too much to ask?
I think not.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Play-Doh, Power Rangers & the Pox
So yes, he officially has the chicken pox. I am not at work. I am wearing the coveted elastic-waisted pant. I tried to monopolize the Play-Doh play this morning. No, I'm not kidding.
See it was just Rhett's birthday and he got a Play-Doh set for making hamburgers, fries, etc. He wanted to play with it this morning and so I joined him in a little creativity. Is it wrong that I really like the smell of Play-Doh? Also, is it wrong if you are not good at taking turns with your three year old and may be just as excited as he is at the prospect of making Play-Doh french fries? I don't think so. Well, maybe it's okay to like the smell but in hindsight I probably could've let him make his fries before I finished mine. Also because of the crazy Type 'A'-ness of my being I had to make my fries out of the yellow Play-Doh and shuddered when he wanted to make brown fries.
Yes I'm aware I have issues.
Anyway, so far so good. He's got maybe six or seven pox at present and he's a little warm. Runny nose and cough and extra-cuddly. For those of you who are wondering just what my damage is in regards to him getting the chicken pox, it's really more about him than me. Yes I like having a valid reason to stay home from work but the younger these little people get the chicken pox, the less they suffer during.
That being said, I took a special delight in calling in and informing my supervisor I would not be in for likely the remainder of the week and really wasn't overly upset when Rhett got up at 6:10 a.m. Why? Well number one, he's not feeling well and number two, I didn't have to go to work. That never gets old.
Never.
See it was just Rhett's birthday and he got a Play-Doh set for making hamburgers, fries, etc. He wanted to play with it this morning and so I joined him in a little creativity. Is it wrong that I really like the smell of Play-Doh? Also, is it wrong if you are not good at taking turns with your three year old and may be just as excited as he is at the prospect of making Play-Doh french fries? I don't think so. Well, maybe it's okay to like the smell but in hindsight I probably could've let him make his fries before I finished mine. Also because of the crazy Type 'A'-ness of my being I had to make my fries out of the yellow Play-Doh and shuddered when he wanted to make brown fries.
Yes I'm aware I have issues.
Anyway, so far so good. He's got maybe six or seven pox at present and he's a little warm. Runny nose and cough and extra-cuddly. For those of you who are wondering just what my damage is in regards to him getting the chicken pox, it's really more about him than me. Yes I like having a valid reason to stay home from work but the younger these little people get the chicken pox, the less they suffer during.
That being said, I took a special delight in calling in and informing my supervisor I would not be in for likely the remainder of the week and really wasn't overly upset when Rhett got up at 6:10 a.m. Why? Well number one, he's not feeling well and number two, I didn't have to go to work. That never gets old.
Never.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Mission Accomplished!
You know I was quite pleased with this title to begin with, then when I realized it encompasses more than one thing, I was doubly pleased.
Mission #1: Steven getting his license.
Accomplished: Today!! Yee haw. No more carting that guy back and forth to work, or otherwise. No more driving with him with jaw clenched praying to Jebus he doesn't take off my side mirror on a parked car. Don't get me wrong, he's a good driver, but my vehicle is considerably nicer than his....I have now decided my second least favourite parenting job (#1 being toilet training) is Driver Training. The actual driving is tense and waiting for them while they go for their test is a special kind of torture of it's own. This was the poor kid's third run through and if he didn't get it today I was prepared to do the 'Bend & Snap' a la Legally Blonde if need be. Not sure that would've changed anyone's minds but maybe they'd have felt pity for the poor kid? In any event, it was unnecessary.
Mission #2: Acquiring the Chicken Pox
Accomplished: Today!! Rhett climbed into bed with us this morning and I saw a slightly suspicious looking mark on his arm but mosquitoes are already out so I thought maybe that was all it was. Well, now tonight, his nose his running like a mother-trucker, he is slightly warm and has four or five more spots. Chicken Pox is in the hoouuse!!
Part of me is slightly concerned as I am very busy at work and getting more behind by the minute and then the other 97.8% of me is thinking 'Woo Hoo!'. I will regret it when I go back next week and am swamped but whatevs. Right now I could care less. Right now I want to eat chocolate. Right now I'm wearing a nice elastic-waisted pant and fantasizing about wearing such pants all week. And not going to work. Not trying to remain professional while talking to some of the stupidest most ignorant people I have met (clients and co-workers alike) all day.
So people, for a Monday, in the end, it wasn't too shabby at all. The pets helped me keep it real as I did get to clean up some cat puke. Oh and for those of you concerned at my apparent lack of empathy as to the well being of my poor little three year old who'll soon be very itchy; back off, I'm not the one who had his brother licking his mouth when all was said and done in an effort to ensure he gets the chicken pox too. Okay, so Ryan didn't tell Reese to do that, but Reese got carried up in the moment of our family glee in the pox discovery and licked Rhett's mouth...gross, I know. I honestly believe it would never cross a little girl's mind to do such a thing. However 13 year old boys don't make each other's lives miserable just for sport, so it's a fair trade.
Good Night. Expect a full Chicken Pox (pock?) update in the morning. God willing, he'll be covered...
Mission #1: Steven getting his license.
Accomplished: Today!! Yee haw. No more carting that guy back and forth to work, or otherwise. No more driving with him with jaw clenched praying to Jebus he doesn't take off my side mirror on a parked car. Don't get me wrong, he's a good driver, but my vehicle is considerably nicer than his....I have now decided my second least favourite parenting job (#1 being toilet training) is Driver Training. The actual driving is tense and waiting for them while they go for their test is a special kind of torture of it's own. This was the poor kid's third run through and if he didn't get it today I was prepared to do the 'Bend & Snap' a la Legally Blonde if need be. Not sure that would've changed anyone's minds but maybe they'd have felt pity for the poor kid? In any event, it was unnecessary.
Mission #2: Acquiring the Chicken Pox
Accomplished: Today!! Rhett climbed into bed with us this morning and I saw a slightly suspicious looking mark on his arm but mosquitoes are already out so I thought maybe that was all it was. Well, now tonight, his nose his running like a mother-trucker, he is slightly warm and has four or five more spots. Chicken Pox is in the hoouuse!!
Part of me is slightly concerned as I am very busy at work and getting more behind by the minute and then the other 97.8% of me is thinking 'Woo Hoo!'. I will regret it when I go back next week and am swamped but whatevs. Right now I could care less. Right now I want to eat chocolate. Right now I'm wearing a nice elastic-waisted pant and fantasizing about wearing such pants all week. And not going to work. Not trying to remain professional while talking to some of the stupidest most ignorant people I have met (clients and co-workers alike) all day.
So people, for a Monday, in the end, it wasn't too shabby at all. The pets helped me keep it real as I did get to clean up some cat puke. Oh and for those of you concerned at my apparent lack of empathy as to the well being of my poor little three year old who'll soon be very itchy; back off, I'm not the one who had his brother licking his mouth when all was said and done in an effort to ensure he gets the chicken pox too. Okay, so Ryan didn't tell Reese to do that, but Reese got carried up in the moment of our family glee in the pox discovery and licked Rhett's mouth...gross, I know. I honestly believe it would never cross a little girl's mind to do such a thing. However 13 year old boys don't make each other's lives miserable just for sport, so it's a fair trade.
Good Night. Expect a full Chicken Pox (pock?) update in the morning. God willing, he'll be covered...
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Obligated
Like most people I know I have been eagerly awaiting summer's arrival. Well, today it's kind of here. Don't get me wrong, it pleases me but right now I'm outside surrounded by my family and getting increasingly irritated by the moment.
We have the paddling pool set up; we've tried out the new Buzz Lightyear sprinkler, ate lunch outside and really, right now, I'm just anticipating the dryer being finished so I have a reason to go inside. My 16 year old is singing One Winged Dove; Reese wants a Rice Krispie square, the cat's trying to drink my pop, and the other two children are having a bubble war.
Serenity now!
I want to watch TV.
Okay, I posted this and then realized the title doesn't make any sense as is. It is nice out. Where I live these days are so far and few between we are supposed to and need to embrace every last one. For now though, I've had about all the outside family fun I can take. And we are still going to barbecue.
I am the worst mother in the world? It's Sunday. Day of family togetherness. Yet I am done with togetherness and ready for a nap. And maybe some cake. Mostly I am ready for quiet.
I escaped into the house and now they are all following me. Steven continues to do his best rendition of Stevie Nicks...
Maybe what I really need is a drink? Oh joy, the dryer just buzzed, sweet escape.
We have the paddling pool set up; we've tried out the new Buzz Lightyear sprinkler, ate lunch outside and really, right now, I'm just anticipating the dryer being finished so I have a reason to go inside. My 16 year old is singing One Winged Dove; Reese wants a Rice Krispie square, the cat's trying to drink my pop, and the other two children are having a bubble war.
Serenity now!
I want to watch TV.
Okay, I posted this and then realized the title doesn't make any sense as is. It is nice out. Where I live these days are so far and few between we are supposed to and need to embrace every last one. For now though, I've had about all the outside family fun I can take. And we are still going to barbecue.
I am the worst mother in the world? It's Sunday. Day of family togetherness. Yet I am done with togetherness and ready for a nap. And maybe some cake. Mostly I am ready for quiet.
I escaped into the house and now they are all following me. Steven continues to do his best rendition of Stevie Nicks...
Maybe what I really need is a drink? Oh joy, the dryer just buzzed, sweet escape.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Claire Huxtable can go Screw Herself
Why, you ask, am I hating on the ever-lovely Mrs. Huxtable? Because Claire, despite having five children and what always appeared to be a very busy legal career, always had a spotless home. Yet you never saw Claire in sweat pants bent over the tub scrubbing or better yet on her hands and knees cleaning around the base of her toilet. Maybe it's because there was only Bill and Theo but I'm sure even they missed sometimes. Or maybe she made them sit down, I don't know. Either way, it's all LIES. They didn't have a cleaning lady. In one episode Claire wore a bigger button down shirt and was dusting their already spotless bedroom. Sometimes Cliff did the dishes. But did the Huxtable kids ever leave bowls of watermelon rinds in the living room? No sirree!
You know who I liked, Roseanne. Roseanne's house was a little more the real deal. Sometimes it was shown messy. Sometimes Dan and Roseanne fought about who should do what around the house. Dan and Roseanne's kids yelled back at them. Wait, to clarify, in the pilot episode of The Cosby Show, the house was somewhat untidy. And that was it. Roseanne's house was untidy on more than one occasion and Roseanne wore sweatpants. I will always bond with a woman in sweat pants.
So why am I fixating on popular TV shows of the '80s? Because there is a current war raging in my household over chores. I can't take it anymore. I would like to say I give up and just live in filth but really, who really wants to do that. I have a hard time relaxing if it's dirty. Don't get me wrong, at any given time, there is at least one or two (six) rooms that are not fit for humans. There are six of us and three pets. Get a cleaning lady you say? I just might. However it's not going to solve the day to day issues of who does what. And you know what, I almost don't care anymore. Maybe if the bathrooms, kitchen and floors are clean I will be able to just suck it up and deal with it. Maybe.
In the meantime, Apocalypse Now took place in my kitchen/dining room last night and I'd like to thank the neighbours for not calling the police.
And I'd like to thank the Huxtables for not only portraying an African-American family in a positive light but also setting unrealistic and potentially unreachable goals for mother's everywhere.
Assholes.
You know who I liked, Roseanne. Roseanne's house was a little more the real deal. Sometimes it was shown messy. Sometimes Dan and Roseanne fought about who should do what around the house. Dan and Roseanne's kids yelled back at them. Wait, to clarify, in the pilot episode of The Cosby Show, the house was somewhat untidy. And that was it. Roseanne's house was untidy on more than one occasion and Roseanne wore sweatpants. I will always bond with a woman in sweat pants.
So why am I fixating on popular TV shows of the '80s? Because there is a current war raging in my household over chores. I can't take it anymore. I would like to say I give up and just live in filth but really, who really wants to do that. I have a hard time relaxing if it's dirty. Don't get me wrong, at any given time, there is at least one or two (six) rooms that are not fit for humans. There are six of us and three pets. Get a cleaning lady you say? I just might. However it's not going to solve the day to day issues of who does what. And you know what, I almost don't care anymore. Maybe if the bathrooms, kitchen and floors are clean I will be able to just suck it up and deal with it. Maybe.
In the meantime, Apocalypse Now took place in my kitchen/dining room last night and I'd like to thank the neighbours for not calling the police.
And I'd like to thank the Huxtables for not only portraying an African-American family in a positive light but also setting unrealistic and potentially unreachable goals for mother's everywhere.
Assholes.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Changes
This is just a super quick post to let people know I believe I may have solved the issue with people not being able to comment on my blog. Please give it a whirl again, when the mood strikes, and let me know how it works out for you.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Plain Jane
So what with the fancy new laptop and all I am spending more time on line. What I am learning is my blog is beyond basic. What I also learned is apparently my comments on other blogs are not up to snuff. I tried to comment on Sassy Curmudgeon's blog and it doesn't appear she approved it. It was a funny little comment plus I said I liked her blog. I call that bitchy, not 'Sassy'.
However, through her blog I found another one I liked but lost it again but she wrote one about being on Cymbalta and therefore not being able to drink beer as well as she used to. I personally find my Vodka tales more entertaining but that being said, hers was good. The thing is, both of these woman have all kinds of stuff all over their blogs. Apparently there are blog awards, there are all kinds of blogging networks and societies. And I need to either hone in on this stuff or just write a damn book already because as much as I continue to amuse my mother, she is not going to pay me to do this which is the ultimate goal.
Why can't I just enjoy writing for the sake of writing? Because today a client gave me shit for taking last week off of work. I don't need that.
For now, it's off to bed. Rest up because I forsee many hours ahead spent on jazzing this blog up. That's right, I said it, I'm all about the jazz.
I'm also all about Glee and an inappropriate Cougar crush on Finn when he sang Jesse's Girl. Don't be a hater and judge me. Or do, and comment on my blog. Guess what? No matter how mean it is, I'll approve it. That's how I roll and that, I think, is pretty darn Sassy.
However, through her blog I found another one I liked but lost it again but she wrote one about being on Cymbalta and therefore not being able to drink beer as well as she used to. I personally find my Vodka tales more entertaining but that being said, hers was good. The thing is, both of these woman have all kinds of stuff all over their blogs. Apparently there are blog awards, there are all kinds of blogging networks and societies. And I need to either hone in on this stuff or just write a damn book already because as much as I continue to amuse my mother, she is not going to pay me to do this which is the ultimate goal.
Why can't I just enjoy writing for the sake of writing? Because today a client gave me shit for taking last week off of work. I don't need that.
For now, it's off to bed. Rest up because I forsee many hours ahead spent on jazzing this blog up. That's right, I said it, I'm all about the jazz.
I'm also all about Glee and an inappropriate Cougar crush on Finn when he sang Jesse's Girl. Don't be a hater and judge me. Or do, and comment on my blog. Guess what? No matter how mean it is, I'll approve it. That's how I roll and that, I think, is pretty darn Sassy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)