Enter Insanity

You know when I prayed for that baby who was so long in coming? So desperate was I for baby that I said that I wouldn't care if we had a brat.

You know when we named that same baby a moniker that has graced magazine covers and Paris runways, and I said it would suit a girl with attitude?

Gahhhhhhh!!!! It's freakin' payback time, now.

I'm all for my daughter being strong-willed, stubborn and assertive. I just wish that she had someone else to practice on.

We're going through a bit of a trying time with the little one lately. She seems to be happy calling all the shots, not being too keen to follow rules (unless she comes up with them herself), wanting everything her way and for her royal subjects to wait on her hand and foot. Princess syndrome, all day, 24/7.

She's been fortunate. Her big brother is fantastic to her. He's a really wonderful kid. And perhaps, therein lies the problem.

She knows this. She hears her parents talk about how wonderful he is; she hears her relatives tell their wonderboy stories; she hears her brother's friends parents mention how mature beyond his years he is … all about him, him, him. No wonder her current modus operandi is that any attention, no matter how garnered, is better than attention toward her brother. The more annoying she gets, the better. Things are particularly testy when she needs a nap.

Today was an especially spectacular example.

After a wonderful morning at school with further playtime at the playground with her classmates , we came home with her best pal to a fabulous lunch of hot dogs and toast with grapes on the side. The girlie had a couple of quick meltdowns which are par for the course, but after a half hour of watching "Flushed Away "with her buddy, we were off to their afternoon sport program. More play time, this time along with her other best friend in tow. Life shall we say, is sweet.

”Okay, time to drive your pal home, Mommy has to get gas for the car and rush back in time for big brother to be home.”

"No, I don’t want to go home. I want to stay at my friend’s.”, as we drove up her friend’s driveway.

“Well, not today sweetie. We have to arrange it with his Mommy. But I picked up some nice crafts that we can work on when we’re home.”, I said patiently while her pal bounded out of the car. I opened up her side of the van so she could say good-bye.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I WANNA GET OUT NOWWWWWWWWW!!!!”.

Screeching at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her red face, her arms and legs outstretched as she tried to bust out of her five-point harness ... she was truly a sight to behold. I couldn’t reason with her, so I just shut the van door to muffle her screams as I returned to the driver’s side. I got into the van, and reversed, with her screaming continuously ringing in my ear. All the while repeating that we had crafts and fun stuff to look forward to.

Then I looked at my rear view mirror and I saw her undoing her carseat buckle.

I cracked. I pulled over to the side of the road, opened her door, read her the riot act about how her behaviour was unacceptable as I tightened up her belt, shut the door yet again, muffling higher pitched screams, and then got back into the driver’s seat.

I was done listening to any more hysterics. So I did the only logical thing. Not even paying attention to what was on, I cranked up the radio to almost full volume…

Don't even know how the hell that showed up on my dial. But it was exhilarating, I wanted to just let loose with some good old-fashioned headbanging on my steering wheel.

In any case, it made the little old lady walking by with her little dog almost jump out of her skin.

And the girlie? Stupefied, within 30 seconds, her tears seemed to have dried up, her wailing stopped, and after I lowered the volume, we drove the two minutes to the gas station.

After pumping the gas, I got back in the car and her royal highness Princess G squeaked out...

"Uh, Mommy, can we go home and do crafts now?"

And with that, she promptly passed out on the way home.

Now THAT was an awesome lullaby.

Taming my inner shrew

Why can't I just let it go?

I tend to overreact over simple, trivial things. I'm one of those quiet, seemingly well-tempered easy-going chicks who, behind closed doors, can go postal at the drop of a hat.

I think I come by this quite honestly. Although my parents were great while we were growing up, there was our fair share of yelling in the household. I also know from conversation overheard when my parents thought we weren't listening, that my maternal grandmother had a real temper. And through real life experience with my Dad's mother, I knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. And my Dad, also the strong silent type with the dry humour, but can flip if someone buds in front of him in a line-up.

I don't know if it's just that I keep it bottled up; if I just try to suppress my displeasure with things, until the pressure cooker within can no longer contain itself and I just combust. It's genetic, I tell ya.

Unfortunately, my spouse is the one who bears the brunt of Mt. Vesuvius erupting.

Here are a couple of examples:

Case A.

(Here's the back story: my 3.5 year old daughter is sleeping on the mattress on her bedroom floor. Yes, the mattress, as we didn't want her to fall off the bed when she switched from her crib. Yes, that's right, she's been on this mattress on the floor now for over TWO YEARS, exactly the length of time I've been asking for help moving the bedframe and box spring up from the basement. Something that hubby has been promising would be accomplished within this 4 week vacation, finally).

After the whirlwind anniversary trip, things came crashing back to reality on the Monday. We were hosting my "high school reunion" of sorts with four friends, and we hadn't all been together in one room since Ian and my wedding day. Two of them now live out of the country. This also happens to be the - 'ahem' - 25th anniversary of our graduation. Yuck. So I was running around all day preparing the place for the occasion. Nothing special, just needing to tidy it up after being in and out over the last couple of weeks, laundry here and there, unpacking to do etc...Hubby was catching up on e:mails and some work that he was trying to keep up on. Penance for taking so many weeks off.

I finally managed to step out to buy the groceries to prepare the dinner, by about 2:30 PM. We had told people to come by around 5/ 5:30 as it was a weeknight, and it would also be early enough that the kids could play (yes, we invited everyone with their families). I also offered to go the liquor/beer store to pick up the booze, which is usually the "man's" job when we entertain. But he said he'd take care of it.

So when I got back with all the groceries just after 3:30PM, and heard rumbling down in the basement, and the voices of my kids with hubby, I yelled downstairs and asked incredulously :

"Uh, you aren't by chance MOVING THE GIRLIE'S BED UPSTAIRS NOW are you?!!"

Husband responds: "Well, you've been asking me to move it".

Me: "We've got people coming for dinner in an hour and a half and you're bringing up the bed NOW???!!! Unbelievable!! DO NOT move it up. G will want people to come to her room to play, and I guarantee you won't have the frame up in time, it will be sitting there for kids to run into and crack their knees open with the metal corners. NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!"

Muttering to myself ... I cannot frickin' believe it...

(BTW, the above is a modified polite version)

Husband: "All right, take it easy. Poor judgement perhaps, but don't get so mad at me, it's totally uncalled for!"

Me: "Would you go to the liquor store now? I don't want to be all by myself when guests come which happens about 85% of the time! " (yup, this is me picking a fight)

Husband: "What do you mean, that never happens".

Me: "Oh yes it does, you're getting better, but I swear since we've been married, every time we entertain you run out at the last minute to get booze and I'm by myself to get the door, drinks, and continue to prepare the app's and food..."

And then he went off to have a shower and pop out for the booze.

Case B:

We're rushing around madly to try to get packed and get to the amusement park for the early bird entrance (season's pass holders can get in an hour earlier on certain days). I'm getting the kids dressed, slathered with sunscreen, and had the water bottles on the counter in the kitchen ready to be filled.

As I rush upstairs to finish getting ready myself, I hear the hubby yell that he'll take care of the water bottles.

30 minutes later at the entrance of the park:

We're at the gate where they standardly ask to look at the backpacks. I pull the pack out from the stroller basket and out pours water from the bottom of the pack, and the stroller basket has a small pond in it. I hear the hubby: "What happened there?"

I peer at him with "the look'.

We get through security, and I pull out the backpack, dump out the water, check all the bottles and notice that one of them is COMPLETELY UNSCREWED (you know, the Sigg kind), so of course it would have poured into the pack. Over the spare clothes; but thank goodness I pulled his wallet out.

As he came through the gate I just glared at him as he said, "What, I screwed all of the tops on tight!!".

Me: "Yeah, I guess so tight that it was completely off."

Hubby:" Come on, it's just water. Lighten up a little. Look at your miserable face, it's so sour!" and then he laughs at me.

I shook it off, but it just really irked me to no end. I knew it was a little thing, but I found it oh just sooooo annoying.

******

So yes, you heard it here first. I'm probably the only woman in the world who freaks out at her husband for trying to help out.

Am I insane? I told you I have a problem. Help. Me.

*******

The bedframe, well, it's still gathering dust in the basement as I write this. It is the last day of husband's vacation.

So for now, will you at least pass me another glass of wine?

Thursday Thirteen

The following is a morning e:mail exchange between yours truly and her man, who is currently gallivanting around Europe (grrrr...)

The Girl: I hate those city plows. You should have seen the pristine driveway we had as of end of the day yesterday... the kids and I cleaned it up after the service came.
Then the city came and blocked me.... this morning, with the icy blocks that fell off of the hills that the kids and I had made.
So alas, my morning workout awaits...

The Guy: Clearly the garbage men haven't spoken to the plowmen. I am so sorry for them. You could always send an email to the works department letting them know that you are going to kill them...

Yup, he knows me and he still loves me.




Thirteen reasons I am very lucky to be married, and happily at that (note, G-rated version only, as some things have to be kept private). Or the "opposites" of love.

1. I am the resident recycling station manager. In other words, every week I dutifully bundle up the papers, cardboard, tins etc. But on the day before hubs' business trip, I yelled at him. Actually, it was more of a bloodcurdling scream which got him running to me. Why? Because he put shredded paper on top of my recycling bin. A big no-no. I've told him so because technically the city won't take it; but really because it's a bloody pain for me to gather up all the shreds and figure out a way to bundle the mess.

I'm type A and he loves me.

2. I'm a slob and hate housework. Husband is a fastidious guy who hates clutter. He knew that going in, and yet he still married me.

3. I hate doing laundry and I don't iron. See 2, above.

4. I'll admit it, I don't like gas stations much, so everytime he borrows my car, he has to fill the tank. My inner teen shines.

5. He loves winter and winter activities. I love the beach and the water.

6. He is patient. I am impatient.

7. I'm an ISTJ. He's an ENFP.

8. He loves sleeping in a cold room. I sleep with at least two blankets and often socks as well.

9. He loves fruit. I love vegetables.

10. I love to dress up. He loves to dress down.

11. I'm a planner. An obsessed planner. He leaves things until the last minute. And curses, it always works out for him.

12. I tend to be melancholy and a thinker. He's a dreamer and seeker of all possibilities.

13. He's a nurturing parent. I'm the task-master.

But there is one thing we've done well together. We produced two beautiful children. So therein lies the real magic of our opposites.