Pod Children

You know all those stupid emails you get warning you about the hazards or effects of a faulty product or a bad cold medicine or something heinously dangerous like that? Yeah, well here’s mine.

BEWARE!! Kids everywhere are turning into Village of the Damned children due to the ill effects of the Nintendo D.S.

They may cause your child to:

Search for a pot in your LIVING ROOM in which to cook mac n cheese.

Argue that China is a city ,not a country. (Of course, in her world, anything BFF says is gospel.)

Children will not only forget to practice their piano on a daily basis, they may forget they are even taking it.

Children will walk slower, pick their noses longer, and will certainly forget basic hygiene skills such as brushing teeth and washing hands.

They will stay in their pajamas ALL day with faces glued to small electronic device stopping only to smile when the said object gives birth to a REAL LIVE animal. (don’t even get me started on the REAL argument. And NO, taking care of a video game does NOT prove you are ready for a real puppy.)

Children will gravitate towards other children with like devices and huddle quietly for hours. Oh. Wait. I like that part.

So parents, if you love and care for your children, do NOT allow them anywhere near these satanic video game devices. And if your kids get twerked off at you for it, buy em a Popple or teach em how to make a mix tape. Kept me happy in the 80s.

Puppy Love

Oscar walked casually into the kitchen today as I was making supper and with furrowed brow, stated “Mommy, I love you more than all the places in the world. But I love Daddy more than all the universe.” He then walked out, as casually as he came in.

Moral of the story: I’m going to have to get rid of Daddy.

Flu-Zilla

Bragging about how healthy I am and how I rarely get sick has obviously come back to bite me in my easter-creamy-egg-dimpled ass.

Now, if you know me, you’re expecting me to blame someone. And trust me I’m tempted. I want to blame the snotty, disgusting, little school children who hork loogies into mid air when they sneeze or the yucky skating rink full of creepy, raging, viral, plague germs. But I’m above that, oh yes I am.

I recognize that it’s my fault that I haven’t washed my floors in a decade, or spent more than one night a week at home relaxing in two whole months. The fact that I have been existing on a diet of quarter pounders and easter cream eggs may also have something to do with it. Who knows.

I have lost my sense of smell so it’s okay that I no longer shower and the greasy hairdo I’ve acquired works wonders when you want it to stand straight up off your sweaty back.

I’ve learned to communicate with Barry using grunts and groans when I need soup, back rubs, or consolation ice cream.

I’ve now missed three days of school and am only today starting to feel a mere bit better.

My skin hurts. My hair hurts. I LOVE to whine.

Yes, I am the idiot-tard who brought this superflu on herself. But please, I still want yer pity.

Green is the New Black

So, I’m looking to save the planet these days. ALL BY MYSELF, since silly Graham Dad is busy with catching bad guys and watching UFC’s and stuff.

I already don’t use a dishwasher, bought some crazy efficient light bulbs and promise not to throw Styrofoam in the fire again. (sorry about that)

Now I just need someone to go to Bootlegger and buy me some of these super awesome bags I saw there the other day. They’re about ten bucks each and look sort of like this. PLEASE BUY ME ONE.

So yeah, I know, I have a long ways to go. But don’t we all? At least I don’t drive a Hummer.

Are You Smarter Than A Mommy?

I know you’re all sick of me talking about my little NHL’er so I promise not to mention my inability to contain my excitement OVER HIS FIRST BIG GAME IN STEINBACH ON SUNDAY…oops, are my caps on? I had no idea.

ANYWAYS, remember the other child? The one who I love to frequently embarrass and who thinks she needs a bra and a Gwen Stefani bustier?

Well, she LOVES board games and has become very competitive with Silly Old Dad and myself. We bought her “Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader” for Christmas and have played it over and over. It’s actually quite challenging for the smarty pants that I like to think I am. I mean seriously, who honestly remembers the frontiersman who blazed a trail to Kentucky? That’s a first grade question!!! Or how many rays a starfish has? GRADE TWO, PEOPLE!

So, the first few times, I humbly had to admit that I, Silly Mother Graham, am NOT smarter than a fifth grader. And yes, it was painful. Even more painful was little Miss Thang’s decision to use it as her creative writing topic at school last week. Of course she couldn’t write about our lovely times with our holiday guests and their new babies or our new mini-van or our crazy tobogganing days! NOOOOO.

It’s a little disturbing. My own flesh and blood choosing to thoroughly embarrass her mother and even threatening to send her little write-up to the paper.

However, the reason I am admitting all of this is because, after days of sharpening my brain with puzzles, quizzes, and Grade 8 math…..

GUESS WHO DOMINATED FIFTH GRADE AND BEYOND LAST NIGHT?????

Yeah, I won the million dollars. No big deal.

Little scoundrel. Don't let her adorable face fool you.

Hockey Baby

This is our boy.

He doesn't just like hockey. He eats, breathes, sleeps, and dreams about hockey.

He may not be able to tie his own shoes yet, but he can name every team in the NHL and probably give you the scores of the last few games.

When he's not at hockey practice, he's playing hockey in our living room. He owns three hockey toques and has many pairs of hockey PJs. (Except for the Maple Leafs ones he got for Christmas that he refuses to wear.)

This morning I fed him breakfast and lunch in front of the TV where he sat wearing his lucky toque (that's the reason Canada won), his favorite hockey PJs, and holding his indoor hockey stick. FOR 3 HOURS. HE'S 6.

Of course, it WAS the Denmark/Canada game of the World Juniors. And apparently that's important. GEEZ, MOM.

Silly Wishes

Just a little free advice to parents of female up and comer tweens. DO NOT…I repeat, DO NOT allow them to write a Christmas wish list.

You see, well other little ten year old girls have visions of Bratz dolls and Nelly Furtado CD’s dancing in their heads, my little Shelby has:

Some kind of playstation or Nintendo thingamajiggy that is worth more than me having to sell one of her little kidneys. Yes, I am not above that.

A real live puppy. Yeah. Right. I hate dogs. She should’ve taken better care of the darn'd reptiles, Luigi, and Susan that I caught for her in summer. Now, THEY were cute.

Her very own website or e-mail address. HAHAHAHA….yeah, just so she can fall in web-love with a 60 year old naked/fat/hairy man from Utah who says he’s a 13 yr old boy named Logan who loves horses and High School Musical 2. He’ll then convince her to meet him at Chuckie Cheese. And then next thing you know, she’s got her very own picture on a milk carton. GAH….

A set of two-way radios or better yet…A CELL PHONE. It would be like a bad horror flick. Her and her BFF texting back and forth…”LIKE, OMG, hez SOSO HAWT”.

(excuse me whilst I go rinse the barf out of my mouth)

Luckily, she had a few other normal things like a CD/stereo system and some stupid Polly Pocket garbage. And that’s what she’s getting.

Barry and I are firm believers that raising your children modestly will teach them to grow up knowing the value of a dollar, and that materialism cannot buy love. So probably, we won’t need to sell vital organs or cancel our plans of purchasing a new Graham-mobile. We managed to keep our Christmas spending under our $500 limit and I must say, I’m darn’d proud.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on the list of our little Mr.G.I.Joe. I need a translator to understand all that Megatron and Laser Imperial Star Destroyer stuff.

Whatever happened to Barbie and Hot Wheels?

Ready, Set,... PLAY HOCKEY!!

Just when you thought the “hockey mom” was becoming an endangered species…..yes, that’s right. I am joining the official rankings of hockey mom’s everywhere!!! And I gotta admit… I’m a little excited.

I don’t really know anything about being a hockey mom, but I’m sure I’ll catch on quick.

From what I understand, I will learn to adapt to a new winter diet consisting of rink dogs, popcorn and diet coke. My son will learn to drink gallons of Gatorade.
I will also learn to bare my teeth at hockey moms of opposing teams as their wicked little tyrants body check or even snarl at my precious angel.
Apparently I will learn to make a 50 gazillion pound black CCM hockey bag look like a must-have fashion accessory…that is, if I learn to lift the damn thing…
I am busy making a check list of where all that equipment and other crap goes and whatever order it’s supposed to be in.
I pledge to become a road warrior, trekking across vast expanses of sleet, black ice or blizzards to get my little NHL wannabe to his destination battlegrounds!
I will learn to expand my vocal chords (and vocabulary) to deal with refs who dare put Mr. Handsome into a penalty box, or coaches who may bench him due to his ability.
I’ve seen that hockey moms tend to have longer necks to enhance their ability to see into each ice surface corner as well as expanded peripheral vision to catch any offsides. I hope to obtain these skills quickly.

And Hockey Dad has brainwashed both son and I that colour of uniform such as jerseys or heaven forbid - SOCKS!!, is important. IE – blue/white combo = VERY BAD. (Apparently Hockey Dad harbours ill feelings towards the Leafs – will look into therapy for him.)

I’ve also heard that sometimes, hopefully not in my case….hockey players tend to disown their hockey moms. I’m really not sure why. I shall adopt the “Can’t Happen to Me” attitude on this issue.


So wish me luck, internets! With Shelby in figure skating twice a week and Oscar embarking on hockey once a week, you can find me at the rink. I’ll be the crazy lady with the frozen butt and extra layer of winter blubber.

ISN'T HE THE CUTEST THING EVER?????

Innocence

Okay, I’m a fairly cool-to-the-hip mom. Or try to be. So when my daughter asks me questions about sex, gay marriage, baby birthing, and/or what to do when she’s kidnapped, I am usually pretty straight up with her. However, I am also smart enough to know that I should usually steer the conversation out of ear shot for my son.

So last night, Shelby is asking me questions about babies and uteruses and stuff while Oscar seems absolutely mesmerized in the latest episode of Zack and Cody. I figger he’s not paying attention so I yip and yap and sing praises about my most awesome uterus and how pregnancy usually works.

When suddenly, Oscar runs in and asks in a panic “Mommy! What happens if you get sick and need to barf? Will the baby barf up out of your mouth????”

Shelby fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. I stifled mine and replied “Oscar! What a good question!” And then I attempted to explain all the fixings of a uterus in 6 year old language. Satisfied, he went back to his little man’s soap opera to get tips on picking up grade 2 chicks.

These are the moments I truly live melt for. Like when we’re driving to Grand Forks past the sugar beet factory and Oscar looks up at the tall building blowing fumes everywhere and in his dreamy little voice says “Look Mommy, that’s where they make clouds!”

Masking Nutrition

So, tomorrow night is parent council meeting night. Which is fine. Except as usual, I have procrastinated and have no idea whatsoever what kind of hot lunch I will be presenting to our precious pupils for November.

Now here is the problem. School boards are outlawing all the main food groups like pop, chocolate and chips, and replacing them with the new age fad crap like 100% fruit juice, vitamin water and wood chips. Did I say wood chips?? I meant wheat crisps. And if y’all saw the Echo last week, it reported that the parent councils support and reflect this with THEIR choices. Ahemm….ha ha ha….

I’ve tried, people. Last couple years, I tried serving veggie platters, chicken wraps, and taco salad. I even tried to trick the little buggers by calling the veggie platter “a special picnic lunch!” They didn’t buy it. Not one bit.

The only successes I’ve had are with your good ol’ mac and cheese (I swear that stuff is radioactive), greasy pizza, anything that tastes similar to a fistful of sugar, chicken nuggets and fries. All of course, with globs of ketchup.

I need a healthy lunch idea that will have the parents and teachers oohing and aahing at my nourishment expertise whilst tricking their offspring into thinking it’s better than a fried KFC leg doused in chocolate ice cream.

I would love to go organic, free-range, hormone and antibiotic-free, but as I do not have dreadlocks or partake in the ganja, I think it’s best we start out simple.

So fellow internets – give me a solid idea. One that I will tout as my own and present it to the school board soldiers as they get enriched by my greatness.

Disclaimer: For those who STILL don’t get my sarcasm, I fully support and encourage healthy eating and am mostly aware that chocolate is not a food group.

99 Reasons my day sucked rocks

1. I was pretty much awake ALL night because my darling Barry snored like a dying hyena.

2. I realized I forgot a bunch of people to call or mail about skating registration tomorrow. I feel like a piece of unreliable cheese.

3. I went grocery shopping and bought 8 sorts of crap I didn’t need and nothing of the milk variety which was the reason I went in the first place!!

4. My house is so dirty and messy, I need a shovel fit for the friendly giant to clean it.

5. My poor best Dad fell down the ditch and broke his shoulder in two places and gave my poor best Mom a darn near coronary in her panic to rush out and save him. I feel sickly sad about this.

6. My fridge stinks.

7. I have meetings and what-have-yous every night this week and Barry is working late every day for what seems like the rest of his life. I like Barry.

8. Somebody told me that it’s too early to hang up Halloween decorations. That blasphemous heathen can go to heck. DO YOU HEAR ME??? TO HECK.
(I have a good mind to spitefully hang em up in August next year, because I’m aggressive like that.)

Yeah, so I’m not sure if that’s 99 or what, but remember, I didn’t sleep last night so messing up my counting abilities is allowed. I hate everything.

Goddess in my own right!

Yes, it’s true. I am domestically challenged.

I figured if you can roast a mean chicken and bake a cake from a box, you’re good.

But NOOOOOOOOO. Apparently the gods of great-grandmothers’everywhere, are on to me. Hanging out with the “other mothers” as I affectionately call them has brought up the rather embarrassing and WAY TOO FREAKING FREQUENT questions.

Them : So, what kind of yeast do you use for your whole wheat bread?

Me: Umm….Is that a Wonderbread product??

Them : Did you sew those curtains yourself?

Me : Yeah, and the flimsy purple power ranger costume that Oscar is wearing for Halloween this year is also my creation. Really. I made it with my Superstore machine!!

Them : What kind of canning did you do this year? Did you make peach jam?

Me : Screw off, Martha Stewart. I BUY my condiments. (K fine, I didn't actually SAY these answers but I angrily barked them inside my head.)

I don’t sew, make breathtaking crafts, or throw lavish parties with hors d’hoeuvres that don’t come out of a box in the freezer.

My meager garden has about 4 basic vegetables and sometimes the kids have to take Snak-Paks (shout out to snak-pak inventor!) to school.

Ideally, I’d like to be one of those mothers who grows all her own food, bakes her own bread, whilst gently nurturing her children in an environment of educational bliss. And the charming high heeled wife who naturally converses and chortles among her husbands business colleagues about the Dow Jones and Syria’s nuclear developments.

But not today. Or tomorrow. Sorry, my disappointed internets. It most probably won’t be happening.

However, I may switch from Dream Whip in a can to the powdered stuff. Just don’t push me!