First of all, the title of this blog is probably a little misleading. My life, such as it is, could scarcely be called paradise considering the fact that I spend a part of every day chasing down my runaway dog, wearing slippers and calling after her "I'm not playing a game!! I won't chase you any further!!" but of course, I do, because what else can I do?? I am not sure what is more disturbing to me-- the fact that I can't seem to outsmart, outwit or outlast a seven year old, overweight dog-- eventually I kind of stop, squint pointedly in her direction, shrug my shoulders and return home, sans dog--- or the fact that I actually try to reason with her along the way. Another part of my day is often spent prying my fingers into my baby's mouth, trying to remove dog kibble-- a feat which I have given up on now after being bitten several times and then consulting the list of ingredients on the dog food bag-- doesn't sound too bad--- mechanically separated pork products, wheat, flour. Might be good for him, who's to say?? Anyways, my point. This isn't paradise. But whatever it is. Trouble lurks. First the laundry crisis, which has since passed, been sorted out and put away, like the laundry itself. A big shout out to everyone who supported me through the laundry crisis of '09. It feels good to know that I am not alone in my laundry woes. Things are better now, laundry wise, at least, and hey- I'm pretty happy because I bought Alex three new outfits at the Gap, so all's well that ends well I guess. There's no problem bad enough that a little bit of shopping can't fix.
Anyways. I don't really choose what I write about on this blog. I just kind of write whatever flits into my head, and somehow it always comes back to the same thing: my petty grievances with my husband. I guess more of my passive aggressive defense mechanism- I don't address things with him like a mature person might, but rather, rant about him privately on my blog. Like just now, I'm reading my book, he goes and gets an orange from the fridge, starts peeling it. And then he makes the comment "it's hard to get a good orange these days." And I look up from my book, and was like "how do you mean?," my defenses up already, and he was like "I don't know. They just don't seem as orange as they used to be. You know, back in the day, oranges were orange, and now they're this really washed out color, almost bordering on yellow." For some reason this observation really grates on me. Because as the buyer of the oranges, I take this as a dig- like I'm not selecting the oranges properly. Like, somehow, I dropped the ball again, buying the yellow oranges and not the orange ones. And it just seems like he's almost looking for something to complain about, to say that an orange isn't orange enough. But then, maybe I'm the one who's looking for something to complain about. Maybe he offered it merely as an observation. I don't' know. I choose not pursue the orange conversation and just continue on in my book with a cursory 'mmm' as though I'm thinking deeply on the matter, but of course, I'm not. I'm thinking to myself "Okay Mr. Ham Scented Candle, isn't that just the pot calling the kettle black" even though I'm not really sure where I'm going with that metaphor-- is the candle the pot and the orange the kettle or vice versa.
And then this morning, I go to get a shirt out of the closet, and notice that a few of his shirts are actually hanging on MY rack. And I was like 'this just doesn't fly.' I don't' want your crappy ass Coors Light shirts on MY rack and he was like "well, you have lots of room still" which made me even more mad because I was like "the only reason I have room in my closet is because I actually clean it out from time to time" to which he replies that he, too, cleans out his closet, not just from time to time, but all the time, and that he wears "literally everything in there". I pulled out a KISS 1999 Tour TShirt and was like "And this?? You're going to wear this?? When??" And he was like "well, that's a memento" And there's a hundred white button up collared shirts with the collars all yellow and frayed, buttons missing "And these?? You'll just throw this on, go to work??" So I pointedly removed the offending shirts from my closet and crammed them in between the KISS shirts and was like "you'll have to make do with what you have."
I mean, okay, I've compromised on a lot of things in this marriage. A lot. But come on. The closet. That's where I take a stand. Even though my side of the closet does look rather pitiful with it's few shirts lined up rather lamely. I probably, definitely, need some new clothes soon, but the problem is that nothing seems to look quite the way it should on me. I blame it on the shirt, and say, 'this shirt makes me look fat' but now I'm getting the distinct feeling that it might be more than the clothes. The five pounds I lost during the mouth infection week is now back. I need another mouth infection and I need it bad. Today I was walking with Payton to soccer practice (you see, WALKING-- I should be losing loads of weight right there, but it's like it just doesn't matter what I do)I caught my reflection in the window of a parked car, and had the odd thought that if I was a celebrity, I would definitely be seeing my face on the cover of some tabloid somewhere with a big red circle around my midsection, an arrow pointing at the offending bulge and bold capital letters screaming "BABY BULGE???!!!" But no. This is no baby bulge. This is just bulge. And not good bulge, either. Well, okay, there really is no good bulge.
Anyways. Not a problem. I'll just start eating right. Maybe I should remodel my living room. Feng Shui. Might help. I've heard good things.
And speaking of eating... today I tried sweet potato fries!! I've wanted to try them literally forever, and today I finally saw them in Superstore so I was so pumped to try it. But they really weren't that good. I don't know. Anyways, I must be going now.
Good night.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Aftermath.
Yesterday was an emotionally charged day, as one might expect, with the funeral and all. Today we are all doing much better, Geoff has returned to work and Gage is at school. For the best, really. This way their minds will be on something else. Exactly what they need.
Last night during best and worst at dinner my eulogy actually made Geoffs best of the day, which shocked me to the core, not quite as much as the whole Jon and Kate thing, but nearly as much. Usually he does not reference me at all in his 'best' except perhaps in a roundabout way 'my best is eating this dinner with my family' which is actually, usually his way of saying "I got nothing", which usually happens to coincide with slow days for sports. I was pretty happy that my eulogy had made his best. And really, I was quite proud of it myself because A)it isn't easy to eulogize a freaking bird, but I think I did pretty good given what I had to work with and B) it was completely off the cuff. I hadn't prepared for it at all. Geoff confessed later that he was trying very hard not to laugh, as the children actually seemed to be taking it all very seriously. He then remarked something about "Paytons first funeral" which kind of caught me off guard because it left me with the realization that their would be others... not the least of which, someday, would be our own. I added "and hopefully her last" although I knew that that was wishful thinking at best. He just gave me a sidelong glance and we both agreed (silently) to let the matter drop and pursued a topic of whether we should leave the plants in the garage over night again, as they were calling for rain/snow.
Even a bird funeral had got me to thinking about my own mortality. We are, after all, merely elaborate houses of cards. In any instant, it could all come crashing down. Obviously, this is not something I like to think about. Or write about, really. So I will change the topic now.
The candle that Geoff got me for mothers day, as it turns out, was not a Glade candle but some cheap dollar store rip off. It's supposed to smell like hazelnut, but in all actuality, it smells like ham. I'm not kidding. Last night, I lit the candle in the evening, for some ambiance. An hour later I was like "WTF, it smells like ham in here" and Geoff was like "ya, it does" which I couldn't figure out because I had made meatloaf for dinner. And then I realized it was the candle. I was like "you got me a ham scented candle for Mothers day??" He was like "Well, I didn't know it was ham scented. And besides, you like ham, don't you?" And I was like "ya, I do, but I don't necessarily want my entire house smelling like one." Frick.
And then this morning. He's getting ready for work, and then he's all like complaining that he a) can't find his belt and b) has no clean clothes. And even though he didn't out and out say that I had dropped the ball, I felt that that was precisely the underlying message as he opened and closed his drawers in vain, sighing heavily. It was on the tip of my tongue to say 'this isn't MY fault. When I worked, I made sure that my clothes were clean and hung on Sunday night. I didn't pitch a fit when someone else didn't do it for me.' But I just helped him look for his belt, (which I wanted to say to him- what is the point of this 'belt' charade, anyways?? I think your pants are going to damn well stay on perfectly fine as it is thank you for much, if you know what I mean) which I found in the top dresser drawer- I had put it there as he had left it sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Like, excuse me for putting things where they belong. And then I went downstairs and retrieved some clean clothes that had been left in the dryer. I realize that somewhere along the way, the laundry had become my full responsibility. When I went on mat leave, though we had had no overt discussion on the matter, I think it was just kind of assumed that I would become the 'traditional' housewife, which, truly, it only makes sense that I would, although from time to time I do feel like 'I'm not your mother or your servant". But it's just like me in my passive aggressive fashion to when the going gets tough, rather than have an honest discussion about that, just let it pile up and then when he grumbles about not having any clean clothes I just tell him to fuck himself and that he knows where the washing machine is just as well as I do, which as it turns out, does not help matters very much at all. It's no wonder that our marriage is in a shambles-- just like the laundry (which I am trying to get caught up on right now-- the laundry, that is). All the time on TV they say that communication is the cornerstone of a successful marriage, and it seems so blatantly obvious-- like how on shows about saving money they say things like 'don't spend as much'--- Gee, thanks, I never would have thought of that. But really, communication is harder than it seems. In Calgary, I had talked to Nadine about my feelings of burnout-- that the housework was getting to be too much, etc, and that Geoff doesn't help out as much as he should- er, really, ever at all if I'm honest with myself. And she suggested that I broach the subject along these lines "I feel (owning my feelings- not blaming him) that I'm struggling to keep up with all the housework. What would you feel comfortable doing around here to help me out?" And this way, he chooses what he wants to do, rather than me nagging him about petty things. I LOVED the idea. I thought it was basically brilliant and fail proof. Except for one thing. Upon returning home, I completely forgot to have that convo with him, until today when the laundry was piled up and he was already late for work and we were both in bad moods. I guess I shall have to do that.
As for blogcasting our dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively, I guess its maybe not the best. But I guess, the reason I feel okay to do so, is that underneath it all, I know that the marriage, despite the fact that I grumble and groan about him all the time, is going to be okay. The thing about making a marriage work is that--- it's not that we never have bad times, it's that we stick it out despite the bad times. That's why, I guess when people get married they say "for better or worse," not for "better or better" Truth be told, marriage is more about compromise than love or lust or romance than I ever would have believed going in. All that stuff ebbs and flows, especially with three children (one of which that sleeps two feet away from our heads, keep in mind) , three cats (four right now- temporarily, I hope) and a dog, busy jobs and busy lives, but what remains constant is our commitment to each other and our family. We have three beautiful children between us, and that's a bond that cannot be broken, no matter how much the laundry piles up or how ham scented the candle is that he bought me. And really, in the scheme of things, if the biggest conflict we have right now is over the laundry and an ill chosen ham scented candle, I think we're doing all right.
Anyways. I guess I'd better go. Do the laundry.
Last night during best and worst at dinner my eulogy actually made Geoffs best of the day, which shocked me to the core, not quite as much as the whole Jon and Kate thing, but nearly as much. Usually he does not reference me at all in his 'best' except perhaps in a roundabout way 'my best is eating this dinner with my family' which is actually, usually his way of saying "I got nothing", which usually happens to coincide with slow days for sports. I was pretty happy that my eulogy had made his best. And really, I was quite proud of it myself because A)it isn't easy to eulogize a freaking bird, but I think I did pretty good given what I had to work with and B) it was completely off the cuff. I hadn't prepared for it at all. Geoff confessed later that he was trying very hard not to laugh, as the children actually seemed to be taking it all very seriously. He then remarked something about "Paytons first funeral" which kind of caught me off guard because it left me with the realization that their would be others... not the least of which, someday, would be our own. I added "and hopefully her last" although I knew that that was wishful thinking at best. He just gave me a sidelong glance and we both agreed (silently) to let the matter drop and pursued a topic of whether we should leave the plants in the garage over night again, as they were calling for rain/snow.
Even a bird funeral had got me to thinking about my own mortality. We are, after all, merely elaborate houses of cards. In any instant, it could all come crashing down. Obviously, this is not something I like to think about. Or write about, really. So I will change the topic now.
The candle that Geoff got me for mothers day, as it turns out, was not a Glade candle but some cheap dollar store rip off. It's supposed to smell like hazelnut, but in all actuality, it smells like ham. I'm not kidding. Last night, I lit the candle in the evening, for some ambiance. An hour later I was like "WTF, it smells like ham in here" and Geoff was like "ya, it does" which I couldn't figure out because I had made meatloaf for dinner. And then I realized it was the candle. I was like "you got me a ham scented candle for Mothers day??" He was like "Well, I didn't know it was ham scented. And besides, you like ham, don't you?" And I was like "ya, I do, but I don't necessarily want my entire house smelling like one." Frick.
And then this morning. He's getting ready for work, and then he's all like complaining that he a) can't find his belt and b) has no clean clothes. And even though he didn't out and out say that I had dropped the ball, I felt that that was precisely the underlying message as he opened and closed his drawers in vain, sighing heavily. It was on the tip of my tongue to say 'this isn't MY fault. When I worked, I made sure that my clothes were clean and hung on Sunday night. I didn't pitch a fit when someone else didn't do it for me.' But I just helped him look for his belt, (which I wanted to say to him- what is the point of this 'belt' charade, anyways?? I think your pants are going to damn well stay on perfectly fine as it is thank you for much, if you know what I mean) which I found in the top dresser drawer- I had put it there as he had left it sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Like, excuse me for putting things where they belong. And then I went downstairs and retrieved some clean clothes that had been left in the dryer. I realize that somewhere along the way, the laundry had become my full responsibility. When I went on mat leave, though we had had no overt discussion on the matter, I think it was just kind of assumed that I would become the 'traditional' housewife, which, truly, it only makes sense that I would, although from time to time I do feel like 'I'm not your mother or your servant". But it's just like me in my passive aggressive fashion to when the going gets tough, rather than have an honest discussion about that, just let it pile up and then when he grumbles about not having any clean clothes I just tell him to fuck himself and that he knows where the washing machine is just as well as I do, which as it turns out, does not help matters very much at all. It's no wonder that our marriage is in a shambles-- just like the laundry (which I am trying to get caught up on right now-- the laundry, that is). All the time on TV they say that communication is the cornerstone of a successful marriage, and it seems so blatantly obvious-- like how on shows about saving money they say things like 'don't spend as much'--- Gee, thanks, I never would have thought of that. But really, communication is harder than it seems. In Calgary, I had talked to Nadine about my feelings of burnout-- that the housework was getting to be too much, etc, and that Geoff doesn't help out as much as he should- er, really, ever at all if I'm honest with myself. And she suggested that I broach the subject along these lines "I feel (owning my feelings- not blaming him) that I'm struggling to keep up with all the housework. What would you feel comfortable doing around here to help me out?" And this way, he chooses what he wants to do, rather than me nagging him about petty things. I LOVED the idea. I thought it was basically brilliant and fail proof. Except for one thing. Upon returning home, I completely forgot to have that convo with him, until today when the laundry was piled up and he was already late for work and we were both in bad moods. I guess I shall have to do that.
As for blogcasting our dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively, I guess its maybe not the best. But I guess, the reason I feel okay to do so, is that underneath it all, I know that the marriage, despite the fact that I grumble and groan about him all the time, is going to be okay. The thing about making a marriage work is that--- it's not that we never have bad times, it's that we stick it out despite the bad times. That's why, I guess when people get married they say "for better or worse," not for "better or better" Truth be told, marriage is more about compromise than love or lust or romance than I ever would have believed going in. All that stuff ebbs and flows, especially with three children (one of which that sleeps two feet away from our heads, keep in mind) , three cats (four right now- temporarily, I hope) and a dog, busy jobs and busy lives, but what remains constant is our commitment to each other and our family. We have three beautiful children between us, and that's a bond that cannot be broken, no matter how much the laundry piles up or how ham scented the candle is that he bought me. And really, in the scheme of things, if the biggest conflict we have right now is over the laundry and an ill chosen ham scented candle, I think we're doing all right.
Anyways. I guess I'd better go. Do the laundry.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Bye Bye Birdy
We held the funeral for Birdleford (Gage's name) Princess (Payton's name) today at two pm (if you do not know what I am talking about I would suggest you read my previous post, Prognosis Negative). It was well attended. Geoff did the grave digging, and Gage made a lovely monument out of two Popsicle sticks. I eulogized the bird. Here is a summary of my eulogy.
Who knew this bird?? (Pause) WE knew this bird. We didn't know him for long. (Pause) Sadly, that wasn't meant to be. But more important than the duration of our love (pause) was the strength of our love. We loved him unconditionally. He had a broken wing. We did not hold back. We offered him shelter, and sunflower seeds, but alas, our best efforts were all in vain. What is the purpose?? One wonders, of a life so short, with such a tragic ending?? Perhaps the purpose was this: to teach us that it's OK. It's OK to reach out. It's OK to love. It's OK to lose. Our hearts are heavy today while we mourn our friend. Yesterday, we watched him struggling to take flight with his broken wing, a feat which he was he too broken to do. Today, we know that somewhere up above, in the great sky beyond, he IS taking flight. (pause) He is soaring. (Pause) And perhaps, perhaps, he is saying, thank you. Thank you (whisper). Do you hear it in the wind??
Following the eulogy, flowers were passed out and everyone had the chance to place them on the grave and say a farewell. Geoff declined, saying that he had said his farewell internally, that it was far too personal to say out loud. Payton offered the words "I love you" and Gage, who holds everything in, declined as well. Following this, I read a passage from "Grand Avenue" by Joy Fielding, which was not ideal, but since we do not own a bible and this was the only book I had available it was the best I could do. Unfortunately, the passage was not the most fitting, but I found that if read with enough authority and long pauses, it still sounded austere. This is the passage:
A reading from Susan:Page 13:Verse 1
Next to Vicki's coiled intensity, Susan seemed almost stately, sitting there with her hands clasped easily in her lap, light brown hair folding neatly under at her chin, the quintessential Breck girl, except that she was still carrying around fifteen of the thirty five pounds she'd gained when pregnant and hadn't been able to shed since Ariel's birth. The extra pounds made her noticeably self-conscious and camera-shy, although she'd always preferred the sidelines to center stage.
At this point, people were invited indoors, where I had prepared an impromptu reception of PB&J sandwiches, Brents left over birthday cake (the timeliness of being given that cake the night before the funeral was really fortunate), coffee, a fruit platter, and a cheese and pickle platter.
It was quite lovely.
I remember a time in my childhood where Nadine and I held a similar cerimony for one Mr. Bee, a bumble bee whom we killed out of self defence. Later we were wracked by guilt and so decided to bury him properly, which at that time consisted of a make shift coffin fashioned from a cigarette tube box. For some reason there was iced tea powder involved with the ceremony. I think it was supposed to be incence.
Anyways. I guess I never really grew up. The thing that surprises me most, I have to say, is Geoff's complicity with all of this. He seems to now have a quiet resignation about him as he sits on bended knee before a popsicle stick monument and listens to my lengthy eulogy. I can almost hear him thinking I married a whack job.
Anyways, this day has been very trying for me. I think I shall go now.
Who knew this bird?? (Pause) WE knew this bird. We didn't know him for long. (Pause) Sadly, that wasn't meant to be. But more important than the duration of our love (pause) was the strength of our love. We loved him unconditionally. He had a broken wing. We did not hold back. We offered him shelter, and sunflower seeds, but alas, our best efforts were all in vain. What is the purpose?? One wonders, of a life so short, with such a tragic ending?? Perhaps the purpose was this: to teach us that it's OK. It's OK to reach out. It's OK to love. It's OK to lose. Our hearts are heavy today while we mourn our friend. Yesterday, we watched him struggling to take flight with his broken wing, a feat which he was he too broken to do. Today, we know that somewhere up above, in the great sky beyond, he IS taking flight. (pause) He is soaring. (Pause) And perhaps, perhaps, he is saying, thank you. Thank you (whisper). Do you hear it in the wind??
Following the eulogy, flowers were passed out and everyone had the chance to place them on the grave and say a farewell. Geoff declined, saying that he had said his farewell internally, that it was far too personal to say out loud. Payton offered the words "I love you" and Gage, who holds everything in, declined as well. Following this, I read a passage from "Grand Avenue" by Joy Fielding, which was not ideal, but since we do not own a bible and this was the only book I had available it was the best I could do. Unfortunately, the passage was not the most fitting, but I found that if read with enough authority and long pauses, it still sounded austere. This is the passage:
A reading from Susan:Page 13:Verse 1
Next to Vicki's coiled intensity, Susan seemed almost stately, sitting there with her hands clasped easily in her lap, light brown hair folding neatly under at her chin, the quintessential Breck girl, except that she was still carrying around fifteen of the thirty five pounds she'd gained when pregnant and hadn't been able to shed since Ariel's birth. The extra pounds made her noticeably self-conscious and camera-shy, although she'd always preferred the sidelines to center stage.
At this point, people were invited indoors, where I had prepared an impromptu reception of PB&J sandwiches, Brents left over birthday cake (the timeliness of being given that cake the night before the funeral was really fortunate), coffee, a fruit platter, and a cheese and pickle platter.
It was quite lovely.
I remember a time in my childhood where Nadine and I held a similar cerimony for one Mr. Bee, a bumble bee whom we killed out of self defence. Later we were wracked by guilt and so decided to bury him properly, which at that time consisted of a make shift coffin fashioned from a cigarette tube box. For some reason there was iced tea powder involved with the ceremony. I think it was supposed to be incence.
Anyways. I guess I never really grew up. The thing that surprises me most, I have to say, is Geoff's complicity with all of this. He seems to now have a quiet resignation about him as he sits on bended knee before a popsicle stick monument and listens to my lengthy eulogy. I can almost hear him thinking I married a whack job.
Anyways, this day has been very trying for me. I think I shall go now.
Prognosis Negative
Mothers Day Update. Everyone has been asking how my mothers day went, eagerly anticipating news of whether or not I got the bedding set I so desired. OK, when I say every one I mean Jenn and Nadine. But that's like half my readership right there. So to answer the burning question: yes. I literally clipped out the picture of it and gave it to him to take to the store, so basically he couldn't go wrong. And don't despair- I ended up getting the Glade candle as well. The Glade candle is pretty much a sure thing for me, mothers day, christmas, birthday, you name it. So he did pretty good.
Onto other news. Yesterday I was sitting outside, relaxing with a book, enjoying the sun. And then Payton informs me of an emerging development that will shatter my peaceful day. "Mom, the dog's eating something, I think it's a mouse, I think maybe it's dead. Oh, no I think it's still alive."
So much for my relaxation.
I went down to the grass to see what she was talking about. What, precicely, I was going to do about the maybe alive/maybe dead mouse situation was beyond me- I am absolutely terrified of mice. But the she said "no, maybe it's a bird" and I was like "okay, that's a little bit better," but I was still a bit panicked as I got close to the thing. It was a sparrow. Mangled up from the cats, but the poor thing was still alive. I didn't know what to do. The cat was still outside and I didn't want it to get a hold of the bird again, so I went in and got Geoff. I was like "there's a bird outside and it's hurt really, really bad and can you pick it up for me and get it into the garage" which he was not overly enthusiastic about (of course), but he came outside with a little box with which he planned to scoop the bird up with. It was a very tense moment. I could hear it's feathers flapping like crazy, and Geoff kind of jumped back and I was like "Aaaahh, watch out!!" I didn't know if you could catch a disease that way or not, or the bird could somehow attack. But he managed to scoop it up, and we're like "well, now what?" I wanted to take the bird to the vet, but of course Geoff won't let me. He seems to think that it's a waste of money to spend a thousand dollars on a sparrow. Like, can you believe it?? So we put the sparrow in the garage in a box with a blanket, and the kids gave it some sunflower seeds to eat. Unfortunately, all we had was Dill Pickle, which the bird didn't seem to like. So then this morning, well, I'm sorry to say it, but the bird expired in the night. I don't know if it's from the dill pickle seasoning, or if it was mortally wounded all along, or if it was too cold (I told Geoff we needed to at least buy a heat lamp for it, but again- he wouldn't let me.) Anyways, the children are a little upset, altough we did try to warn them that the birdy probably wasn't going to make it ("I think he's really old and not feeling very good"). And now they want to bury it. So now we have to a funeral for the stupid thing. I mean. I didn't want to touch it when it was alive. I certainly don't want to touch it now that it's dead.
Good times in the Makepeace household.
Anyways. I guess I shall be going. I have a funeral to attend to.
Onto other news. Yesterday I was sitting outside, relaxing with a book, enjoying the sun. And then Payton informs me of an emerging development that will shatter my peaceful day. "Mom, the dog's eating something, I think it's a mouse, I think maybe it's dead. Oh, no I think it's still alive."
So much for my relaxation.
I went down to the grass to see what she was talking about. What, precicely, I was going to do about the maybe alive/maybe dead mouse situation was beyond me- I am absolutely terrified of mice. But the she said "no, maybe it's a bird" and I was like "okay, that's a little bit better," but I was still a bit panicked as I got close to the thing. It was a sparrow. Mangled up from the cats, but the poor thing was still alive. I didn't know what to do. The cat was still outside and I didn't want it to get a hold of the bird again, so I went in and got Geoff. I was like "there's a bird outside and it's hurt really, really bad and can you pick it up for me and get it into the garage" which he was not overly enthusiastic about (of course), but he came outside with a little box with which he planned to scoop the bird up with. It was a very tense moment. I could hear it's feathers flapping like crazy, and Geoff kind of jumped back and I was like "Aaaahh, watch out!!" I didn't know if you could catch a disease that way or not, or the bird could somehow attack. But he managed to scoop it up, and we're like "well, now what?" I wanted to take the bird to the vet, but of course Geoff won't let me. He seems to think that it's a waste of money to spend a thousand dollars on a sparrow. Like, can you believe it?? So we put the sparrow in the garage in a box with a blanket, and the kids gave it some sunflower seeds to eat. Unfortunately, all we had was Dill Pickle, which the bird didn't seem to like. So then this morning, well, I'm sorry to say it, but the bird expired in the night. I don't know if it's from the dill pickle seasoning, or if it was mortally wounded all along, or if it was too cold (I told Geoff we needed to at least buy a heat lamp for it, but again- he wouldn't let me.) Anyways, the children are a little upset, altough we did try to warn them that the birdy probably wasn't going to make it ("I think he's really old and not feeling very good"). And now they want to bury it. So now we have to a funeral for the stupid thing. I mean. I didn't want to touch it when it was alive. I certainly don't want to touch it now that it's dead.
Good times in the Makepeace household.
Anyways. I guess I shall be going. I have a funeral to attend to.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
When it Rains it Pours
Well, when it rains it pours I guess. Sometimes I don't feel like writing at all, and other times I just can't seem to stop.
First of all, I spoke with Mother last night and apparently she's slightly offended at some of the stuff on this blog, although I cannot understand why that should be the case. Anyways, I just wanted to set the record straight that, in fact, the stuff I wrote yesterday was entirely untrue. She's not like that at all. She's really nice and funny and the kids love her. Everyone loves her. I just like to pretend that she's a really meddling mother-in-law type, although that couldn't be further from the truth (wink, wink).
So that being said... nothing really new with me. Geoff and I watched a movie last night. He picked it out. The Day the Earth Stood Still. Some kind of end of days deal, right up his alley. I think they should call it "The Day that Keunu Reeves should not be an actor anymore cuz he sucks. And the entire plot sucks, too." OK, I guess that would be a bit long for a movie title, and probably wouldn't generate much revenue, either, but... I just don't get the deal with Keanu. Like it's over, dude. OK.
Every day at supper we as a family go around and say our best and worst for the day. So I am going to start doing a similar thing on here. Today's topic --best and worst books. The best book I've read recently is "Something Borrowed" by Emily Giffin, which (ironically) I borrowed from someone at Paytons dance lessons. Do you see the irony there??? Such a good read. It's all that teenage melodrama stuff but amidst an adult context. Once I got into it I just couldnt' put it down. And now the worst- the worst book I've read recently is Mary Higgins Clark's latest "Where are you now?" The plot just seemed to drag out. I used to love Mary Higgins Clark, but lately it just hasn't been there for me. I don't know. Everyone's a critic I guess, right, and really, hey? Who am I to judge?? Like she's only made a bazillion dollars off her writing and I haven't earned a nickel. The worst book I've read ever is "The Fortune" by Micheal Korda. I don't even want to go there. If your an insomniac, the book might do you some good. Other than that, I fail to see why it's even in print.
So in my last entry I mentioned mothers day, and this has got my little wheels turning. Since Geoff works is in the restaurant biz, and mothers day is the busiest day of the year, mothers day generally finds him working long hours. He seems to think that this constitutes a write off for mothers day, a get out of jail free card. He's like "I wanted to do something for you, but I had to be at work all day." He usually shows up at about ten pm, exhausted from work, with a Glade Candle from Wal Mart and the latest Iris Johanssen book. I mean, I like Glade candles and all. But I don't even read Iris Johansen- her books are full of intercontinental espionage and the plots are usually two fold: there's some sort of a love triangle- where the pretty new detective falls for an older, roguish outlaw who she can't help falling in love with, and there's some sort of psychological warfare- be it mind control or what have you. It's exactly the kind of book he would pick. I mean, I just don't see- if you're going to be at work all day, fine- but you could still do something- have flowers delivered? But he just doesn't think of that kind of thing. So this year, I actually clipped out a picture of a bedding set that I want from Wal Mart. And he was like "Oh. As if I'd get you bedding for Mothers Day. I might as well just get you a toaster. You'd kill me." And I was like "listen dumbass, where I come from there's a pretty big difference between bedding and toasters, all right?" Like, honestly. And last year, he even let Payton (then 3) pick out a pair of pyjamas for me. I mean, nice idea, buddy, but really?? She picks out the brightest, loudest pair in the store. Bright orange pants with flourencent green hearts on it with a pink Snoopy shirt. God. I've said it before- us women should really just live together in a commune. I can tell you that Mothers Day would be given the proper amount of respect and enthusiasm. No more of this Glade Candle BS. Or Snoopy pyjamas.
Anyways, I'd better go.
First of all, I spoke with Mother last night and apparently she's slightly offended at some of the stuff on this blog, although I cannot understand why that should be the case. Anyways, I just wanted to set the record straight that, in fact, the stuff I wrote yesterday was entirely untrue. She's not like that at all. She's really nice and funny and the kids love her. Everyone loves her. I just like to pretend that she's a really meddling mother-in-law type, although that couldn't be further from the truth (wink, wink).
So that being said... nothing really new with me. Geoff and I watched a movie last night. He picked it out. The Day the Earth Stood Still. Some kind of end of days deal, right up his alley. I think they should call it "The Day that Keunu Reeves should not be an actor anymore cuz he sucks. And the entire plot sucks, too." OK, I guess that would be a bit long for a movie title, and probably wouldn't generate much revenue, either, but... I just don't get the deal with Keanu. Like it's over, dude. OK.
Every day at supper we as a family go around and say our best and worst for the day. So I am going to start doing a similar thing on here. Today's topic --best and worst books. The best book I've read recently is "Something Borrowed" by Emily Giffin, which (ironically) I borrowed from someone at Paytons dance lessons. Do you see the irony there??? Such a good read. It's all that teenage melodrama stuff but amidst an adult context. Once I got into it I just couldnt' put it down. And now the worst- the worst book I've read recently is Mary Higgins Clark's latest "Where are you now?" The plot just seemed to drag out. I used to love Mary Higgins Clark, but lately it just hasn't been there for me. I don't know. Everyone's a critic I guess, right, and really, hey? Who am I to judge?? Like she's only made a bazillion dollars off her writing and I haven't earned a nickel. The worst book I've read ever is "The Fortune" by Micheal Korda. I don't even want to go there. If your an insomniac, the book might do you some good. Other than that, I fail to see why it's even in print.
So in my last entry I mentioned mothers day, and this has got my little wheels turning. Since Geoff works is in the restaurant biz, and mothers day is the busiest day of the year, mothers day generally finds him working long hours. He seems to think that this constitutes a write off for mothers day, a get out of jail free card. He's like "I wanted to do something for you, but I had to be at work all day." He usually shows up at about ten pm, exhausted from work, with a Glade Candle from Wal Mart and the latest Iris Johanssen book. I mean, I like Glade candles and all. But I don't even read Iris Johansen- her books are full of intercontinental espionage and the plots are usually two fold: there's some sort of a love triangle- where the pretty new detective falls for an older, roguish outlaw who she can't help falling in love with, and there's some sort of psychological warfare- be it mind control or what have you. It's exactly the kind of book he would pick. I mean, I just don't see- if you're going to be at work all day, fine- but you could still do something- have flowers delivered? But he just doesn't think of that kind of thing. So this year, I actually clipped out a picture of a bedding set that I want from Wal Mart. And he was like "Oh. As if I'd get you bedding for Mothers Day. I might as well just get you a toaster. You'd kill me." And I was like "listen dumbass, where I come from there's a pretty big difference between bedding and toasters, all right?" Like, honestly. And last year, he even let Payton (then 3) pick out a pair of pyjamas for me. I mean, nice idea, buddy, but really?? She picks out the brightest, loudest pair in the store. Bright orange pants with flourencent green hearts on it with a pink Snoopy shirt. God. I've said it before- us women should really just live together in a commune. I can tell you that Mothers Day would be given the proper amount of respect and enthusiasm. No more of this Glade Candle BS. Or Snoopy pyjamas.
Anyways, I'd better go.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Coast Is Clear
All right. The coast is clear. The hen has flown the coop- which is code for my mother has gone. It has taken me some time to recover from her visit. It wasn't all bad, but it was bad enough. Every time she would go into the fridge or cupboards to retrieve something, she would make a major production out of it, clanging things around ("Now what on EARTH is that doing in THERE??) muttering and sighing heavily under her breath- the words "major overhaul" clearly audible even from the living room. She kept on popping Claritin, stating that they made her feel groggy but those "damn cats...take after you, don't know when to keep their legs shut and quit reproducing" I think I saw her kick one of them under the table, although she claims it was just a twitch. She threw the Childrens Chewables down the drain, saying that she saw on CNN that they cause cancer (like everything else these days)- which first of all, I know isn't true because I have never seen her watch anything on TV except for Young and The Restless and ETalkNow--- but, anyways, that aside, she goes on to say that the children simply would not need them at all if they ever saw a green leafy vegetable or two. Every time I nursed Alex she turned away in disgust, advising me to "cover myself" and that, further, "I'm not a cow and he's not a calf!!" and to "cut the cord, already" and that "a little bit of formula never killed anyone."
I think the crown jewel was when she took my vacuum to the shop saying that, clearly, given the state of my floors, it isn't functioning properly. The repairs cost over three hundred dollars, to which I said that I might have simply purchased a new vacuum. She says that my cavalier attitude towards household appliance selection is a major part of my problem as a wife- that a vacuum is one of the most important investments a woman can make! And that if I spent a little more time cleaning and a little less time on my "silly writing hobby" it would probably do a lot of good in my marriage (a clean house is a happy house!!) and also, the children wouldn't have perpetually snotty noses- which they don't- but you can't argue with her. You simply can't.
Anyways, as I said. It is over and now we can move on.
I was looking back at some of my older entries, and I do owe an apology to my reading audience. Some of these entries have absolutely atrocious grammar and spelling. I want to clarify one in particular- In "The best of Both Worlds" the words "Diary Queen" should actually read "Dairy Queen". I hope I didn't cause too much confusion over that, although I am pretty sure that I did- I mean, how could it not?? I am shocked that certain (ah- hem) anal retentive, A-Type personality, grammar sticklers weren't all over that one. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. You know who you are. Supposed editor in chief, my ass. More like editor asleep.
Burn.
So the other day I was sitting around watching Oprah (The McCanns- so sad. What a tragedy.), when I get a knock at the door. These people are going door-to-door promoting their new security systems. I wasn't really interested. But nonetheless, I find them pushing their way through me and into the house, suddenly inspecting everything "What about that window? How secure is it? Does it have motion sensors covering it? Or just glass break sensors" "Ya, this is no good over here, a person could easily gain entry. Flimsy locks. Do the windows have bars on them? Or just standard locks?? What about the basement windows?" And I'm thinking "OMG. These guys are totally burglars casing the house out to burgle it later. I mean, anyone can put on a blue Tshirt that says APX Secure Tech and get a plastic badge made up, can't they?? And true, they don't look exactly like burglars would- one has white hair and glasses, is probably pushing sixty, the other is trim and fit, nice looking, very clean cut and smelling faintly of... something... expensive and alluring. But then again, what do I expect burglars to look like?? Big, bumbling goons with pantyhose on their heads and loot bags slung over their shoulders with a big dollar sign on them a la Flinstones style, laughing mischeviously and salivating over the TV while rubbing thier fingers together?? Their comments trouble me a bit "That's a nice TV up here, what's the size- fifty inch" I was like "No, no. Forty seven only, I'm afraid. The guy across the street's TV is much, much bigger. I can literally watch his TV from my living room window, no joke. And I think it has Wi-Fi, whatever that is." Still they didn't seem impressed. The just continued sweeping the house, taking notes on every weak entry point. What, precisely, they planned on doing with my Ocean Wonders Aquarium, Exercausers, various Arthur DVDs, and Disney Princess toys when they burgled the house, I couldn't be sure. But obviously there's a market for the stuff. Literally, I probably do not own one single piece of jewelry or... anything. But that may all be about to change. Mothers Day is just around the corner. Wink wink. I'm sure he has something HUGE planned. But it doesn't do well to speculate. Ruins the surprise.
Ya. I'll be surprised all right. But not in a good way.
Carrying on.
But it all turned out fine, despite my fears. My house hasn't been burgled. Yet. Although I wouldn't say the crisis is over. My new alarm system seems to be working out well. It's totally cool- it's like Onstar- they talk to you!!! And it can be used as an intercom!! Also- the whole security aspect of it.
So- Dentist report. Gage has one cavity. Payton has three. Again. I will not, will not, no matter what, give Alex apple juice. That stuff is liquid sugar. Last time they filled Paytons cavities without needing to put any freezing in, but these ones I guess, will need to be frozen, as they are in between the teeth. So I don't know how that will go. They're going to try some laughing gas. Hopefully they will give me some as well. I'm really nervous about it already. Poor girl. And it's all my fault. Entirely my fault. If only I had followed a good diet- carrot sticks, legumes, water to drink- no juice. Not even milk. Just soy powder on her cereal.
And now. Airmiles Report. 85. Much lower than I thought. That's not going to get me very far, will it?? That is disturbing. This is taking a long time. I thought I would have LOADS by now. I won those ten, right?? And then yesterday was customer appreciation day at Safeway and I got ten times the airmiles. You would think I would have gotten a hundred right then and there. Hmmm. I shall have to ponder some ways that I can get some more air miles.
Anyways, I guess I shall be going now. This Air Miles development has left me sullen and sulky.
I think the crown jewel was when she took my vacuum to the shop saying that, clearly, given the state of my floors, it isn't functioning properly. The repairs cost over three hundred dollars, to which I said that I might have simply purchased a new vacuum. She says that my cavalier attitude towards household appliance selection is a major part of my problem as a wife- that a vacuum is one of the most important investments a woman can make! And that if I spent a little more time cleaning and a little less time on my "silly writing hobby" it would probably do a lot of good in my marriage (a clean house is a happy house!!) and also, the children wouldn't have perpetually snotty noses- which they don't- but you can't argue with her. You simply can't.
Anyways, as I said. It is over and now we can move on.
I was looking back at some of my older entries, and I do owe an apology to my reading audience. Some of these entries have absolutely atrocious grammar and spelling. I want to clarify one in particular- In "The best of Both Worlds" the words "Diary Queen" should actually read "Dairy Queen". I hope I didn't cause too much confusion over that, although I am pretty sure that I did- I mean, how could it not?? I am shocked that certain (ah- hem) anal retentive, A-Type personality, grammar sticklers weren't all over that one. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. You know who you are. Supposed editor in chief, my ass. More like editor asleep.
Burn.
So the other day I was sitting around watching Oprah (The McCanns- so sad. What a tragedy.), when I get a knock at the door. These people are going door-to-door promoting their new security systems. I wasn't really interested. But nonetheless, I find them pushing their way through me and into the house, suddenly inspecting everything "What about that window? How secure is it? Does it have motion sensors covering it? Or just glass break sensors" "Ya, this is no good over here, a person could easily gain entry. Flimsy locks. Do the windows have bars on them? Or just standard locks?? What about the basement windows?" And I'm thinking "OMG. These guys are totally burglars casing the house out to burgle it later. I mean, anyone can put on a blue Tshirt that says APX Secure Tech and get a plastic badge made up, can't they?? And true, they don't look exactly like burglars would- one has white hair and glasses, is probably pushing sixty, the other is trim and fit, nice looking, very clean cut and smelling faintly of... something... expensive and alluring. But then again, what do I expect burglars to look like?? Big, bumbling goons with pantyhose on their heads and loot bags slung over their shoulders with a big dollar sign on them a la Flinstones style, laughing mischeviously and salivating over the TV while rubbing thier fingers together?? Their comments trouble me a bit "That's a nice TV up here, what's the size- fifty inch" I was like "No, no. Forty seven only, I'm afraid. The guy across the street's TV is much, much bigger. I can literally watch his TV from my living room window, no joke. And I think it has Wi-Fi, whatever that is." Still they didn't seem impressed. The just continued sweeping the house, taking notes on every weak entry point. What, precisely, they planned on doing with my Ocean Wonders Aquarium, Exercausers, various Arthur DVDs, and Disney Princess toys when they burgled the house, I couldn't be sure. But obviously there's a market for the stuff. Literally, I probably do not own one single piece of jewelry or... anything. But that may all be about to change. Mothers Day is just around the corner. Wink wink. I'm sure he has something HUGE planned. But it doesn't do well to speculate. Ruins the surprise.
Ya. I'll be surprised all right. But not in a good way.
Carrying on.
But it all turned out fine, despite my fears. My house hasn't been burgled. Yet. Although I wouldn't say the crisis is over. My new alarm system seems to be working out well. It's totally cool- it's like Onstar- they talk to you!!! And it can be used as an intercom!! Also- the whole security aspect of it.
So- Dentist report. Gage has one cavity. Payton has three. Again. I will not, will not, no matter what, give Alex apple juice. That stuff is liquid sugar. Last time they filled Paytons cavities without needing to put any freezing in, but these ones I guess, will need to be frozen, as they are in between the teeth. So I don't know how that will go. They're going to try some laughing gas. Hopefully they will give me some as well. I'm really nervous about it already. Poor girl. And it's all my fault. Entirely my fault. If only I had followed a good diet- carrot sticks, legumes, water to drink- no juice. Not even milk. Just soy powder on her cereal.
And now. Airmiles Report. 85. Much lower than I thought. That's not going to get me very far, will it?? That is disturbing. This is taking a long time. I thought I would have LOADS by now. I won those ten, right?? And then yesterday was customer appreciation day at Safeway and I got ten times the airmiles. You would think I would have gotten a hundred right then and there. Hmmm. I shall have to ponder some ways that I can get some more air miles.
Anyways, I guess I shall be going now. This Air Miles development has left me sullen and sulky.
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