Geoff: "Why is it always so hot in the house when I get home from work?"
Me: "Because I turn the air conditioner off after you fall asleep at night, and leave it off until we get home from work."
Geoff: Heavy silence
Uh-oh. This shit's about to get heavy.
Me: "Well. It's just that you know that when the kids are sleeping they kick off their blankies and then I wonder if they're toes are getting cold and maybe even turning purple a little bit, so then since it's not like it's hot outside, I turn off the A/C off. And since we're gone at work all day, I figure we don't really need it. And besides that, it's only 24 degrees outside, which isn't even that hot."
Geoff (forced calm): "Yes, but the problem is that the house doesn't really cool off until bed time."
Me: "Which is perfect because that's when it really counts. And it's a money thing. You're the one who always says that we should save money."
Geoff: "Just. Don't. Touch. The A/C. If you get cold, you can put a sweater on. If I get hot, I can't put a sweater on."
Me: "Well, technically, you could, but I think it would be kind of a stupid thing to do. It would only make you hotter. Which would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it??"
Geoff: Evil Glare.
Me: "Don't judge me. You don't know me. I just killed six mosquitoes tonight. In self defense. Possibly seven. I don't really know. That seventh one, he was just kind of hanging on. I actually kind of feel bad for him now. I messed him up but good."
Geoff: Heavy sigh.
Of resignation.
BOOYA. I win, asshole. There is no come back for that shit.
Except for I kind of lose anyways, because I don't dare turn off the air conditioning anymore in the night.
Anyways. I finally got around to cleaning my floors this weekend, and I just have to say that the new Shark steam mop is the best thing since my dearly departed Slap Chop (RIP. It was good while it lasted. And while we're on the subject, I have a sneaking suspicion that Geoff broke it accidentally on purpose, on account of the fact that he was jealous of my relationship with Vince. Because I did love his nuts.)
Showing posts with label Slap Chop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Slap Chop. Show all posts
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
The best day ever.
First of all, to answer the question that I've heard from a few people: No, this blog is not paid for in part or in whole by Slop Chop, Inc; nor do I receive any form of compensation at all whatsoever from said company or spokesperson Vince.
Which is a good thing, because I regret to inform you that my Slap Chop has gone the way of the Omelette Express. It was briefly utilized on the day that I made Chicken Cacciatore, where after it was relegated to some dark shelf, where abouts it did suffer a rather severe breakdown and, long story short, is no longer with us.
Actually, it's not such a long story. That pretty much is the story. I used it once and it broke.
So so much for that.
I could say that it was fun while it lasted, but really it wasn't. I chopped a few veggies and then that was it. Game over.
Anyways.
I haven't been writing very much lately.
That may be a bit of an understatement.
I haven't been writing at all lately.
And by 'lately' I mean the last, say, six months. It's not a case of writers block. I don't know what writers block even is, although I guess it sort of defines itself. But I mean, I could write. If I wanted to write. The problem is that I just don't want to. At the end of the day, when the kids are all asleep, and the house is quiet, my mind flits briefly to the idea of writing, but then quickly chooses sleep or some other sedentary activity. 'Hoarders' is on. Or some such movie was just released and I simply have to see it. TLC is having a "Cake Boss" Marathon, and it's not that I've ever really cared for Cake Boss but a)It's a marathon! and b)after a while it does sort of grow on you-- what they can do with those cakes!!
Or whatever or whatever
So really, I need to try harder. I will try harder. At least, I'll try to try harder.
I'll write today. Or tomorrow. Or at least sometime this week.
In the New Year.
OK today.
But frick if it's hard to write in this house. Hard? No. Impossible. Even right now as I'm writing this blog, I have Payton yelling "BOO!" in my ear followed by "Did that scare you?" Even though the last twenty BOOS!! have failed to illicit a response from me at all, she continues. Determined, it seems, to get my attention in one manner or another.
It's always the same thing when I write. I pull out my lap top and the children are like "Mom, are you going to write in your book today?" "Please don't" "Are you at least going to give us supper today?" I mean, honestly, for all their protesting I might as well be pulling out a crack pipe or something.
But the truth is, writing does have a certain addictive quality to it. Once I get into it, really into, everything else just fades to black. I can hear, as if in the distance, the children crying "Mom, I'm bleeding" and I'm like "That's nice, sweetie," real distracted like. And it seems that they do manage to injure themselves at an alarming frequency when I'm writing, as I say- determined to get my attention in some manner or another, however extreme, although I'm sure that the lack of direct supervision doesn't exactly help the matter.
So as I say, it's hard. Even now Payton just asked me "How much longer, mom?" her voice all pleading like. "Not long" I promise her, and she walks away, dejected like.
But I'm not making excuses.
Anyways.
Yesterday was the best day ever!! I stayed in my pyjamas ALL day and ate loads of snack food. I got a new book and read it cover to cover without barely getting up. We gave the whole family new, rhyming, names: Geoff: Jerry, Me: Carrie, Gage: Perry, Payton: Mary and Alex: Gary and referred to each other using our "Ary" names all day, which was the source of much amusement, especially when stringing them together as in: Perry and Mary go get your brother Gary and eat some dairy. And the thing is: I think Perry really suits Gage and Gary really suits Alex!! So that was fun. The only crimp in my leisurely day was when I found the dead mouse on the kitchen floor.
Don't ask.
I was completely traumatized. Especially in light of the fact that the manner in which I discovered said dead mouse was by stepping on it and feeling something give and then squish between my toes.
Completely disgusting. Never get a cat for a pet. Honestly.
Anyways, the point is that Shutter Island is a really good book!! And I discovered after reading it that it's also going to become a movie!! Starring Leonardo DiCaprio!!
And Christmas has come and gone. I find it so anticlimactic. All this time spent shopping and fretting and spending, and then in the blink of an eye, it's over and you're left with a garbage bin heaping with boxes and ribbon and wrap, hyperactive kids and a few pounds of weight you hadn't before. Although there's a part of me that's relieved as well. All the hustle and bustle gets overwhelming for an introvert like me. I don't normally like to use the word 'introvert' I prefer the term "quiet" or even "aloof", because the only time you would ever hear anyone use the word 'introvert' it was like, say, on City Confidential, as in: "A life long introvert, Dalmer had begun killing and dismembering small animals at a young age." I mean, I may be an introvert, OK, yes, but I have never, and I mean never, dismembered a small animal.
Well, OK, yesterday I did step on a dead mouse. But that was purely an accident.
Anyways, alls I'm saying is that I prefer to be at home, in my jammys, with a book in my hand and a cup of Joe in the other.
Oh, and the kids, too.
Yah.
They're always there.
And hence, I must be going.
Which is a good thing, because I regret to inform you that my Slap Chop has gone the way of the Omelette Express. It was briefly utilized on the day that I made Chicken Cacciatore, where after it was relegated to some dark shelf, where abouts it did suffer a rather severe breakdown and, long story short, is no longer with us.
Actually, it's not such a long story. That pretty much is the story. I used it once and it broke.
So so much for that.
I could say that it was fun while it lasted, but really it wasn't. I chopped a few veggies and then that was it. Game over.
Anyways.
I haven't been writing very much lately.
That may be a bit of an understatement.
I haven't been writing at all lately.
And by 'lately' I mean the last, say, six months. It's not a case of writers block. I don't know what writers block even is, although I guess it sort of defines itself. But I mean, I could write. If I wanted to write. The problem is that I just don't want to. At the end of the day, when the kids are all asleep, and the house is quiet, my mind flits briefly to the idea of writing, but then quickly chooses sleep or some other sedentary activity. 'Hoarders' is on. Or some such movie was just released and I simply have to see it. TLC is having a "Cake Boss" Marathon, and it's not that I've ever really cared for Cake Boss but a)It's a marathon! and b)after a while it does sort of grow on you-- what they can do with those cakes!!
Or whatever or whatever
So really, I need to try harder. I will try harder. At least, I'll try to try harder.
I'll write today. Or tomorrow. Or at least sometime this week.
In the New Year.
OK today.
But frick if it's hard to write in this house. Hard? No. Impossible. Even right now as I'm writing this blog, I have Payton yelling "BOO!" in my ear followed by "Did that scare you?" Even though the last twenty BOOS!! have failed to illicit a response from me at all, she continues. Determined, it seems, to get my attention in one manner or another.
It's always the same thing when I write. I pull out my lap top and the children are like "Mom, are you going to write in your book today?" "Please don't" "Are you at least going to give us supper today?" I mean, honestly, for all their protesting I might as well be pulling out a crack pipe or something.
But the truth is, writing does have a certain addictive quality to it. Once I get into it, really into, everything else just fades to black. I can hear, as if in the distance, the children crying "Mom, I'm bleeding" and I'm like "That's nice, sweetie," real distracted like. And it seems that they do manage to injure themselves at an alarming frequency when I'm writing, as I say- determined to get my attention in some manner or another, however extreme, although I'm sure that the lack of direct supervision doesn't exactly help the matter.
So as I say, it's hard. Even now Payton just asked me "How much longer, mom?" her voice all pleading like. "Not long" I promise her, and she walks away, dejected like.
But I'm not making excuses.
Anyways.
Yesterday was the best day ever!! I stayed in my pyjamas ALL day and ate loads of snack food. I got a new book and read it cover to cover without barely getting up. We gave the whole family new, rhyming, names: Geoff: Jerry, Me: Carrie, Gage: Perry, Payton: Mary and Alex: Gary and referred to each other using our "Ary" names all day, which was the source of much amusement, especially when stringing them together as in: Perry and Mary go get your brother Gary and eat some dairy. And the thing is: I think Perry really suits Gage and Gary really suits Alex!! So that was fun. The only crimp in my leisurely day was when I found the dead mouse on the kitchen floor.
Don't ask.
I was completely traumatized. Especially in light of the fact that the manner in which I discovered said dead mouse was by stepping on it and feeling something give and then squish between my toes.
Completely disgusting. Never get a cat for a pet. Honestly.
Anyways, the point is that Shutter Island is a really good book!! And I discovered after reading it that it's also going to become a movie!! Starring Leonardo DiCaprio!!
And Christmas has come and gone. I find it so anticlimactic. All this time spent shopping and fretting and spending, and then in the blink of an eye, it's over and you're left with a garbage bin heaping with boxes and ribbon and wrap, hyperactive kids and a few pounds of weight you hadn't before. Although there's a part of me that's relieved as well. All the hustle and bustle gets overwhelming for an introvert like me. I don't normally like to use the word 'introvert' I prefer the term "quiet" or even "aloof", because the only time you would ever hear anyone use the word 'introvert' it was like, say, on City Confidential, as in: "A life long introvert, Dalmer had begun killing and dismembering small animals at a young age." I mean, I may be an introvert, OK, yes, but I have never, and I mean never, dismembered a small animal.
Well, OK, yesterday I did step on a dead mouse. But that was purely an accident.
Anyways, alls I'm saying is that I prefer to be at home, in my jammys, with a book in my hand and a cup of Joe in the other.
Oh, and the kids, too.
Yah.
They're always there.
And hence, I must be going.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Famous Last Words
Famous last words: "How much trouble could he possibly get into in five minutes?"
This morning I had to run to Superstore while Geoff was getting ready for work. "I'll just hop in the shower while you're gone," he said. I looked at Alex, wondering if that was such a good idea. "I'll only be in there for a couple of minutes? What's the worst that could happen? I mean, how much trouble could he possibly get into in just a few short minutes?" he asked, looking adoringly at Alex's sweet little face.
I return from Superstore twenty minutes later to find an exasperated Geoff, towel clad with soap suds still in his hair ushering a crying and soaking Alex out of the bathroom.
Apparently, while Geoff was in the shower, Alex picked up his clothes off the floor and threw them in the shower. Next came the toilet plunger. He threw a book in the toilet. He then yanked open the shower curtains, effectively ripping them half off and spraying water all over the bathroom.
That's how much trouble he can get into in a five short minutes.
A lot, apparently.
Never underestimate a sixteen month old baby.
Otherwise in my life, things are going fairly OK. By far the most exciting was that I finally did it! I got the Slap Chop!! It is AWESOME!! To be able to mince garlic like that. It has changed my life. I never had a garlic press before. I just sat there and painstakingly cut it into progressively smaller pieces. And now. A few whacks and it's done. Minced! I just love it. The low point was when I had to fire my cleaning lady. Well, perhaps 'fired' is a bit of a strong word. I simply told her we wouldn't be needing her anymore. And by 'told' I mean I wrote her a flowy letter saying that while her cleaning has been wonderful, we sadly won't be needing her anymore. On Tuesday last I came home at lunch time to find her already gone, which left me feeling puzzled and annoyed, because she has been charging me for four and a half hours a week. When I left for work at nine she wasn't there. And when I came home at noon she wasn't there. So I'm not very good at math, but to the best of my calculations, that's less than four and half hours. So I felt it was a little dishonest. At first I thought, Oh well, what's the diff? If at the end of the day I'm satisfied with the extent to which my house has been cleaned, why squabble over twenty or thirty dollars? (Which, incidentally, my husband did NOT share my point of view on that. Not at all.) But then when I thought about it, thirty dollars a week does add up. I'm not going to say that he was right, per se. But possibly, he wasn't wrong. Possibly. That's a hundred and twenty dollars a month that could be going towards other things- important things like my children's college funds!! And besides, it's the principle of the thing, although, realistically, I'm not so sure I would be rushing that money straight over to the bank to be invested in RESPs. Probably I would just buy more candles and stuff like that. But besides that, Geoff is getting laid off of work as of the 18th of this month, so I can only assume that, quite naturally, our house will be impeccably clean during his time at home.
I mean, how messy could it get in just two months??
And last but not least: a list of the contents of my purse.
Lately when I go to pay for something I find myself pulling out random objects that vary from a teething ring to a banana to an old parking ticket, and the thought has occured to me: honestly, I could write a book about the contents of my purse at any given moment.
So here is what I have on hand today: A tube of hand lotion (orange scented by Sally Hansen- really good stuff for this time of year), an envelope from work labelled 'personal and confidential', a pay stub from work, my 2010 licence to practice as an RN, a JUST READ bookmark from Paytons school, a grocery list from 2 weeks ago, a pocket day organizer, a prescription for Amoxicillin, a straw still in wrapper, lip gloss, a small Rubbermaid container full of Goldfish crackers (pizza flavor), 3 stray receipts (1 WalMart, 2 Superstore), a pair of gloves, loose change to the sum of six dollars and fifty one cents (Some of which is American currency, I might add, so slightly over that when you take into account the exchange), 2 fortunes ("someone is speaking well of you at this very moment." and "now is a good time to explore the nearest coastline!"), a single sock (navy blue, size 6-12 months), a pencil, a soother and a little tiny plush rabbit.
Is it ever wonder I can never find my debit card??
But all essential stuff. I mean, I would never think of leaving home without some Goldfish snacks. What if I got in an accident and had to survive in the wilderness for a few days?
OK I'd be totally screwed.
But it's interesting how there's so much varied and diverse stuff in there. And each item tells a little story. Take the script for Amox, for example. Payton had an ear infection. OK, not a very interested story, I'll admit, but still that's the 'long story short' version of it. I could definately draw it out if I wanted to, although, to be honest, I'm still not sure it would be very interesting.
Anyways.
Have a good weekend.
This morning I had to run to Superstore while Geoff was getting ready for work. "I'll just hop in the shower while you're gone," he said. I looked at Alex, wondering if that was such a good idea. "I'll only be in there for a couple of minutes? What's the worst that could happen? I mean, how much trouble could he possibly get into in just a few short minutes?" he asked, looking adoringly at Alex's sweet little face.
I return from Superstore twenty minutes later to find an exasperated Geoff, towel clad with soap suds still in his hair ushering a crying and soaking Alex out of the bathroom.
Apparently, while Geoff was in the shower, Alex picked up his clothes off the floor and threw them in the shower. Next came the toilet plunger. He threw a book in the toilet. He then yanked open the shower curtains, effectively ripping them half off and spraying water all over the bathroom.
That's how much trouble he can get into in a five short minutes.
A lot, apparently.
Never underestimate a sixteen month old baby.
Otherwise in my life, things are going fairly OK. By far the most exciting was that I finally did it! I got the Slap Chop!! It is AWESOME!! To be able to mince garlic like that. It has changed my life. I never had a garlic press before. I just sat there and painstakingly cut it into progressively smaller pieces. And now. A few whacks and it's done. Minced! I just love it. The low point was when I had to fire my cleaning lady. Well, perhaps 'fired' is a bit of a strong word. I simply told her we wouldn't be needing her anymore. And by 'told' I mean I wrote her a flowy letter saying that while her cleaning has been wonderful, we sadly won't be needing her anymore. On Tuesday last I came home at lunch time to find her already gone, which left me feeling puzzled and annoyed, because she has been charging me for four and a half hours a week. When I left for work at nine she wasn't there. And when I came home at noon she wasn't there. So I'm not very good at math, but to the best of my calculations, that's less than four and half hours. So I felt it was a little dishonest. At first I thought, Oh well, what's the diff? If at the end of the day I'm satisfied with the extent to which my house has been cleaned, why squabble over twenty or thirty dollars? (Which, incidentally, my husband did NOT share my point of view on that. Not at all.) But then when I thought about it, thirty dollars a week does add up. I'm not going to say that he was right, per se. But possibly, he wasn't wrong. Possibly. That's a hundred and twenty dollars a month that could be going towards other things- important things like my children's college funds!! And besides, it's the principle of the thing, although, realistically, I'm not so sure I would be rushing that money straight over to the bank to be invested in RESPs. Probably I would just buy more candles and stuff like that. But besides that, Geoff is getting laid off of work as of the 18th of this month, so I can only assume that, quite naturally, our house will be impeccably clean during his time at home.
I mean, how messy could it get in just two months??
And last but not least: a list of the contents of my purse.
Lately when I go to pay for something I find myself pulling out random objects that vary from a teething ring to a banana to an old parking ticket, and the thought has occured to me: honestly, I could write a book about the contents of my purse at any given moment.
So here is what I have on hand today: A tube of hand lotion (orange scented by Sally Hansen- really good stuff for this time of year), an envelope from work labelled 'personal and confidential', a pay stub from work, my 2010 licence to practice as an RN, a JUST READ bookmark from Paytons school, a grocery list from 2 weeks ago, a pocket day organizer, a prescription for Amoxicillin, a straw still in wrapper, lip gloss, a small Rubbermaid container full of Goldfish crackers (pizza flavor), 3 stray receipts (1 WalMart, 2 Superstore), a pair of gloves, loose change to the sum of six dollars and fifty one cents (Some of which is American currency, I might add, so slightly over that when you take into account the exchange), 2 fortunes ("someone is speaking well of you at this very moment." and "now is a good time to explore the nearest coastline!"), a single sock (navy blue, size 6-12 months), a pencil, a soother and a little tiny plush rabbit.
Is it ever wonder I can never find my debit card??
But all essential stuff. I mean, I would never think of leaving home without some Goldfish snacks. What if I got in an accident and had to survive in the wilderness for a few days?
OK I'd be totally screwed.
But it's interesting how there's so much varied and diverse stuff in there. And each item tells a little story. Take the script for Amox, for example. Payton had an ear infection. OK, not a very interested story, I'll admit, but still that's the 'long story short' version of it. I could definately draw it out if I wanted to, although, to be honest, I'm still not sure it would be very interesting.
Anyways.
Have a good weekend.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Vaguely Uneasy
Lately I have been feeling vaguely uneasy.
I don't know what it is. I just keep on second guessing every thing I do. Even little things. I'll approach an intersection feeling anxious thinking "is that light going to turn red before I have a chance to apply my brakes?" or "Is that green car going to slow down? Or should I just yield to him?, just to be on the safe side of things. But then the will the car behind me be angry for slowing down?" And I just can't seem to shake it.
So of course I have decided that I need to do SOMETHING to address my unease, and that something, obviously, is going to be shopping. I have heard from people in the biz. (OK- my mom) that the Slap Chop is available at Zellers, so I plan on going and securing one immediately (while supplies last!!). The only unfortunate thing is that it doesn't come with the Graty, as it does if you order from the TV. But I can do without the Graty.
For now.
But in the meantime, I will be slapping and chopping like there's no tomorrow.
That, somehow, sounds vaguely sexual, which is weird because you wouldn't think that "chopping" would sound sexual in any context, ever. Unless you were Ted Bundy . Or slapping for that matter. God what is wrong with me??
Perhaps everything sounds vaguely sexual to me because of...
other issues.
For example: my husband. Last night he had to work late, so whatevs. I'm cool with that. No big deal. It is, after all, parent teacher interview night, but no worries. I can handle it. I'll just go and pick up the kids at 5:30, go home, cook supper, feed the kids, tidy up, get things packed up and ready to go for 6:30, go to Paytons interview and try (somehow) to keep Alex out of everything in the classroom, wrap things up there and go to Gage's interview at 8:00, hoping that Alex will continue to be cooperative, return home for 8:30, give the kids a bath, change Alex and Payton into their PJs, fix them a quick snack, put Alex down, read with Payton, brush her teeth and put her to bed.
Easy peasy.
So then my husband comes in at ten pm looking for sympathy from me for his long,hard day at work.
I was like 'SCREW YOU asshole. Have you ever had to change a writhing sixteen month old baby on a gymnasium floor? Well I have. And it blows. And have you ever had said same sixteen month old shrieking loudly because he wants to pull down every single book off a shelf, and every other item as well, while we're at it, while you're trying to intelligently discuss the PRIME math teaching model and have a five year old whining in your ear that "this is boring, I want to go home," all at the very same time, while simultaneously carrying: four coats, a monkey blanky, a folder full of Paytons kindergarten art work (which includes, incidentally, a life size self portrait of herself), a purse/makeshift diaper bag, a baggie full of cheerios and a sippee cup, which has incidentally, sprung a hereto now unknown leak .
And incidentally, I remind him, he has happened to have had to "work late" on every SINGLE parent teacher interview that I have EVER EVER gone to, either by accident or design, and I'm beginning to suspect design, by the way. To which he gets all in a huff and comments that if he had to choose between a little tete a tete with a teacher and serving 160 SaskTel employees, he would choose the tete a tete no problem, a 'walk in the park' it would be, compared to the rigors of doing whatever, precisely, he does at work, which is mainly PR stuff, with roughly translated means: hanging out with the members of the old boys club.
And then.
AND THEN, can you believe it?? As if it wasn't already enough.
He starts in about the garbage.
And I said "OH, I'm so very sorry that I didn't have the time to do the garbage. I guess I should have done that while I was cooking dinner with a baby on my hip. Perhaps I could have also found the time to paint the fence and sodder a few pipes."
Of course, I have no idea what soddering is, and I realize I've probably spelled it wrong here. But still. You get my point, of course.
I just really, really get annoyed.
So this morning when I got to work I found myself regretting that I went into nursing at all. The only other people I see all day are women, so of course, that takes having an affair right out of the equation at all.
Unless...
But no.
I found myself wishing that I gone into something entirely male dominated, like lumber jacking or something.
Although lumber jacking seems like a bit of a tough job.
The slivers and such.
And to be honest, if I was going to take up an affair, I'm not sure that a lumberjack is the way I would go neccessarily.
Anyways. I was surprised to see the other day a male nursing student happened to present himself for a clinical rotation.
But I couldn't get past his boots.
He was wearing these really pointy, alligator skin like boots, and I just, I don' t know. I couldn't get past it.
Well that and the fact that he's also married.
And his wife just had a baby, literally, yesterday. A girl.
Cheers.
Oh well. Life goes on.
Such as it is.
I don't know what it is. I just keep on second guessing every thing I do. Even little things. I'll approach an intersection feeling anxious thinking "is that light going to turn red before I have a chance to apply my brakes?" or "Is that green car going to slow down? Or should I just yield to him?, just to be on the safe side of things. But then the will the car behind me be angry for slowing down?" And I just can't seem to shake it.
So of course I have decided that I need to do SOMETHING to address my unease, and that something, obviously, is going to be shopping. I have heard from people in the biz. (OK- my mom) that the Slap Chop is available at Zellers, so I plan on going and securing one immediately (while supplies last!!). The only unfortunate thing is that it doesn't come with the Graty, as it does if you order from the TV. But I can do without the Graty.
For now.
But in the meantime, I will be slapping and chopping like there's no tomorrow.
That, somehow, sounds vaguely sexual, which is weird because you wouldn't think that "chopping" would sound sexual in any context, ever. Unless you were Ted Bundy . Or slapping for that matter. God what is wrong with me??
Perhaps everything sounds vaguely sexual to me because of...
other issues.
For example: my husband. Last night he had to work late, so whatevs. I'm cool with that. No big deal. It is, after all, parent teacher interview night, but no worries. I can handle it. I'll just go and pick up the kids at 5:30, go home, cook supper, feed the kids, tidy up, get things packed up and ready to go for 6:30, go to Paytons interview and try (somehow) to keep Alex out of everything in the classroom, wrap things up there and go to Gage's interview at 8:00, hoping that Alex will continue to be cooperative, return home for 8:30, give the kids a bath, change Alex and Payton into their PJs, fix them a quick snack, put Alex down, read with Payton, brush her teeth and put her to bed.
Easy peasy.
So then my husband comes in at ten pm looking for sympathy from me for his long,hard day at work.
I was like 'SCREW YOU asshole. Have you ever had to change a writhing sixteen month old baby on a gymnasium floor? Well I have. And it blows. And have you ever had said same sixteen month old shrieking loudly because he wants to pull down every single book off a shelf, and every other item as well, while we're at it, while you're trying to intelligently discuss the PRIME math teaching model and have a five year old whining in your ear that "this is boring, I want to go home," all at the very same time, while simultaneously carrying: four coats, a monkey blanky, a folder full of Paytons kindergarten art work (which includes, incidentally, a life size self portrait of herself), a purse/makeshift diaper bag, a baggie full of cheerios and a sippee cup, which has incidentally, sprung a hereto now unknown leak .
And incidentally, I remind him, he has happened to have had to "work late" on every SINGLE parent teacher interview that I have EVER EVER gone to, either by accident or design, and I'm beginning to suspect design, by the way. To which he gets all in a huff and comments that if he had to choose between a little tete a tete with a teacher and serving 160 SaskTel employees, he would choose the tete a tete no problem, a 'walk in the park' it would be, compared to the rigors of doing whatever, precisely, he does at work, which is mainly PR stuff, with roughly translated means: hanging out with the members of the old boys club.
And then.
AND THEN, can you believe it?? As if it wasn't already enough.
He starts in about the garbage.
And I said "OH, I'm so very sorry that I didn't have the time to do the garbage. I guess I should have done that while I was cooking dinner with a baby on my hip. Perhaps I could have also found the time to paint the fence and sodder a few pipes."
Of course, I have no idea what soddering is, and I realize I've probably spelled it wrong here. But still. You get my point, of course.
I just really, really get annoyed.
So this morning when I got to work I found myself regretting that I went into nursing at all. The only other people I see all day are women, so of course, that takes having an affair right out of the equation at all.
Unless...
But no.
I found myself wishing that I gone into something entirely male dominated, like lumber jacking or something.
Although lumber jacking seems like a bit of a tough job.
The slivers and such.
And to be honest, if I was going to take up an affair, I'm not sure that a lumberjack is the way I would go neccessarily.
Anyways. I was surprised to see the other day a male nursing student happened to present himself for a clinical rotation.
But I couldn't get past his boots.
He was wearing these really pointy, alligator skin like boots, and I just, I don' t know. I couldn't get past it.
Well that and the fact that he's also married.
And his wife just had a baby, literally, yesterday. A girl.
Cheers.
Oh well. Life goes on.
Such as it is.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
My Predictions
I am still thinking about that Slap Chop. Twice in the last three days, I had to dice tomatoes, and each time I was just wishing and dreaming about having that Slap Chop. I think I'm going to go for it. You only live once, right, and I don't want to have any regrets when I go gently into that good night. I don't want to have to go and sit or lie my death bed (whatever one does in their death bed) thinking "what kind of a life would I have had if I'd have had that Slap Chop"- all the salad and lettuce I might have eaten. Perhaps I wouldn't even be on that death bed at all, you know, maybe just one or two cholesterol points lower and I would lived another year, another ten!! Who knows. So I won't chance it. For twenty dollars, I'm making an investment in myself and in my future and I'm getting that Slap Chop.
I'll just have to wait six weeks for delivery.
But.
So this weekend I was out and about, and it ended up that we were involved in a conversation about life and just how unpredictable it really is. The substance of it was that there's a guy, younger than me, an RN like me, who's battling cancer and has a very poor prognosis at the moment. It made me sad and gave me pause to think about just the random and crazy nature of this universe. It made me scared, but for some odd reason, it also made me a little excited. Why that should be, I can't precisely say. I mean, if there are valleys, then peaks, right? It occured to me that we're on some grand adventure, heading towards a destination that we are not fully aware of, or even at all aware of. Even though I see myself headed towards a singular destination, I could veer off course at any point, with no warning at all whatsoever. And so I wonder, where will I go? Where will I be in one year? Five? Ten? And so then I thought it would be fun to make some predictions, some based on some amount of intuition, and some made up entirely. A year from now, I can go back to this blog and see if anything panned out. If so, I can become a psychic and become rich and famous. Although I'm not sure there are any rich and/or famous psychics, except for Patricia Arquette, but she's not really a psychic- she's a medium, and I'm not so sure that's the same thing. And she only plays a medium.
Anyways. Here goes. My attempt at prophecy:
Within one year:
-My bathroom will be painted (OK- that I already know- I plan on doing it next weekend)... I detect a greenish hue.
-Geoff or I will get an unexpected job offer (wishful thinking on my part- read my last post for clarification).
-Geoff will face a health crisis, (this is an educated guess based on the fact that he's six months over due for his blood pressure refills) but be OK
-I will face a moral dilemma at some point (I like the ambiguity here. In any event, I will be able to make something up after the fact: for example- remember how stressed out I was when I was trying to decide whether to use recycled toilet paper or not??)
-Geoff's family will reach out to him (this is maybe just wishful thinking)
-I will meet someone who will become a lifelong friend (this, too, maybe wishful thinking. I daresay, my current friends and family are a little, shall we say, out there.)
-Lorrie will have a baby girl on a frigid February night, just before midnight, after only a short labor.
-Someone that I know will have an unexpected pregnancy (in this family that reproduces like rabbits- this I can be nearly certain of.)
Within five years,
-I will be living in another location.
-I will have lost a loved one.
-I will have a different job.
-Geoff will have a different job.
-One of my children will have a special talent (out of the three of them, one of them has to pan out, right??)
-I will have made some success as a writer, but still have my day job.
-My parents will have adopted three more foster kids (just kidding-- had to put that in there. Tee hee. Just kidding. But seriously- props to you mom and dad)
-Someone in my close circle of friends and family will have divorced (that's bound to happen-- if the divorce rate is fifty-fifty as they say- it's either them or me and I can't afford any legal fees, so I know it ain't gonna be me. And I dare say, if I haven't that kicked that shlep to the curb yet- it ain't gonna happen)
-Geoff will have lost all of his hair, while mine will continue to be thick and lustrous.
-Trent and Lorrie will surprise us and have "one more"- wishful thinking again, maybe. But knowing my brother, the way he is, can't keep his pecker in his pocket (EW, I can't believe I even just said that about my own brother. God, what is wrong with me??) it seems like an accident waiting to happen.
Within ten years...
-Gage will enter prelaw (definitely wishful thinking. Probably what will happen is he'll struggle to 'find himself' while living in our basement and working at Fas Gas)
-I will have to make a difficult decision regarding someone I love (keep it ambiguous- just the way they do on TV), specifically regarding someone with an "A" or a "J" in their name.
-One of my children will enter a turbulent phase, likely Payton, my teenage drama queen- who is, incidentally, only five years old at the moment.
-A family member will have a health crisis.
-I will be in a job completely different from what I am doing now.
-My house will be like "The Jetsons"
-Nuclear technology will have made cats into super cats, and they will establish a civilization of their own, which will threaten to take over life as we know it.
So there it is. My prophecy for my life in the future. Now we shall wait and see.
Just like with the Slap Chop.
Good night.
I'll just have to wait six weeks for delivery.
But.
So this weekend I was out and about, and it ended up that we were involved in a conversation about life and just how unpredictable it really is. The substance of it was that there's a guy, younger than me, an RN like me, who's battling cancer and has a very poor prognosis at the moment. It made me sad and gave me pause to think about just the random and crazy nature of this universe. It made me scared, but for some odd reason, it also made me a little excited. Why that should be, I can't precisely say. I mean, if there are valleys, then peaks, right? It occured to me that we're on some grand adventure, heading towards a destination that we are not fully aware of, or even at all aware of. Even though I see myself headed towards a singular destination, I could veer off course at any point, with no warning at all whatsoever. And so I wonder, where will I go? Where will I be in one year? Five? Ten? And so then I thought it would be fun to make some predictions, some based on some amount of intuition, and some made up entirely. A year from now, I can go back to this blog and see if anything panned out. If so, I can become a psychic and become rich and famous. Although I'm not sure there are any rich and/or famous psychics, except for Patricia Arquette, but she's not really a psychic- she's a medium, and I'm not so sure that's the same thing. And she only plays a medium.
Anyways. Here goes. My attempt at prophecy:
Within one year:
-My bathroom will be painted (OK- that I already know- I plan on doing it next weekend)... I detect a greenish hue.
-Geoff or I will get an unexpected job offer (wishful thinking on my part- read my last post for clarification).
-Geoff will face a health crisis, (this is an educated guess based on the fact that he's six months over due for his blood pressure refills) but be OK
-I will face a moral dilemma at some point (I like the ambiguity here. In any event, I will be able to make something up after the fact: for example- remember how stressed out I was when I was trying to decide whether to use recycled toilet paper or not??)
-Geoff's family will reach out to him (this is maybe just wishful thinking)
-I will meet someone who will become a lifelong friend (this, too, maybe wishful thinking. I daresay, my current friends and family are a little, shall we say, out there.)
-Lorrie will have a baby girl on a frigid February night, just before midnight, after only a short labor.
-Someone that I know will have an unexpected pregnancy (in this family that reproduces like rabbits- this I can be nearly certain of.)
Within five years,
-I will be living in another location.
-I will have lost a loved one.
-I will have a different job.
-Geoff will have a different job.
-One of my children will have a special talent (out of the three of them, one of them has to pan out, right??)
-I will have made some success as a writer, but still have my day job.
-My parents will have adopted three more foster kids (just kidding-- had to put that in there. Tee hee. Just kidding. But seriously- props to you mom and dad)
-Someone in my close circle of friends and family will have divorced (that's bound to happen-- if the divorce rate is fifty-fifty as they say- it's either them or me and I can't afford any legal fees, so I know it ain't gonna be me. And I dare say, if I haven't that kicked that shlep to the curb yet- it ain't gonna happen)
-Geoff will have lost all of his hair, while mine will continue to be thick and lustrous.
-Trent and Lorrie will surprise us and have "one more"- wishful thinking again, maybe. But knowing my brother, the way he is, can't keep his pecker in his pocket (EW, I can't believe I even just said that about my own brother. God, what is wrong with me??) it seems like an accident waiting to happen.
Within ten years...
-Gage will enter prelaw (definitely wishful thinking. Probably what will happen is he'll struggle to 'find himself' while living in our basement and working at Fas Gas)
-I will have to make a difficult decision regarding someone I love (keep it ambiguous- just the way they do on TV), specifically regarding someone with an "A" or a "J" in their name.
-One of my children will enter a turbulent phase, likely Payton, my teenage drama queen- who is, incidentally, only five years old at the moment.
-A family member will have a health crisis.
-I will be in a job completely different from what I am doing now.
-My house will be like "The Jetsons"
-Nuclear technology will have made cats into super cats, and they will establish a civilization of their own, which will threaten to take over life as we know it.
So there it is. My prophecy for my life in the future. Now we shall wait and see.
Just like with the Slap Chop.
Good night.
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