|Hi Buddy! Remember US?!?|
Hey, does anyone remember my good times with ANTS last year (go on, have a read: it's a nice little story about ants, and the FLYING ANTS that poured up through the cold air return and into my bedroom last June. Super Awesome!)? Anyone? Anyone? Ants all over the kitchen? Ants all over the pantry? Ants all over my pantry shelves? The two un-seen ants that were attached to the cookie that I tossed into my yap, that actually bit the inside of my cheek, and hooked on to the corner of my lips?
By the way, even though it was only those little black ants that bit my cheek and corner of my mouth, it freaking hurt. Like fire. Like fire that intensified and BURNED for a good fifteen minutes. That, my friends, is NOT good times.
Yesterday I found 25 of them swarming around some crumb in the doorway between the kitchen and pantry. Of course this once again means war.
BRING ON THE CHEMICALS
Hey Guys! That Wacky Swastika's Back Again...
Recall near the beginning of April when I happened to discover one of Jack's drawings with a SWASTIKA on it (click HERE), and my cousin Pam at French Buttons, wisely advised me to just let sleeping dogs lie, and not bring up the issue to Jack, and just let the whole thing blow over? Remember what good advice that was?
BUT, because I'm a BLABBERMOUTH, and Jack spotted his drawing on my blog one day, I opened up my traitorous yap and said;
"you know, that's a very controversial symbol, but I'll tell you all about it when I have more time."
I tried, oh how I tried to stress and emphasize and make no bones about how that symbol is now and forever associated with great evil. I told little innocent 7 year old boy that even though it once was a symbol of "good luck," it could never be again, because what has been done can not be UNDONE, and blah, blah, blah.
And guess what! I made it THE MOST INTERESTING TABOO THING EVER, HOORAY FOR ME!
Oh, and did I mention how kids on the spectrum seem to lurv to latch on to something and hold on to it until they've long since burnt everybody else out on it???So, now that the swastika, is, unfortunately, FASCINATING, I have to talk about it at least three times a day:
Jack: "mom, what does the swastika look like?"
Me: "I guess it looks kind of like a crooked star." (I don't know people, what should I have said? It looks like EVIL AND SUFFERING, DO NOT LOOK UPON IT!!)
Jack: "but why can't it be good?"
Me: "BECAUSE! The people who chose it as their symbol were very, very bad."
Jack: "am I bad?"
Me: "like the Nazis?!? No. You're not bad. You're a little bit naughty sometimes, but not bad."
Jack: "can I draw that symbol?"
Me: "how bout you draw other, nice things, like guitars and violins?"
Jack: "but I WANT TO DRAW THAT SYMBOL! Am I BAD if I draw that symbol??"
Me: "NO, you're not bad."
Jack: "so can I draw it then?"
Me: "why do you want to draw it?"
Jack (like it's obvious, and I'm slightly stoopid): "because I have to???"
Me: "Okay, you can draw it, but you MUST UNDERSTAND that it is very serious, and it's a symbol that causes a lot of people a lot of pain, even if they just look at it. You must understand that it is very, very serious."
And on, and on, and on.
Then, a few days later:
Jack: "Mom, who is Hitler?'
Then, a day or so after that:
Jack: "Mom! Look at this drawing I did! This is me, wearing a uniform (not just any uniform, kids), and this is my sister Ella looking at me, but I changed the swastika into a STAR!"
Kids. There's something sweet, and completely tragic that my little kid has drawn a picture of him wearing what he thinks is a very sharp uniform, but instead of a swastika on his arm, he's made it into a star. He's trying to change bad to good.
GET GRAMMA HER WHISKY
Instant Oatmeal's On Its Way OUT!
Yeah, the boy is starting to get picky about one of the handful of things left he'll actually eat: those packets of that garbagey instant oatmeal. He only really likes the cinnamon flavours, and will sorta live with "apple cinnamon" and kinda endure "maple and brown sugar," but guess what...and see if you hear me on this one, parents of PICKY EATERS: I can only get the cinnamon flavour in the "assorted" box. That means, out of 10 packets of oatmeal in a box, there are only 2 THAT ARE CINNAMON.
Oh, but they sell CINNAMON flavoured oatmeal, you say. Do they? Do they, people? Sure, they do--in the WEIGHT CONTROL boxes, or the SUGAR REDUCED boxes. And Jack, like all true picky eaters, recognises these subtle differences IMMEDIATELY and will not eat them.
Ditto for strawberry flavoured oatmeal, which comes in the store brand assorted box. Two packets of strawberry and that's it. Do they sell strawberry on its own? Sure they do! WITH FREAKING VANILLA. Jack hisses at vanilla.
Is there anyone else out there, who, like me, either has written, or feels like writing to the great food companies to beg them to make a whole box of that one and only thing their kid likes, or to mail them a whole bunch of that one thing their kid likes because they're willing to fork out good money just to have it SO THEIR KID CAN FREAKING EAT???
Yup. Can't wait until oatmeal is off the menu, and in the food graveyard with cheese sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches, and all fruit.
We had a federal election here in Canada yesterday. Does anyone give a crap? Well, it's kinda interesting because the Bloc Quebecois basically DISAPPEARED! SUCK ON THAT, SEPARATIST JERKS.
Still, I headed off to the polls with my little voter card in hand, with heavy heart, and legs like lead, because I fear that nothing will ever change, and you could insert any new clown into the power seat and it would still be the same old garbage, and they'll continue to sh*t on our health care. Some dope, who will always go to the front of the line because he's rich, or he'll just go off to the U.S. for health care, as all the rest of us could only dream of doing, will think it's a logical and fine idea to close emergency rooms in some cities, and CENTRALIZE hospital services. Nevermind that some people in my town can't afford a car, sorry chump; you'll have to have your new baby in the next city over.
Ah, if only apathy wasn't a major Canadian trait. We'd stop "whatever-ing" ourselves into ruin.
And now I shall shut it, and go indulge in a rare, 2nd cup of coffee, because it's just so sh*tty and cold outside, and I almost can't take it because if it doesn't stop raining soon, I will be forced to go out and buy the appropriate attire like FREAKING RAIN BOOTS and a FREAKING RAIN COAT, because my standard MOM UNIFORM of cotton hoody and running shoes are just not cutting it these days.
Peace out, homegirls and homeboys.