Saturday, May 15, 2010
Vive Le Weekend
I have no idea why I get so excited for the weekend, since as a stay-at-home-mom, it's really just another couple of days. Still, this must be a leftover feeling from going to school, and then working (and being lucky enough to have weekends-off jobs). There is something fantastic about not having to race around in the morning and have an endless fight with the kids to GET DRESSED, BRUSH YOUR TEETH, WASH THE CHOCOLATE MILK OFF YOUR FACE, GET YOUR SHOES ON, COME ON! COME ON! WE'RE LATE! OKAY POO HEAD! MY NAME IS NOT POO HEAD--YOU EITHER CALL ME 'MUM,' OR 'MUMMA', BUT MY NAME IS* NOT* POO HEAD!!!!!!!
Yeah, so that right there is a nice reason to appreciate the weekend. This week was a tad exhausting. Well, let's see...on Thursday my brother and I got to have a lovely meeting at the funeral home to 'settle up' the bill for my poor mother. Oh, and we began the process of choosing the headstone, or if you prefer "eternal monument." Much fun. How surreal is it when someone pulls out a basket filled with various stone square samples, and my brother and I get to say stuff like; "oh, that's nice...no, I don't really care for that rosey colour...no, I don't like the plain black either..." blah, blah, blah diddy blah. Fairly draining. Then, it was back to my dad's for some take out food, and a lovely couple of hours of fighting back some monster sobs. Exhausting. I don't know why I didn't use my good friend "sweet lady whisky" to my advantage.
Then, there was Friday. Let's rename it "Ella's Day of Infamy." My 3 year old daughter is lucky she's adorable. She's also lucky she's so huggy and affectionate. Let's highlight some of the finer moments:
Ella approaches me with a bottle of spider man bubble bath: "Open it!"
Me: "no, I'm not opening it."
E: "I wanna play with it!"
Me: "you can't play with it in the tv room--soap is for the bathroom."
E: "OPEN IT!"
Me: "NO, I'm not! Soap is for baths and for washing hands."
Off she storms.
A minute later I think; hey, I'm going to play my little electronic piano. That sounds like fun. Now, is this the part where I explain why I hardly ever play the thing? It's a little convoluted, so I'll tell that part of the story AFTER the soap incident.
Okay, so there I was, happily playing my favourite Coldplay song with gusto on the piano; singing along and everything. When I was finished that ONE song, I said; "okay Ella, let's pick up all your toys now."
Ella: "I can't. I'm all soapy!"
Sure enough, Ella's bare legs (had a skirt on) were completely coated with bubble bath, and so were the couch cushions beneath her. I turned into the Mommy Hulk and hauled her off for a bath. "I'm sorry I did that, Mummy, it was an ACCIDENT," she told me.
Later: next door neighbour girls come over to play with Jack and Ella. I give Ella a long sermon about staying in HER OWN YARD. I step into the house for ONE minute to stir appealing casserole in oven. Knock, knock on the door. It's the oldest sister (9) from next door; "um, Ella's in your car."
"ELLA, DON'T PLAY IN MY CAR."
A little later, step into the house for two minutes to frantically throw a load of laundry into the washing machine. Knock, knock on the door. "um, how far is Ella allowed to go up the street? Because, she's far." Drop the clothes in a panic on the driveway and spot my kid about four/five houses up the road happily pushing her puppy scooter thing. "ELLA, GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" This is followed by a long, and long-winded story about bad people in the world who steal children, and what did I tell you before--to stay in your yard, etc, etc.
Finally, at the end of the day, the kids are all playing together again after supper. Factor in several slap fests between my two kids, Ella falling and hurting herself a couple of times (loud, loud crying) as she does a billion times each day. I, idiot mom, mom who never learns from past mistakes apparently, mom who trusts her children too much, step into the house for one second again and immediately here the sound of Ella's voice from the neighbour girls' yard.
Okay, so this makes me sound like the idiot. Stop going in the house, right? BUT I'M TIRED, and I don't want to be outside listening to crazy little kid chat for hours, or being verbally abused by my son again (by the way, being called "poo head," or "poo poo" head, is equally as annoying as being called "ha ha head.")
Enough about this. That's how my week ended. Now, let me tell you why I don't play my little plug in piano that often:
Jack's Terror of The Tiny Piano
For various convoluted reasons, Jack has a fear/fascination/obsession thing with the classical music composition called "Primavera" by Vivaldi. He loves it, and can watch orchestras play it on Youtube, but if he just hears it on a cd, the radio, or anywhere else, he loses his mind with terror. On my little piano, there are two modes: a playing mode, by which I can play the piano, or press some numbers to turn my piano into a guitar, harpsichord, drum kit, ocharina or what have you. There is also a "demo" mode. In the demo mode, if you press different numbers, it plays all kinds of different songs; both contemporary and classical. The first song on the list happens to be "English Man in New York" by Sting. Bear with me people, this long winded story is about to make its point. So, Jack turned on the piano one day, and keyed in whatever numbers were needed to turn it into a drum kit. However, Ella had left the piano in "demo" mode. The magic numbers, suddenly flooded the house with the sounds of PRIMAVERA. Jack ran shrieking and losing his mind to his bedroom. And now the piano is the scariest thing in the house. It's kind of funny, but it's not. Luckily, now he trusts me enough to know that I'm going to typically play one of the same three songs I always play, but if ANYONE else turns the piano on, Jack heads for the hills.
There, did you enjoy that little story? Did it make you feel tired just reading? Ah yes, now you have a small window into my world of white hair.
Have a good weekend!