Country Living at it’s Finest
2007-10-10 12:26:26
I was born and raised in the city. The sounds of screaming sirens were as soothing to me as the sweet screeching of a neighbour’s cat in heat during the wee hours of the morn. I didn’t know what it meant to see the stars in the evening or listen to the sounds of nature to soothe my soul. Honking horns, bad mufflers and the constant hum of the city busses shuttling meters in front of my home comforted me during my angsty teenage years.
Boo, however, was a born and bred country kid. While my childhood home was an arm’s length from our neighbours, in a subdivision of hundreds of small starter homes crammed together, eviscerating any shred of privacy and posing a safety hazard if ever a fire swept through the neighbourhood; Boo’s house stood high on a hill, surrounded by wheat fields and trees with the nearest neighbour more than a kilometer away.
Boo grew up not far from where my father was born and raised. Where my father and Boo’s father used to tip cows, s
Read more: Country
, Living
Move Over Martha, Make Room For the Redneck
2007-10-08 12:23:02
Up north, here in the land O’ Canada, we are celebrating our turkey long weekend. In our family, not only do we give thanks to the pilgrims before us, but we slap on the paper hats, grab a few candles and celebrate Fric and Frac’s birthday with Boo’s family.
Nothing like a little Betty Crocker’s frosting to wash down all that pie and turkey.
Every year, since I managed to wrangle my way into this family, I have been responsible for bringing the desserts to these family functions. Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving or Groundhog’s day, my in-laws eagerly await for our family to arrive to see the bevy of sugary products I bring in from the car.
It’s a lot of pressure to put on a mom who taught her five year old daughter to make toasted tuna sandwiches for lunch so the mother wouldn’t starve to death.
A lot of pressure for a woman who’s greatest culinary accomplishments lay in her skill to operate a can opener and a microwave blindfolded and wit
Read more: Martha
, Redneck
Wishing He Had Remembered a Muzzle
2007-10-05 10:12:46
It’s not all doom and gloom around these parts while I sit on my ass and wait for my future to be determined by a group of soul sucking zombies er, government bureaucrats. In an active attempt to avoid the looming emotional crisis that October represents for our family, the hubs and I went out and did something we’ve never done before.
We hired a hooker.
Kidding. In his dreams. Actually, his dreams would consist more of the sexy (and now slightly knocked up) Halle Berry, me and a can of whip cream. Or more likely, Halle Berry, the whip cream and me locked in the basement, pounding on the door, screaming to get out.
No, no hooker. However, we went to see our friendly, neighbourhood travel agent. All right, so we just randomly picked one out of the phone book, but turned out, she WAS friendly. Just not in our neighbourhood. (To be fair, our neighbourhood consists primarily of a bunch of trees, a few bears, some moose and the odd hillbilly.)
It must have been Boo’s luck
Read more: Wishing
, Remembered
Judgement Day Looms…Quick Take Cover
2007-10-03 10:53:22
As most of you know, I started blogging shortly after my youngest son passed away unexpectedly. I was looking for a way to stabilize my world, to solidify my foundation after it was left tattered and crumbled. For a while, I wrote to try and bring my son back to life, to remember the minutiae of his life. To cling to him in whatever way I could. Even if meant trying to grasp whisps of a rainbow.
It wasn’t long before I realized no matter how often I wrote about my son, he was never coming home to be tucked in at night. I would never plug him in to be fed again, nor would I ever have to worry about him letting a floater go in the tub, or pick at his never ending case of cradle cap or wonder whether his feet would look more clubbed when he woke up the next morning.
Because I realized there were no more next mornings. The tomorrows with my Shalebug were all spent. It was up to me to try and find a way to adjust and cope to this new reality, because no one could do it for me.
So I tu
Read more: hellip
, Quick
, Cover
I Knew I Should Have Bribed the Music Teacher
2007-10-01 09:56:24
Back in the days of yore, when I first discovered I was about to become a parent, I was filled with doubts and worry. I worried I wouldn’t be a good momma, I worried my child would grow up and hate me, and I worried my ass would grow to rival the size of small country.
A country where they subsist on coffee products and baked goods. Especially honey glazed donuts.
Clearly, I was young and hormonal. After all, I am a good mom (take that you adoption asshats), my children thus far think I hung the moon and my ass may want it’s own zip code to spread where ever it chooses, but I’m determined to keep it’s sprawl limited to the confines of jeans I already own.
(Or at least until I bend over and split the seams, thereby declaring an emergency shopping day for pants one size bigger...)
Over the years I have tried to be a good mother to my spawn. All right, so some days I have tried harder than others. How many points do I lose since I have yet to throw them a birthday
Read more: Music
, Teacher
Frac
2007-10-16 09:53:52
Ten years ago today, in the minutes it will take me to type this, I was travelling in a rusted out red car, on my way to the hospital. I was two weeks past my due date, big as a whale and the world’s crankiest bitch bloated, swollen and stretched, pregnant chick.
I was 21 and even though I had already given birth thirteen months prior to my daughter, I had no idea how my life was about to change.
For the better.
(At least that is what I told myself for the next two years of sleepless nights and blurred days as I chased after two babies only months apart.)
I’ll admit, your conception wasn’t planned. Your sister was only four months old and we were still struggling with breast feeding when I found out about your existence. I’ll admit, I may have hurled the pregnancy test stick, with it’s positive sign mocking me, at your father’s head when he walked through the door from work that night.
I’ll admit, you were a gift I hadn’t planned on recei
Doing My Best Hermit Imitation
2007-10-14 13:06:18
I’m not a morning person. I never have been and unless an apocalyptic event occurs, I doubt I will magically transform into a little Miss Suzy Sunshine shooting beams of happiness out of my arse first thing in the morning.
My family know this about me. They may not like it, but they accept it. Fric and Frac know to keep it quiet and mellow until ambrosia from the Gods of Java is running through my veins. I’m just not human first thing in the morning.
My darling husband, however, seems to have forgotten this charming fact of my personality now that he sleeps in a different bed, some 300 odd kilometers away from me on a semi-regular basis.
He has taken to phoning me first thing in the morning. And by first thing, I mean at 6:45 am, thirty minutes before my lovely alarm clock takes to abusing me with it’s shrill screeching. At first, it was cute. Lovely even. My man calling me to wish me well before he walked onto a job site and surrounded himself with the testosterone
Read more: Imitation
Verdict Rendered
2007-10-18 09:35:10
It’s not official yet. There is still some paper work to be done and some hoops to jump through, but the adoption peeps are recommending our application be approved.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
I will say this was by far the MOST humiliating experience of my life to have my personality ripped apart in front of a group of strangers and my husband. Turns out I really am bat shit crazy.
But not the ‘throw me into a padded room and wrestle with the straight jacket’ variety of crazy.
More the ‘control freak, aggressive, chew your faces off and eat your young, strong personality’ type of crazy.
I’ll take it.
Oh, and the adoption peeps know about the blog.
Ya. Good times. Nothing like digging your own grave and eating a little crow.
Let’s all say hello and thank you to the nice ladies who I have mocked and terrorized over the course of the year, shall we?
I now think they shoot rainbows and sunbeams out their backsides.
I’m
Read more: Verdict
, Rendered
I Just Need A Minute Alone With Them…Promise
2007-10-17 08:58:02
It’s been more than a year in the making, but today’s the day. The BIG day. Our day of judgement. The day I find out if I get to hunt out a new little redneck to call my own, and get to read the assessment report from our freakishly long and brutal psych evaluations.
Will my husband be truly justified in calling me crazy? Or is he just the lovable ass I married?
The bigger and more imminent question ought to be, “Will I be able to act with dignity and a modicum of decorum when they render their verdict?”
I have visions of yelling “Boo-Yah! Take that, you evil bureaucrats!” if the application is approved. Which of course, would give them justification for changing their minds.
Quit eyeing the duct tape, Boo. I’d just peel it off with my freakishly long monkey toes if I had to.
I’d ask you to wish us luck, but you’ve already done that. Besides which, the deed is done, either way. So, before I know what the fate of my future holds, a
Read more: Minute
, hellip
, Just Need
I’m A Talented Gal
2007-10-25 10:18:55
While riding the high of the adoption approval, I tried something I rarely ever attempt. I cooked, two times in the same week. Without relying on cereal, eggs or boxed noodles. Without ordering pizza or wrangling an invite to my friend’s house. I was being motherly. I was being domestic. I was feeling very pleased with myself. Look at me, rocking this mothering thing, I thought to myself.
Then my kids came home from school and killed my buzz.
“What is that smell” Fric asked with her button nose all wrinkled and a look of distaste spread across her freckled face.
“Supper.”
“Why does it smell so bad?” She stares at the pan in horror. “Frac! Come and check this out,” she called.
“Jeez, you two. You’d think you’d never seen me cook before,” I whined as I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. This Molly Homemaker crap was a tough gig. I’m not like my sister in law, Ms. Martha Freaking Stewart, gifted with the
Pimples and Parsnips
2007-10-23 09:43:24
“Mom, what is a pimple?” Frac inquired as I was peeling potatoes for a stew I had stupidly thought my children would eat with out gagging and complaining.
“The dictionary describes a pimple as a small hard inflamed spot on the skin. I would call it a raging sack of pus buried in our skin which only rears it’s ugly evil head whenever you are meeting someone new, important or really cute. That, or it pops up when you have to have your picture taken. Either way, it’s not pretty.”
As I reached for a rutabaga to hide in the stew, I looked over at him and asked, “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. What’s a zit?” He looked at the root vegetable in my hand and shuddered.
“The dictionary defines a zit as a synonym to the word pimple. I define a zit as a raging pain in my ass, murdering my self esteem with it’s appearance and immediately reminding me of what an awkward raging geek I was as a teen.”
Plopping the ru
Read more: Pimples
If Wishes Were Dollars, I’d be Rich
2007-10-21 17:55:22
Two years have passed and still you haunt me, my boy.
It’s been two years since Bug turned sheet white and non-responsive. Two years since my husband ran out to start the car on a frosty fall evening in the middle of the night. Two years since I looked Boo square in the eye and told him this was the one time I couldn’t take my child to the hospital. I wasn’t strong enough.
It has been two years since I buckled Bug into his car seat and kissed his forehead, told him mommy loves him, and hold tight. Mommy will make it all better.
Two years since I drove as fast as my car could go, the pedal to the floor. Two years since I hoped I wouldn’t hit any animals in the dark, two years since I prayed for just this once to be stopped by a police car, anything not to be so alone with my fear and worry in the dark.
It’s been two years since I phoned my husband in the middle of the night, while he waited for a baby-sitter to watch Fric and Frac and told him I was more frightened than I
Read more: Wishes
The Life And Death Of Dave
2007-10-28 11:58:11
Dear Dave,
You’re sudden death took me by surprise. Fear and a bit of bile rose up in my throat when I came upon you, curled up in pain and obviously half dead. My first instinct was to step on you put you out of your misery but my darling children insist you pass on in a natural fashion. So instead of smacking you to death with a broom helping you along, I sat on Death Watch, peering intensely at your chest, waiting for the rise and fall to finally stop.
(Really, that wasn’t the sounds of happiness you heard when you finally bit the dust. It was my death whoop, so overwhelmed was I with your passing.)
You were a good mouse friend. Fric and Frac loved you dearly. I’ll admit, I thought you were cute, with your big ears, long tail and fabulous white fur. I’m sorry you were only two months old, but in the life of a mouse, surely that is middle aged.
You were courageous right from the start. You nibbled on your big brother’s tail with impunity and stood your
I’ve Taught Them Well. I’m Such a Dope.
2007-11-01 10:26:26
We don’t do halloween in a traditional sense at my house. Because of Bug’s battle we gave up begging for candy from strangers years ago. Instead of growing snotsicles while ensuring my children’s safety as they bang on peoples doors and demand a treat; I spend a week’s worth of pay and and buy out the store’s supply of sugar coated kiddy crack. While the candy wrappers fly, eyes are generally glued on the boob tube, watching a completely inappropriate movie carefully and thoughfully chosen by their mother to scare the living bejeepers out of them in the dark hours of the night.
If I can’t rob them of their candy, may as well steal their innocence and restful nights, no?
So we turned off all the lights, locked all the doors, lit a few candles and settled in for their very first viewing of The Shining.
HERE’S JOHNNY…
Just kidding. I’m saving that movie for a few more years. I don’t want to be completely responsible for having t
Golden Goodies Dance Before Me
2007-10-30 11:20:26
It can be really tough being alone with my kids for 24 days straight without any parental help from Boo. Hell, it can be really tough being alone without a husband, period. I miss having a manly shoulder to lean on and prop me up.
There is no sex. No cuddling. No one manly arms to take the trash to the dump. No manly words of loved whispered to try entice me into the sack. No manly arms to cook us supper and keep us from starving to death.
Did I mention, the sex part? Somehow the humming of my favorite battery powered buddy is just not as thrilling as well, flesh and blood.
It’s a wonder the kids and I have survived Boo’s long absences.
Yet, Boo and I make it work for the most part. While he’s off chasing the almighty dollar, earning cash for standing around and picking his ass, I guard the home fires and try to keep the embers burning brightly for his return. He’s entrusted me with his kids, his castle and his bank account and all I have to do is talk to him o
Read more: Golden
, Goodies
, Dance
Want Some Class with that?
2007-11-07 11:07:55
It’s a sad day in the universe when my husband thinks he’s the classy partner in our union. This from the man who pees on the driveway the moment he gets out of the car. This from the man who buys his beer in bulk, only concerned with price and alcohol content and not trivial things like oh, say, taste. As long as it’s cheap and has a higher alcohol level than a fermented potato, he’s a happy man.
The other day, he joked about how classy he was and if it wasn’t for me, well, he’d be married to Ivanka Trump. I’m pulling him down, apparently, what with my breeding and my social status.
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, amused and somewhat disbelieving, as I was picking the underwear out of my ass. (I couldn’t help it. It kept crawling up and giving me a wedgie. It’s not like I did it in the aisles of Walmart with hundreds of people to witness my butt-picking. I was discreet. I waited until we were in the parking l
Cracking the Whip
2007-11-05 09:31:12
What does a router saw, a butter knife, a sliding compound mitre saw and an air compressor all have in common?
Well, besides the ungodly amount of money I spent on all of them (or rather, winced as the hubs forked out the cash), they are all in my kitchen. Right this second. Apparently, they’re more useful to me than say, a stove. Or a countertop. Both of which are covered by an assortment of tools, wood pieces, carpenters glue and sawdust.
It’s gonna take me weeks to clean up this freaking mess. Even with slaves, er kids, helping.
This is what happens when I have a dream. Or a delusion. A vision of a perfect kitchen. All it took was fifteen hundred smackers on a few pieces of cabinet trim, a henpecked husband, some patience and an iron will.
Sure, the hubs and I will probably murder each other before he goes back to work. Sure, we have neglected the kids and fed them cereal while we farted around with measurements and tools and argued with one another while our kids rotted
Read more: Cracking
Always Read the Fine Print
2007-11-12 15:59:20
There is nothing funny about the psych assessment sitting on my kitchen table, mocking me with it’s pages of judgements and recommendations.
I’ve tried to find the funny of it, buried deep between the parts where the report says that contrary to all my flaws I may actually be a good parent and the parts stating I may need professional help to ever be considered normal.
I’ve tried to find humour while reading that I am flippant and aggressive. (Ya, so? Wanna make something of it?)
I’ve tried to find a way to bring humour to a report which describes me as insensitive and overly frank with a streak of exhibitionism.
Like that’s a bad thing? It’s not like I go around flashing my boobs, people. (At least not while sober.)
Excuse me while I go find a bottle of red to boost my fragile ego.
This report has been the bane of my sanity before it’s very existence. The mere thought that I had to be clinically assessed in a psychiatric manner because I had t
Read more: Print
Closed For Business…Until I Find Some Ammo
2007-11-09 16:12:21
I had a big post planned for today. Why? Because I got the psych report back from the adoption peoples and I read it. I learned just how truly deficient I am as a functioning member of society.
I had planned on poking fun at the findings, arguing some of the finer points and generally finding some absurdity buried in the fine print. Because that’s what I do. How I cope. Even if the psych man doesn’t think it’s appropriate.
Or classy.
Ahem.
But then something happened last night. Something that stopped my plans for some good ole fashioned blog therapy in their tracks.
There was an invasion. An invasion of little people who sat at my table, ate my food, destroyed my tidy house, drooled over my floors and walls and generally made themselves at home.
But these little people weren’t alone.
No.
They had visitors themselves. Little invisible germs. And these little people spread their germs around my home and onto me with the glee of Santa Clause dropping off present
Read more: Business
, Closed
, hellip
, Until
Vacation Dreams
2007-11-17 13:03:30
I’m off.
I’ll be alone with the hubs for fifteen solid days. We have never spent that much time together in our entire history. Alone. With no one else to amuse us. Should be good times.
As we drove to take care of some last minute preparations, Boo caught me staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing much. I was just wondering what on earth you and I are going to talk about for fifteen days. We’ve never spent that much time together without any distractions.”
“Don’t you worry about that, darlin’. You’ll be too busy to worry about talking,” he said with a wink.
“What do you mean?” I asked knowing full well I was setting myself up.
“Well for starters, you’re mouth is gonna be too full with my man sausage to even worry about talking.” Great. Now he’s leering at me. How romantic.
“In your dreams senor, in your dreams,” I laughed.
“Hey, it’s my vacation, I&rs
Read more: Vacation
, Dreams
It is My Will
2007-11-15 10:45:55
As Boo and my first real vacation creeps up before us, I’ve been in a mad scramble to put our personal affairs in order before we leave. This includes paying the bills (like tossing a pebble at a mountain, I tell you), hiding all of my toys so our house sitter doesn’t discover her big sister is a bona fide pervert, and getting our wills done.
While we are fleeing the country and abandoning our children on the doorstep of Boo’s sister, we want to be responsible about it. We do have our priorities. They may be slightly screwed, but we have them.
This is not our first will. We scrimped and saved our sheckles when Bug was first born to make sure all the legalities were covered in case something ever happened to us and he was left uncared for.
But our circumstances have obviously changed. Bug’s no longer a consideration and suddenly, thanks to my husband busting his butt and picking the nits off a bunch of monkey asses up in the Great White North, we are actually
I´m a Little Pink.
2007-11-21 08:19:46
After a scary flight where I spent most of my time vomiting in the cabin toilet and crossing my legs praying to the Porcelain God my stomach wouldn´t explode and stink out the whole plane we finally landed in Mexico.
It was probably not a moment too soon. The passengers on board who were stuck with me and my stinky bowels were ready to form a mob and lynch me. Apparently, flying across several countries while trapped in a small tin can with poor ventilation and some twit suffering with the stomach flu is not most passengers idea of a good time.
I´ll file that away as useful knowledge for the flight back home. And invest in some Bepto-Bismol at the airport.
Having never spent this much time trapped with my husband, I was a tad worried we would fight and squabble and this trip would ultimately be the end of our marriage.
I´ve been pleasantly surprised to learn we still like each other after all these years of marriage.
Especially after one or two tequilas and a full body
Wait and See
2007-11-26 07:10:37
I never wanted kids. I never played with dolls and dreamed of having my own little minions to one day boss around and mold into personal slaves love and cherish. I never dreamed of white picket fences, home baked cookies, pigtails and cute little outfits.
I never gave parenting much thought at all. Up until the moment I murdered a rabbit peed on a stick and faced the reality of looming motherhood, I never figured I was cut from the maternal cloth so many of my friends seemed to be made from.
Until that moment, the moment the little stick showed it’s plus sign, it never dawned on me what having children would, could bring to my life. I never understood the blessing of children. I just saw snotty noses, dirty diapers and stressed out moms. I didn’t see that as a future I could embrace.
Some where between my own babies caterwauling, snotty noses and dirty diapers, I discovered the joys of parenthood. The sweet coos of a sleeping baby, the robust giggles of a toddler and the ga
A Redneck’s Vacation
2007-12-03 10:47:52
I’m back. Shovelling out from under the snow which fell while we were gone, spoiling my dog and hugging my children so often they’ve taken to hiding in their rooms to avoid my reaching tentacles.
We had an absolutely great time. I would do it all over again if I ever get the chance. I just wouldn’t do it tomorrow. I missed my kids, my friends, and my country far more than I would have anticipated. I need a chance to sit back and get irritated by enjoy all three before I’m ready to dig out my passport and start globe trotting once more.
I laugh now at how I fretted over Boo and I being alone for fifteen days and not having anything to talk about. Those gaping silences mocked my imagination and I feared I would dream them into reality. In my pre-vacation worry marathon, I must have forgotten Boo and I got married for a reason in the first place. (Besides the fact I was knocked up with our second and my Daddy was holding a shot gun to our heads.) We do many th
Read more: Redneck
, Vacation
What it Costs To Listen To Your Husband
2007-12-10 11:07:27
I love my husband. But there are days when I love him decidedly less than the day before. Yesterday was one of those days.
It started like any other Sunday morning before: The kids running around going batshit crazy while forgetting to let the damn dog out, the birds squawking, and me sporting a giant pillow over my head wondering why, God, why can’t my children be like regular preteens and want to sleep in until past noon?
When I finally dragged my still-very sleepy arse out of bed I noticed it was a tad chilly in our home. No big deal, I just turned the thermostat up and went to grind my morning coffee beans. We have a wood stove that I had lit the night before so I tossed in a log while I waited for our furnace to fire up and warm the entire house.
Then I noticed the dog left me a nice brown present at the front door. The front door where he must have sat and whined for someone to let him out until his poor little sphincter could now longer hold the dam shut. I got busy clean
Read more: Costs
, Listen
, Husband
Nipple Tassles Make Christmas Dreams Come True
2007-12-07 10:49:57
It seems like I blinked my eyes and wiggled my nose (while wearing a sexy genie outfit of course) and suddenly the Christmas
season has arrived. I’m having trouble adjusting to this reality. My brain (and body) still wants to frolick half naked and drunk on a beach instead of having to shake the snow off a Christmas tree and drop on all fours to retrieve the ornaments that plopped into a mound of snow after I tripped on my husband’s chainsaw and spilled a box when I went to the shed to begin the festive process of decorating our house.
Merry farking Christmas.
It seems I’m caught with my pants down around my ankles this year when it comes to the season of giving. Normally, my type-A personality has the all the Christmas presents wrapped (in colour coordinating ribbons and bows) and piled neatly under the festively bejeweled tree; the Christmas cards signed, sealed and delivered and some eggnog in the fridge.
The closest I came to that this year is having eggs in the
Read more: Dreams
Yes, I’m a Woman Driver. Get Over It.
2007-12-05 11:07:33
Having spent the last couple of weeks cavorting with a hot blonde while heavily intoxicated and slightly naked, I am finding it a bit challenging slipping back into the routine of everyday life. (What do you mean there are no mimosas with breakfast? You mean, I actually have to cook? For other people????)
The weather isn’t helping matters either. Apparently, we’re in a deep freeze up here in the land of igloos and dog sleds. Enjoying a sixty degree drop in temperature hasn’t exactly been a lot of fun. I’m walking around, trussed up in a plethora of sweaters trying to encourage my body to remember I’m a born and bred hoser; a gal, who before her foray into tropical oceans and sandy beaches, embraced mittens and scarves and loved playing in the white stuff.
Suddenly, my body has betrayed me and my heritage; screaming at me to toss another log on the fire while I sit and shiver and dream of sun, sand and humid temperatures. Pansy ass.
Acclimating to the fri
Read more: Driver
Stuck in Hamster Hell
2007-12-21 11:51:11
It was a tough day yesterday. We suffered yet another death in our family.
Fric’s hamster Rosie, bit the biscuit. Or rather, her cage-mate (whom I shall now and forever affectionately refer to as Chomp) bit Rosie. Right through her spine, severing it. Along with taking a pound of hamster flesh, right out of Rosie’s hide.
Apparently, while we all slumbered peacefully, dreaming of sugar plums and candy canes, Chomp and Rosie were engaged in a hamster smack down. A fight to the death. A duel where only one over-fed furball could survive.
I woke up to find my daughter standing at my bedside, in tears, holding a bleeding and still breathing hamster in front of my nose, urging me to heal her and make things right. Short of grabbing a broom and beating the poor thing to death, there really wasn’t much I could do.
While examining the bleeding rodent I thought of a multitude of other things I would have preferred to do that morning. Have some coffee. Get a brazilian. Build a
Read more: Stuck
I’m Going Green
2007-12-19 10:46:07
I think my children are out to get me. Or at the very least, they’re trying to rob me of my youthful good looks and charming dispostion. They’re determined to make me old and feeble before I hit the mid thirties.
Shocking, I know. They’re preteens. But up till now, they’ve been relatively easy kids. As long as I keep them in steady supply of hot chocolate (the kind with marshmallows), allow access to a gaming system and toss some food pellets in their direction, they don’t generally complain too loudly.
They’re even kinda helpful around the house, what with the wood gathering, toilet cleaning and dish washing service they freely provide.
But as of late, my charming children have morphed into soul sucking, angry kids who act like spoiled brats engaged in a cage fighting battle. They’re ready to rip one another’s heads off (and mine too) if someone so much as looks sideways at them.
All of this and they whine. Worse than my three year old n
Read more: Going
, Green
, Going Green
Christmas Is Making Me Mad
2007-12-17 11:11:39
My husband is a great gift giver. I have trained him well. Ever since that year back when we were first married and he gave me a can of tuna and a chocolate bar for my birthday and then followed it up with steak knives and a cork screw for Christmas
(true story) he has never went wrong.
Apparently, the absence of a holiday hummer along with an angry wife who chucks sharp pointy objects (re: steak knives and a corkscrew) at your head in a fit of hormonal rage (I was a tad pregnant) is enough to scar a man for life and remind him to put some thought into what he buys for gifts.
He’s never again rushed to Canadian Tire an hour before the store closes on Christmas Eve to redeem his Canadian Tire money and find something to stuff into my stocking.
However, I’ve created a monster. A competitive monster who is determined to out-do me every damn gift-giving occasion. And he does.
I hate losing. But the problem is, I’ve bought him every cool gift out there I could think of a
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