Figuring out what I wanna be when I grow up.
Oop..I AM grown up...

Friday, September 17, 2010

TGIF or Something

I am not happy right now.

In fact, I'm in a fairly repugnant frame of mind. The week sucked, and it dumped an extra load of suckage on me right at the end. Oh wait, there's still Saturday to contend with.


So, the kids have now got their first school cold. I should have known Jack was coming down with something, because typically, a day or two before he's ridiculously nice and easy to get along with. Don't get me wrong, he's very charismatic, and we have lots of great moments. He also has lots of moments that inspire unbelievable rage in me; rage that I must crush down into a tiny ball, and store in my guts where it can ferment and turn into something much nastier.

So, Tuesday night he decided he wasn't going to eat dinner, and instead went up to his room where he shivered under his blanket, with his head buried under as well. Hmm...never a good sign. What's funny lately, is that he has all of these rules for boys that he has just arbitrarily invented. Well, he was feeling a little yucky, so he announced he wouldn't be eating. I told him he had to eat something. He then looked at me like I was NUTS:

"Sick boys don't eat!"

Sick boys, apparently, also don't get dressed while they stay home from school, and sick boys certainly are never made to go back to school while their noses are still stuffy. However, when sick boys drive their mothers bat-sh*t crazy the whole day they stay home from school, they sure do go back to school the next day. Jack was MORTIFIED:

Jack (first thing Thursday morning): "I'm sick."

Cold, cruel mother: "yes, but you're going to school."

Jack (horrified and dumbfounded): "DO SICK BOYS GO TO SCHOOL???"
horrid Dickenzian-villain mother: "they DO when they just have a cold and no fever."

cue *tears*

it's noteworthy to mention that Jack was sick on a WEDNESDAY which is the day whereby Ella is away at her little school, and Jack is at school, and so I get to sit, weeping with joy, in my kitchen reading a newspaper in near-perfect silence. Bummer. Oh man, if this were an interview for position of "stay at home mom," I don't think I'd get the job. Let's just imagine for a moment, shall we?

Employer: "okay, so here's a brief job description: typically you're 'on call' 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, so you'll have to be able to function on little sleep. Your house will never stay tidy for longer than an hour, unless the children are out somewhere for a lengthy stretch of time (which, by the way, will only happen once a month, possibly twice). You'll be required to make two different meals for dinner, and sometimes three different meals, if you're making anything spicy, or any kind of curry, be it Thai or Indian. You'll need to take the boy to school in the morning, pick him up for lunch, drive him back after lunch, and return again at the end of the day to get him. You'll also be responsible for making sure the two siblings don't kill each other, as they are highly volatile, and while they clearly love each other, they are drawn together like two angry magnets.

Once a week you will need to purchase enough groceries to see you through till the next week. At that time you should be aware enough to plan your meals for that week, which will make life easier for you, and prevent you from having lots of those "thrown together crap" meals. You will need to take your 3 year old daughter along with you. She is a bright, sunny little individual, but you will need to tell her repeatedly to look out for other carts, and to keep her by your side, as she will alternately run away, engage in spontaneous dancing or decide to make sure she steps on every square of the tiled floor, with her foot landing in the square just so. Also, she will try to grab every other eye-catching product she finds, so be vigilant.

Your daughter will get very frequent bumps and scrapes, and will bite her tongue at least once a day. Your son will lose things constantly and flip out as a result.

When they are sick, you will be at risk for every "bug" they bring into the home, and you will be especially likely to catch gastroenteritis, or, the stomach flu.

You will occasionally get to watch PBS programs on Saturday morning, but your children will complain the entire time that your gardening show is "boring."

Okay, so that's a small overview. Let's see your resume...okay, it says here you can do laundry:

Me: "oh yes, I have no problem sorting clothes into the right piles, and throwing the wash in. I don't like folding it though, and I really, really have a hard time putting it away."

Employer: "do you iron?"


Employer: "hmm.... Okay, so how are you for doing dishes?"

Me: "hate it."

Employer: "are you okay with lack of sleep?"

Me: Good one.

Employer: "oh dear...Well, will you keep your house rigidly tidy?"

Me: How does one do that on little sleep?

Employer: how about finding fun activities with your children?

Me: I LOVE LOVE LOVE being alone.

Employer: I don't think you're suited to this job.

Me: no sheet.

Okay, I'm in a bad mood. It could be colouring that whole little scenario. Nobody panic. I love my kids.

On Wednesday while Jack was home from school, I was hanging a few things out on the clothesline, turned to come in the house and got zinged by a wasp, on my right arm, much to my shock and horror. It hit me right in mid-air.

Thursday I got all fired up over the state of our regional health care system, which, by the way, is deplorable. I won't go into details just now, but it is at least partly responsible for my mother's suffering and rapid decline to death. So, I'm starting to formulate some ideas on all of this, and penned a diatribe-type pledge to my mother to begin somehow to make people in our area aware, and as passionate as I am. However, after writing said diatribe, I spent the next two hours crying, gave up and retreated to my bed at one point to have a monster nap.

Friday! Hooray? One would think, and yet, no; there is no 'hooray.' I took Ella to her little school this morning, and coaxed her for ten minutes not to howl and cry, and that it was only just a little while and we'd be back to get her, and blah, blah, blah. In the end, I pulled a trick out of the Bad Mommy Handbook, and bribed her with those crunchy chocolate mini eggs if she'd go bravely to her class. Oh don't look at me that way! She LOVES playing with toys, doing crafts, singing songs and reading stories. Shouldn't that place be a preschooler's dream come true?!?

I knew she'd be fine five minutes after I left, and besides, it had been raining all week, and I wasn't able to go for any morning walks with my girlfriend. So, I whizzed off in my car to the main road where I turned right into a virtual PARKING LOT. Traffic was backed up for ages. I later found out this was due to a train malfunction, and the train tracks cut this city in half So the backup of vehicles, once it was cleared, was ridiculous. Finally made it to the parking lot, all angsty, and my friend and I started motoring off to the hill we walk down. Then, right at the top of the hill as I was listening to her, my foot hit a pot hole on the wrong angle, and my ankle flopped over VICIOUSLY. Mon dieu, the pain. The sickening, sickening, burning, searing, pain. We turned back to our cars, me limping, and that was that for the morning walk. Went to the local bulk food store. No mini eggs. Typical.

And so, now here I sit, after a nearly 2 hour nap, feeling thoroughly ecch, with a sprained ankle.

There are days, my friends, whereby you shouldn't even get out of bed. Happy Friday to the rest of you.


  1. Ok, somebody get this woman a drink pronto! I will be honest and say that I did not, do not and don't think I will ever enjoy being a stay at home mom and I LOVE my new job and if they ask me to go full time, guess what YES...YES...OH YES. You are NOT a bad mom, a coping mom. Give yourself a break, hand the kids to dad and tell him to take them to a movie or something so you can take another nap or read that paper or just relax. Bye the way, I am not one of those people who like people to just stop in, you have to give me at least 15 minutes to tidy, meaning throw everything in the nearest closet and brush my teeth. HA, I hope you have a better weekend, it does get better, when they are in school fulltime.

  2. Oh this was great...I'm sure Karen so many women can relate to this...not that they will admit it.

    I agree about the health care in is so much better here and dam I hated those trains! Bad planning there is no overpass for those tracks! I used to hate the trains cutting off the city...gee when memories like all this come back I'm not homesick anymore!!

  3. I find that often expectations and frustrations are positively related. The higher the expectation of a break, the more easily & viciously we get frustrated when it is interrupted. As for your "job interview", being a parent is kinda like volunteerism: no one can fire you cause no one is paying you a red cent! It's also kinda like volunteering for the military, cause they don't let you out when it gets to the breaking point. Take courage - you won't be on the front lines forever.

  4. Alaina, I loved the comment about tossing everything into the closet! Ha! Oh I have done that! I also appreciate your honesty about the stay-at-home-mom gig. Yes, we love our children, but it is not an easy job. Ah well, I'm home with only my son right now, and he's so pleasant--upstairs playing in his room with his bears, drawing pictures, and stopping by to smile at me every now and again. One moment like that makes up for a whole lot of crappy ones I guess.

  5. Funny, right Pam? When I was living in Mississauga, one hardly ever got stuck by a train--the tracks all had overpasses over the major roads.
    This health care business has been bothering me since I moved back. I'm working on it.

  6. Thanks Matt. Yeah, I know all things must pass, and this too will pass as well. I hate being incapacitated though. I like to charge around and get done what I need to get done. I don't like TV really, and hate the thought of zoning out to it all day. Blah. Oh, well, it could just all boil down to me being a whiner...

  7. preach it sister!seriously, being a mom is the hardest job EVER, some days i'm 'so done' by 8:30 a.m. not a good omen. those days i pray'come on bedtime!' for me and the kiddies.

  8. Hard is right, Paula! Ah well, misery is comforted by misery, no? That's why there's coffee.

  9. gee, when they get older you forget what horrid days there were. kinda like child birth.right now i cannot even remember a bad day...was pure bliss. NOT.

    i know i had bad days because i remember the feeling of being crazee. i just don't..oh wait a memory is seeping into my brain. ah yes, the day i pulled off the side of the road and sunk into the soft shoulder, because i was shrieking at the top of my lungs for a certain 8 year old to get out of the van, while banging my head on the steering wheel.

    then looking in the real view mirror as some city workers walk up behind the van to push me out of the shoulder.

    mmmmm i have always wondered if it was because they heard me go mental and wanted to get rid of me or they felt bad for me.

    as for the child in question: she surivived. and the rest of the ride was silent.

    I guess so mummy just lost her marbles.
    I have no clue, what the offense was either. Just that the child in question could pester you till you drove straight to the insane asylumn.

  10. Cranberry, great story. Seriously. This HAS to be comforting to other mothers, because sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who truly flips out, even though that's just not realistic.

    Laughed out loud--but not at your pain.


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