Whew, that last post very depressing and super lame. Who says lame anymore you ask? Well I do, for starters, and I'm sure there is some aging Valley Girl who won't give up her teenage vernacular who is right there with me...
Anyway. Hmmmmm. What to write about. Well behind door number one I've got a giant monster poop in the middle of the kitchen floor by Zac (I thought it was a stuffed animal behind him, I swear.) Out the top of the diaper and onto the floor in a little pile...my friend CO was visiting...it was bad, you can ask her, I was afraid her child would inadvertently fall into it and never be recovered, which would be a shame, I like baby CO a lot....
Or behind door number two: the intense, public humiliation that I suffered in front of a room full of people, beamed to other universities?
Humiliation or Poop: both compelling subjects, I'm sure Shakespeare had the same dilemma when he was figuring out what to write... Hmmmm "To sleep, perchance to dream.... or musings on poop" I'm sure he was wrought with indecision...
So, humiliation it is....
Last week I attended a research grant writing workshop at the medical school at Dalhousie, the largest university in Nova Scotia ( for all of you stumbling upon this from Tasikstahn and other parts of the world....)
After a very painful, non-relevant morning, we came back from lunch to attend a workshop on writing Layperson summaries of our research projects, so that other scientists reading our work would give the go ahead to give us money to continue to be research geeks.
We are in a giant seminar room in the medical school and I am totally distracted by the technology in this room...there are three Jumbotron screens at the front, and we can see the seminar rooms of the other universty audience and they can see us too. There is a button with a sensor at each seat so that if you push it , one of the 6 high definition cameras in the room will train itself on you so you can be seen on the large screen at the front, as well as the large screens at the front of the rooms of the participating universities. You can see that this is not going to end well, can't you....
So the guy at the fronts asks the first question, "What should be in a summary?" I lean over to my manager Lynda, and whisper..."the purpose...". Some dude on the left side of the room calls out, "The purpose..." and the prof says, "Yes, exactly...." he then addresses the room, "What else???"
Now, no one is answering.... he's just standing there like Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's day off, intoning, "Anyone......anyone....." I immediately begin to feel sorry for the guy. I have this intense rescuing instinct, and I tend to use it, even if others don't particulary need or want to be rescued. I think I was a St. Bernard in a previous life. Come to think of it...I could really use one of those little portable kegs of whisky....who wouldn't love to see that coming??
So anyway, after squirming a bit and waiting for someone else to call out an answer I say, "Well, you'd probably want to say something about your methodology......." I expected the guy would be suitably grateful that I saved him from awkwardly standing at the front of the room while everyone else pointedly ignored his question. I also felt ok about answering because he was enthusiastic about the previous answer given by some dude who turned out to be a Zebrafish researcher. I'm sure such a nice guy would reward me with a verbal pat on the head and a nice compliment on the timliness and brilliance of my answer, given just when he needed it the most. Ahh, another satisfied customer....
So is that what you think the guy did?? "Thankyou, small blonde angel, for your exquisitely correct answer, I can now move on with my day with my will to live left reasonably intact.....lets share a shot of whiskey later shall we?"
Nope, THAT would not be blog content....no no, friends...there has to be trauma, humiliation, screaming inside of one's head and a ceaseless manic stream of conscienceness in order to qualify for space in this small section of the blogosphere....
He trains his critical, "oh, Blondie is going to pretend to be smart" look on me and says, "What exactly do you mean by that....can you follow up on that answer??"
What? That is not gratitude...no mountain top shots of Glenlivet for you buddy.
Now, a strange thing happened to me. The enormity of this will be lost to those who do not know me in person, who have never been subject to my never ending stream of verbage, who have never heard me rant in a "I can't believe she hasn't taken a breath yet"...type of way. Not only that, I'm THAT kid who raises her hand to always answer the question, I suffer from an intense case of "Ooooh, Pick-me-itis...." I will make up stuff, dredging bits and pieces of fragmented factoids on any given subject just to have something to say on a topic.... BUT, in this case....
I had nothing.....I mean... I listened for the voices in my head... who are normally shouting over one another to be heard, "ooh, say this....no, I've got something better.....oh, this will make you look the smartest of alllllllllll!!!" and strangely, they were all quiet, minding their own business, reading newspapers and sipping lattes and laid back cafes somewhere..... maybe meditating or doing suduko, I don't know.
So I smile weakly, and mumble some offhand attempt at a comedic response, "Oh, that's a good question... I don't want to take up ALL of the time, heh, heh..." and I attempt to wave him off in what I thought of as an "offhand yet disarmingly charming" way.
He is having none of it..."No, could you follow up that answer please. Oh, and hit your button."
WHAT? Hit the button, but he didn't make Zebrafish boy hit the button, he just let him sail on by with his correct answer, no jumbotron necessary.
So I start to get flushed, and I slowly reach for the button whispering under by breath (whilst hyperventilating...) Ohmygod, hewantsmetopushthebutton.......I've got NOTHING! Ok, calm down...just relax... you'll think of something...
So I push the button and sit in dread as the camera slowly arcs toward me and suddenly, there I am..On the Jumbotron. Oh and did I mention that it was drizzling outside and my mascara was running and I looked like a Romanian Refugee? (Not that I mean to minimize the plight of real refugees, with the starving and the losing of their homes and such, but you get the enormity of my personal angst here..) Anyway, I didn't quite realize how incredibly pathetic I looked until I saw myself in HD at the front of the room. I mean High Definition??? Is this really necessary...celebrities cringe at the thought of HD after they've spent 4 hours in hair and makeup with a professional. All I can say is t'wasn't pretty Cletis....
So back to frantically searching the recesses of my brain, begging the voices for help. Evidently the union got to them and they were on a mandatory break cause you could hear crickets on the ole thought assembly line. Finally I squeaked out... "Well, maybe you should say something about your participant pool and your research design??"
"Participant pool......research design....." he intones... ahhhhh. He pauses for a moment as if lost in thought and just when I think he might move on, he begins to lambaste my answer in front of the whole auditorium as well as the auditorium at the University of New Brunswick where the lovely HD signal was beamed to. "Do you actually think anyone would continue to read your summary using words like that?? You've bored me to death in the first sentence"...
I was actually embarrrased, and the thing is I don't get embarrassed, as in a sense of hot humiliation and shame... The last time it happened was in 2006. The funny thing is, when I told my manager that I was actually embarrased, she said, "Wow, that never happens, the last time I remember was in 2006". That's how seldom it happens, when it does it's a memorable event. And if you've read any of the other posts in this blog, you should know it takes a lot to embarrass me. Not that I shouldn't be embarrassed....I'm just comfortable in my own dorktom, and I take great pleasure at marvelling at just how much of a twit I can be sometimes, often floating above myself, shaking my head and thinking.."Will you just look at yourself down there..."
The funny thing, it wasn't even the Jumbotron thing that got me. I was past it, I didn't care anymore. Lacking any decent sense of self-preservation, I proceeded with 2 more futile attempts to redeem myself during the seminar. I spent the rest of the session trying for a right answer, slapping that damn button, not caring that I looked like a desperate, haggard, annoying, overachieving game show contestant.... I just wanted that guy to tell me I was RIGHT about SOMETHING before the end of the day.
He didn't....
Gag me with a spoon.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
And the sleep deprivation continues....
Ack, I'm tired. I'm not sure if it's the lack of light, because I stopped taking my Rhodiola, or because I can't sleep because I have to play musical beds all night.
I start out by needing to sit with the oldest, Kenzie until she falls asleep. She has developed a fear of her bedroom over the last year and refuses to sleep alone. I've tried letting her cry it out at age 6 but she seems so genuinely fearful that I'm sitting with her and hoping this too will pass.
So anyway, after she falls asleep around 8 or 830 I continue with my night until 11 or so when I go to bed. I am usually woken by Kenzie between 130-230 am when she wakes up and finds herself alone, gets scared and calls for me. I go into her bed for a while until Zac wakes up somewhere between 3 and 4. He too refuses to sleep alone, stating he is scared of his bed. I crawl into bed with him until his brother wakes between 5 and 530 wanting to get up for the day. After some high stakes negotiations, Marcus is settled back into his bed and I try to go back to my own. Sometimes I make it and sometimes Kenzie wakes AGAIN and I have to go back in with her. This happens EVERY NIGHT.
Luckily I have learned to survive on very little sleep during basic training, back when the twins were infants and woke every two hours until they were 14 months old. I would like to have hope that this will pass but considering Mackenzie is sleeping worse now than than any other time in her life, I'm not optimistic.
I would usually try to insert something funny here, but my funny is tired today too, so just carry on, go about your business... nothing to see here....
I start out by needing to sit with the oldest, Kenzie until she falls asleep. She has developed a fear of her bedroom over the last year and refuses to sleep alone. I've tried letting her cry it out at age 6 but she seems so genuinely fearful that I'm sitting with her and hoping this too will pass.
So anyway, after she falls asleep around 8 or 830 I continue with my night until 11 or so when I go to bed. I am usually woken by Kenzie between 130-230 am when she wakes up and finds herself alone, gets scared and calls for me. I go into her bed for a while until Zac wakes up somewhere between 3 and 4. He too refuses to sleep alone, stating he is scared of his bed. I crawl into bed with him until his brother wakes between 5 and 530 wanting to get up for the day. After some high stakes negotiations, Marcus is settled back into his bed and I try to go back to my own. Sometimes I make it and sometimes Kenzie wakes AGAIN and I have to go back in with her. This happens EVERY NIGHT.
Luckily I have learned to survive on very little sleep during basic training, back when the twins were infants and woke every two hours until they were 14 months old. I would like to have hope that this will pass but considering Mackenzie is sleeping worse now than than any other time in her life, I'm not optimistic.
I would usually try to insert something funny here, but my funny is tired today too, so just carry on, go about your business... nothing to see here....
Thursday, January 13, 2011
I give up, let the judgement begin...........
I could also entitle this post, "One of the many reasons I should be asked to get out of the car so I can be smacked on the back of the head".
This post is not about my kids..... the thing is, they're getting better, they seem to be morphing toward a more humanoid form, from the life-force sucking, face-melting screaming overlords that they were once wont to be. So now I need to find new things to write about, until they throw the next curveball at me and I find myself sobbing in a corner somewhere, while feeling vaguely grateful for blog content.
So on Monday morning I'm rushing about, getting everyone ready for school/work/babysitters and I go to start the car to warm it up for the mitten refusing screamees. I reach into my purse and find that my car keys are not there. I look in the cubby on the shelf in the kitchen, also no keys, coat pockets.... NOPE! A rising sense of panic begins to engulf me...not that I won't be able to leave the house and I'll be trapped in the snow with bored kids all day trying to work from home....wait, why wasn't I more panicked about that???
Hmmmm, probably because I was more preoccupied with dreading having to tell the husband that I couldn't find the keys. I'd get THE LOOK, the EYE ROLL and THE sermon about not looking after my stuff and not paying attention, and the I told you this would happen, blah blah blah until I lose the ability to process sound and colors become a blur and I begin to rock back and forth emitting high pitched keening sounds to block it all out.
You see, the problem is, I may have borrowed his spare set of keys to the car and I may have alreadyirrevocably lost uh, misplaced them. I may have already not paid quite enough attention to where I put the spare valet key that also came with the car. I mean who pays attention to the valet key? How pretentious do you expect me to be that we need a whole separate key for the valet for Pete's sake? There is not one place to valet park in our whole county. I can't be held responsible for keeping it real man.
So, yes, that's three sets of keys for the car, not in my possession. Oh, and did I fail to mention that we only bought the car 2 1/2 months ago?
You can commence the fantasy head slapping now. I'll just wait here while you close your eyes and join my husband in this imaginary delivery of due justice.
So I called in to work and our secretary, who is extremely organized and on the ball stated, "don't worry, you just have to give them the number of the metal security tag that came with the car to get the keys replaced."
"Ahh, yes" I say, wracking my brain for the faint memory of that tag, "of course, I'll just fetch it from its secured spot where I would have put it away for just such an emergency"
Of course I have NO flippin' idea where that thing could be, I mean give me a break....why would I pay attention to that, I mean I have THREE sets of keys for the car, why in God's name would I ever need to order more???
So as is turns out I have to have the car TOWED to the car dealership and pay for the new high-tech electronic key and it's programming. It came to almost $180. This is of course on top of the over $400 I incurred in fines from events chronicled the last post.
Go ahead and judge me now, I deserve it....
I think I'll just go sign up for that back of the head slap now.......
This post is not about my kids..... the thing is, they're getting better, they seem to be morphing toward a more humanoid form, from the life-force sucking, face-melting screaming overlords that they were once wont to be. So now I need to find new things to write about, until they throw the next curveball at me and I find myself sobbing in a corner somewhere, while feeling vaguely grateful for blog content.
So on Monday morning I'm rushing about, getting everyone ready for school/work/babysitters and I go to start the car to warm it up for the mitten refusing screamees. I reach into my purse and find that my car keys are not there. I look in the cubby on the shelf in the kitchen, also no keys, coat pockets.... NOPE! A rising sense of panic begins to engulf me...not that I won't be able to leave the house and I'll be trapped in the snow with bored kids all day trying to work from home....wait, why wasn't I more panicked about that???
Hmmmm, probably because I was more preoccupied with dreading having to tell the husband that I couldn't find the keys. I'd get THE LOOK, the EYE ROLL and THE sermon about not looking after my stuff and not paying attention, and the I told you this would happen, blah blah blah until I lose the ability to process sound and colors become a blur and I begin to rock back and forth emitting high pitched keening sounds to block it all out.
You see, the problem is, I may have borrowed his spare set of keys to the car and I may have already
So, yes, that's three sets of keys for the car, not in my possession. Oh, and did I fail to mention that we only bought the car 2 1/2 months ago?
You can commence the fantasy head slapping now. I'll just wait here while you close your eyes and join my husband in this imaginary delivery of due justice.
So I called in to work and our secretary, who is extremely organized and on the ball stated, "don't worry, you just have to give them the number of the metal security tag that came with the car to get the keys replaced."
"Ahh, yes" I say, wracking my brain for the faint memory of that tag, "of course, I'll just fetch it from its secured spot where I would have put it away for just such an emergency"
Of course I have NO flippin' idea where that thing could be, I mean give me a break....why would I pay attention to that, I mean I have THREE sets of keys for the car, why in God's name would I ever need to order more???
So as is turns out I have to have the car TOWED to the car dealership and pay for the new high-tech electronic key and it's programming. It came to almost $180. This is of course on top of the over $400 I incurred in fines from events chronicled the last post.
Go ahead and judge me now, I deserve it....
I think I'll just go sign up for that back of the head slap now.......
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Please don't judge me.....
I'm kind of cringing as I write this. I don't know why I need to confess my sins in this way, but I'm telling you things here that I usually sanitize for other people who I have to see face to face.
You see, the problem is, I'm a slackass. I usually procrastinate in doing mundane detail type tasks until severe consequences occur. This is most apparent when it comes to details about my car.
There, I said it, it's about the car.
That's not so bad you say? Well just give me a minute here.
So I'm driving in Halifax (our closest bigger city for all of you who stumble upon this blog from Australia and New Zealand and Russia.....) and I'm with one of my best friends, Tabitha. Now Tab is extremely responsible and not usually a bad influence but something EVIL got into her this day.
We're coming down a road about to turn into a busy, stop and go type road with lots of traffic lights and I arrive at the intersection just as the light is turning yellow.
"Just GO!" She says, although it was my instinct to stop, not rush into strange intersections in a city I'm visiting.
So I go, and I see that now directly behind me as the light changes... there is a police car.
Now this would not normally be a problem to most non-slack-assed, law abiding citizens of the world. But I begin to panic like I've got a trunk full of Mexican cartel members with nether regions stuffed full of nefarious substances. This is because I have failed to get the licence tags renewed on my car. It is December and they have been expired since September. The cop is close behind me so I just know it is going to be apparent that I have failed to do my law abiding duty of renewing my tags REALLY SOON!
"I'm just going to turn off here, my tags are expired, I want that Cop off my ass" I say. "Oh, don't be silly," says Tab. That cop is not going to want to get out of a warm car and do all of the paperwork for some stupid expired tags, just keep going. They're too busy at this time of year for that, and probably lazy on top it all".
So I continue driving, sweating bullets the whole time. Now you may be thinking that I am overreacting, but here's the thing. I couldn't bring myself to tell Tab that, um,
Ahem... my licence also expired over a year ago. So if I get pulled over, I have no licence for the car and no valid driver's licence. You see my Mexican drug cartel reaction now?
So, of course the inevitable happens, I'm sitting in traffic at a light and "Whooooo, on go the lights and the siren behind me." We're at a red light and I'm on the inside lane of traffic so I can't go anywhere so I just start yelling, "LIGHTS! What do I do???? I can't move!" We have to sit there, waiting for the light change with the cop's lights going behind me. People in other cars are looking at me..."What?? It's not me...can't you see I am clearly a law abiding citizen here....DO I LOOK LIKE A DRUG RUNNER TO YOU?"
So we pull over and the cop comes over. Female.... just great, harder to manipulate. She informs me that my licence plate tags are expired and asks to see my license, insurance and registration.
So now I pretend to dig through my purse to look for my license and the thing is, I know it's not there...I don't carry it with me, cause it's EXPIRED!.. I have this delusion that if I ever get pulled over, I can just say that, "Oops, I don't seem to have my license on me" and they'll say, "Ok, you have 24 hours to bring it to the station, at which point I may feel motivated to get it renewed before I present it to them. I know, it's a miracle people let me handle sharp objects.....
"I have more bad news, officer" I confess with a cringing look on my face. I don't seem to have my license on me.." "Just cuff me now and throw me in jail" I add dramatically, offering up my wrists for her inspection. She declines politely an asks for some other picture ID to prove that I am indeed the person to whom the car belongs.
Now, here's something else.... the only picture ID I have is my work ID, and the thing is....it's in a different name than the one on my license and insurance. I have TWO names. One that is legal that I don't use (my birth name) and one that I use that is not legal (my step father's name who raised me from a baby). So some of my ID is in one name (school diplomas, job title) and some is in my legal name on my birth certificate (driver's license, passport).
So I explain to her my two name thing, and she asks if I have any other ID with my legal name on it. I offer her my credit cards, and then inform her that I realize they of course, could be stolen and prove nothing.... I'm going with as much self deprecation as I can here.... she then asks for my insurance, which I thankfully, do have. I inform her in a self-rightous way that I would "Never drive with out insurance...." which I quickly realize has NO CREDIBILITY coming from me.... she takes my stuff back to the car.
Then she comes back to the window and informs me that my license expired in January of 2009..that's almost two years ago, it's worse than I thought. It's truly a wonder she didn't demand that I get out of the car just so she could smack the back of my head...Instead she informed me that she can't let me drive the car without a valid licence so my friend has to drive it away under her supervision or she has to have it towed.
'Oh, no problem officer" I say, and we give her Tab's license. As she goes back to her car I realize that my car is a standard and TAB CANNOT DRIVE A STANDARD. (are you dropping your shaking head into your hands yet??)
So we have to call Tab's husband, Jamie, to come and rescue us. Tab does not tell him what's going on, only that she'll explain when he gets here. 10 minutes later we see him sitting at the same traffic light (the one that will exist in my nightmares) that we were just at and he looking over at us sitting beside the cop car with the flashing lights, and laughing his ass off! He sends a text. "what did you guys DO?" I'm so glad it wasn't my husband we had to call, he would not have been laughing so hard via text.
So I finally get the tickets after 20 mins of waiting, and the officer informs me that I can attend court on the date indicated on the ticket and plead not guilty if I so wished. Seriously, I have no idea how she kept a straight face whilst telling me this....yes, I'll go to court and FIGHT THE MAN..or woman as it were. Nope, more like sheepishly taking the ticket, and slinking away as quietly as I could, as a passenger in Tab's car cause now I'm not allowed to drive my own...
So I went to the DMV as soon as I could and got my license and plates renewed. The picture on my driver's license is the worst one I've ever seen of myself, I look like I'm having an anaphalactic reaction to the camera.
To punish myself I vowed to keep it and let is serve as an ugly reminder of the ugly day.
You see, the problem is, I'm a slackass. I usually procrastinate in doing mundane detail type tasks until severe consequences occur. This is most apparent when it comes to details about my car.
There, I said it, it's about the car.
That's not so bad you say? Well just give me a minute here.
So I'm driving in Halifax (our closest bigger city for all of you who stumble upon this blog from Australia and New Zealand and Russia.....) and I'm with one of my best friends, Tabitha. Now Tab is extremely responsible and not usually a bad influence but something EVIL got into her this day.
We're coming down a road about to turn into a busy, stop and go type road with lots of traffic lights and I arrive at the intersection just as the light is turning yellow.
"Just GO!" She says, although it was my instinct to stop, not rush into strange intersections in a city I'm visiting.
So I go, and I see that now directly behind me as the light changes... there is a police car.
Now this would not normally be a problem to most non-slack-assed, law abiding citizens of the world. But I begin to panic like I've got a trunk full of Mexican cartel members with nether regions stuffed full of nefarious substances. This is because I have failed to get the licence tags renewed on my car. It is December and they have been expired since September. The cop is close behind me so I just know it is going to be apparent that I have failed to do my law abiding duty of renewing my tags REALLY SOON!
"I'm just going to turn off here, my tags are expired, I want that Cop off my ass" I say. "Oh, don't be silly," says Tab. That cop is not going to want to get out of a warm car and do all of the paperwork for some stupid expired tags, just keep going. They're too busy at this time of year for that, and probably lazy on top it all".
So I continue driving, sweating bullets the whole time. Now you may be thinking that I am overreacting, but here's the thing. I couldn't bring myself to tell Tab that, um,
Ahem... my licence also expired over a year ago. So if I get pulled over, I have no licence for the car and no valid driver's licence. You see my Mexican drug cartel reaction now?
So, of course the inevitable happens, I'm sitting in traffic at a light and "Whooooo, on go the lights and the siren behind me." We're at a red light and I'm on the inside lane of traffic so I can't go anywhere so I just start yelling, "LIGHTS! What do I do???? I can't move!" We have to sit there, waiting for the light change with the cop's lights going behind me. People in other cars are looking at me..."What?? It's not me...can't you see I am clearly a law abiding citizen here....DO I LOOK LIKE A DRUG RUNNER TO YOU?"
So we pull over and the cop comes over. Female.... just great, harder to manipulate. She informs me that my licence plate tags are expired and asks to see my license, insurance and registration.
So now I pretend to dig through my purse to look for my license and the thing is, I know it's not there...I don't carry it with me, cause it's EXPIRED!.. I have this delusion that if I ever get pulled over, I can just say that, "Oops, I don't seem to have my license on me" and they'll say, "Ok, you have 24 hours to bring it to the station, at which point I may feel motivated to get it renewed before I present it to them. I know, it's a miracle people let me handle sharp objects.....
"I have more bad news, officer" I confess with a cringing look on my face. I don't seem to have my license on me.." "Just cuff me now and throw me in jail" I add dramatically, offering up my wrists for her inspection. She declines politely an asks for some other picture ID to prove that I am indeed the person to whom the car belongs.
Now, here's something else.... the only picture ID I have is my work ID, and the thing is....it's in a different name than the one on my license and insurance. I have TWO names. One that is legal that I don't use (my birth name) and one that I use that is not legal (my step father's name who raised me from a baby). So some of my ID is in one name (school diplomas, job title) and some is in my legal name on my birth certificate (driver's license, passport).
So I explain to her my two name thing, and she asks if I have any other ID with my legal name on it. I offer her my credit cards, and then inform her that I realize they of course, could be stolen and prove nothing.... I'm going with as much self deprecation as I can here.... she then asks for my insurance, which I thankfully, do have. I inform her in a self-rightous way that I would "Never drive with out insurance...." which I quickly realize has NO CREDIBILITY coming from me.... she takes my stuff back to the car.
Then she comes back to the window and informs me that my license expired in January of 2009..that's almost two years ago, it's worse than I thought. It's truly a wonder she didn't demand that I get out of the car just so she could smack the back of my head...Instead she informed me that she can't let me drive the car without a valid licence so my friend has to drive it away under her supervision or she has to have it towed.
'Oh, no problem officer" I say, and we give her Tab's license. As she goes back to her car I realize that my car is a standard and TAB CANNOT DRIVE A STANDARD. (are you dropping your shaking head into your hands yet??)
So we have to call Tab's husband, Jamie, to come and rescue us. Tab does not tell him what's going on, only that she'll explain when he gets here. 10 minutes later we see him sitting at the same traffic light (the one that will exist in my nightmares) that we were just at and he looking over at us sitting beside the cop car with the flashing lights, and laughing his ass off! He sends a text. "what did you guys DO?" I'm so glad it wasn't my husband we had to call, he would not have been laughing so hard via text.
So I finally get the tickets after 20 mins of waiting, and the officer informs me that I can attend court on the date indicated on the ticket and plead not guilty if I so wished. Seriously, I have no idea how she kept a straight face whilst telling me this....yes, I'll go to court and FIGHT THE MAN..or woman as it were. Nope, more like sheepishly taking the ticket, and slinking away as quietly as I could, as a passenger in Tab's car cause now I'm not allowed to drive my own...
So I went to the DMV as soon as I could and got my license and plates renewed. The picture on my driver's license is the worst one I've ever seen of myself, I look like I'm having an anaphalactic reaction to the camera.
To punish myself I vowed to keep it and let is serve as an ugly reminder of the ugly day.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Taming of the Shrew...
Well nothing says Christmas like a need to lock down the behavior of your erstwhile wellish behaved eldest child. She has been showing more and more signs of spoiled rotten brat syndrome and something had to be done. I hate as a feminist to invoke the title of a most misogynistic play by Shakespeare, with the title shrew being finally tamed by her husband in the end, but it just fits. (I know her sister plays foil to her by NOT being subservient to her husband in the end it is still a parody of the attitudinal climate towards women of that time and is ahead of it's day..blah, blah blah...don't worry...)
Mackenzie is now 6 and displays the typical kid tendency to be great unless she is home with me. I get the eye rolls, the "Mo-ommm" the constant demands for servitude, this is pretty par for the course. Lately however she has reached a new pinnacle of rude behavior with me. She has started to want to show off for her friends..."look, I shall make my mother jump nay high...." or showing up in front of me suddenly at Gymnastics practise saying, "Mom, DRINK!" Like some kind of pre-adolescent football player cro-magnon in a cute blonde 6 year-old girl package.
I do not respond to these attempts at tyranny. I'm usually pretty good at ignoring this kind of behavior (or disassociating... as the case may be) I usually respond with a whispered hiss..."So then you want me to start yelling at you in front of your friends then, is that where we're going with this??" I can keep up a remarkable outward appearance of calm while quietly battling back with weapons of my own, mostly the threat of social embarrassment. Then I get the subsequent eye roll and obligatory "Pahleeze......." (subtext, I soooo DO NOT mean this...) Fine, I will weather this pissy missy storm with you....riding the waves of your moodiness until someday you realize everything I've ever done and said has been RIGHT...probably when you have kids of your own who are making you turn yourself inside out wondering where, WHERE in your genetic code they have managed to unlock SUCH behavior.
I had reached the end however when she tried to hand me her water bottle in the parking lot after gymnastics, with a derisive, "Here..." bored sounding, looking away, like, "I can't even be bothered making eye contact with you as I'm giving you a command, peon.....
I of course, graciously decline the proffered item, indicating that she is more than capable of carrying it to the car, parked not more than 6 feet away.
"HERE!...she persists, refusing to acknowledge my previous indication that I was not willing to play her pack mule that day.
"You can carry it yourself," I say.
"Fine" she shoots back, "I'll just drop it on the ground..."
Then reality as I knew it imploded. All I could hear was a giant buzzing noise, (which was probably all of the screaming in my head coalescing into a face twitching, ear bleeding crescendo..) and the temperature of the earth suddenly rocketed upwards, with the speed of a pre-tween eye roll.
I somehow got home, driving in a dissociative state, and when I walked through the door, Chris knew something was wrong, it might have been the speaking in tongues, I'm not really sure.....
After some messy tear stained yelling about gratitude, I decided that it was my fault, that how could someone possible possess gratitude when they have everything they need or want served up on a silver platter?
After 4 1/2 hours in her room she finally came down and tried to help herself to a platter of Christmas brownies on the counter.
"Step away from the brownies...." I spit out through clenched teeth. I level my best John Wayne gaze at her, "lemme tell ya how it's gonna work for the next week in these parts, pilgrim"
Then I go on to explain the list of chores that she will be required to to everyday... (gasp, one...)
And the week long embargo on sweets...not even in her lunch. Her snacks will consist of fruit, yogurt or cheese ....I know, cruel and unusual but it has to be done.
And the best... Mother is on strike, that's right, talk to my union. They say I don't actually have to do anything for you unless it involved keeping you alive, so for the next week don't ask me to get you a cookie/download you some music/reach you a cup/. If it ain't provided in a Japanese POW camp, you ain't gettin' it from me, got it? Oh, except hugs, I'll still give you those, cause I love you which is why I'm doing this...
Her suitably contrite response to this was, "I'm DEFINITELY not asking for any of those!" then she stomped up the stairs, and SA-LAMMED the door to her bedroom.
Oh, I thought, I AM going to break your spirit, child. Ah, they could have made a Christmas special out of it all, it was beautiful.
Anyway, she served her week, which was actually last week. She got off her grounding last weekend, displaying much better behavior. She's smart enough to know that she deserved it.
Oh, boy, I can't wait until she's 16!
Mackenzie is now 6 and displays the typical kid tendency to be great unless she is home with me. I get the eye rolls, the "Mo-ommm" the constant demands for servitude, this is pretty par for the course. Lately however she has reached a new pinnacle of rude behavior with me. She has started to want to show off for her friends..."look, I shall make my mother jump nay high...." or showing up in front of me suddenly at Gymnastics practise saying, "Mom, DRINK!" Like some kind of pre-adolescent football player cro-magnon in a cute blonde 6 year-old girl package.
I do not respond to these attempts at tyranny. I'm usually pretty good at ignoring this kind of behavior (or disassociating... as the case may be) I usually respond with a whispered hiss..."So then you want me to start yelling at you in front of your friends then, is that where we're going with this??" I can keep up a remarkable outward appearance of calm while quietly battling back with weapons of my own, mostly the threat of social embarrassment. Then I get the subsequent eye roll and obligatory "Pahleeze......." (subtext, I soooo DO NOT mean this...) Fine, I will weather this pissy missy storm with you....riding the waves of your moodiness until someday you realize everything I've ever done and said has been RIGHT...probably when you have kids of your own who are making you turn yourself inside out wondering where, WHERE in your genetic code they have managed to unlock SUCH behavior.
I had reached the end however when she tried to hand me her water bottle in the parking lot after gymnastics, with a derisive, "Here..." bored sounding, looking away, like, "I can't even be bothered making eye contact with you as I'm giving you a command, peon.....
I of course, graciously decline the proffered item, indicating that she is more than capable of carrying it to the car, parked not more than 6 feet away.
"HERE!...she persists, refusing to acknowledge my previous indication that I was not willing to play her pack mule that day.
"You can carry it yourself," I say.
"Fine" she shoots back, "I'll just drop it on the ground..."
Then reality as I knew it imploded. All I could hear was a giant buzzing noise, (which was probably all of the screaming in my head coalescing into a face twitching, ear bleeding crescendo..) and the temperature of the earth suddenly rocketed upwards, with the speed of a pre-tween eye roll.
I somehow got home, driving in a dissociative state, and when I walked through the door, Chris knew something was wrong, it might have been the speaking in tongues, I'm not really sure.....
After some messy tear stained yelling about gratitude, I decided that it was my fault, that how could someone possible possess gratitude when they have everything they need or want served up on a silver platter?
After 4 1/2 hours in her room she finally came down and tried to help herself to a platter of Christmas brownies on the counter.
"Step away from the brownies...." I spit out through clenched teeth. I level my best John Wayne gaze at her, "lemme tell ya how it's gonna work for the next week in these parts, pilgrim"
Then I go on to explain the list of chores that she will be required to to everyday... (gasp, one...)
And the week long embargo on sweets...not even in her lunch. Her snacks will consist of fruit, yogurt or cheese ....I know, cruel and unusual but it has to be done.
And the best... Mother is on strike, that's right, talk to my union. They say I don't actually have to do anything for you unless it involved keeping you alive, so for the next week don't ask me to get you a cookie/download you some music/reach you a cup/. If it ain't provided in a Japanese POW camp, you ain't gettin' it from me, got it? Oh, except hugs, I'll still give you those, cause I love you which is why I'm doing this...
Her suitably contrite response to this was, "I'm DEFINITELY not asking for any of those!" then she stomped up the stairs, and SA-LAMMED the door to her bedroom.
Oh, I thought, I AM going to break your spirit, child. Ah, they could have made a Christmas special out of it all, it was beautiful.
Anyway, she served her week, which was actually last week. She got off her grounding last weekend, displaying much better behavior. She's smart enough to know that she deserved it.
Oh, boy, I can't wait until she's 16!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
God Bless us, everyone!
So last week Marcus wakes up and tells me his leg is broken. "Yeah, right kid", I think," this is some master ploy to get something out of me right? You think you can get workers comp in this place? I don't think so....I'll have private investigators getting photos of you dancing down the street before you can say free money...."
What's that you say? My point...oh yes, I did go a little off there...
So I take him down to the couch in the toyroom, thinking his leg was asleep and rushed around to get ready. After about 20 minutes I call him to the door to put his coat on and he slides off the couch and collapses on the floor.
Oh, so he REALLY can't walk...sign me up for the parent of the year award, once again..
Long story short we get to the emergency room and we wait for 6 hours to see a doctor. Then we wait another 3 while they test him for all kinds of nasty things that could cause spontaneous lack of leg function, and I know from my medical education (mostly Grey's Anatomy and House) that this could be any number of things: cancer, meningitis, maybe lupus? It's always lupis isn't it?
But seriously, I had rising moments of panic sitting in the ER waiting for the test results to come back. I had thoughts of "you are being punished for venting dramatically on that blog of yours..."
After consultation with the doctor on call, the paediatrician and the orthopedic surgeon they figured out that it was something called "toxic synosis" where the cold virus that he has had for the last week has actually attacked the synovial fluid in his knee, causing inflammation and an inabilityt to walk. Treatment? 2 junior ibuprofen... I gave them to him at 6 pm and he was walking (after scooting around on the floor for 2 hours) by 8pm.
I can't tell you how if feels to hear, "Look Mommy I can walk!"
We had our own little tiny Tim there for a while.....
I got gratitude for Christmas.
What's that you say? My point...oh yes, I did go a little off there...
So I take him down to the couch in the toyroom, thinking his leg was asleep and rushed around to get ready. After about 20 minutes I call him to the door to put his coat on and he slides off the couch and collapses on the floor.
Oh, so he REALLY can't walk...sign me up for the parent of the year award, once again..
Long story short we get to the emergency room and we wait for 6 hours to see a doctor. Then we wait another 3 while they test him for all kinds of nasty things that could cause spontaneous lack of leg function, and I know from my medical education (mostly Grey's Anatomy and House) that this could be any number of things: cancer, meningitis, maybe lupus? It's always lupis isn't it?
But seriously, I had rising moments of panic sitting in the ER waiting for the test results to come back. I had thoughts of "you are being punished for venting dramatically on that blog of yours..."
After consultation with the doctor on call, the paediatrician and the orthopedic surgeon they figured out that it was something called "toxic synosis" where the cold virus that he has had for the last week has actually attacked the synovial fluid in his knee, causing inflammation and an inabilityt to walk. Treatment? 2 junior ibuprofen... I gave them to him at 6 pm and he was walking (after scooting around on the floor for 2 hours) by 8pm.
I can't tell you how if feels to hear, "Look Mommy I can walk!"
We had our own little tiny Tim there for a while.....
I got gratitude for Christmas.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Scooby and Shaggy would be proud......
It turns out I'm not as tough as I thought I was. Every teenage girl and young woman likes to think that they are tough...we are women hear us roar and all of that. When I was in graduate school to become a psychologist, I thought, "I'm going to be a forensic psychologist, I'm going to work in a PRISON!! I am TOUGH!. I took my first forensic class (an elective), read my first victim statement and I realized, whoa...not cut out for this. Then I thought, I will work with trauma victims, I am tough, I can handle it. Nope, sorry, that made you cry too, do you want your money back for your degree???
So now I do research..
(disclaimer...I did clinical work for 8 years with addicted teenagers, but they were tough, so I didn't have to be.....but I digress)
Back to me not being tough....
So last night my 6 y.o. girl, Kenzie wakes me up at 2 am because the wind is blowing. We are having a late fall windstorm and it's really noisy. The fact that she has totally regressed and will not sleep by herself (along with her brother...) is a post for another day....
So I crawl into her bed and try to sleep. Around 4 am, the fan in her room and the nightlight go out at the same time and we are plunged into darkness. So far, I'm OK...the power is just out, no big deal. Except that her nightlight comes back on and starts flickering madly and chaotically. I think, hmmm, maybe there's some residual electricity left in the circuit and the night light is small enought to be lit by it. Surely there is no ghostly presence trying to send me morse code messages from the great beyond...surely not, heh, heh, that would be ridiculous right??
I get up out of the bed and unplug the nightlight and notice that the lamp down the hall in the boys room is still lit. Hmmmm, this is strange, how can there be a power outage in just one room in the house? I touch her lamp and it comes on...ok...must just be this outlet. No morse code from ghosts, just a faulty electrical outlet that's acting wonky in the middle of the night, nothing to worry about there...
I crawl back into bed and suddenly, the lamp that I just turned on, goes out, plunging us into darkness again. I can still see from the faint glow down the hall that this is only happening in this room.
I begin to take it personally.....I also begin to try to talk myself out of the bed to investigate, which sounds like this....
Me: Ok, get out of bed, just go and turn on the hall light and check to make sure the house isn't on fire.
Me. Nope, uh-uh. There is clearly a monster under the bed just waiting to slither it's tentacles out and drag me screaming under there with him.
Me. Stop being a baby, you are a PARENT....get up!
Me: Did you not hear the part about the monster, my feet are BARE for God's sake, that is the universal beacon to monsters. Bare feet....yummy! Listen, if I had socks on, I may be able to deal with the situation, my hands are tied here.
Me: Listen, in the unlikely event that there IS a monster, and ye DOES love bare feet and he DRAGS you under the bed, don't you realize what that would mean?
Me: I sense you're trying to trick me here, go on....
Me: You wouldn't have to do the morning routine with the boys......
So I LEAP out of bed, across the room and run to the hallway. The light there is working. I hesitate, not sure what to do now. The hall light is too bright to leave on...I know, I'll turn on the linen closet light off the hall. OK, done, back to bed with Kenzie.
I get in, pull the covers up and , you guessed it, THE LINEN CLOSET LIGHT GOES OUT.
Ok, now I'm getting a little freaked out. I run down the hall to our room where my husband is sleeping (with the boy who refuses to stay in his own bed....) I LEAP onto his prone body, landing on all fours like a cat who has had his rest disturbed by a rocket launch. I hiss, WAKE UP. " The lights are doing crazy things....I'm really freaked out.... I keep the monsters to myself, even at 4 am, I know that will make me sound a little loony and he won't take me seriously.
"Where's Kenzie, is she awake too?" he asks"
Oh. Right. The Child.
Well it seems as I was running for my life, I may have, umm, left her behind. Fear not, she was covered by the blanket. That is the universal forcefield of protection. Just ask anyone...
Anyway, as it turns out, the wind downed a tree branch with left us with partial power in that end of the house. The timing of the lights going off? Well I guess that's just a coincidence, right?
So I call the power company this morning to report the problem. As I'm getting off the phone with the agent, I say, "So is there anything we should do in the meantime, while we're waiting for the line to be fixed?"
She pauses and says, "Well, I mean, if it catches on fire, definitely call us back."
I feel safer with the monsters......
So now I do research..
(disclaimer...I did clinical work for 8 years with addicted teenagers, but they were tough, so I didn't have to be.....but I digress)
Back to me not being tough....
So last night my 6 y.o. girl, Kenzie wakes me up at 2 am because the wind is blowing. We are having a late fall windstorm and it's really noisy. The fact that she has totally regressed and will not sleep by herself (along with her brother...) is a post for another day....
So I crawl into her bed and try to sleep. Around 4 am, the fan in her room and the nightlight go out at the same time and we are plunged into darkness. So far, I'm OK...the power is just out, no big deal. Except that her nightlight comes back on and starts flickering madly and chaotically. I think, hmmm, maybe there's some residual electricity left in the circuit and the night light is small enought to be lit by it. Surely there is no ghostly presence trying to send me morse code messages from the great beyond...surely not, heh, heh, that would be ridiculous right??
I get up out of the bed and unplug the nightlight and notice that the lamp down the hall in the boys room is still lit. Hmmmm, this is strange, how can there be a power outage in just one room in the house? I touch her lamp and it comes on...ok...must just be this outlet. No morse code from ghosts, just a faulty electrical outlet that's acting wonky in the middle of the night, nothing to worry about there...
I crawl back into bed and suddenly, the lamp that I just turned on, goes out, plunging us into darkness again. I can still see from the faint glow down the hall that this is only happening in this room.
I begin to take it personally.....I also begin to try to talk myself out of the bed to investigate, which sounds like this....
Me: Ok, get out of bed, just go and turn on the hall light and check to make sure the house isn't on fire.
Me. Nope, uh-uh. There is clearly a monster under the bed just waiting to slither it's tentacles out and drag me screaming under there with him.
Me. Stop being a baby, you are a PARENT....get up!
Me: Did you not hear the part about the monster, my feet are BARE for God's sake, that is the universal beacon to monsters. Bare feet....yummy! Listen, if I had socks on, I may be able to deal with the situation, my hands are tied here.
Me: Listen, in the unlikely event that there IS a monster, and ye DOES love bare feet and he DRAGS you under the bed, don't you realize what that would mean?
Me: I sense you're trying to trick me here, go on....
Me: You wouldn't have to do the morning routine with the boys......
So I LEAP out of bed, across the room and run to the hallway. The light there is working. I hesitate, not sure what to do now. The hall light is too bright to leave on...I know, I'll turn on the linen closet light off the hall. OK, done, back to bed with Kenzie.
I get in, pull the covers up and , you guessed it, THE LINEN CLOSET LIGHT GOES OUT.
Ok, now I'm getting a little freaked out. I run down the hall to our room where my husband is sleeping (with the boy who refuses to stay in his own bed....) I LEAP onto his prone body, landing on all fours like a cat who has had his rest disturbed by a rocket launch. I hiss, WAKE UP. " The lights are doing crazy things....I'm really freaked out.... I keep the monsters to myself, even at 4 am, I know that will make me sound a little loony and he won't take me seriously.
"Where's Kenzie, is she awake too?" he asks"
Oh. Right. The Child.
Well it seems as I was running for my life, I may have, umm, left her behind. Fear not, she was covered by the blanket. That is the universal forcefield of protection. Just ask anyone...
Anyway, as it turns out, the wind downed a tree branch with left us with partial power in that end of the house. The timing of the lights going off? Well I guess that's just a coincidence, right?
So I call the power company this morning to report the problem. As I'm getting off the phone with the agent, I say, "So is there anything we should do in the meantime, while we're waiting for the line to be fixed?"
She pauses and says, "Well, I mean, if it catches on fire, definitely call us back."
I feel safer with the monsters......
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