Baby it's cold outside... well, sort of.

Current Weather Updated: Fri, Oct. 22, 2010, 7:00 MDT - Fort McMurray Airport

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• Wind: 0km/h
• Sunrise: 8:12
• Sunset: 18:05

• Relative Humidity: 93%
• Pressure: 101.71 kPa
• Visibility: 14.0 km
• Ceiling: 1000 ft

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It's cold, it's dark... it's coming. I am less than thrilled about winter. Someone asked me "If you hate winter so much, what the hell are you doing in a place like Fort Mcmurray?"

Well, here's the thing, beyond -5 (that's a whopping 23 degrees to my American friends), I'm NOT going outside anyway! So whether it's -5 or -35, I'm not going out. Even in the "Sunny Okanagan", I stayed indoors for the winter. Too cold is too cold is too cold. 

There's a chance that I will adapt (ha), I remember going home last year in the winter, and compared to the nasty weather we had here, it was bloody balmy. Everyone was bundled up and bitching, and I was strolling around in a sweater. 

Yes, it's coming... Snow on Friday... 

Dying to Death of the "Meh's"

Yep, that's what I look like today. 

 Eventually I might need to eat something other than bread with jam and mini chocolate bars. Apparently you can OD on Hersheys. Symptoms include (not limited to); headache, severe heartburn, digestive upset, lethargy, fatigue, cravings, sore teeth (caramel variety), skin blemishes and, of course, great smelling poo.

 ***update*** So I made it out of the house. I forgot the stuff I was supposed to take with me to mail, forgot the kids swim gear, and one of the little kids peed in the car. One of the kids is swimming in lostandfound trunks that are too big and the lifeguard was nice enough to give me some tape to wrap around so they'd stay up. FML

I give up.

This morning the boys were unusually energetic- even for 7 year olds, even for 6am. They're bouncing around on the sofa, crashing cars and action figures, killing, dying, trying to figure out whether I can hear them so they can use swear words. I have a headache. Suddenly I hear one of them say "Ha Ha I was on a  date with Michael Jackson!!".

That's it. Enough. "WHO SAID THAT!?"...

 they reply "whosaidwhatnow?"

"Do either of you know who Michael Jackson is?"

"umm, he's a stupid singer?"

"Do you know he's dead?"

"uh, yeah, we know"

"Do you know he was a pedophile? Do you know what a pedophile is?"

"yeaahhhh, um... noooo...."

"He did dirty nasty painful things to children! Especially little boys like you!". "NO MORE JOKING ABOUT MICHAEL JACKSON IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Oh, ok..."... ... ... ... "Um, can we still make fun of Justin Bieber?"

Don't Whiz on the Electric Fence!

And whatever you do, DON'T lay on a hedgehog! 

Uh, yeah. The other night I was trying to sleep on the couch because Mr Man was sick and I couldn't listen to the snoring and the hacking and sniffling and snorting and throat clearing. So I stomped downstairs and was about asleep when Sharon the Hedgehog decided it was rally race time on his wheel. I got up and took the wheel out, and apparently, sometime that night, he decided to escape. Yes, he had to scale out of a foot high cage, and fall off a 3 foot high piece of furniture, and spent the rest of the night and all of the next day somewhere downstairs! I don't know how we never noticed, and surely the kids would have found him, they find everything I want them to leave alone. 

Anyway, the following evening I decide to stretch out on the floor while we're watching TV, I move a cushion, flop down and promptly throw myself in the other direction, SCREAMING. I was holding myself off the floor by my fingertips and toenails trying to crane my neck around to see which one of the kids toys is getting thrown out next. And Mr Man tells me "Honey, it's a hedgehog!" WTF. There's Sharon rolled into a nasty spiky ball of (self defense) PAIN AND DOOM. Oh poor little bastard!

Poor ME! That really hurts! It took about 10 minutes to coax him out of his ball, and I let him run around on the floor to make sure he wasn't terribly injured- thankfully he wasn't. Then I put him and his wheel back in the cage with some froot loops (hedgehog crack) as a peace offering, and put the bloody lid back on. 

I assure you, the only animal that was really harmed in this incident was ME. He's up and eating and drinking and back on his wheel, and other than a little distrustful of fat chicks, he seems to be totally recovered. 

The ones that feel like they look good on me, but actually don't.

I need to go buy some clothes. I really don't want to for several reasons... reasons such as-

1, Buying clothes when you're fat is depressing. I have to try everything on, hate most of it, and usually  end up going home empty handed or worse- with a bunch of stuff one size larger than the last time I went.

2, Just because they make some things in my size, doesn't mean I should wear them! Halter style tops, low rise jeans, bathing  suits.... I am fat. Nobody wants to see my back fat or my ass crack, least of all me.

3, Ultimately, there is sh*t for selection- I can either go raid the Walmart for their Fat Grandma clothes (YAY ELASTIC WAIST SLACKS!), or I can go pay through the nose at the "stylish" fat people store for stuff that I will probably only wear once or twice and decide I hate.

4, Ultimately, I hate spending money. Especially on myself. It's a major self esteem issue, and no matter how hard I try to rationalize the necessity, I still feel guilty about buying clothes.

So, off to the Walmart I go for some more yoga pants.

Positive Parenting = Positively a pain in the ass.

It's another one of those Parenting Bandwagon things. I'm pretty sure I can count on one hand how many books I've ever read about parenting. Let me think.... Half. Half of one book on parenting. No kidding. If I'm going to spend time killing myself to death over how to do something, I'm going to read information. If I want advice, I'll call a friend. 

The basics of Positive Parenting as a method, seem to be about recognizing your child as a miniature adult and treating him with respect. Isn't that nice? Yes, when I walk into a room that's been painted with shit (oh thank GOD he never did that!), my first thought is going to be "How creative!", and then I'm going to sit down with the little artist, validate his feelings, and sort out a suitable consequence for his actions. I BLOODY THINK NOT! There will be screaming, there will be a frightening display of anger, possibly some retching and gagging... It will be clear as DAY that painting with shit is not ok. NOT OK!

Mixed media decorating aside- There is a reason we are bigger, stronger and smarter than children! We are meant to protect them from harm, to guide them into adulthood, and ultimately protect OURSELVES from THEM! Can you imagine a 180lb three year old? - no, I don't mean the one you're married to- Could you stop one from running into the street with reasoning? Do you believe that validating the feelings of an adult size toddler is going to prevent him from pulling the tail off of the cat or pushing his sister down the stairs for not sharing her cookies? NO! 

If children were to grow to adult size in the first five years, we would be using cattle prods.

In the real world- the adult world, there are tough consequences. Sometimes these consequences are totally out of proportion with the action. And sometimes, we are forced to accept that the rules aren't always what they are for a good reason; they are just The Rules. Nor do these Rules and Consequences apply to everyone equally. Life is not fair.

My boss (back when I had one) did not give a flying f*ck how I felt when he told me I couldn't change my hours because of child-care needs. It wasn't actually "fair", he had given that option to other employees before me. Even though I was pissed, and most everybody agreed with me, I had no misconceptions that life was wonderful and fair to everybody. I shared my feelings on the matter and it didn't make a damn bit of difference in the situation, but I certainly didn't have a cow about it. It was ultimately up to my boss to decide, and he had no policy on transparent decision making. He made decisions from time to time that followed the classic "Because I Said So" model. And guess what- he's the boss. He may use the feedback he gets to change his policy from time to time, and obviously gets some things right, or he'd have nobody to work for him. Honestly, I still like the guy. I respect his right to exercise authority over his employees. 

At home, I am the boss. I am in charge. My son does talk back. He makes it abundantly clear when he doesn't like the way it is. The best thing I can do for him is to say "I'm sorry you feel that way, that doesn't change the fact that I make the rules, and I say that you are not allowed to (insert challenge to authority here)." I change policy occasionally based on the feedback that I get. As he grows and learns, he develops the ability to reason to a degree, and I adjust accordingly. He has enough sense to walk himself to the bus stop a block away, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let him wander the neighborhood as he pleases. Just because he can turn the TV on by himself doesn't mean he can make sound decisions about what to watch. Not yet anyway.

I would LOVE for my son to grow up in a world that is fair. But teaching him to expect it as his right would be doing him a great disservice. I want him to know that his feelings DO matter, but that they might not always make a difference. There will be times when "Because I said so" is the only answer he will get, and I'm sure that I will not be the last person to say to him; "I'm sorry you feel that way, but..."

So the Positive Parenting Bandwagon is fading in the distance up the dirt track, and we are plodding along on the lonely road of Parenting Realistically. That's the way it is here, and if you don't like it, you can go to your room!

Oh by the way- he learned to ride a bike :) I had to bribe him! Baaahahahahahahahha

No Facebook for a week

Really... No Facebook until next Wednesday. I might die.

"Mean Mommy" / "Ride or Die"

Yup, those are training wheels.... Those are training wheels NOT on my 7 year old's bike. I took them off this morning. He cried.

You see, they were on his "backup" bike. He got a new bike last year, and it had more than one gear, which made it impossible to put training wheels on. I told him then, "pretty soon, you'll be too big for the yellow bike, and you'll have to learn how to ride a two-wheeler just like all the other kids". So he simply refused to get on the new bike, and instead carried on dragging his ass around with the training wheel bike. sigh.

There are a bunch of reasons that he's been on training wheels all this time. Originally, he grew so big, so fast, that balance and coordination were non-existent. Also, the super crazy growth meant super pathetic leg strength. Then it came down to me being lazy. I did not have the time or the energy or the PATIENCE to take him out and teach him. When I did try, the whole experience invariably boiled down to me shouting and swearing, and him doing the walk of shame back to the house while I carried the bike and threatened to beat him with it. Doesn't that sound like fun!?

Not long ago I was whining to my mother about it. What she had to say was interesting;
 "Why are you trying to teach him? A mother has only so much patience! I didn't teach you kids how to ride! . Honestly, I don't know who taught you, maybe your Dad, maybe one of the neighbor kids, but it sure wasn't me, so why do you think it has to be you?"

I gave that some serious thought, and came up with a possible solution. My son happens to adore his uncles, and in particular, my brother in law is not only fit enough to run alongside a bike for more than a few feet, he has the patience of a saint. I dangled that over my son's head to see if it interested him. For a fleeting moment he seemed inspired- until he had to get on the "big bike" that is. His uncle ran back and forth and around and around, all the while holding the bike up while the little shit was whining and refusing to pedal and asking to get off. "I just want to ride my yellow bike with the training wheels!".

Of course, the term "Infinite Patience" isn't entirely accurate. Uncle wasn't going to carry on trying if Nephew refused to make any effort at all. Besides that, the man works full time and has 3 kids of his own at home! Unsurprisingly, he hasn't made it over here since then.
 Stubborn Kid 1 Mom 0.... ZERO.

The day before yesterday, I had an Idea. Our front sidewalk is sloped towards the curb, and the pavement in the street slopes back up to the center of the culdesac we live on. I grabbed some scrap wood and made a little ramp down from the curb.  I thought just maybe if I could get him to try coasting down with no training wheels.... just maybe... Actually, it worked pretty well! Nearly right away, I discovered he had enough balance to coast about 10 feet with his feet off the ground! What he didn't realize, was that it meant that the training wheels were coming off the "backup bike", and the "Kid Gloves" were getting thrown the Fu*k DOWN! I was going to teach him how to ride, come hell or high water.

SO.... It's been 3 days, about an hour a day, we go out front with all the kids in the neighborhood watching and offering encouragement. I've tried everything from pep-talks to bribery to actually kicking him once (he bailed on purpose and nearly tore my arm off), and no matter whether he cries, we don't get to stop until he actually tries. More than once now, he's actually ridden a way on his own, he doesn't get far before he realizes I'm not holding on and freaks out at me. I figure he'll be riding on his own in as little as a week- If I don't end up in jail for beating him out in the street! (ha ha)

I believe there is a strong possibility that my mother did in fact teach me how to ride a bike, although we both seem to have blocked out the memory due to extreme trauma!