Why is it that when Supreme Leader gives me a shopping list of more than two items I will inevitably have to call her to remind me what the hell I was sent out for in the first place yet 30+ years on I have no problems recalling this list?
I went along with Liam's class to the pumpkin patch yesterday. Gale force winds, rain like icy daggers, thigh deep mud and twenty-two five year olds who've picked pumpkins far too big for them to carry. Good times. Good times.
"Who cleans up the pineapple juice spilt on my floor?" Never liked Sponge Bob.
Not random enough?
If Roger Moore carrying a light sabre isn't random enough for you then I'm sorry, I can't help you. Maybe The Un-Mom can.
Had a great piece of blog fodder for this week but I was told that if I used it I would be cut off. Too bad, it was funny. Well, funny to me.
Along with neglecting my blog, the combination of baby/new job also lead to me ignoring my lawn/garden all summer. When Sunday rolled around this past weekend and it was still abnormally warm(ish) and sunny, Supreme Leader ordered me out to cut the lawn. Apparently she has issues with the grass being over her head when she has to venture out to the herb garden. Anyway, with my rental combine fired up and ready to go I set out on a day long attack on the jungle that my backyard had become. Concerned about the habitat loss for tigers in India and Bangladesh? No worries, I've found them a safe new home. I also discovered several new species of plants and three new species of frogs, all of which I have named after myself. I wish I was joking. If you don't know what a combine is, think a lawn mower for wheat that costs more than your house, or the big machine that chased Lightning McQueen and Mater when they were tipping tractors.
From a pie chart I found and promptly lost a week ago:
Muslims worldwide: 1.5 billion
Population of the United States: 307 million
Number of Americans who practise Islam: 18 million
Estimated number of Islamic extremists who actually belong to Al-Queda: less than 1000
My children in a nutshell. Emphasis on the nut.
Liam: Surprising is my business.
Connor: You shouldn't base jump when you're pregnant.
Speaking of frogs.
Really nowhere to go after that. Today's post was brought to you by the letter T and Keely, the Un-Mom.
Liam. Ah, Liam. Somehow nature knew you would be a middle child even before your parents did. A squishy cuddly ball of love one minute and a flaming spiky vortex of homicidal rage the next. You're filling your new shoes with gusto, buddy. Gusto? Nay, you're meeting and exceeding all targets. Meeting, exceeding and thinking outside the box in an effort to open up new avenues of attention demanding outbursts.
It was cute last year in pre-school when this all started. Probably because you were smaller and easier to pick up. There was all that baby fat and your scrunched up face was more Cabbage Patch doll than Klingon toddler. Your mom and I would have to avoid eye contact with each other to keep from laughing out loud. Then it got embarrassing. We'd see the look in your teachers eyes when we arrived to pick you up and knew we'd be talking about your latest escapade. Then it was the sympathetic looks from other parents who'd arrived before us and 'cute' became a thing of the past. Then we were the parents of 'that kid.' Plenty of blog material, but not so funny anymore.
And then summer came. Mom and I hoped we could curb the beast in two months and employed every means we could think of to help turn you around. We even thought we could use the newly broken Wii as a carrot/stick means of turning you to the light, but that was not meant to be. Much like a virus, you seem to be impervious to any and all attempts to subdue your temper. Granted, it was a busy summer. You got a new baby brother whom you lost status and your bedroom too and that couldn't be easy. We get that. You finished off your second year of pre-school and were going to a kindergarten where none of your little school friends were going and that was pretty tough to swallow too. We know all that and we totally understand, little buddy, but enough is enough. Mommy and Daddy are out of ideas and your teacher is frazzled. Your teacher who has been teaching for 35 years. She's been teaching thirty years longer than you've been alive and you have her frazzled. Kudos, my man, but really, enough is enough.
On the bright side, your teacher believes one of your problems is that you are a very gifted little boy and that you just need more stimulation to keep you focused. Unfortunately, you are not her only student...
And now it's been a couple days since I first wrote the above and since then your teacher has not only mentioned that kindergarten is not mandatory, but today she "suggested" that we homeschool you. We're not quite ready to jump off that bridge so today your doctor got you a referral to a pediatrician and Wednesday you've got a date with the school counsellor. Friday is the dog whisperer.
Needless to say, your mom is a little stressed. One day she picks you up from school and everything is golden, then the next she's ducking under the yellow police tape. Tonight I watched you draw a picture and add words to it in a way that your brother couldn't do until the end of grade one and Saturday you were ready to take hostages because we dared ask you to brush your teeth.
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