Infestation

Non-stereotypically of girls, I don't mind bugs. Bugs who bother me – eat my food or my person or that of my family & friends, or hang out in our immediate space – must die. It's simple. But they generally don't creep me out^[1].

That was before lice. The other day I found a creepy crawly in The Boy's hair. And I lost my shit. It's been four days now and it hasn't found its way back.

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It seems like I'm now in this exclusive club that includes, oh I don't know, EVERYONE! My casual discussions this week:

"Oh yeah, we were sitting eating breakfast and I saw this bug dart out of her hairline on her forehead"

WHAT WHAT WHAAAAT???

"He said 'Mom, my head itches' and he hadn't had a shower for a few days so I scrubbed his scalp extra and when he got out he said 'MOOOOM it still itches!' so I checked him closer and yeah, he was crawling with them"

HOW DID YOU NOT BURN YOUR OWN HOUSE DOWN???

"She must have got it from a new hat I let her wear without washing it. She was crawling with them"

NOW *I* WANT TO BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN!!! AND MINE!!!

Rational thought eventually kind of took over with the realization that washing every single washable item in the house seventeen-thousand times is STILL EASIER TO MANAGE than rebuilding with null-and-void insurance and a jail-term for arson (full disclosure: Max hid all the flammable implements).

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I understand that it has nothing to do with your cleanliness, or tidiness or how good or not good your parenting is. Believe me I understand this. With the nearly monthly letters sent home saying "someone in your child's class has lice, blah blah blah" they really try to hammer that home (rightly so). Besides, if it DID have anything to do with my ability as a housekeeper, I would have had lice since – oh, I don't know, my early 20s. But that doesn't keep me feeling like a filthy hobo (and not the sexy kind, that the gentlemen seem to find so endearing); OR my family from treating each other like lepers.

All told, I think it was caught extremely early. The cases above are more likely what would have happened if there hadn't been a miraculous fluke of me inspecting Stewie's scalp, as he'd been having some seborrhoea (what's called "cradle cap" in babies – also gross, but y'know, not a MOTHERFUCKINGPARASITE). [Aside: I now have a rock-steady handle on the scalp-health of everyone in this family.]

I bought the treatment (cornered and grilled the pharmacist for about half an hour) and applied it, then decided to go a little more CSI on everyone else. Norah turned up positive. Max & Pepper are negative (so far). Myself? It took the awesome nerd-slinging power of the microscope^[2] to overwhelm my denial with scientific proof, so I've been treated too. (He climbed into bed in the morning before I found them. The little bastard is so snugly! And he still says "I wuff you, Mummy")

We'll treat again, as directed: 7 days after first treatment. And, by all accounts, about six to eight weeks from the "all clear", I might slow the meticulous checks down to every other day. Until then, I toy with the idea of shaving my head, but I can't seem to find any sharp implements, either…

^[1] Don't test that, I said "generally"

^[2] What, you don't have a microscope in your home? Get off the internet & don't try and call yourself a nerd until you've rectified the situation. Electron not necessary.

Live Tweeting the spectacle:

Found head lice on The Boy. From what I've read, for the amount of bugs I now feel crawling all over me, I'd expect to be way higher.

Lice: I mean, it's not like the bed didn't need vacuuming anyway, right? RIGHT?

Bad: Kid-with-brush-cut having lice. Worse: Kid-with-long-hair-who-hates-brushing-it-like-ever confirmed. Better: 3 of us remain pure.

Also: motherfucking headache.

Also: hot water tank (which was never really resolved) acting up. KIND OF NEED HOT WATER TO KILL IT ALL.

Did I mention motherfucking headache?

New challenge: keep lice-free kid from picking through the head of infested one.

I really should have read through fine-print of the EULA for Parenting. Instead, we were all "oooo babies are soooooo cute!" [ACCEPT]

Are lice treatments tax-deductible? How about the booze treatments? You know. For me.

OH: "don't threaten your sister with your head". OK, it was me. I've just gone to my happy-place & am laughing at everything I'm watching.

OMG!!! This changes everything: "Stop [current offensive behavior] or you'll catch lice from your brother". How long can I pull this off?

If 10 yrs ago you had told me I'd be vacuuming pillows at midnight, I'd have said "who the hell are you?"

Also: "maybe you could foretell something a little more useful? Like what kind of car I'll be driving?"

Parenting... It's All About Communication

I yell: "STAND STILL SO I CAN TAKE YOUR PICTURE!":



I whisper: "chocolate chips":

(Actually, everything in all of life is all about communication, but that's a topic for a different post. One filed under "d'uh".)

The Volcano

For as long as I can remember, I've eaten my mashed potatoes by piling them up, carving a little hole in them and filling the hole up with gravy. It just makes sense. This way, you get maximum efficient use of your plate (especially important in buffet situations) with minimum risk of gravy infiltration to other food – just gross (half of you are now sitting there nodding "oh, that's just obvious"; the other three are face-palming "WTF? You are bent lady!" that second half of you can just bite me)

Growing up, my family mostly ignored accepted this. I have received some blank stares and probably some rolled eyes when I wasn't looking. Mostly, just "oh, that Harmzie – has to make her little mashed potato volcano!" They openly mock me (NB: this is just regular, every day, normal family interaction - it's why I have the stomach for the Internet) – albeit quietly – but I'm certain they realize the genius of my arrangement as I see them Easter, Thanksgiving & Christmas dinner after Easter, Thanksgiving & Christmas dinner, their little piles of mashed potatoes sporting increasingly larger divots in their tops. They make sure their gravy runs over so it doesn't look like they did it on purpose, but I'm watching...

My girls noticed this early in their mashed potato consumerism phases. Not having the years of family politics and baggage to impede them, they quickly embraced the brilliance of The Volcano. Mashed potatoes are one of their favourite and most highly anticipated foods in the dinner cycle. Sadly, Stewie will not eat mashed potatoes, even with the entertainment they bring to the table [snort].

Usually, they are content with piling the potatoes, smooshing out the hole and watching the gravy fill the void until it *just* runs over the edge – the smaller the trickle, the better (this whole issue may actually be the reason Pepper did her volcano project last spring). The other night though, things were a little more... interesting.

I had built the perfect volcanoes for each of them. I mean, textbook. One tiny stream of lava running down a craggy mountain face. Pepper took her fork (she used a fork! I'm so proud) and grabbed a tiny blob of potatoes and put it smack in the lava's path.

"Oh no! The lava is heading right for the city!"

Norah quickly followed, noting a city in her lava stream. "Oh... they're toast"

Pepper was madly trying to save her city by redirecting lava flows. I noted her city was right on the edge of her plate. "You know," I commented, "as the chief engineer, if any lava gets on the table, YOU'RE the one responsible – and in big trouble." She looked at me blankly. "You can *direct* your lava flows. Do you see how your sister's city is toward the middle of her plate?" More blank. "Don't get gravy on the table!"

Norah had moved on. "Look Pepper, my volcano has exploded, taken out the city and is now a delicious lava and ash tornado"

Throughout all of this – including the naming of Mount Potato, Mount Chick(en), Mount Bean (we had green beans, too), plus a dozen more including Mount Norah, Mount Pepper, Mount Stewie, as well as each of their friends on our street AND in school... AND several other food varieties we were not having that night... – Stewie was watching intently while gnawing on his drumstick – the only thing from this delicious and entertaining supper to pass his lips. At one point, he stood in his chair and announced that he would have some mashed potatoes too, but that he didn't want to eat them. Before I had a chance to shoot him down in a fiery ball of momtastic you-can't-have-food-JUST-to-play-with-it, BOTH Pepper and Norah chimed in with a matter-of-fact "No, you can`t just play with a volcano, you have to eat it too"

"Oh," he replied, and sat back down, continuing to watch & gnaw on his drumstick.

And I just wrote an entire post about mashed potatoes.

"I'm just gonna do this, and if your leg gets in the way, it's your own fault"

My girls were exactly what I thought little boys were like. Then my boy showed up and has been exactly what I thought the cross between a poltergeist (the destructive spectre, not creepy movie version); that hungry weasel that regularly slurps up and down Foghorn Leghorn's drumstick; and a pinball machine on multi-ball would be. It's like he's instantly everywhere with Destructive Intent. He doesn't go anywhere where he's not starting off the conversation swinging.

After teaching each of our two "creative" and "active" daughters for two years each, we brought our son in to Mrs G, the Nursery School / Kindergarten Teacher (that is not a short-form, or an alias, everyone actually calls her Mrs G). We said "Here! CYA" and ran. Cue "ricochet" sound, and maniacal laughter for two as we tore down the hall.

She's got two years to fix him.

Tonight, I observed the following in the kitchen:

#1 engaging in bear-hug-like embrace of #2, such that both were collapsing to the ground, with #3 taking full advantage of by kidney-punching them both all the way down. All were laughing (you know, until they're not)

She's got a bit of a tough nut to crack, but I'm sure that there's no connection to the fact that she's retiring next year.

You say it’s your birfday…

(This conversation took place in July. I'm a yiddle bit disappointed that it didn't play out the way he planned it. That would have been awesome.)

"I'm going to wap up a pwesant for you, Mommy when it's your birfday"

"Yeah? I like presents from my boy!"

"I'm going to wap up a wine machine for your birfday"

"That sounds like a great present"

"It's a yiddle bit different"

"Oh?

"It's wed. You put wine seeds in it and turn the handle and wine comes out. You have to put fwayver [flavour] in it too. It tastes a yiddle bit weird

"You know what else I'll get you for your birfday? A Hot Wheels screamer machine!"

"A what?"

"You have to put Hot Wheels cars in it and it turns into a green gun! It's a green skrisher gun. It helps to skrish everything.

"How does that sound? (Say 'petakwar')"

"Spectacular!"

"Yeah."

Back to Nature (there's dirt there, I swear)

Time for an update on the outside world. Stewie saw me going outside with the camera, so he took over first:



[take special note here Wylie, that red stuff in the background is the bergamot we were discussing early in the season]

And then I wrestled the camera from his hands and got him to sit still (you can't see it here, but I put velcro on his butt):

Four

I thought Norah was Gigantor, and then Pepper was my delicate little princess at 7 lb 7 oz. Stewie brought along yet another anecdote to put in the file labelled "THERE ARE NO PATTERNS, STUPID", weighing in at 9 lb 3.5 oz (evidence to the left)

This was the first time, of all three that at the exact moment of birth I uttered "thank GAWD that's out of me". There may or may not have been expletives.

Also: "Hey look! A boy!", as we were rather expecting a girl. For no other reason than, um, patterns. With three kids & two engineers - constantly looking for patterns, don't you know - the file is getting full.

He was born ON his due date, making him a "ten-percenter".

One year later...

And additional three...

He wants hot-dogs for supper. And Shark-bite bay Trick-Trax for a present. I have no idea what that is, but we can do hot-dogs.


Mostly, I include this one as it's a good depiction of those *freakish* eyelashes. You know, the ones girls pay thousands of dollars to have implanted.

Happy Birthday, Boy!

Oh, Baby!

Oh, yeah. They totally want one.

The Boy is a little more "uh, yeah, there's only room for ONE baby in this house, muthafukka" The smile is totally fake.

[Thanks to our special friends, BA Berg & Co for supplying the beautiful little prop - and causing me just a teensy bit of "just one more!!" Just a teensy bit. It went away. They have two boys also, one two weeks apart from Stewie, the other two years older. They came for brunch last week]

So what do YOU want that mom says "FUCK, NO!" to?

I hate horses

...because every time I see them I fall in love with them all over again, and I want to have them again. And that sucks because I can afford neither the time, nor the energy, nor, of course, the money to venture down that road.

We were out at a family friend's farm for grandpa's birthday party and they had a two-week-old colt named Thunder.

"Hello, giant nose!"

Unrelated to horses, but: Harmzie & the BILs (and, well, Max, because he's not my BIL). They made a whirlwind trip in from Calgary for the occasion.

More Vaseline

This is my Mothers' Day post.

This photo was taken by either Pepper or Stewie (I can't recall which because it was a little while ago, but I'm thinking Stewie, just because he grabs the camera more often).

I "doctored" it (I say this to preempt someone commenting "shopped!") because I thought "hey, the jacket & plates are already black, the wall and shirt are already white. Maybe if I B&W it, no one will notice the blue undertones of my skin." Except now I've told you. So you can just imagine me belonging in an early version of Star Trek (there's NO way I'd fall for Jim though. Gimme a break. Spock.)

My main point is: the kids need to learn to use the soft-focus more.

...Summer...?

...is that you?

Wowzers. You sure took your sweet effin time this year. Assuming this is you, of course.

Max & I were yesterday negotiating the day's chauffeuring duties - two dance classes for "picture day" [which only meant that there was extra fruffing to do just prior, and of course for some reason, having two girls in no way commits a man to know anything about putting in a pony tail. In fact, neither of us know how to do a French braid, but for some reason I am the one who needs to learn how to]

I said that I had a whole bunch of plants to put in the ground, as we received them from the girls' school on May 5th and they weren't doing very well in the dining room. We had lost several already.

He said "you're going to risk it out there?" I said "it's actually the frost day today" (May 23 is the statistical day when you can expect that there will be no more overnights below zero around here). He laughed at me. I responded that while, yes, the "summer" weather might be another bluff, they were probably better off taking their chances "out there" than with me. There was no more discussion on the point.

So yesterday and today were beautiful. I don't know the actual temperature, but I didn't have to wear three coats (fleece jackets, come on). I planned & planted & moved some stuff around. I checked the tags for height & spread (I always plant things way closer to each other than they say to, but I like to know how badly I'm breaking the rules) & dug stuff in. unfortunately, it still looks like a cluster-fuck. But it's another in the long list of things that I love to do and would be very good at if I would bother to focus any energy on them, but I don't so I suck at them but I still enjoy doing them.

So, remember the beach party? Well today we were finally able to take it out doors.

Giving the whined/begged options of:
(a) Super Soakers [I'd probably get wet - I hate getting wet];
(b) Blow up the pool [Hella-effort, minimal payoff. Also, I'd have to stand there the whole time, because of the, y'know, five inches of DEATH sitting there in the yard and all];
(c) Sprinkler [I'd definitely get wet, because I was trying to work there]
I chose (a), because I could make them all (army of neighbour kids involved too) go & have their Epic Battle on someone else's lawn. OUR yard would be the "neutral zone" (for refilling - brilliant, eh?)

My favourite thing I yelled out? "You can't have a water-gun battle and then complain about getting wet!" It wasn't to any of my kids, but it could have been.

And then the requisite sun-bathing afterwards. Please ignore the brown patches in the "lawn". We're working on that. Not very hard, but we're working.

Also? Tulips need Super Soaking. It's a known fact.

[I had a lovely shot of Pepper lounging on her beach blanket. Somewhere in editing this, it got eaten. The replacement is all the way downstairs. By the pose she was striking, it only really shows how much of a handful she will soon become & I don't need any more reminders of that than I already have]

Hair Redemption - Part III

We all know Einstein's* definition of insanity:

"Repeating the same actions and expecting different results"

Now, I don't want to put my son in the same category as Einstein or anything, but it appears that he (Stewie) considered Mr Einstein's postulation for a moment & concluded: "Pussy"

Here's The Boy's twisted little corollary:

"I think any sane or not sane person can keep trying the same things over and over again. What if I were to reverse the polarity on this issue? Say she's trying the same thing over and over again, and I provide vastly different results each time? Could that make her bat-shit-stupid crazy?

"Hmm...Let's try it and see!"

What's the best time to try? Why, bed-time of course!

Mom: "Let's go brush your teeth"

Stewie: "No"

M [been through this song & dance. Best not to force it]: "OK, well the stool isn't in the bathroom. I think it's in the kitchen. Can you go get it or do you want me to?" [You see - old parenting trick: give choices. PLUS ignore the defiance & proceed - brilliant strategery. I've got three, you know.]

S: "NO" [wait, the change-up is coming]

M: "Ok, I'll get it" [walks to kitchen, reaches for stool]

S: "NOOOOO!!! I want to get it"

M [remaining calm, of course]: "OK! here you go. Grab it."

S [stopping in his tracks]: "NOOOOOOO!!! YOU get it."

M [Reaching for it. Starting to regret teaching him to speak. Also wondering why it's OK to strap them into highchairs, and have them fall asleep, but NOT OK to just strap them into their beds... I've never done this. Just wondered excessively about it.]

S: "NOOOOOOOO!!! I'LL DO IT!"

And here's where it got nutty (Nope. Not before). Because he took the stool picked it up & stood there demanding that I take it. But wouldn't let me take it. Ten minutes later, I stabbed a pillow with a letter opener.

And this, dear children, is why Mommy drinks. And "highlights" her hair.

*Well, according to net-lore it's his. I have never actually heard (nor sought out) the context in which he may or may not have said that. It makes more sense to me that it was something that Dilbert said, and said that Einstein said and it stuck. But for the purposes of this discussion - and associating my son with Einstein - we'll assume the net-lore nailed it.

Pizza Car

I tucked Pepper & Stewie into bed this evening. The lights were out, as I had instructed them to just run from my room & jump into bed. As I was kissing Pepper goodnight and having our goodnight chat, Stewie found not one but two HotWheels cars amongst his blankets. Being dark, he wanted the lights on so he could find out what colours they were. I said no, it was bed time. Surprise, surprise, no meltdown!

So I sat down on his bed for his turn to chat.

He said: "This is a pizza car"

Me: "Really? Is it because it delivers the pizza" [I'm ALL over what the cool kids are into these days]

S: --- [blank stare - It is dark, but I can tell]

Me: "Is it because it is pizza coloured?"

S: "What the fuck, mom? Have you really become so nailed down in your button-down little grown-up world that you can't stretch your mind beyond 'pizza delivery' and 'pizza-coloured'? I mean what the HELL is pizza coloured, anyway?"

Me: "Well I uh, was thinking maybe, uh multi-um-coloured or ... something ..."

S: "oooo... busted your creativity cortex on that one, didn't you? Seriously, are you so tightly crammed into the world of Geotechnical Reports, Briefing Notes, Administrative Directives, and Filling the Fucking Gas Tank that you can't crawl out at take a sniff of fresh air?"

Me: "Hmm... yes, well, um. So, why DO you call it a pizza car?"

S: "Betause it eats pizza! Can I have my cowd bwanket now?"

Me: "Sure sweetie, here you go. Goodnight! I love you!"

S: "Doodnight Mommy. I wuv you too!"

"Press Any Key to Continue..."

Have you ever been on your computer so long that your brain starts to try & apply some of the actions in the (more) physical world?

I have. Non-specifically, for example puttering around somewhere, like the kitchen and making a mistake like dumping too much flour in the bowl and my brain will say: "click undo" and the other part of my brain says "WTF?" and the first part says "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. You're screwed."

Tonight, Stewie noticed a HotWheels car under the wire baker's rack in the kitchen (I don't have a photo, and don't feel like taking one just to ask you to rate it. I'm not always in for the cheapie). He lay down on his stomach & tried to reach it but it was too far back, so he asked me to get it. As I was getting a chopstick, he started chanting...

"Press Space-bar to Reach"

Time to cut back on the hotwheels.com...