clickmom

bloggy ideas all day long

Sunday I took Matt and Josh to the movies while the husband took Evan to a Giants game. Always on the lookout for blog fodder (and feeling just a bit of extra pressure to perform thanks to NaNaNooNoo) I supposed I could make a post out of falling fast asleep for about 3/4 of this movie, (Flushed Away) and reawakening for only the last 15 minutes, just in time to force a look of recognition back onto my face and walk the aisle on the way out and be able to pretend I had been conscious for the whole thing. Then I magnanimously woke up the other comatose woman who was alone with two kids when I realized that she was completely out cold, (complete with drool) not going to wake up on her own and her 4 year old twins were assessing the situation and considering leaving her behind. I redeemed myself there. My eyes were open when the credits began to roll.

Matt had gone his own way in the movie multiplex and had enjoyed the new Borat movie while I was snoozing beside Josh in animation hell. Sometimes Matt understands everything and amazes me with his adult grip on the world, but not today. He had trouble separating reality from the movie and didn't understand right away that only the Borat character was pretending and that all the other people really did feel the things they said. I suppose it is good that he had no idea that people could be so hateful. We are not hateful people. I felt like a bad Mom for letting him go alone, and now I have to go back with him so we can pick the movie apart together.

Then I thought that the post of the day could be about the family of three who sat in the next booth at Matt's favorite after movie spot Chilli's. The Dad did not utter a single word because he was playing his game boy the whole time, the mom talked on her wireless bluetooth headphones the whole time. The single 8 year old child colored the whole kids menu with out saying a word. When the mom finally got off the phone (just as they were paying) the first and only thing she said to the girl was "What video are you going to watch on the way home?" I am fuming now. OK, You know those public service announcements where they tell you your kids will be smarter if you eat with them? Uh, huh, well you have to acknowledge them too. And you know what people at the next booth? You can actually talk to each other in a restaurant as well as in a vehicle. Who knew? I know, I know. But yes, it is true. You can take off your headsets and turn off your electronics and not only can you speak to each other but you can look at each other. Try it sometime. Amazing, I know, you will be astounded at the great things that happen when you communicate. Like this, the kid might tell you something about herself, and you might even enjoy it. You'll never know until you try.

Then we got into the car to come home, and there was an Eddie Money song on the radio and Matt said "Eddie MONEY??? Is that like in the old days when they named you for your job like Johnny Appleseed??" And I started to laugh. And laugh. And tears were streaming down my face, and I actually had to pull over when I thought "How can I blog this?" because I was laughing so hard I couldn't see anymore. It was definitely the raisin effect. Then I wondered how I was going to explain to a cop why I was pulled over in a place you wouldn't normally pull over and I started to howl some more. Finally I had to think about Flushed Away so I could get that sleepy sad not funny at all feeling back and continue driving home. It worked too.

Now I am writing incredibly long blog posts because the other thing I have to do is work on my novel and my heroine seems very much like that pathetic and clueless self centered 14 year old we all discover we used to be when we read our old diaries, and she is starting to annoy me.

treat treat treat

When we took Devil Dog to the local dog training school, the philosophy was clear. Give the dog a treat, treat, treat every time they do what you ask them to do. Later on we were suposed to be able to wean the dogs off of the treat, treat, treat. Sometimes, after a long and difficult evening with the Devil Dog I have a little PTSD and can actually swear I hear the instructor saying "Good Dog, treat, treat, treat." in her animated goo goo baby dog voice. shudder. I pretty knew from the get go that this approach wasn't going to work for Devil Dog. Pretty much she was only going to do something if she wanted to do it and there would be no fooling her with a treat, treat, treat. Eventually the night before dog school became steak night in this house because if I brought a bag of chopped up steak and cheese to dog training school I had a slim chance of making the Devil Dog perform. I hated dog school.

Fast forward a year and a half and sure enough Devil Dog, who has the whole family wrapped around her dew claws, still expects a treat, treat, treat for doing all the routine things in life that we were supposed to be able to wean her off the treats for doing. Every night when we crate her we toss a treat in as we happily chirp "Crate time" because if we just say "Crate time" and have no treat action she will approach the crate, sniff the air for treat residue and give us the look which says "Not a chance I am going in there without my treat you big treat dispensers". So, we toss.

One of Devil Dogs other endearing traits is her unwillingness to enter the house without being bribed with a treat. When she didn't automatically come when we called her in from the yard, a well meaning friend with a well behaved dog suggested we say "Devil Dog want a treat?" and that way she would come. It worked like magic. Now the Devil Dog is old enough to ask, beg, scratch, and bark to go in or out by herself, and when she decides she wants to come back into the house she will bark or scratch and then stand at the open door until we offer up the treat, even though we haven't called her in and coming in is her own idea. Eventually she'll just relax into a sit or a lie and calmly wait us out. When she has the munchies she likes to go in and out a lot. It gets kind of old after a while so sometimes I leave the door open and try to ignore her for as long as possible. This would be fine if we lived in a temperate bug free climate, but we don't. Sometimes the icy air flowing over my naked toes is all I can take before I go berserk. Soon, we'll be trying to defend ourselves from all the mosquitoes. This is what the Devil Dog looks like as she settles down and waits for her treat treat treat.

STONES update

OK, so the "Meet the ROLLING STONES" party was last night. This is how boring my husband is. He got there at 9 when it started. He said that he himself was the most famous person in the room. At 10:45 Mick Jagger came in surrounded by security and seated himself in the corner of the room surrounded by security. No one got near him, at least no one got near him in the 15 minutes the husband was there for because he had already called a cab for 11, then promptly at 11 he left. Folks, he didn't even care.

He left without even seeing if he could get close to Mick, and god forbid have a photo taken, that I could hold over his head for every "You don't love me" argument we have from now until eternity. Jeez. The nerve. So, I figured I would doctor up a photo of some other office geek with Mick, but the husband didn't think any one brought a camera. He emailed one of his co-workers who replied that she thought one of her clients took some shots with a cell phone and got in trouble for doing so. What the hell kind of party was this? No cameras? Damn. I am getting no fun out of this.

Still mad he didn't ask me.

I am not meeting the rolling stones

Last week the husband informed me that because of a client he would be able to attend a party with THE ROLLING STONES. OMG! My sil interrupted with "Are spouses invited?" To which he answered, "No." hmmph. We never get to enjoy the meaningful perks. ~sob~

Well, the husband actually brought the party up because he was told that he had to dress in "STONES casual". This is really funny if you know the husband. He fought hard against casual Fridays and until recently owned only white shirts to wear with his dark gray suits. Crazy and adventurous dressing for him is a bright and bold tie. I told him he should get a black shirt and just wear it with any pants he wants. Black is good. This is not as simple as it seems, since the husband requires a big and tall store, he is of the tall, and, well the pickins is slim. First of all there are no B&T stores located near his office, second is that you never know what is in style at the B&T store, they have a style all their own.

Well, the husband didn't buy anything new to wear and this morning he asked me what I thought of the blue shirt he planned on wearing with his dark gray suit. Was it STONES casual? So, I did what any person would do, I told him he would look like a geek. Normally this is fine with me, since I go for the geeky type, but when meeting THE ROLLING STONES, one must try to transcend their geekiness, for just an evening. He said the other guys from the office were bound to dress like geeks too. I replied with doubt, and then, (Are you listening? Cause this is where it gets real bad-real fast) he said he knew there would be at least one other geek there cause he had an extra ticket and invited his friend Roy to join the party. Yes, my husband, the father of my 3 children invited Roy, his pal, To MEET THE ROLLING STONES, instead of ME, the one who has been faithfully married to him for 14 1/2 years.

Dear readers, what could I do? I was not on his short list of people he would like to invite to meet THE ROLLING STONES. I did the only thing I could do, I cried. Yes, the water works came, and I have been crying on and off all day. I feel like shit. My feelings are so hurt.

He tried to explain away his thoughtless actions with "It's at 9 oclock at night!" I said he was right and that I would much rather hang out with THE ROLLING STONES at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. BUT THAT'S NOT GONNA HAPPEN IS IT??

When he "apologizes" it is one of those fake apologies that do not actually take responsibility for the offending action. "I am sorry you are hurt." I'll sorry that hurt right up your big butt buddy. That doesn't count as an apology!!

He sent flowers, and you know what? All I want to do is run over them with the car....about 50 times. Why in the world would I want to look at a big ugly bouquet of flowers that I hate? Cause I think calling the florist and telling them to send flowers is not a sincere gift, cause he doesn't even know what kind of flowers I like, cause the smell of roses makes me want to puke and you know there are roses in there, cause every time he does something like this he sends flowers and comes home and says "That's what they sent? That's not attractive.", cause he calls the same exact florist to send the same exact unattractive rose bearing bouquet every time, AND MOSTLY cause I don't want to be reminded that the man I am obligated to spend the best years of my life with didn't even think to ask if I wanted to meet THE ROLLING STONES.

the mumbler

If there is one thing I hate it is mumblers. I am not talking about the kind of people who talk so low that they can not be heard. I am talking about the kind of people who say mean things under their breath and I always end up hearing them. In my experience mumblers only say mean things. I have yet to over hear any one ever mumbling anything like "She's fantastic." or "Great meal, how does she do it?"

Now, to be fair, I come from a long line of mumblers, my grandmother and mother both share that trait, and I am not among the most secure of gals, so when I encounter a new mumbler, I bring a fair amount of baggage with me in response to their insensitive remarks.

Enter Susan, the husband invited a work friend and his family to spend the day with us. They arrived at lunch time so I had prepared a feast for our two families to share. We ate out at the dock, so I used paper plates, but real cutlery. We all ate well, sat around chatting, and at the end of the meal decided to go for a boat ride. I said I had to clear the picnic table, so being guests with good manners, they all grabbed something and helped me move everything back into the house. While I reloaded the food stuff into the fridge, I heard Susan say "So wasteful, it's so wasteful." under her breath.

Being a host with good manners, I didn't spin around and start screaming at her, but really, give me a freaking break! I so totally wanted to hurt her. I wanted to ram her head into the floor repeatedly while screaming "Get the freak over yourself, Miss High and Mighty!" She looked pretty weak, I thought I could definitely take her. (Baggage remember?) I assumed she was talking about the use of paper products, since I was saving all the food, but truthfully don't know.

Back to hurting her, HOW DARE SHE? Rude, rude, rude. Even if that slut ho was thinking it, why not just keep it to her skanky self? Am I right? I mean, I didn't hear her say "No" to the special veggie burgers I purchased just for her? They were served on paper plates. She never once asked for a glass instead of paper while sucking up all of the husbands diet coke. (Which incidentally, came in a wasteful plastic two liter bottle)

Notice to any good friends and close family members: If I become a mumbler in my advanced age, just grab the rifle and take me down, it is just not who I want to be.

road rage

There is a good reason I do not own a gun. I do not own a gun because I would use a gun if I owned a gun. A perfect example of someone I would like to use a gun on is the A**hole, who just had to cut in front of me yesterday on the Bruckner expressway. He couldn't cut in behind me, or in front of the vehicle in front of me, the one I was following, he had to cut in between me and the vehicle I was following. Did he use his signals? No. He just started to wander sideways towards my vehicle, so I gave him a little "Hey, hey, my vehicle is already in this spot" honk. Then he kept coming, so I gave him the "I am not getting out of your way buddy." honk. He turned around and gave me a sneer that I am sure makes him a total psychopath, and he jerked his wheel towards my lane, forcing his crappy tin box against my massive truck, scraping the side of his beat up old Acura with Delaware plates (Yes, I have them written down) with the corner of my brand new front fender! Yes, Sylvia has been battered again. She has been mine for a short month and has withstood not one but two assualts.

Well, this A**hole just drives on and on as if he didn't do anything, and I continue to drive on and on behind him seething with a venom that is beyond description, fantasing about what I'd like to do with him, yet knowing he is a sick and dangerous man, and I can't do anything crazy because not only do I have my 3 children in the car who are blissfully unaware of what is going on, but my 6 year old nephew is in there with us too. They are all thankfully plugged in to the DVD system watching Pee Wee's Big Adventure (after wordlessly watching the whole movie they would declare it the worst movie ever) and haven't experienced the horrid new car metal scraping noise or my incessant curing that followed.

And that is why I do not own a gun. I would have totally blew this guys brains out on the spot. That being said, if you own a gun, are willing to defend my honor and happen to recognize him in your journeys....(kidding!)

my sad, angry, disappointed day

I am having a day where if I talk I cry. I am just so sad today. The four major reasons are:

1. First I find out that Evan’s teacher isn’t being rehired for next year because a couple of mothers have been complaining about her. I know one of them is, diplomatically speaking, crackers. The woman is total bat-shit, and her kid is looney tunes. Evan comes home every day with a list of all the inappropriate things this child has said and done. He hates kids that can’t behave, and I’m going to put myself out there and say that “inclusion” is not always the best choice. Evan’s teacher is a real doll, and a great teacher. The issue is with the kid, and the principal will surely see that next year, when he is with another teacher, and Mrs. Bat-shit- crackers-for-brains comes in with the same complaints. So, this makes me sad, cause Evan’s teacher was crying, and I was crying, and I even went and wrote a letter to the principal letting him know how I feel. She was really a good teacher.

2. This morning I had to photograph a funeral for a local guy, who was too young to die (in his 60’s), a life long resident, and politically active, very well loved. As if that was not bad enough the “photographer” (I am totally being nice by calling her that) from the paper that competes with my paper was there and she kept following me around practically taking photos over my shoulder. GRRRRR.... She knows I am a better photographer than her, and always teases me about working for the NY Times, and one day I am totally going to elbow her if she doesn’t quit trying to get the same shot as me!!

3. Then, I get a letter from the kids pediatrician saying that he is moving to a remote part of Hawaii so that he can participate more in his kids lives. (Just can’t make this shit up!) While this is a great thing for his kids, it totally sucks for me, because I have ISSUES with doctors and can not imagine trusting anyone as much as I trust him, I mean, I would totally do what ever he said because he is as WEIRD and smart at the same time as I am, and people like me just don’t come around very often, and now I may have to untangle this web of deceit I have spun for myself, brave a new frontier, and take the road less traveled, even though I can’t imagine loving or trusting any other doctor as much as I do him. Boo Hoo.

4. I have to photograph HS graduation tonight, and the kids favorite baby sitter is graduating and going away to college and that means , no more baby sitting. I could be more enthusiastic about going to this graduation.

Even this fabulous photo of another patriotic butt cannot get me to smile tonight, but I thought I’d share it with you anyway.

sometimes I can't speak

I have a different parenting style from my SIL. I held and loved my kids every minute of the day. She believes hers should be independent. Today she told me HER 8 MONTH OLD WAS MANIPULATIVE. I said I didn't think an 8 month old could be maipulative. She said her daughter WAILS when she leaves the room and then stops when she reenters the room. She interprets this as manipulative. My heart just dropped for that poor baby. I thought about explaining to my SIL about object permanence and how her baby thinks she no longer exists when she can't see her, but I knew there was no use. My SIL won't ask me for advice and already thinks I am judgemental of her. She thinks she has all the answers, just like I think I have all the answers. I just swallowed my words, shed a tear for my niece and wondered whatever was so bad in my SIL's life that she refuses to allow her own kids to need her.

Now I am pissed.

I love to check my stats. I love to see who searched what on ggogle to get to my site, and then I look at their site, and people are putting MY PHOTOS on their sites, without ever asking for my permission!!!!!!! That pisses me off more than the perverts who keep logging on after googling "naked girls basketball". Go away LOSERS!

I'll take the quaalude card.

In the elementary school here they give the kids Gold Cards as a reward for good behavior. Poor behavior is supposed to get a gray card on the first warning and dastardly behavior gets a red card, which means the parents have to come meet with the principal. I think this system just sucks. It goes against everything I try to teach my kids which is in a nut shell- WE TAKE THE HIGH ROAD, DO THE RIGHT THING BECAUSE IT IS THE RIGHT AND MORAL THING TO DO, WE ARE GOOD PEOPLE WHO DO GOOD THINGS. No reward involved. After all the reverse is true as well. We don’t want our kids to abstain from murdering folks just to stay out of jail. We want them to grow up and not become homicidal.

Evan, who is naturally helpful and sweet, never gets recognized, and I try to make him believe that it is because he is so wonderful that teachers take his good behavior for granted. Yet, day after day he comes home with tales of helpfulness that would make an Eagle Scout look like a slacker, all in an attempt to get the teachers attention and earn the elusive Gold Card. I know he is helpful other times because parents approach me to tell me tales of kind gestures that they have witnessed or heard of, and girls parents often tell me that he is the only boy that their daughters think is nice.

Lately Evan has been saying that each child in the class has to earn one Gold Card by the end of the month and now that someone is paying attention to him, he has taken home two in the past week. I said “Good Job! Way To Go! High Five!” But what I meant was, “Oh I want to get up and dance a jig, they finally noticed you.” (Can yo sense the sarcasm in there?)

So, I have come up with some cards to motivate the teachers with.

Slime Card- for the teacher who is slow as a snail and dismisses the kids 5 minutes late EVERY DAY.

Caffeine Card- for the teacher with so little personality the kids fall asleep in class.

Quaalude Card -for the teacher who throws desks. (every school has one if you don’t think yours does just ask around)

Rose Colored Glasses Card -for the burnt out teacher who either hates boys or girls, but has a rep for being a good teacher for the preferred gender only.

Retirement Card- for the one who needs to go.

Reality Card- for the unmarried, childless teacher who is adversarial towards parents and think she has all the answers, we hate her!

Paycheck Card- for teachers who can teach, leave kids emotionally intact, and keep parents in their good graces.
Have an idea for a good Card? Suggestions welcome.