the fosters

Okay, let's talk about foster kids. Why? Because I said so. Foster kids kill me. I fret about "who we're gonna get" until I have the trots. And then we "get them" and it's like "oh, this isn't so bad" and then they start to settle in and I'm like "whoa, nelly. This business be crazy, yo."

Seriously though, they are great kids. Ten and thirteen year old brothers who have to share a room at my house, which apparently is the "worst thing evah" for the ten year old. 

Excuse me, sir. I have to share a room so why shouldn't you??

So, I've been pondering their nick names for the purposes of this here blog. It's obvious the little one will be forever known as Chill because never, in the history of relaxed people, has there been a more chill dude. In fact, sometimes he's so chill I wonder if he's still breathing. 

And then there is the big one. A brand new teenager. And man oh man, can this dude talk. He talks and talks and talks and when he's not talking I have to check if he's still breathing.  Because geez Louise, surely when you talk that much, and then stop talking, its because you are not breathing. 

So then I get the trots from checking everyone's pulse all the time. 

But, he hasn't talked himself to death yet. I do declare, though, he's working on it. 

And everything he says starts with, "What happens if..."

Him: what happens if I eat this?

Me: ummm, your tummy gets full??

Him: what happens if that guy falls?

Me: ummm, he might get hurt??

Him: what happens if....

Me: for the love!!! Nothing!! Nothing happens! The world still spins. The sun still shines. Life goes on, buddy. It's okay. 

We shall call him ChitChat. Because, mercy, the chitchatting. 

So, there you have it. A brief introduction to the two human beings who have flown into my life and given me the endless trots. 

My poor nerves. 

In conclusion, here is a convo I had with ChitChat about the necessity of diet Pepsi.

ChitChat: why do you drink so much diet Pepsi?

Me: the same reason you breathe so much air. 

ChitChat: I breathe air so I can live. 

Me: yep. 

the foulest confession

I'm just going to say it. As awful as it may sound. As horrible as you might think I am. As ungrateful as it may sound. 

I'm just going to say it. I can't wait for September. 

There, I said it. 

I love my kids. I really do. And these foster kids who have hit their one month mark? I really really like them too. But the combination of my kids and these great foster kids is a cacophony of LOUD LOUD LOUD voices. This might be the loudest gaggle of kids in the history of gaggly kids. 

And there are reasons the noise is not sitting so well with me. But that's not the point. The point is the talking. There is endless talking. And between one 15 year old, two 13 year olds, two 10 years olds and a very enthusiastic 7 year old there is no end to the talking. 

Please, is it not possible to enjoy each other's company without all the loud chit chat? I mean, I think it's possible but the children strenuously object. 

Strenuously object? Yes, it is possible to strenuously object. And they do. Oh, trust me, they do!

Now I'm in the mood for some Tom Cruise and Demi Moore. Great...

Moving on. The children have passionately taken to a new driving game. I really enjoy it. And by that I mean I despise it with every fibre of my being. It goes a little something like this:

Child: Look, it's a Honda. No wait, Dodge. 

Another child: Hey look! It's a Dodge. Oh, nope, that's a Suburu. 

And still yet, another child: TOYOTA!!

Other child: yep! Good job. I hate Toyotas. HONDA!

Another child: no, that's a Lamborghini. 

Previous child: huh? No! That's a Honda! As if you saw a Lamborghini. Where did you see a Lamborghini? 

Other previous child: back there, you idiot. Geez, we're driving, the cars are moving. Idiot. 

Me: we don't say idiot in our family. 

Silence. 

Original child: VOLKSWAGON!!!!

Another child: FORD!!!! 

And still yet, another child: DODGE!! Wait, no, what is that?

Know-it-all child: It's a Suburu. 

Previous child: what's a Suburu anyway?

Know-it-all child: it's a car. Idiot. An ugly car. 

Me: hey!! What did I say about saying idiot?!?! 

Silence. 

Original child: HONDA!!!

So.....without further explanation or justification of my feelings, let's reiterate. 

I can't wait for September. 

it's still 3:30

For some bizarre reason, the idea of blogging has become completely daunting to me. I don't think I can do it, which is weird because I have been doing it for three years, with little to no effort.

I do believe they call this the inner workings of one's mind. My inner workings can sometimes be mean and confusing and lead me to believe I am not capable. Of anything. Plus, it's July. It seems every July I go through something where survival with all the children home from school becomes the number one priority, everything else withers away and almost dies.

Like the clean house. Where is the clean house?

So anyway, I just got back, well three days ago I just got back, from 9 days in the glorious Okanagan at my daddy's house. And my mummy's house. But it's my daddy that made me laugh. He was wearing a watch the entire time. And this watch possessed a battery that did not work.

It was always 3:30.

"Dad, what time is it?"

"It's 3:30."

"No, it's not 3:30."

"That's what my watch says."

"Yep."

This trip may have included our own private showing of The Lone Ranger. Nine people in the theatre and they all belonged to me. We spread out over three rows, we talked to each other. Loudly.

I played on my phone. The biggest theatre faux pas of all. And all without consequence.

Mwahahahaha. That's my evil breaking-the-rules laugh.

The new season of Honey Boo Boo came out, I think at 3:30, and the man would not let me buy the scratch and sniff magazine that accompanied the episode. I have no idea why not. I'm sure the whole episode smelled like peaches and rainbows. The man is such a party pooper.

Dinner time happened at 3:30. Every day. And so did breakfast and lunch and beach time and home time and bedtime and all the times happened at 3:30. My dad never took his watch off. He said it was a nice watch. He also said it was 3:30, when it wasn't.

And then, a few days into the trip, at around 3:30, the man left to run a few errands, in the United States of America. He left me in the Okanagan with 6 kids, which I was expecting but was secretly pleading with the Gods above that he wouldn't actually leave me there. When I tried to explain to the man that he owed me for what he was about to do he claimed he did not have a clue what I was speaking of. I gave him that look and he told me to ask you. So maybe I will.

Actually, I won't ask because I already know. You know how I know? Because I know, that's how. He owes me and I will collect. When I'm not so tired from all the vacationing.

Anyway, sometime around 3:30 on day 9 we packed up my truck to the ceiling and drove away. It was the longest day of my life. Not really, but it was close. I explained to the children that I did not want to stop, except for lunch. I wanted to drive and get home and end the madness.

Children don't listen well. We stopped once an hour for one child or another who simply could not hold it. This does not make me a happy driver. But, I'm sure I was being completely unreasonable. I was the one whining, "are we almost home yet?"

I was desperate.

It felt like time was standing still....

Like it was 3:30...
all.
day.
long.

hell's kitchen

I don't know what's going on here but it seems almost apocalyptic. First there is a flooding in all the land and then Satan turned up the heat. The heat has hit boiling point. You know how I know?

Because I am boiling.

Boiling freaking hot. I can hardly stand it. I want to hurt someone. I have reached curse mode. We are cursing here, people. It is that hot. The a/c in my truck doesn't work and I have never before been so deeply offended. How dare it!?!

The people of my kingdom asked, "what's for supper?" And I thought to myself, 'they are kidding right? No one wants to eat in this heat. This is what ice water is for.'

But no, they meant actual food. So I stood at the stove and cooked ground beef for taco salad, because that meant the oven could stay off and that is a good thing. But, would you know it? The burners on the stove get flipping hot too and that made me melt and by the time I had cooked half a cow I was dripping with sweat and hating the people of my kingdom. And then Amelia may have blurted out the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. She may have said something to the effect of, "I don't like taco salad." Actually, that is exactly what she said. Word for word.

I may have thrown a bowl.

At her.

And then all the people may have eaten their body weights in taco salad while I pushed mine around my bowl.

Too hot to eat. That's a new one.

And then!!! And then!!! And then the wonderful mayor of our land told us to turn off all the stuff! The heat is sucking all the power and we need to cool it on the coolers. You know?

No! Nenshi! I don't know. What I do know is that you may be dealing with a homicidal housewife PDQ if you make me turn off the a/c that is blaring in my bedroom and keeping me sane.

Poor Nenshi, I hope he's not melting in his office where I'm sure the a/c is not on. It better not be on, Nenshi! You hear me?

So anyway...I am neglecting the people of this house as I study for this never ending spring course I am taking. It's July. It is July and I am studying for my psyc final. This spring class has just about done me in. Never again will I take an all day Saturday class. Especially during flood season where stuff gets postponed a couple of weeks and you end up having finals to study for when all the kids are off school and home ALL THE TIME. Remind me I said that when I get the hankering for an all day Saturday class. What a terrible idea that turned out to be. This class had been a thorn in my side, to say the least.

So anyway...I lead a glamorous life, where there is no end to the complaining about the weather. And stuff.

Last night I took a cold shower before bed because I was melting and whining and carrying on unlike anything one could ever imagine. I said to the man, "How much regret do you have in marrying me?"

He responded with, "None. Zero." And I thought, 'Awwwwww, he is the very best.' And then he said, "I do, however, wish you didn't complain so much."

Blergh. Let's hope he doesn't stop by my blog tonight....