The Pied Piper and his Kazoo

There are times when being a parent is the hardest thing in the world. The hardest thing I have ever had to do was tell Fric and Frac their brother died. Then hold their hands as they grieved when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die. I have to admit, it really sucked being a mommy then.

Then there are the times when your body is infected by some mutant plague, you can't breathe through your nostrils, your throat is on fire, you have an invisible piano strapped to your ass and you have small children who not only demand you feed them but shower them with attention.

Parenting can be brutal at times.

But then there are times when all the shit, early morning rising, sassy attitudes, unkempt bedrooms, teacher-parent conferences, vomiting, nightmare-inducing parental moments are rewarded.

I don't mean when your kid looks at you with their big eyes and tells you they love you. Although that is nice, who are we kidding? That is just a payment for the time we squeezed those little buggers out of our soft pink bits after harbouring a watermelon for almost ten months who liked to play "kick mommy's kidneys" as often as possible.

We've earned those 'I love you's', especially after giving birth and giving up all rights to rest and sanity for the next year or so.

What I'm referring to is the rare moments when your child surprises you by doing something cute or charming or completely out of character, thereby shocking you into remembering that yes, yes you do like being a parent and unpaid servant to small people.

Luckily for me, my middle child, Frac, supplied me with just such a moment Friday night. I have relived that particular moment over and over and each time I get all warm and fuzzy. It is a memory I will carry with me always and try to remember out when he is caught sneaking out of the house and trying to hot-wire the family station wagon.

I was standing at my new fabulous stove, which I hardly ever use because I don't want to wreck it, browning some fresh ground beef. Frac walked into the kitchen with something shiny and green in between his lips and he was blowing on it.

"Phfft, phfft," was what it sounded like. I thought it was a broken whistle and gave no more thought to it as I turned back to try and prevent myself from burning yet another family meal.

"Mom, could you fix this? It's broken and it won't work," Frac whined as he handed over the shiny, green object.

As I took the item in question I realized what the hell it was. Quickly I looked at Frac, but it was obvious he was clueless.

"Just what is this, Frac?" I asked innocently.

"It's a kazoo. Fric gave it to me. But I can't get it to work. It's brand new. I saw her take it out of the wrapper." He sounded very disappointed that he was cheated out of a working kazoo.







Walking over so I could get a clear view of Fric's room, I could see her laughing her ass off, with her head buried in her pillow. When she looked up she had tears streaming down her face and she made the "shhh!" sign and motioned for me not to spill the beans.

Sigh. What to do when one child is so obviously tormenting another? Any responsible parent would break it up right then and there.

Screw it.

"Why don't you show me how to play it? Maybe you are using it wrong," I told Frac as I handed it back to him. I could hear my daughter trying to stifle her muffled howls in the background.

"Fric sure thinks the kazoo is a funny instrument," Frac muttered as he proceeded to try and make sweet kazoo music.

Phfft, phfft. Phfft..-

Interupting my son and his stellar kazoo skills, I took the item in question and told him I think I knew what the problem with the kazoo was.

"Fric! March your little ass in here!" She came in, holding her sides which I presume were killing her from laughing so hard and tried to stop her giggles.

"You see Frac, the problem here isn't how you are playing the kazoo. It seems to be the kazoo itself. Probably because it isn't a kazoo at all. It's a tampon applicator."





Picture this, but plastic, green and more kazoo-like.

Fric howled with laughter at this point, unable to contain her delight.

Frac was mystified. Until he remembered what a tampon was. Then he was mortified. He hurled the "kazoo" down like it was toxic. "Thanks Frac," he indignantly replied.

"You're welcome," she responded.

Ah, such polite children I have I thought to myself as I picked up the kazoo and went to toss it into the garbage. I started to giggle at the thought of my son blowing a tampon applicator and soon I was howling. Turning around, I offered it to Frac and asked him if he'd like one more blow on the kazoo for old time sake.

He shot me a death glare and muttered something about exacting revenge when his father was home and he wasn't outnumbered by females and marched off to the sanctuary of his manly room.

Fric followed, probably to see if she could convince him a maxi-pad was a bandaid.

I love being a parent. It doesn't get much better than moments like those.

Even if it means burning the hamburger ... again.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

It was one of those mornings when the alarm clock was obsolete. Before it began it's morning shrieks to drag my sorry ass up and out from the warm cocoon of my bed, I was up and pacing softly with Nixon right along side me. Back and forth I walked, trying to remain quiet and wishing I had trimmed my damn dog's nails.

It's hard to be quiet as a church mouse when Nixon's long little coke nails scrape and scratch along the floor, all but waking up the dead.

Finally the moment I had been waiting for arrived.

I bounded into the hallway before my children's bedrooms, simultaneously threw open their doors and yelled, "Good morning Sunshine! Time to rise and get your little asses on to the school bus!"

As they were moaning and trying to bury their pretty blonde heads back into the pillows I was doing a dancing jig outside of their doors, singing "Mommy's got a day off, suckers. Na na na boo boo!" Sung in the most irritating sing song voice I could muster.

I'm thoughtful like that. It amazes me they haven't packed their bags and started looking for a new home.

As they puttered about trying to find the newest, coolest outfit that I sold my soul to buy for them, I danced my way to the kitchen and hummed about how great life is.

What's better than ten months of sweet, child-free days, I thought to myself while making as much racket as I could muster while fixing them a nourishing, warm breakfast poured their Cheerios into a bowl.

Fric finally popped out of her room, showered and changed and looking like a scary, grimacing preteen bucket of sunshine sporting a murderous look pout. "It's not fair," she whined as she sat down to eat her soggy cereal.

"What's not fair?" To me, on this holy day, all is right as rain in my world.

"We have to get up so early and go to school. Why can't we just stay home and learn from here?" Sad blue eyes stare questioningly at me.

"Think of what you just said, Fric. Do you really want to be home schooled with ME as your teacher?" The mere idea sent chills of fear up my spine.

"Oh. Ya. Never mind." She suddenly looked as freaked out as I felt. Banishing any thoughts of home schooling from our heads, she began eating her breakfast rather sullenly as I noted the time and wondered what was taking her brother so long.

"Frac! Get your arse out here! You're gonna miss the fabulous breakfast I made for you and be stuck eating paper until -"

Before I even finished my sentence Frac wandered out, decked out a la gangsta style, with his jeans halfway down his ass, his underwear showing, an oversized hoodie and capping the look off with a cap on backwards.







"Yo, Tupac, you're not going to school with your tighty whitey's waving hello to all the world. Go put on a belt, or find some suspenders and ditch the cap. What happened to that nice striped button up shirt I bought you?"

"I'm wearing it!" Frac suddenly yanked up the hoodie which could have fit three pregnant ladies and their dogs inside it. Sure enough, the snazzy shirt was there, unbuttoned, wrinkled and covered by the hoodie.

"Tell you what, Frac. Since I'm in such a great mood, I'll let you take off the good shirt and throw on a tee shirt, as long as you yank up your knickers. Because if you really think I'm gonna let you waddle out of this house with your ass crack showing, then I'm gonna have to take drastic measures."

Apparently, this small child of mine was nonplussed. He shrugged, thereby testing his mother's patience and playing chicken with his life. He must have noticed the dangerous twitch I suddenly developed in my left eye because he reluctantly turned around and went into his bedroom to change. As he walked away his underwear flashed like a big ole neon sign saying "Pants me! Please!"

He emerged looking more like the child I birthed and less like some hoodlum in the inner city and all was right with my world again. I took note of the time and realized it was time to give them the bum's rush out the door. Heaving their overstuffed knapsacks, I walked them outside.

I could hear the bus rumbling down the road on it's way to pick up my angels. I kissed them and told them to get their little asses in gear. That bus was not to be missed. As they trudged down the driveway, I ran into the house and grabbed my camera. I could hear the bus turning onto our corner. I had to time this just right.

Counting to three, I ran out the door and down the driveway, yelling "Mommy loves you! Have a good day!" just as the bus was pulling up to our drive. Fric and Frac were dying at the site of their wild-haired mother flying down the drive way in only her robe and slippers.

"Turn around and say cheese for me, kiddies! Smile for your mommy!" Hee hee.

"MOM! You're EMBARRASSING us!" Was it my imagination or were they turning beat red?

"What? I couldn't hear you," I yelled back. "You want me to walk you onto the bus? Give you hugs and kisses in front of all the other kids? Sure thing. But smile first!"

(Good thing the bus driver is a buddy of mine and has the patience of a saint. She seems to enjoy when I torture my children for entertainment purposes.)

I clicked my picture, and then bent to down to kiss them. Sadly, I don't have to bend as far as I used to. Frac just shook her head and tried to pretend she didn't recognize the crazy woman standing outside the bus. Fric, however, was dying a thousand deaths as his tough kid image died with every kiss and hug I planted on him.

"Ever gonna wear those pants like that again?" I whispered in his ear.

"No. I PROMISE Mom! Now please just go!!!" he said, as he looked around to see how many kids were watching us.

I relented and let them go, winking at the angel sent from heaven bus driver.

"Don't forget to wash your hands after you go to the bathroom!!!" I screamed as the doors pulled shut. I could see Frac was hunched down on his seat, trying to pretend I didn't exist. I debated about chasing the bus down the road while waving wildly behind it, but nixed the idea.

My coffee was getting cold. And there is always tomorrow.

Happy first day of school to all you Moms and Dads out there. May you enjoy your day as much as I will.

The Moonwalk and It's Power of Subtly

Back in the days of yonder, I loved the September. It meant back to school to see old friends, clothes that actually fit before I grew out of them and of course, spanky new school supplies.

What was better than your very own bendy ruler and a sparkle pen to call your own? Perhaps that new red pencil case you convinced your mom to buy, perfect for hiding notes in the side pockets.

Not that I wrote a lot of notes in class. Snicker.

If you believe that let me tell you about how perky my chest is too.

I still love September. But for different, more grown-up reasons. My daughter and I celebrate our birthdays this month. The canopy of tree tops starts to resemble the colours of a vibrant sunset. My kids board a little yellow school bus every morning to be driven far, far away by the world's nicest lady all before I have my first cup of coffee. And she doesn't bring them back until almost nine hours later.

Sweet, sweet freedom.

There is one thing I passionately and intensely dislike about September.

Back to school shopping. I hate having to shoulder my way into the throng of mothers who think their snot-nosed brats need a twenty dollar binder and block all access to the cheap binders on the back shelf. When you ask them to politely get the fuck out of my way before I hurt you excuse themselves so you may reach one of the ugly discounted D-rings, they sneer over their shoulders as if to convey that my very existence and desire not to spend what amounts to a boob job on school supplies are grunging up their airspace and my wild monkey children shouldn't be allowed to share the same air-space with their precious soon-to-be-white-collar-criminal children and then shuffle maybe a half-step to the left so that if I stretch really hard I may be able to reach the ugly puke green discount binder on the top instead of digging through the pile and finding a half decent colour for my kids.

I mean it's bad enough I buy the discount crap. They shouldn't have to stare at colours resembling what it looked like the last time they puked in the toilet.

Of course, this could all be in my imagination too. I just hate shopping if it doesn't involve various different shapes of glass bottles filled with pretty colours of ambrosia.

However, I am a dutiful mother, so I stuffed the kids into the car, cranked up the iPod and headed into town, equally determined not to get fleeced and not be the mother who sends her kids to school with pocket protectors just because she found them on sale and in theory they seem like a good idea.

After what seemed like an eternity, our shopping cart was full, my credit card company would soon be very happy with me and my kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement and I wearily pushed our mountain of supplies towards the car.

"Mom, aren't you going to buy us some clothes? I need new shoes and most of my pants are too short," Fric asked while pointing to her coltish legs. Sure enough, I could see four inches of ankle below her hem line.

"Oh, I thought that was the look you were going for these days, you crazy kids."

"MOM!" they complained in unison.

Fine, since I seem to have government agencies breathing down my neck these days all in name of finding out if I'm crazy. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to provide clothing that fit for my offspring.

But nobody said the clothes had to be pretty. Snicker.

As Fric and Frac raced around gathering up enough clothes in their arms to wear a new outfit every day for a year, I shouted out, "Only two pants and two shirts. You can trade outfits every day. And I'm not buying you any underwear. You can go commando like the rest of us!"

That always works to keep the sales people away.

As my lovely children tried on one lovely, expensive outfit after another, I sat in the corner rocking back and forth trying to figure out how I was going to pay for every thing they need on top of every thing they want.

There's not many street corners I can stand on in the sticks. Hmm. Maybe I could get a job for a 1-900 company. I'm told I have a sexy voice...

As Fric and Frac come out to model one incredibly over priced outfit after another, I tried to dissuade them from the most pricey choices and stir them towards the more reasonable (and slightly geeky) choices I could live with.

"Oh, you don't want that pair of pants Frac. They make you look like a two headed elf with small feet and a big nose. Besides, some child in India had to slave for twelve hours to make those jeans, wasn't allowed a washroom break and only made three cents for his effort. You don't want to buy merchandise from a company that treats KIDS that way do you?"

"Fric, that shirt looks lovely. If you want to resemble a prostitute walking her turf in it. It really highlights your eyes and makes you look cheap. Great choice honey. Love the colour. All the boys will love it."

Ya. Really, I should win awards for my parenting.

However, my kids aren't as dumb as I'd like. "You're just saying this because you don't want to pay these prices," Fric accused me after checking the price tag on her the last pants she tried on and telling her she resembled a mushroom butt.

Damn. I need to work on my subtlety skills.




"Well, can you blame me? It's not like these clothes are made with gold thread! They want an arm and a leg for crap that you are going to out grow in two shakes of a lambs tail. I'm trying to be frugal and conservative, thereby saving enough of your father's hard earned money, to oh, I don't know, FEED us!"

I went on, "Besides, the clothing I picked out is just as cool looking and only half the price. I'm a great shopper. I'm fashionable. I'm cool. I'm jiggy. I'm down wit tat." Said with hand motions and everything. I am so cool.

Que rolling of both sets of blue eyes.

"Fine Mom. Just do us a favour."

"Sure, what's that?" I'd do just about anything in the name of all that is holy just to be able to get the hell out of the store with some money still in the bank.

"Stop trying to do the Moonwalk in the mirror. You are embarrassing us. And you look like your having fits."

"Fine. So I can't dance. But don't I get cool points just for trying?"

Snicker.

"NO!" Again with unison. You'd think they were related or something.

"Fine no dancing. Oh, do you hear that? I grew up with that song! I still know the words. If you're not changed with some reasonably priced choices in hand in one minute, I'm gonna start singing loudly. Oh look! Isn't that a couple of kids you go to school with? Maybe I should dance for them too. Time's a ticking my friends. And Momma's getting the itch to be a star..."

Funny how a little public embarrassment can hurry things a long. Saved me a bundle too. I danced all the way to the cash register.

But only after waving hello to my kid's school chums. I like to be friendly, after all.