It’s Monday. I struggle to form a coherent thought on Mondays. So, since last week was busy with the Stinkerbelle Birthday Extravaganza, and I could not post on Friday, let me bring you up to speed on my latest failing.
- Acclimatization FAIL: It’s windy and humid like whoa here. Like, the wind is gusting hard enough that the house is shuddering like a never-ending series of teeny tiny earthquakes. It’s like a really bad storm, without the rain. Or the thunder and lightning. And if it were sunny. OKAY SO IT’S ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, ENTIRELY UNLIKE A STORM. Anyway. MY POINT, AND I DO HAVE ONE, is that it’s humid like crazy. We’re not supposed to get the humidity until, what, June? And, I have decided I am completely unprepared for the miseries of summer. Two words: BOOB SWEAT.
- Redirection FAIL: So, it’s windy, yeah? The house is shaking, yeah? And what is my kid doing? SHE’S LOOKING IN THE TOILET. Because she noticed the water moving from the house shuddering. So, then we had this conversation. Me: “Why don’t we go upstairs and you can paint? Or maybe play with your lego? ” That Girl: “No, I’m just going to stay here and watch the toilet.”
- Temperature control FAIL: We went out for lunch with Janna and Andrew (HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREW! *waves*) yesterday. It was lovely and relaxed. I ordered this incredibly good beef vindaloo that I fell into culinary love with on a previous trip to this same restaurant. It’s hot, but that is not a bad thing in my books. I like hot. However, yesterday was also humid (although there was actual RAIN). And beyond that, I had a beer. Beyond that still? Do you know what happens when you combine these things? Humidity + alcohol + spicy Indian-inspired food + a perimenopausal woman? I’ll tell you. I pretty near became THE HUMAN TORCH, right there in the middle of the restaurant.
- Pet ownership FAIL: Our fuzzball timid old kitty, Cinnamon, who is afraid of everything, even dust motes and a breeze and her shadow and just the thought of strangers, has been hiding in the basement basically since Stinkerbelle came home. She’s a ‘fraidy cat. It’s who she is. But lately, as she is getting older, I have been forcibly bringing her up to socialize with us when it is quiet or when she can be alone with me. And, I have noticed, she is starting to groom herself less and less, as old kitties are wont to do. And her fur is becoming very matted. So, I try ever so gently to brush out some of the mats. She tries to tolerate it and be patient, but she’s not having much of it, I can tell you. So mostly, I end up covered in a fine layer of Cinnafuzz, she trots off with maybe a fraction of a mat brushed out, and by the time I manage to find the quiet time to give her some attention again, she’s got a couple more mats. I think she, the brush, some antihistamines, and myself are going to have to do hard time in a closed room sometime soon. Else we’re going to have to start calling her Ziggy or Rastacat or something.
- Quality parenting FAIL: So, my daughter went to a birthday party the other evening. It ran from 6 to 7:30, which is just shortly before Stinkerbelle goes to bed. This party was at the local Little Gym, and it was CHAOS. My kid came out of there as hopped up on activity, excitement, and processed snack food as it is possible for a small child to be, armed with a loot bag that contained a water bottle chock full of jelly beans and skittles and gummy creatures of all descriptions. But she had fun, and the birthday girl is one of her favourite friends from school, so we thought meh, no bigs. However, because of the timing of said party, she did not get supper beforehand. So, although it was bedtime, we kept her up to have something of substance to eat. OKAY IT WAS A PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH DONT YOU JUDGE ME. Anyway, we put on the new Muppet movie, sat down with a little supper, and we had some quiet time. It took her awhile to wind down, so it was about 9:30 PM before she was actually off to bed. Then there was the usual bedtime shenanigans, a pooty call, some faffing about… Girlfriend didn’t get to sleep until close to 10:30. WHOOPS. And then? To cap the evening of stellar parenting? I ate some of her loot bag candy before I tossed it the rest in the trash.