Merry Christmas! OKAY?!?!?

Ahhh, Christmas... that magical time of year when I can sit on my couch and watch the beautiful little lights on my Christmas tree twinkle along with the soothing holiday music.  I can look out my window and see the huge snowflakes seemingly take forever to tumble to the ground and balance delicately on the branches of the giant trees in my front yard.  You know that sound a record makes when you drag the needle across it?  Insert that sound here...

I can sit on my couch; awkwardly positioned in my living room to allow for the half assembled entertainment unit it is facing.  Any happy Christmas tunes attempted at being heard are being drowned out by the sound of drills being used to attach the last pieces to my new cabinets.  And Christmas tree???  I have a sad little 10" tree on a small table in the window that basically conveys the message,
"Yes, we are Christians and YES we know it's Christmas.  THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO RIGHT NOW!!"  

The last thing to save the lack of Christmas spirit permeating in my half finished house is the beautiful snow, blah blah blah.  I look outside and see giant naked trees;  brown and sad, looking at me hopelessly as if to say,     "We ditched our leaves for THIS?!? Seriously??  We are naked out here.                   NAKED!!!"

 

The road is covered with remnants of snow, which has basically become big patches of dirty ice. The only thing that made me feel better about not getting the yard put back together before winter was that the ugliness of it would be hidden under a blanket of white snow, hiding the grossness until spring...Yeah... didn't happen.  Bumpy brown dirt is sitting out there mocking me.  "nice yard, Redneck!" 
Our reno addition that was started in the spring was supposed to be done by September, middle of October at the latest.  Here we are, less than a week before Christmas and I still do not have plumbing in my kitchen.  Ahh yes... I remember the good ole days when I could go into my kitchen...turn on a tap... and water came out.  Now THAT was living!  This morning I was washing a few mugs out to be put back into the cabinets.  This involved filling a bucket with water (from my bathtub) and washing them in there.  Yeah... that was fun.  After the water cooled and needed to be replaced for the second time, I managed to utter a wonderfully "un-Christmas like" word and was done for the day.  I think I've been fairly patient throughout this adventure, with only minor intermittent bitching.  Although in my defense, before we even started I did inform my husband that there would be whining, to which he replied "Yes; shocking".

My beautiful living room... be jealous.

"SuperMom!!"... and other words that get me irate.

I am what some call a "stay at home Mom".  This is seriously annoying and I find myself always having to explain why and then justify it...
Here are a few comments that make me completely insane;

1) "You don't do ANYTHING?!"
2) "You don't feel guilty not contributing to the family?"
3) "Must be nice to have that luxury!"

In regards to comment #1... Of course I don't do anything!  The kids have been able to feed and clothe themselves since birth!  The house stays perfectly clean because my children are absolute angels and always insist on cleaning up after themselves...Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and lounge on my sofa and watch soap operas all afternoon...

Comment #2... Not contributing?  I would like to sit down and add up what it would cost to hire someone to look after the kids and house... but my tiny little housewife brain just can't handle those big numbers.

Comment #3... Luxury?  Doesn't feel like a luxury when I am nursing two sick kids while trying to keep up with the barfed up bedding they keep producing.  While you are going out for lunch with your co-workers, I am having headless animal crackers (because my darlings find them "creepy") and watching TreeHouse while sitting on the floor and being used as a human bean bag chair.  There is no extra money for evenings out, hair appointments, nail appointments and girls night involves Polly Pockets spread from one end of the house to the other.
I am not complaining!  I chose this life and I have loved it (Well, MOST of it).  However, when some snotty desk jockey mom looks down her nose at me simply because I opted to stay at home and raise my own children  *gasp!* I get a little annoyed.   And if she dares to go into the "poor me... I miss my babies all day!  It breaks my heart to leave them! 
Uh... bite me!  Yes some moms have to work, especially if they are a single parent or the father can't work for whatever reason.  But again... did you NEED to have half a dozen kids?  (because these people never have just one or two.)  I guess it's easier to have a baby knowing you don't have to be the one staying at home and raising it.  I think that is a MAJOR insult to the Moms out there that are forced to work because of situations beyond their comtrol.  I know of some who would love to stay at home with their kids but thanks to disappearing husbands and fathers, they can't.  And if I hear the term "SuperMom" one more time I may actually have to hurt someone.  Unless you are wearing a red cape and can actually fly; you are NOT super.  You're a Mom.  Working all day and then volunteering on every committee there is doesn't make you a super Mom.  It makes you an absent one. 
All I'm saying, is that just because what I do all day isn't witnessed by an office full of people that doesn't make it any less important. 
I'm sure lots of women out there would disagree with me but I will share with you a valuable life lesson I have learned from my kids...
Place fingers in ears and shout,
"I'M NOT LISTENING AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!"

It Might Sound B*tchy, but...

OK... here's the deal. 
 I don't like you and I know you don't like me, so why must we do the pathetic little chit chat thing when we happen to be within arms length of each other??   Everyone knows this person... they greet you with that annoying high pitched long drawn out "Hiiiiiiii!!"...
                  Why, oh why are you talking to me?!?!
 I can't stand to be around you, in fact, I would rather staple bologna to my face and put my head in a piranha tank.  I know you don't like me because, believe it or not, you do not  own the rights on gossip and I've heard what you say behind my back.  I am OK with this... really.  Could not care less.  So why does this type of person INSIST on chatting with me like we are old friends?  After the exaggerated "hi" they usually hit you with a lame compliment, "I like your hair"  (it's been the  same since the late 90's), "I love your shoes" (year old Sketchers with paint splotches)... etc.  Why can't we just nod hello, maybe force a smile and go on our way?  Even after those heart warming compliments, I am unlikely to divulge any personal info that you can use at your next gossip session.  Although I seriously, SERIOUSLY want to make up some fantastic story just to see if you repeat it.  My favourite ideas generally involve me being abducted by aliens and enduring somewhat invasive procedures in my butt region, or how I had lunch with the Power Rangers last week.  But no... I try and act like a respectable adult and just smile numbly and endure your stupidity....all the while imagining what it would feel like to smack you up side the head with my purse.  (which is huge and freakishly heavy I may add)  I understand we have to act civil to our fellow man and I am fine with this.  But no where does it state, that I should have to endure your stupidity for longer than a nanosecond. 
So I am asking everyone to do me a favour... a favour for the world of science and psychology really.  Next time this happens to you, stop the person mid sentence and say,
" I can't listen to you without feeling my brain literally dissolve inside my cranium.  Please don't take this personally, I just have a low tolerance for stupidity and you are exceeding the acceptable level.  Have a nice day". 
See what I did there?  By adding the "have a nice day", it takes the sting out of the glaring reality that this person is just here on the planet, sucking up perfectly good oxygen.

I do see that this does sound sort of, if not completely bitchy, but who among us enjoys this sort of encounter?  I am just the one saying this out loud (or inside your head as you read).  So as they say, put on your big girl panties and move along.
                                               

Back to School!

Oh, the back to school frenzy!!


  The summer is over (albeit a crappy one) and everyone needs new EVERYTHING to start off the school year.  I'm not sure why or when this became a rule, because I'm pretty sure you can still learn math even if you are wearing 3 month old jeans.  Anyway, I lug my 14 year old son to the mall to try and find jeans.  Now, shopping with a 14 year old boy is painful enough, but I get the added pleasure of trying to find a size of jeans that does not exist anywhere.  He is 6'1" and has a 28 inch waist (I know... I hate him too)  So this requires him to have an inseam of about 35 or so.  I dare you to go into any clothing store and ask the first employee you see (preferably one that is 15 and works only 4hrs week.  Just to mess with their head) and ask for a size 28-35.  Now, if I were working there and someone asked me for this particular size I would reply, "Sorry, we do not make clothing for snakes", but I understand that people generally have a filter that stops comments such as these before they leave their mouths.  I, alas, was born without a filter.  It is a real medical condition...trust me.  So we search through a mountain of denim trying to find something that will sort of fit.  We find a pair of 30-34.  He tries them on and with the help of a generous belt, they will work!  Of course they are just long enough and he will likely outgrow them before we leave the mall and get back to my truck, but they fit and we have to buy them.  Never mind the fact that they look like they have been worn by a guy working on the rigs for a week without washing them and then thrown into a cage with denim hungry tigers.  Why do the tigers like to eat holes in the jeans?  I don't know, THEY JUST DO!!!  So with the hardest part behind us I try and focus on shirts.  I wasn't aware of this until that moment, but apparently I have awful taste.  Every shirt I suggest is either greeted with an eye roll accompanied by a scrunched up 'Are-you-freakin-kidding-me' face or a comment something along the lines of "I'd rather go to school naked in January".  So I give up and let the boy pick out his own shirts.  I kid you not, he walked by the table, grabbed every second one down the line and said he was done.  Seriously??  The ones I chose were too dorky but having his boxers visible through the holes in his new jeans isn't?  Fine... we head to the till and I get to pay a massive amount of money for a pair of dirty looking ripped up jeans and random t-shirts I'm fairly certain I could've picked out.  Hooray!  We are done!  (Except for having to find a pair of non-dorky running shoes in a size 12... but that's a whole other story)  We haul everything back home and he tosses it on his bed... oh, soooo thrilled he has new clothes for school.  I am just relieved THAT is over! 

  I sit quietly for a moment when I hear my 13 year daughter come in ,"Hey Mom...when are we going shopping for my school clothes?" 


 I break out in a cold sweat; and everything goes black.

Oh the Dreaded OB/GYN Appointment!

Here's what I find amusing...

Men spend a better part of their days thinking about one thing.   Start up a conversation regarding sex, women's underwear or any combination of the two and you have their undivided attention.  Throw in a detail or two of your latest pap test and they are running off to a dark corner to vomit.  Fickle creatures they are...

Anyway, I go for the dreaded exam and tolerate all the usual preliminary questions.  I hardly know you, but yes, I will tell you about my latest menstrual cycle.  That is not a fun conversation.  I can try and act all nonchalant, answer your questions as if we are discussing the weather, but we both know this is seriously weird.  This dude is getting paid to ask questions that in any other context would be considered sexual harassment. 
So we finish the chit chat and he leaves me with a "gown" that is better described as an overgrown paper towel.  I focus all my energy into trying to imagine the cute little sponge pockets commercial but it doesn't help.  I am heading full force into a panic attack.  I know I only have a short amount of time before he knocks on that door and the charade of this lovely little visit is destroyed.  So I hurry out of my clothes as if they were on fire and neatly tuck all under garments inside the leg of my pants.  This guy is about to get elbow deep in my business and I am worried he's going to see my bra lying there.  Yeah... now THAT would be embarrassing.  Why do I feel the need to hide it?  Would I rather have him believe I don't wear a bra?  Or maybe he's read my previous blog about the black bra incident...
So I scurry up on the table trying desperately to somehow look dignified and cover my ass with this delightful paper ensemble I have been provided with.  For extra measure... they have given me a larger paper towel to put on my lap, because that makes me less aware of the fact that all that is separating myself from him is a thin layer of recycled paper.  Nice try.
I sit waiting... my hearing has now gone super sonic as I strain to hear any encroaching footsteps.  I sit perfectly still so to not make crinkling noises, because again, THAT would be embarrassing.  He finally returns with of course the mandatory nurse in tow.  Why not?   Let's sell popcorn and have an audience!!  I realize she is there to prevent any law suits, but seriously... this whole experience is about as sexy as a senior home dirty dancing class.  Yep, not really into hitting on the doctor at this juncture.  So he does what he needs to as the nurse and I engage in mindless chatter.  This makes the entire thing completely enjoyable.  I imagine we are just sitting at a coffee house having a pleasant conversation.  Except that a man I hardly know has his hands in places I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to go and has asked me to "skooch down just a little".  To top it off he didn't even have to buy me dinner first.  What a rip off.

I survive the ordeal and leave his office as if I were fleeing a crime scene.   I am free once again!  I enjoy the rest of my day trying to repress the memory of the days earlier adventure and return to a fairly normal train of thought.  Have coffee with a friend and head to the grocery store to buy the bread I needed and pretend that was my only errand that day. 
 Fate of course could not allow this. 
 I am paying for my groceries trying to be normal, when who is in the line behind me... you guessed it... Dr. Cold Hands.  I don't care who you are... there is no way to have a conversation at a check out with a guy who just touched your cervix...EVER.

Yup... Doesn't get much grosser than this...

Ok... I have been looking for my black bra since January.  How does one lose a bra you ask?  I have no freakin' idea!  I have finally given up on it being tangled up inside another piece of clothing due to a washing machine rendezvous.  I don't generally take them off in public, so it isn't likely I lost it on main street... whatever... long story short, the bra is gone.  I've learned to live with this tragedy, and you should too.

So I go to my local Walmart, (this is where the story goes horribly wrong) to find a new one.  I have several black tops that require a black bra and since I am neither a 16 year girl (who likes to wear clothes that actually show off their bra) or a whore, I need to purchase a new black bra.  It starts off easily enough and I actually find one that looks decent.  No weird straps , itchy lace, or three pounds of padding to push up my poor ancient boobs to an unnatural spot just under my chin.  I try it on, it actually fits!  Hallelujah!  It's a miracle!  I continue on with my shopping quite happy that I actually found one to fit.  But this is only the beginning of my nightmare...

I get to the till and the girl there is searching for the tag to scan.  Of course there isn't one and I am groaning inside because this always seems to happen.  There I am stuck at a till with an item with no tag.  It was the only one I saw there so it's not like I can go grab another one for her to use.  She tries inputting the UPC on the size tag from the back...she stops...looks closely and says six words that will forever change my life...
     "It looks like it's been washed..."
It takes a moment for the true horror to become a reality as I slowly process what has just happened.  It wasn't a new bra... someone stole one and left this one - THEY'RE OLD ONE - in its place.  The panic takes hold; and here is the thought process -

That's why this was the only one
I tried on someones bra
Was it a morning bra, or worn all day?
Was this day 3 of this bra?
Who wore this?
Dear God.... did they wear this to the gym?!?
MY BOOBS WERE IN SOME STRANGERS BRA!!!
There isn't enough soap in the world to get me through this...

So there I am, freaking out at the till... there may or may not have been some swearing, it's hard to remember.  I think I have post traumatic stress disorder.  This is messed up!  Who does this?!?!  Gross doesn't even begin to describe this!

So here I am.  Sitting at home, STILL without a black bra thank you very much, freaking out over the fact that my girls have visited alien territory.  Not good...

I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO LIVE FOR!!!

The worst possible thing ever has happened and I don't think I can go on living!  Why? WHY?!  Did this have to happen to me?  I'm a fairly decent person...I mean I've never killed anyone, or robbed a liquor store...

So here I am, left all alone in my misery to suffer this tragic loss...
Boston Pizza has changed the BBQ sauce they use on their wings!  THERE!!  I've said it!  Oh the humanity...  Why would they do this?  They were perfect, and I loved them dearly.  A close friend and I would venture out a couple times a month just to go and have wings.  Now, I am afraid to tell you, they suck.  Suck out loud they do!  The cruelest part of this horrific tragedy, they still use the old sauce (the one that doesn't suck) on their ribs.  Seriously?  Are they looking for a way to torture me?  So fine; I ate the ribs.  Although I do really like them too so it wasn't a huge sacrifice.  But still... that's not the point!  I want my wings back and I plan on waging a full scale war against BP until they bring them back!!!  Or maybe I'll just whine and bitch about it for awhile...

ADDITION RENO - HERE WE GO!!

Addition Reno 2011 - DAY 1

     Here we go again...  Truth is, we planned on selling it after the first reno... and we did... but didn't move out.  We actually planned to buy places twice and had several offers and one solid deal... but the appraisals of the houses we wanted were almost 50% below the purchase price, so we said "no thank you, I'd rather not get kicked in the groin " (metaphorically speaking of course.  There was no actual groin kicking, although it did feel like it).  At the end of all this I will have my own bathroom and not have to share with my 13 year old daughter.  Her bathroom essentials have suddenly taken over and I have one little drawer left for me.  How can one tiny girl require that much space?  Ugh... anyway, today was the beginning of another adventure!  So far so good!  Although I heard something about the plumber coming to unhook the AC sometime this week... not good....

Teenagers - Ugh!

Here's the thing... many years ago, more than anything, I wanted to have a baby.  Unlike the many 16 year old girls I see cruising the malls, I was not able to conceive easily.  Years of doctors, invasive exams, surgeries, fertility treatments, temperature taking, and charting, would eventually lead to the birth of a beautiful  baby boy.  Nine months after he was born, we learned another bundle was on its way.  No medical intervention necessary... a tiny miracle!  This time however, our little miracle was brought home all wrapped up in pink looking like a piece of bubblegum.  Life was perfect, we had everything we had dreamed of!

Fast forward 13 years...

OMG!  What have we done?!  We now have a 14 year old boy and a 13 year old girl living in our house.  What they did to our sweet little babies... I don't know... 
Teenage boys, here's the summary - 

Unless it is a video game, food or has boobs, they show very little interest.  School is simply a place to learn about new video games from friends or to spend their lunch hour in the cafeteria making jokes about boobs.  That's it...

Teenage girls, a whole other story...

            Just when you think you have her figured out, the rules change.  Everything you thought you knew about everything will be greeted with an eye roll and the mandatory exasperating "Tsk" created while she exhales.  The irony here, she looks and sounds just like her mother.  Damn it!!!  How fair is that?  I say not at all, but my mother has a very different take on this situation.  So as my mother sits back and laughs (I think she may have early stages of dementia because believe me, this is NOT funny) I am losing my mind at the hands of this hormonal mini me.  Don't get me wrong, I love my kids more than life itself and would jump in front of a moving train if I had to, it's just that some days, I feel the need to clunk their precious little heads together.
  So while I complained years ago about running like crazy to keep up with two toddlers I miss those days severely.  As long as they were clothed, fed and had a toy in their hands they were happy and all was right in the world.  Now they require certain clothes that THEY must pick out (because I have no taste ... who knew?), the food must be "non-yucky" (for the girl) and "never-ending" (for the boy).  The toys have turned in to various electronic gadgets so that they can be in touch with friends AT ALL TIMES.  God forbid someone sneezes in Science and they don't hear about it until Phys Ed.  Now THAT would be a national tragedy! 
 Aliens have taken over the bodies of my precious little angels and there is nothing I can do but sit and wait for the insanity to pass.  Hopefully everything I have taught them until now has stuck somewhere in those heads and they will return to civilization in 7 years or so and be normal once again.

  The only thing keeping me going some days?  One day, I hope they have kids just like them when they grow up!  Then it will be my turn to laugh... 

What is this warm sensation on my skin?!? GASP! The Sun!!!!!

Seriously?!  It's May, and I am excited to see the sun... very sad.  Where is this "Global Warming" I keep hearing about?  It is only in places I am not... mocking me silently.  Anyway, winter is officially done, basketball season over, badminton almost finished so things should be slowing down nicely for us now.  Oh yeah... except for the fact that this weekend we start ripping our yard apart in preparation for the upcoming house addition.  We just did a complete reno of our house 4 years ago hoping to sell it and buy what we really want.  Good news, we did sell it....(actually since we bought it in 1997, we've sold it twice) We have had three private offers on it as well.  In spite of selling (twice) we have yet to move.  We are great at the "selling" part.... not so good at the "leaving" part.  Every house we have attempted to buy has hit a snag at some point usually  involving it appraising too low to make it a logical purchase.  (Despite the charming rumors that we didn't have the money to purchase, which we did THANK YOU VERY MUCH!)  So here we sit.  Defeated.  We have decided that some higher power is insisting that we stay here... no matter how many times we try and leave.  So when my DH suggested we add on instead of leave, three thoughts entered my brain...

1.) If I divorce him, will I still be stuck with this house?
2.) Do I have the upper body strength to dispose of his body after I beat him to death with my shoe?
3.) What if we actually do this?
  So here we are, a few months later with plans drawn up, trusses ordered and permits in place.  What could possibly go wrong?  I'll keep you posted...