Good Things Come

To Those Who Blog!

C: Mum, what did you do before texting?
Moi: Good grief, we SPOKE to each other!  We didn't need to text a sibling to pass the salt across the table because we had the ability to open our mouths and issue forth a vocal request!
C: So, um.... what did you do?

Conversation is, apparently, a lost art.  And I am, apparently, old-fashioned and mean.  Because I won't give my children cell phones.

So, A called me wailing on the phone because she couldn't get a ride to the dance.  "Mum!  You've got to text J for me and ask her to come get me!"  Well, this dilemna seemed to have an obvious solution.  "Why don't you, um... I dunno, call her?!" I said.
"She won't pick up!  She only texts!"  (Of course, silly me!  Why use a phone for TALKING?!)  So ensued my initiation to texting.  I sent J a text.  It took twenty minutes.  Is it just me or is this a really cumbersome and time-consuming way of communicating?

When you see five kids sitting in a row silently, they're not actually being silent - there is an intense discussion going on - heads tilted down, fingers hopping...

how u?
cool. u?
cool.
doing?
nuthin.
cool.

Can you see the IQs lowering?  

When I tell the kids they're going to get "finger carpal tunnel" and hunch backs they look at me like I'm crazy.
When I look sideways, and scrunch my eyes a bit, I can actually see the lumps forming...

MM thinks if the situation had been reversed and talk was invented after text, then the kids would never stop talking, marveling at the ability to speak to someone far away in real time rather than typing every conversation.  It just seems that communication technology is going backwards instead of forwards.

I wonder what the next NEW thing will be?  Carving letters into rocks and hurling them at your friends house?

The only thing worse than having girls old enough to get "trainer" bras, is having to go out and buy the things.  Apart from tampons, bras are my least favourite thing to purchase in public.  Standing in the checkout line (i.e.- purgatory) is bad enough.  Then you have to place your goods on the conveyor belt so that everyone behind you can get a better look at your cup size.  At least with tampons, you can have your husband buy them for you. 

But, bras are not something you can trust your husband to purchase.  Not that MM has ever volunteered for the job.  To be fair, it's considered perfectly normal for a woman to browse the men's undies aisles but thoroughly creepy for a man to lurk around the brassieres.  Besides that, men just don't have the necessary information to navigate the confusing selection.  The last time I saw a boy in the bra department, all he did was point at a padded bra and say, "Wow!  Now they have BUILT-IN boobs!" 

I'm not sure why they make push-up bras for twelve year olds but I am pretty sure that Satan was involved in the design of them.  There is a ton of padding stuffed in there but very little actual fabric.  And, they're neon coloured prints with cupids bows and lace!  Oh, I must be in the wrong place.  Somehow, I stumbled into the "Please Turn My Daughter Into A Ho" section. 

I just want a simple supportive bra for a 'barely there' chest.  That's all.  She doesn't need to have a silhouette like Marilyn Munroe.  She's not ready to be hurtled breast head first through puberty.  Even though I've been told that apparently, all the girls wear these contraptions.  Which tells me that their mothers have joined the Dark Side.  There is nothing more disturbing than seeing ten and eleven year olds walking around with Double D's.

As for me... can I please have my baby girl for a little bit longer?  Just long enough for her to realize she will never need to be "pushed up".

If she is anything like her mother, she will be wearing these soon enough...

Just because your pet kitty doesn't usually mind going for short rides in the car doesn't mean you should take him with you when you take the kids to school. 

And, just because you forgot to do it last night doesn't mean you should take the opportunity to run the car through the car wash after dropping the kids off at school while aforementioned kitty is still inhabiting the car.

And, just because of the ripped up seats, involuntary bowel movements and unholy shrieking (causing people to stare at me in horror), doesn't mean you should shove the cat in the middle console in hopes he will calm down and shut up.

Don't assume the middle console cannot be destroyed from the inside.

Don't assume you can remove the cat from the console without having your clothes torn from your body.

Don't assume the kitty's eyes will stop rolling.

Don't assume the vet will not look at you funny.

Don't assume the doctor will not look at you funny.

Don't assume your husband and mother-in-law won't notice the diarrhea stains, then look at you funny.

Don't assume that your children will be able to sit in the car without hanging their heads out the open windows whilst gagging and choking.

Don't assume that these guys will be able to remove the poo aromas but do assume it will cost an arm and a leg.


And don't expect your friends to be sympathetic, "You're not having much luck with cats lately, are you?"

And don't tell me I should know better.

Because I obviously don't.....

...you're looking at me funny.

Moi: Can I re-use this priority mail box but instead send it parcel post?
Postal Worker: Oh, no.
Moi: Why?
Postal Worker: It's a... priority mail box.
Moi: Thank you!  But couldn't I just cover it in brown paper or something?
Postal Worker: No!  The mail room guys will recognize the size and know it's one of our boxes and they will send it back to you.

True story.

I wondered if I should stay with this conversation a little longer and make her look stupid in front of everyone, (my natural inclination) but thinking about what I should do rather than what I can do, (yep, those Conference talks are taking their toll) I allowed her ignorance to be just between her and me, and God.... and you.  And I will be taking my brown-paper-covered-priority-mail-parcel-post-stamped-box elsewhere. 

So there.

One of those days.  Don't get me started.  Murphy's Law has been dominating me today.  Hanging out at my house.  Eating my food and wearing my shoes.

I need chocolate.  And ice cream.  And a box, about cat-sized.  So I can bury the kitty I ran over this morning.  Not on purpose.  I was taking the kids to seminary when I felt this bump and heard A scream.  J looked out the back window and said, "Yep it's a cat." Then, "Yep, it's dead," and proceeded to text everyone at the High School about it.
 
I felt so crappy.  Someone's kitty.  Dead.  I know it's total cowardice but I'm glad the owner doesn't know who did it.  That would really suck. 

So, A says, "Remember the cat you ran over this morning, mum?" 
(Cat, you say?  Ran over, you say?)
"Well, it was my friend's cat and she's really mad at you, and ME.  Thanks a lot Mum!"
(No!  Thank the finger happy compulsive texting girl!  The one whose mother called me to tell me that she: "...dragged the corpse to the side of the road for ya!  You're welcome!")  

So, everything is annoying me.  Even my blog.  Especially the background.  Can it be any more cheerful?  Purple flowers!  Ugh!  I need a serious background.  Someone tell me where I can find a serious background.  One that means business.  One that says, "I don't run cats over willy nilly."

And who asked that girl on the sidebar to smile so large?  It's pathetic.  I need to get that picture off here post haste.  There's only so much happy face I can take...

And I need someone to whine to.  Oh, there you are...

(changed the background... thanks for the suggestion Sherrie!)

Y'all know I am anti-Halloween. You remember why? Not because I've been handing out tofu bars and raw almond treats and now the kids refuse to come to my house. No! They love tofu! Ask anyone!

I don't like Halloween because it is one BIG sugar obscenity. A high fructose corn syrup abomination! A night of pumpkin abuse and horror costumes that transform five year old innocents into Freddy Kruger. (I know YOU wouldn't do that. Your child is going as Harry Potter... or Hannah Montana, right?! And that's not child abuse?)

So what's the deal? Why do otherwise normal and sane (we assume) parents perpetuate the Halloween depravity year after year, contaminating children's minds and stomachs?

And, regarding the "trick" part of "trick or treat"... excuse moi, but that sounds like a threat to me. If I get egged this year, I may have to send out my attack cat. Don't laugh, he's a lethal weapon.


It's time to give Halloween a revamp. An overhaul. A jolly good smack in the bot. The Catholics have been calling for this very thing. Here's a snippet of an article I read... "Human sacrifice is still going on as well as the recruitment of many thousands of teens and young adults into witchcraft and satanism via Halloween parties." (You can read more of this stuff here if you really want to.)

Now you know - Halloween is wrong. Thanks Catholics, for having my back...

Maybe we can replace Halloween with Guy Fawkes. Now, there's a tradition worth repeating! Everyone in cahoots with England celebrates Guy Fawkes. First we make an effigy (scarecrow type of stuffed dummy) of a man who tried to blow up Parliament House in 1605. Guy Fawkes was his name and he was thwarted in his dastardly plan. We celebrate his failure by throwing his effigy on a bonfire and watch him burn chanting, "Die! Die! And die!"

In fact, I have been doing this for years. It's just good, wholesome fun.


Let's not subject our kids to intestinal carnage and creepy neighbours any longer! Let's instead practice our arson skills on a humongous bonfire and burn stuff! I'll bring the vegetarian, organic, non-sugar, soy based, dairy and gelatin-free marshmallows.

It'll be a blast!