Life's Two-By-Four Wielded by My Daughter

There are some things in life I am unprepared to handle at any given time. A few of those things include (but aren't limited to) shit-smeared walls, drunken vomiting women (myself included), big ass black beetles that fly (I DON'T CARE if they won't harm you, they are fucking scary), and drunk drivers who think the law doesn't apply to them.

I'm pretty cool with never having to deal with any of the above, ever, in my lifetime.

I found one more thing to add to that growing list.







Yesterday evening, while I was minding my own business and busy pulling weeds out of my flower garden so that the exterior of my home will reflect my hardwork and dedication to my family (because the interior is sorely neglected and could never be mistaken for an unemployed mother who has nothing better to do that clean) my daughter came up to me and hit me upside with a two-by-four.

Not a real one, a proverbial one.

"Mom, when am I going to get my period?"

WHAT? Can't a woman bury her head in the dirt and ignore the maturing needs of her ten year old daughter???

"You're ten. You don't have to worry about it for years if you take after your puberty-challenged mother. I'm still waiting for my voice to change." Pretty clever, I think, silently patting myself on the back, while trying not to smirk.

"That's not funny Mom. And only boys voices change. And Jenny already has her period and she's younger than me. She said that the CHANGE is going to happen anytime now."

"Well, the only CHANGE that is going to happen to you anytime soon is the one where you change out of your clothes and into your pajamas. Don't worry about it and go get me some bug spray."

Diversions. See what I did there, people?

However, Fric is a lot like me. Smart. She knew what I was doing, only to return with my bug spray and another round of pre-pubescent parental torture.

"Are my boobs going to start growing soon? Because most of the girls in my class (grade five I might add) are already wearing bras. And will they be bigger than yours? Cause Alana already has ginormous boobs. Does your period start before or after your boobs grow? Will you buy me tampons or pads? Does that mean I am old enough to have a baby?"

That got my attention. So much for trying to ignore her and hope she'll go away. Dammit.

"Back the train up there Fric. A.)There is nothing wrong with the size of my boobs. You'll get what you get and if you don't like it you can buy bigger ones when you're older. B.) Alana has ginormous boobs now, but by the time she's 20 they'll sag to her knees and whose boobs will be cuter then? Mine or hers? C.)Enough with the damn period talk, don't they teach you anything in school these days? D.) Under no circumstances, EVER, are you to think you are old enough to have a baby. I don't care if all the other girls start giggling and imagining how cute and wonderful it will be to be a mommy. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO THINK ABOUT BABIES. EVER."

I'm kinda hyperventilating now, and beads of sweat are starting to pop up on my forehead.

"Chill Mom. I only said that cuz you weren't listening. I just wanted to know about my period."

By now, Frac has wandered over to see what is causing his mother to go into apoplectic fits.

"Period, what's a period?" he asks.

Like it wasn't bad enough having to deal with my ten year old daughter about the subject, but to have to explain it to my nine year old son? Shoot me now.

"Frac, ask your sister. She'll tell you. Fric, educate your little brother on the ways of womanhood. I think I hear the phone ringing. I'll be right back."

And that is when I ran like the chickenshit I am made my mad dash to the house and locked myself into the pantry with a bottle of red. Hoping if I was really quiet they wouldn't figure out where I was hiding.

I'm am so unprepared for this stage of parenting. I'll take toilet training any day over this.

Shiiit.

I Can't Be Right All The Time

A couple of weeks back, I was standing with Boo in the middle of a store, staring at a row of lawn mowers and my eyes were slowly starting to glaze over from boredom. All the talk of engine prowess, blade length, gas vs. electric was not exactly what I had in mind when he offered to take me shopping.

Bugger. He totally bamboozled me.

Boo was sold on a shiny looking mower that was self-propelled and a hundred and fifty smackers more than the mower beside it, which was just an old fashioned push mower.

I was all about saving the hundred and fifty smackers. There was a pair of sandals I had in mind and that hundred and fifty would go a long way in buying those pretty shoes, plus some.

After all, how hard would it be to push a lawn mower around the front lawn. We have a ride along mower for the big stuff. Why spend the extra money?

Because it is FACKING hard work, that is why.

I'm too pretty to sweat like this. No wonder Fric and Frac looked like they were going to keel over from exhaustion after mowing half of the lawn on Sunday.

Next time, I'll keep my big yap shut. There are no sandals in the world pretty enough to push a stubborn, heavy, loud, rattling mower up and down the hills I call my yard.

Yes, I am a twit. And my husband was right. Even if it pains me to admit it.

I am now in the process of trying to kill said new mower so that I can get me a fancy self-propelled mower. Don't tell Boo.

Learn from me people. Sometimes menfolk really do know what they are talking about.

Morning Joe

I love waking up to discover an endless blue sky and hear the chirping of birds singing from the trees.

I love watching my children wave to me as they board their school bus, on their way to educate their minds and discover their sense of self.

I love pouring a mug of piping hot coffee, heavy on cream, light on sugar, and stepping out onto our deck, with Nixon, The World's Greatest Dog, Ever. winding his way through my feet with excitement.

I love watching him sniff every blade of grass, every pebble, while I drink my coffee and talk to my husband for the first time in our day.

I love sitting, at peace, tranquil with my world on days like today.

And when the neighbour's Rottweiler decides to swim through the slough and come barreling at me like a shot out of the cannon, I love that.

I especially love when he clumsily races up the deck stairs and knocks me over with his slobbery kisses.

And when he shakes off all the gross, disgusting, disease-riddled water off his thick, shiny coat, straight into my wonderfully brewed cup of joe, I love that.

Even more, I love when all 120 pounds of him tries to crawl into my lap, pushing me off balance, while my tiny little dog jumps on my head, almost taking out my eye.

I love sitting on my sun-soaked deck, now marinated (both me and the dogs) with slough water and shivering while eyeballing the bright blue sky and listening to the damn birds who won't shut the fack up.

It doesn't get any better when the Rottweiler licks my ear and then starts lapping at my now cool cup of coffee. After all, if Nixon can taste it, so can he.

I didn't really want my coffee after all.

Sigh.





Meet the Rotty, Earlicker and Nose Picker, Extraordinaire.