You say psycho like it is a bad thing …..

{warning — mommy venting …. it is not pretty, it is a little bit need two Zolofts}

I am a get quiet when I am really cross person.

If I am ranting like a lunatic then you know this will blow over relatively quickly. If I purse my lips, go quiet and stare at you, then it is pretty much time to flee — or at the very least, just back off and give me some space because the little voices in my head are all screaming.  And not in unison.

This evening I was sitting with the kids doing homework.  At some point I started telling them about how records work.

In no way related to the subject at hand.

I was all telling them stuff and reliving the year we discovered electricity and all. I dip my hand into the record sleeve and start explaining how the record needle works, and and and ….. all quite jazzy, and much more “show and tell” than I would normally would be.  But there I am giving this sane mommy thing a run for it’s money.

I look into the record jacket and see that one of the records is broken.

Connor starts explaining … quickly …. how he was showing Georgia and it fell and it broke and he is so sorry.

I know Connor.  One does not pass a record from Connor to Georgia.

My guess is they were monkeying – he was probably the instigator  and Georgia’s ball skills are atrocious.  My guess is her record catching skills are left wanting at about the time Connor lobbed it across the room.  Frisby anyone?

It is an old record.  Gigi actually.  Very little sentimental value.  I had found it in a second hand store and it had the original jacket, and I wanted to frame it.

I am so angry.  Not because they had broken the record (okay also because of that) but because they thought they could hide it from me, and only confessed when they realised I had started a rather unfortunately timed “show and tell!”

I was so angry.  White lips, quivering angry.

I really hate deceit. I really do.  I knew he thought he had got away with it, and then he is like “what the hell, show and tell now!!  Now!!!”

I sent Connor and Georgia to bed – it was 18h23.

I stripped her of her “Princess for a Day” title.  I could see Connor was the more sorry.  But he always is.  In this case I know he was the instigator and he was the one who hid it.  How?  My spidey sense that all moms have.

I went d0wn the passage now to check they were in bed, and no one had bailed over the wall to make a run for it.  Connor has written this very long, very heart felt letter about how sorry he is.  It includes a graphic of him crying.  The boy has mad illustration skills.

I am at that juncture where Connor has been doing a lot of things lately that are just clumsy.  Stupid.  Careless. A wanton disregard of the rules (bet you never thought you would hear that phrase outside a Jane Austin novel).

He knows he is monkeying around and seeing how far he can push it.

Getting out the car today, he was trying to keep Georgia getting in to the boot of the car to get her school bag.  When she got upset, and he realised I was standing there, then he feigned a huge effort to placate her and help her with her bag.

Again being a monkey, and just arsing around, and in so doing crushed half a loaf of fresh bread —- I have little regard for the bread. I have little regard for the record.

I am annoyed that he is starting to push the boundaries.  He is really just seeing how far he can go each day.

And because he is so quick to apologise and say he is sorry …. then you go “okay my boy, it is okay” and 10 minutes later he is up to the same shit.

I know I should be more “ah, kids will be kids” but seriously! He broke my record, and then hid it from me.

Fitting punishment- I am going to find another one, and make him pay for it.

As he does not earn a salary like other small kids in a third  world country, he is going to be on dog shit duty for the next three weeks!  No dog shit picking up, no television on the weekends.

I realise I will have my mother’s day gifts retracted quite soon, and my “best mom” sign quietly stolen in the night.  Shit happens, and then you send your son to pick it up.


Said no man. Ever.


50 Shades of Grey ….. meet me out in the shed

The only positive thing I can say about 50 Shades is that it did for adult reading what Harry Potter did for everyone else.

No one read.  No one posted comments about books they had read. Ever.

50 Shades was released.  Every hausfrau known to man, every woman with a pulse was taking photographs of herself reading 50 Shades, or posting updates on Facebook about her reading 50 shades of grey.

I can stumble through shit books as much as the next person.

I made it through about 623 pages of Shantaram before I decided that if he was going to climb a mountain with some unknown  dudes. I decided I was starting to side with the mountain lion.  It is not a spoiler alert.  There was no mountain lion.  I seriously would re-read a rewrite that included a mountain lion who ate Lindsay Ford – there is a good chance I would give it another go.  Shantaram is the biggest waste of my time, if you exclude the time that I have spent trying to synch my new ipad (still not synched — damn you apple gods, damn you)

50 Shades of Grey is probably only good if you need about 3 – 8 minutes of light fiction so you can mas.turb.ate (yes I said it) but other than that, the book is trite shit, and just bad-ly bad-ly written.

But a few key quotes from that tomb of bad reading:-

Her curiosity oozes through the phone.  {sounds very similar to a call center operator asking me if I am having a nice day — the key is that it is going to get less nice because you just called}

Feel it baby.  {I do think in sex it helps to remind your partner that they should actually feel something …. other than say rigor mortis}

He’s my very own Christian Grey popsicle.  {I am guessing sorbet was no longer on the menu!}

Mentally girding my loins, I head into the hotel.  {I have been in several hotels, I do not think I have ever girded my loins —  but maybe I have been in the wrong hotels.}

Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement? {A cane OR a weird kink implement??  I really am not sure what I would think if  ***** arrived with a cane …. limp much?  Seriously, what are you meant to say?}

Anastasia when cuffed to the bed posts: ‘Holy cow, I cannot move my arms.  {Anastasia – who has for the record just spoilt my favourite name — yes, that is pretty much what happens when you are handcuffed to anything – if you can move, then pick up the box and re-read the instruction because your handcuffs are no longer working.}

50 Shades 0f Grey is really a kak read.

I am suggesting that there are thousands of women (and several very happy partners/husbands) who really enjoyed the book and no doubt Book Club pass it along must have soared.  I am not judging you for reading (or benefiting) from the book. The book is crap, you are not necessarily crap.

The only reason I am mentioned 50 Shades of Grey, is because I have become a fan of 50 Sheds of Grey.

Now that I like!