Worms out of the Woodwork

Did you know that if one ventures outside in -40 degree temperatures wearing nothing but a fuzzy bathrobe gaping wide open and a pair of slippers that rival Bossy's in cuteness, one can expect one's boobs to send sharp shooting pains to her brain as the metal hoops piercing said boobs freeze and burn her tender skin, meanwhile all exposed leg and nostril hair will instantly shrivel up and fall off?





Not made to wear out in knee-deep snowdrifts...while not wearing pants.

No? Me neither. Oh, the things I've learned during this brutal cold snap that has the kids and myself seeking shelter in our igloo house while Mother Nature messes with us.

That was the last time I rescued my dog from forming into a puppy popsicle as he peed outside and his paws froze to the deck. I'm now currently working on potty training the little bugger so as to save both of our hides from freezer burn.

Meanwhile, it's a good thing I still have those size five diapers.

So I do what I can to entertain myself. Generally at my children's expense. Nothing like freaking them out for a little amusement. The look (of terror) in my son's eye when I came at him with a rusty needle and a potato telling him I wanted to give him matching boob rings as a mother/son bonding moment was worth the three days of listening to him and his sister argue over which video game to play.

Don't worry internets, I wasn't serious. I was only teasing. Really. I was trying to pierce Fric's nose but she chickened out too. Pansy ass kids of mine. Wait till their older. Then they'll be BEGGING me to take a needle and a potato to their hides.

Since the kids have taken to hiding under their beds whenever they hear my footsteps and the dog refuses to crawl out from under the sofa, I've taken to my computer for all sources of amusement and entertainment.

Have I mentioned how much I love YouTube?

Between video surfing and blog reading, I have been endlessly checking my email accounts for any type of human contact that doesn't look at me and scream "No Mommy! NO!" whenever I look at it.

Being nominated for a Bloggie has not only brought increased traffic and curious looky-loo's to the land of Redneck, but it has also filled my inbox.

Letters such as the following:

Redneck Mommy,

I recently came across your blog when I was checking out the nominees for the Bloggie awards. I have read months of your archives and while I would like to say I found you amusing and interesting it was more like I was compelled the same way one is compelled to gawk at a horrific traffic accident.

How you can find amusement and entertainment in animal cruelty and suffering is beyond me. You should not be allowed to own pets. Nor should you be allowed to be a parent. There is a reason why you have not been approved for adoption. You are lucky the authorities are not removing your children from your custody, as it is obvious your parenting style is to mock and abuse them for your own entertainment. I fear for the adults they will eventually turn into because of your lifestyle choices.

You should seek help before it is too late for your children and for yourself.

I will not be voting for you for a Bloggie. I will pray for you, your children and your pets though.

June from Ontario.


I would have responded to June from Ontario and thanked her for her kind words and thoughtful prayers, but I have a sneaking suspicion that her email addy 'iwillpray4usinner@saviour.com' is not her real address.

But June, if you are reading this I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the time you spent on reading my archives and then subsequently emailing me your thoughts. I will take your suggest under advisement but most likely I will just mock and ridicule you.

Dear Tanis,

I think u is real funny. I like it when u post picures of yer boobs. I voted for ya. I wish u woudn't talk so much about yer husband or yer kids so much tho. I'm really glad you posted your name. It's purdy.

Yer biggest fan,

Bob from the U.S.


Thanks Bob. I'll take this as a friendly reminder as to why I don't post our last names or location on the interweb. But I appreciate the time you took from your porn surfing to email little ol' me. My heart just swells with gratitude. Even if I did develop a nervous twitch after reading this.

To T,

I read you all the time. You are really pretty. But why are your posts so long? I think your really funny and I voted for you in the Bloggies. But I think you would have a broader audience is you weren't so wordy. I read your posts at work and sometimes it is difficult to finish them because my boss wants me to do something.

Oh, and could you ask your husband if he could give me a raise? And don't tell him I asked. Or that I think you're pretty.

Thanks. Keep up the great work and good luck.

Regards,

Jody


I think I may have to kick my husband's ass for telling everyone about my website at work. But Jody, my posts are wordy because I have too much damn time on my hands, I don't have enough kids to occupy me and I have a fondness for run-on sentences.

In the future, I'll try to keep my words to a minimum.

Have I mentioned how much I love the internet? Cuz really, I do.

Nothing like a bit of fanmail from judgmental crusaders, perverts and crazies the public to make the hours fly as I'm trapped in my house with my children and can't escape.

It is gratifying to know people are touched by my blog and would take time from their precious lives to send me some sort of feedback.

I just didn't need to know they were touching themselves while they were doing it.

Blizzards and Flakes

As a born and bred, true Canadian hoser, I am accustomed to whatever winter madness Mother Nature throws my way. However, that doesn't mean I have to like it. No matter how cute I look stuffed into a parka and toque.

So when the temperatures plummeted 20 degrees in two hours and the weather channel called for blizzard like conditions, I was unfazed. Annoyed, but unfazed. I just hunkered down around the fire; cuddled with some blankets and whined over who would have to stand outside with my pansy ass dog to ensure he piddled outside and not on my laundry basket like he did the night before.

(Gosh I love my dog.)

Eventually the wind quit howling and the snow stopped falling and Nature quit being a bitch. Or so I thought. Until I took the damn dog out to do his business. (That will be the last time I draw straws. Next time I'll just arbitrarily assign a potty minder for the pooch.)

It was a balmy -47 degrees. That is -53 degrees for you Yankee folks. In other words, it was facking cold and poor Nixon couldn't pee fast enough to prevent little icesicles forming around his willy.

Its times like this I really miss prancing around topless on a Mexican beach, let me tell ya.

Neither the dog nor I could get into the house fast enough. Neither of us felt like communing with the great outdoors as we breathed in air so cold it felt like our lungs were on fire. As I was brushing the snow off the dog and my boots, the phone rang.

Shit. It's the school board. That is not good news, I thought to myself, as I answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, may we speak to the breeder of Fric and Frac, please?"

"This is her," I responded while fervently hoping they were calling to tell me my children had won scholarships based on sarcasm skills and not actual academic merit.

"This is the ruler of the educational system out here in ButtFark Alberta. Please be advised that weather conditions have prompted the cancellation of the school busses tomorrow morning and seeing as your husband nominated you behind your back to be the moron who has to call all the parents on the bus route, now would be a good time to dig out that emergency phone list you buried in your junk drawer and proceed to inform all other parents."

"Do I have to?" I argued.

"Yes." Shit. Think fast Tanis, there is still a chance to turn this ship around, I thought to myself.





What??? I have to spend another day with those kids of mine???? Say it isn't so...

"But you don't understand. I just spent two whole days with my children. I took them ice-skating yesterday and sledding. All in one day. I had a Wii tournament for them and their friends. I had 13 children packed into my house for eight straight hours today and all I want is some peace and quiet. They NEED to go to school tomorrow. Can't you send a team of dog sleds or something?" I whined. Because everyone knows, WHINING works.

"We're sorry. But we are unable to comply with your request as all tax dollars ear marked for education are being used to buy the good coffee beans from Starbucks and pretty glitter pens."

"Dammit." Visions of spending the day relaxing in front of my computer vanished like a plate of cookies in front of Santa.





Shit.

As the responsible adult I am, I made peace with the situation and dug out phone list. And a bottle of wine. I needed fortification as I started making calls to parents to break their hearts and share my pain.

There is nothing worse than being the messenger. Everyone wants a piece of your ass to chew on. Over and over I explained that I did my best to change the school board's mind, but apparently icy, snow covered roads and dangerously low temperatures trump the parents need for peace and quiet.

Unfeeling school board bastards. How dare they put the safety of our children first.

"But I just spent the day shuffling my kids to FIVE hockey games this weekend," one woman whined. "I need a break."

I feel for you sista.

"But I've got to get to work and I don't have a sitter for the kids. Can you do it?" one man asked.

Not on your freaking life. I've already got to find a way to hide from two munchkins. I don't need to add more to the mix.

After robbing all those families of their joy, I vowed to find some new sucker to take over the responsibility of being the emergency caller on snow days. Life is too short to grow this many gray hairs at once.

It's not worth being ostracized at school events by a mob of angry parents who haven't forgotten YOU were the jerk who, by bearing bad news, ruined their lives on a snowy cold Monday.

I'm trying to find the silver lining in the snow day this morning as my children prance around with joy and generally step on my last remaining nerve.

The good news is, I don't have to take Nixon out to pee. It's still -47 out there with wind-chill.

The bad news is, my children may turn into ice pops if I force them outside to shovel the deck play so I can blog in peace.







Ah screw it. They're young. They'll thaw fast.

Maybe snow days aren't so bad after all.

Withdrawal

As a parent, I have grown accustomed to making sacrifices for my children. Sacrifices such as giving up my dreams of being a professional five-pin bowler by day and a tap dancing lounge act by night.

Some sacrifices have to be made whether I like it or not. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning to rouse my offspring out of their beauty sleep to usher them off to school so they may receive an education (and so the office of Children Services doesn't come knocking on my door and threaten to throw my sorry, sleepy ass into the slammer for depriving my children of an academic future) is one such sacrifice.

Oh, the things I do for my children.

Yet, I make this early morning sacrifice for my kids out of love, every day. Albeit, grudgingly, but I still I do it. Beats home schooling the little rug rats.

(Not that I have anything against home schooling. Really, I admire those with the patience and wisdom to attempt such a feat. And I'm not just saying that because my best friend's parents run a large homeschooling business, and I'll be having dinner with them tomorrow night. Ahem.)

It's just I hate getting up before even the damn birds do. I'm not a morning lover. My eyes tend to be glued shut with gook, my face is covered with dried spit and my sparkly disposition is hiding somewhere in the rat's nest I call my hair. It takes me a while to get all pistons firing properly.

Meanwhile, my children circle around me with pointy spears and poke at my tired body while chanting some ancient voodoo spell while I wait for my coffee to brew.

Good times.

I have managed to find a way to make the morning more manageable as my children fight over who gets to the last fruit cup in their lunch, who has to wipe the spilled milk off the counter, who was the one who left the bathroom light on. I tune them out as they roll around on the floor, yanking at each other's hair and ears, wrestling for supreme victory, and I drink my freshly ground java while surfing the internets.

It keeps me sane. It also keeps me from having to separate the two of them and risk having my arm chewed off.

This routine has served us well for the better part of two years. As I expected it to do yesterday morning. Except when I sat down at my computer with my heavenly cup of joe, there was no internet. The little lights on my over-priced satellite gadget thingy were dark, silently mocking me. No internet.

I wiggled the connection. I unplugged the thingamabob and plugged it back in. I rebooted the computer. I cussed. I cried. I got on my knees and prayed for mercy. But alas, nothing. No internet. Just a polite note from my computer telling me the internet God has abandoned me and perhaps I should get off my ass and actually parent my children that the morning.







My children stopped tormenting one another long enough to wander over and see why I was smacking the computer.

"Maybe you should call the satellite company, Mom," Frac offered helpfully. Good idea. I knew I had kids for a reason.

So after waving good bye to my children and ignoring their protests that I was pushing sending them outside fifteen minutes too early (I figured they needed some fresh air before the bus came) I dug out the emergency 1-800 number (read: I ripped apart my filing cabinet until I found the teeny tiny piece of paper that contained the number to regain my sanity) and placed the call.

They were very sympathetic to my plight once they learned I was officially addicted to my internet and was in the first stages of withdrawal. But there was a problem with a thingamajig and I'd have to hold onto my panties tightly until it was fixed.

"Well, how long will that take? I mean, I'm in real danger of losing my mind out here," I begged.

The satellite company's response? Take a chill pill and we'll call you when the problem is rectified.

Gee, thanks. I fork out large amounts of cash every month for this? I get the same advice from my therapist. Dammit.







It was a painfully long day. I actually had to occupy my time doing something other than checking my email a dozen times a day and reading through my bloglines. Suddenly I noticed just how dusty my house was, how the laundry wasn't magically putting itself away and how my refrigerator contained more penicillin than the local pharmacy.

I moped.

I played solitaire.

I cleaned out my closet.

I phoned the internet company so many damn times they started pretending I had got the wrong number every time they saw my number.

It became increasingly clear I had a problem as I sat down at my computer and started talking to my keyboard about how I missed spending time stroking it's keys.

The kids came home from school and found me huddled in the corner, rocking my laptop and speaking gibberish.

How I missed thee, Internets.

Finally, at seven pm, a full twelve hours since I was first booted out of cyberspace, I stopped mourning and placed my final call to the satellite company.

"Listen here, punk, I pay good coin to be able to surf internet porn and share the misery of parenting with other parents and you are interfering with my addiction process. Enough of this crap, you need to fix this problem and fix it now. I don't care if you need to call in Harry Potter or Buzz Aldrin, just do it. Or I will personally fly out to your headquarters in India or Timbuktu or where ever and ensure the problem gets fixed. Trust me, sonny boy, you don't want some jacked up, angry mother who is jonesing for her internet fix breathing down your neck."

Oh, ya. That'll inspire him. Threats from a junkie mom whose kids are screaming like out of control banshees in the background as they fight over taking turns playing video games.

My threats must have worked. That or the fact I rebooted the system the proper way, not just shaking the box and yelling "A pox on your head!"

Let me just say, having the door unlocked and thrown open to allow me to enter the sweet heavens of cyberspace was almost as good as uncorking a great bottle of wine seeing my husband walk through the front door after weeks of being absent.

Okay, who am I kidding, it was better.

Besides the high from finally being able to peer into my online world and check my email, I was also pleasantly surprised to discover I made the final round for Best Canadian Blog in the 2008 Weblog Awards. Otherwise known as the Bloggies. Thanks y'all. My ego is duly stroked. So go vote for me, or don't, but head on over and check out the other nominees. There are some great blogs up for awards.

Win or lose, this will give me an opportunity to pretend I'm Cate Blanchett while I'm in the bathroom, practicing my acceptance speech and my "Damn, I lost and the camera is on me and I'm going to have to pretend that I'm not crushed and give one of those stupid 'it was just an honour to be nominated' speeches that everyone knows is fake and dear God, I wonder how much my therapist is going to charge me for whining about losing to some kid in freaking Saskatchewan and I'll never be able to show my face in public again."

I wonder if I'll still fit in my prom dress.