There is a direct correlation between number of days counting down to 9's birthday and his absolute annoying behaviour - with each day closer, he doubles in irritation. And I don't know why I always forget about this, year after year. Probably self preservation.
He is trying to explain why it only makes good sense we give him his presents now, rather than wait until his actual birthday. In fact, it's a win-win situation ... for him. He gets presents now, we throw him a party for his birthday, he gets presents then. All good.
Except for the wrench I threw into his thinking, the wrench known as No Way.
This wrench, which totally messed up his well thought out plan, had him yelling, crying, tantruming and threatening to run away.
This then led to me yelling, not crying, swearing and threatening to send him away.
I said "I must be the worst parent ever because how else did I produce such a spoiled child and perhaps we should return the gifts because of your behaviour and also, this whole getting stuff throughout the year rather than waiting for a special occasion? OVER. DONE."
There was a really long happy moment after that comment, I tell you.
The only parent worse than me in 9's mind is his father. He also tried his failed logic on Husband, and I'm not exactly sure what was said, but 9 stormed out of the garage muttering DAMN YOU.
The only upside is that after 9's birthday, we count down to Christmas so we can begin this dance all over again.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Obviously I thrive on stress
The past couple of months have been insanely busy for me ... but like any good protestant, I drink and carry on. I mean I keep calm and carry on.
One of my annual projects is creating a painting for the company I work for which will first be used as our Canadian Christmas card and then donated to the United Way for auction.
So this year, because of my insane schedule ... I cheated.
I borrowed a painting I gave my brother a few years ago and photographed it for the card and then created this one for the auction:
And by created I mean finding a painting in the basement and reworking it. Technically new, kind of recycled. Very green. And still very wet.
One of my annual projects is creating a painting for the company I work for which will first be used as our Canadian Christmas card and then donated to the United Way for auction.
So this year, because of my insane schedule ... I cheated.
I borrowed a painting I gave my brother a few years ago and photographed it for the card and then created this one for the auction:
And by created I mean finding a painting in the basement and reworking it. Technically new, kind of recycled. Very green. And still very wet.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The Change
And for once I'm not talking about the changing brain of my teenage son, I'm talking about my change.
While I was at an office function on Friday, conversation with friends inevitably turned to menopause and peri-menopause and our personal experiences. My friend said she's been feeling sad and have I been? I said no, not really - I haven't notice mood changes...but then thought yes I have! And it is sadness, and it's like it's blowing into me, filling me up. And it's different from the hormonal mood swings brought on by PMS because I don't feel the hormonal anxiety encouraging certain moods. Just this weight of sadness.
And I realized it's one of the major reasons I haven't been working with on this blog or feeling particularly creative (a huge light bulb moment for me).
She said her friend is being hit really hard and she wants to help but doesn't know how so spoke to her doctor and had a therapist recommended.
Now having been ravaged by the black dogs of depression in my teens and early 20s, I know, for me, this is different from that kind of dehabiliting sadness and I definitely don't need medication to help me through this time.
But I just wanted to put it out to you if you ever want to contribute your own personal story or ask me anything about my experience, please do!
Now on to a quick story about 9.
9 was hit in the head with a tennis ball yesterday (no NOT BY ME this time) and decided by last night that it could have killed him and he is offended that I'm not taking him seriously. After all, it was very close to his temple. Getting hit in the temple means certain death. He feels that if he has even the slightest of headaches in the morning, he will need to stay home.
Being completely unsympathetic I had to tell him that he is going to school, even though he did bravely face death, and if I get even one call from the school I will tell them that there is no way he is being sent home and he is to return to his class. And I will give him only fruit for his birthday.
And, AND, I was hit in the face by a rock, just below my eye, when I was his age and my mother had my grandfather determine whether I needed a trip to the hospital and once he said NO, she went back to ignoring me. And I could have lost an eye! But that's just how it was in the 1970s and you grew up in a large family. You were ignored and so you sucked it up.
He's not happy with me.
Plus according to 9, he faced death, I would merely have been blinded in one eye - one would consider that only an inconvenience.
While I was at an office function on Friday, conversation with friends inevitably turned to menopause and peri-menopause and our personal experiences. My friend said she's been feeling sad and have I been? I said no, not really - I haven't notice mood changes...but then thought yes I have! And it is sadness, and it's like it's blowing into me, filling me up. And it's different from the hormonal mood swings brought on by PMS because I don't feel the hormonal anxiety encouraging certain moods. Just this weight of sadness.
And I realized it's one of the major reasons I haven't been working with on this blog or feeling particularly creative (a huge light bulb moment for me).
She said her friend is being hit really hard and she wants to help but doesn't know how so spoke to her doctor and had a therapist recommended.
Now having been ravaged by the black dogs of depression in my teens and early 20s, I know, for me, this is different from that kind of dehabiliting sadness and I definitely don't need medication to help me through this time.
But I just wanted to put it out to you if you ever want to contribute your own personal story or ask me anything about my experience, please do!
Now on to a quick story about 9.
9 was hit in the head with a tennis ball yesterday (no NOT BY ME this time) and decided by last night that it could have killed him and he is offended that I'm not taking him seriously. After all, it was very close to his temple. Getting hit in the temple means certain death. He feels that if he has even the slightest of headaches in the morning, he will need to stay home.
Being completely unsympathetic I had to tell him that he is going to school, even though he did bravely face death, and if I get even one call from the school I will tell them that there is no way he is being sent home and he is to return to his class. And I will give him only fruit for his birthday.
And, AND, I was hit in the face by a rock, just below my eye, when I was his age and my mother had my grandfather determine whether I needed a trip to the hospital and once he said NO, she went back to ignoring me. And I could have lost an eye! But that's just how it was in the 1970s and you grew up in a large family. You were ignored and so you sucked it up.
He's not happy with me.
Plus according to 9, he faced death, I would merely have been blinded in one eye - one would consider that only an inconvenience.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The holiday season count down
Is it only in my house that the Santa Claus parade is viewed as punishment? Even with promises of hot chocolate with Baileys* marshmallows?
How did these children shoot from my loins and have no love for the magical spectacle of Christmas? The lights, the decorations, the parade, the windows at Queen St. Bay? They (and by they I also mean husband - oh right, that where they got the humbug gene) cringe at the thought of exposure.
Anyway, I need help. December 16 is also when 9 graduates to double digits and I am at a loss as to what to get him. Where he has inherited my defective gene is in his inability to make decisions for fear of making the wrong one. He can't decide on what he would like most because there might be something even better out there; something that 15 would want and therefore he should have first even if he has no interest in it! If he was to make the wrong decision and miss out on 15's mysterious object of desire - well, his world would end as he knows it and mine would involve sneaking off with the unsharable Baileys.
I'm not sure if anyone still reads my little blog since I so seldom write but I consider this the equivalent of putting a help note into a bottle and throwing it out into the big blue ocean in hopes that someone will find it and rescue me.
Check in tomorrow - I had an interesting conversation on Friday at a party regarding THE CHANGE and really want to write about it.
*I would never share my Baileys.
How did these children shoot from my loins and have no love for the magical spectacle of Christmas? The lights, the decorations, the parade, the windows at Queen St. Bay? They (and by they I also mean husband - oh right, that where they got the humbug gene) cringe at the thought of exposure.
Anyway, I need help. December 16 is also when 9 graduates to double digits and I am at a loss as to what to get him. Where he has inherited my defective gene is in his inability to make decisions for fear of making the wrong one. He can't decide on what he would like most because there might be something even better out there; something that 15 would want and therefore he should have first even if he has no interest in it! If he was to make the wrong decision and miss out on 15's mysterious object of desire - well, his world would end as he knows it and mine would involve sneaking off with the unsharable Baileys.
I'm not sure if anyone still reads my little blog since I so seldom write but I consider this the equivalent of putting a help note into a bottle and throwing it out into the big blue ocean in hopes that someone will find it and rescue me.
Check in tomorrow - I had an interesting conversation on Friday at a party regarding THE CHANGE and really want to write about it.
*I would never share my Baileys.
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