The End of an Era

It's a short and bittersweet post tonight.

I got skewbydoo tonight instead of tomorrow, which makes for a more action packed weekend. Hooray!

Yesterday, we had to euthanise the dog that my ex had when we first met and the first of our SPCA adoptees. He lived to be almost 15. I never did manage to dye his mohawk purple.

RIP Jack the Dog.

Happy Daddy Pants Day

I wear the daddy pants in my house. This is no easy task with three teenage boys to raise. Creativity is the key when it comes to getting their cooperation.

As teenagers, Pete, Repete and Devilspawn are perfectly capable of fending for themselves when it comes to meals, so the promise of me cooking dinner is not a very effective incentive when it comes to getting them to make sure I have a clean kitchen in which to cook.

Like any good union chick, I knew that when faced with unacceptable working conditions, strike action is in order. I cleaned my kitchen (for me), but I didn't respond to any of the boy's requests.

My strike lasted less than 24 hours. I came home to a clean kitchen and a very tidy livingroom.

Bickering in the car is dealt with by me singing "Jesus Loves Me" at the top of my lungs and horribly off key. Ned is my other antibickering device. I just pull down his shorts and stick him to the window as we drive. Teenage boys really dislike having a doll with his penis exposed attached to the window of the vehicle in which they are travelling.

Computers don't work when the keyboard and mouse have been removed and taken to work with the parental unit.

Oh, and tackling Devilspawn and tickling him into submission works occasionally and having him say I'm a little tree hugger afterward is just an added bonus.

Being a two in one parent was not part of the plan, but it's infinitely better than being the hole in one parent.

Happy Daddy Pants Day.

Do you know who is influencing your children?

Why is it that some people need to use homophobia as a means to control others by giving it the power of shame?

Case in point. My son was chatting with a team member and his coach asked if they were dating. A little later, my son was talking with another team member and his coach asked if they were in love. This was the coach's way to try and keep the boys from talking. All it did was further erode my son's already disintegrating respect for this man.

WTF?

I have never really come this close to homophobia from an adult before and I am quite horrified.

The gender of partners has never been of issue in our family. Some members of our family have partners of the opposite gender and others have partners of the same gender.

The fact that a person in a position of influence tried to use shame as a means of gaining my son's compliance is offensive.

The fact that a person in a position of influence has given my son any indication that being gay is something to be ashamed of is reprehensible.

I am proud of my son for not letting a lousy coach chase him away from a game that he otherwise enjoys.

The Law of Ban and Demand

A number of years ago, I was asked to be Godmother to my close friend's baby. Of course I was thrilled. I was told that I would share the role with another close friend. While the grandparents were not particularly bothered by the fact that there would be two Godmothers, the lack of a Godfather, clearly was an issue.

Too bad. If it wasn't a problem for the church, then so be it.

Shortly before the christening, I was asked by my friend if I had been baptised, because apparently Godmothers have to be baptised in order to be Godmothers.

Is it a really bad thing to lie to a minister about something like this?

Oh well, I don't believe in God anyway. Go big or go home.

Baby got christened and has two godmothers. One of whom was never baptised and neither of whom believe in God. So far we seem to have evaded any wrath.

There's a children's book in here somewhere.

Enter Mary Polak - she's that wonderful new MLA for Langley (cuz she couldn't get elected in the riding where she lives) who was big on banning books in the Surrey school system.

Here I am thinking, if she can get books banned in one school district as a trustee, as an MLA, she should be able to get them banned in the entire province.

Hmmm. Ban something and suddenly there is a great demand for it. I am sure there is an economics law on that somewhere. If not, there should be.

Coming soon - I Have Two Godless Mummies by Aunty Bertha

Gosh, what will I do with all that money?

Maybe I will pay off all the creditors that Lorne Mayencourt left high and dry with his two bankruptcies.

Maybe I will build a nice big homeless shelter and soup kitchen smack in the middle of Lorne's riding.

Maybe I will pay all the fines given to the aggressive panhandlers.

Maybe I will use it to send my children to college or university.

Nah, the way tuition increases are going, by the time they are ready to attend, only the super duper rich will be able to afford it.

Blogging to join the bandwagon

Now I've gone and done it! I have a blog. What on earth was I thinking?

I originally started keeping a sort of journal thingy on my laptop a few months ago. Mainly as a place to spew my thoughts without subjecting my poor long suffering friends to any more of my neuroses than absolutely necessary. It became almost like a kind of therapy for me. That place will still be where I write all the stuff that I find hard to admit to myself and impossible to admit to anyone else.

This is the place where I will spew the thoughts that I can subject to others.

I wonder if this is part of my midlife crisis? A red sports car and a blonde 21 year old bimbo would likely be a lot less hastle. Then again, maybe not.

During an almost primate like moment of intimacy recently, I was told that the grey hairs that have begun to sprout from my head are very curly and it was suggested that at some point, my head will look like it is covered in grey pubic hair. I guess the question is, will I wax or shave?

I'm not sure about this getting old business. Dementia aside, do we lose our sense of appropriate behaviour as we get old, or do we just cease to care?

My neighbours are on the old side. The paranoia, I can handle (they live in Fort Knox - more on that another day). The garbage day apparel earlier this week was a bit much. Actually, it really wasn't enough! Particularly before one has managed more than one sip of the morning coffee, but after having consumed an entire piece of toast.

First, we had Mr. Fort Knox come down the stairs sporting nothing more than a pair of shorts and his slippers. Not an attractive look for him. I would have preferred that he add a shirt to the ensemble. Pretty much any shirt provided, it wasn't one of those tank type undershirts.

Mrs. Fort Knox was equally disturbing. While she did at least have a shirt on, the lack of a bra beneath her rather tight tank top may have scarred me for life. For her, I would have suggested she start with a bra and while the concept of a tank top was not entirely bad, something a little less revealing would have been rather less traumatic.

All I can say is thank goodness my teenaged boys weren't up yet. The therapy bills could have been crippling.