Laziness is Hard Work

My husband left for work because apparently we have bills that need to be paid and all the Canadian Tire money I've been hoarding for the past 15 years won't go very far in covering our debt.

Or so say's my husband. I'm pretty sure he doesn't really know what he's talking about because he's never actually tried paying our mortgage or any of our utility bills with the wildly coloured Canadian Tire money. I think he's talking out his arse cheeks without any actual evidence to support his claims.

He'd make a lousy scientist.

See? I'm rich with funny money!

Thank God he makes a pretty decent husband. Which makes his departure and subsequent absence that much more depressing. It turns out I kinda dig the dude. And the longer he's home the more I like him. It's like magic. Like how Sea Monkeys never die.

It's almost as though I actually knew what I was doing when I was 20 years old and agreeing to marry him as we gestated babies together.

Take that all ye doubters! It wasn't just dumb luck! We still like one another all these years later!

Ahem.

So ya, he's gone. After being home for more than two weeks because I may have had an epic temper tantrum and threatened to knock down his precious new garage walls if he didn't get his butt home to help supervise their erection.

Wait.

That sentence doesn't look right.

(I swear, he didn't just pack my heart into his suitcase, he stole my brains as well.)

My point, murky as it may be, is I miss my husband. And he's only been gone three nights. But when he's home the dogs don't sleep with their arses pointed an inch away from my nose, thereby waking me up with what smells like gaseous warfare; the kids actually act like functioning humans instead of the sass monsters I'm stuck with and the spinach in the fridge never has a chance to wilt.

(Fun fact: My husband thinks he's Popeye and eats spinach the way Britney Spears eats Cheetos.)

Of course, as sad as I am that my husband is gone, I'm fairly certain that my husband is thrilled to be gone. While having him home meant perfectly grilled steaks for me, construction progress for the man-cave and obedient children for all, apparently for him it meant HARD WORK.

When it was finally time for him to leave I'm pretty sure he couldn't flee the premises fast enough. As easy as he makes barn building look, apparently it's hard freaking work. I wouldn't really know. It looks kinda sweaty from down here under my umbrella, in the shade, with my lemonade and my laptop.

(Don't judge me. I gestated and birthed three nine pound babies for that man and he didn't lift a finger to help. I PUT IN MY TIME AS A LABOURER.)

So my husband is now safely ensconced behind his desk, enjoying a vacation from home life as he toils away earning non-Canadian Tire related monies for me to spend.

I'm left alone, with our children who have suddenly morphed into gamer sloths and have melded with the couch, a leaking pool, a partially roofed monstrosity reminding me how I may be one step away from a permanent invite to a padded cell and  a couple of dogs who insisted not only on farting in my face all night long but getting up every hour on the hour to insist on chasing squirrels outside our bedroom window.

There's no way they would have done that if Boo was home. Or rather, there's no way I'd have had to been the one getting up every hour on the hour to let them in and out because I'd have elbowed my husband awake and then fake snored until he rose to let the annoying creatures out.

So I guess the point of the entire post is sometimes long distance marriages really suck.

Come home soon Boo. I really need to rest. And that barn ain't going to build itself.

Brain Freeze

"Mom, can I ask you a question?"

She looked so serious. So concerned. I braced myself for everything from the birth control talk to the drug talk to the 'no, I don't know why you look like the milkman' talk.

"Well, I was talking to Dad the other day..."

(Thanks Boo, I thought to myself.)

"..and he was explaining why I had a lobotomy when I was three and I was just wondering if you could show me the scrap book he said you made of the experience."

Inside my head I was screaming WTF Boo? STOP TALKING TO OUR CHILDREN. Outside of my head I gently coughed and said, "Come again?"

"You know, my lobotomy. The one I had before you pinned back my ear."

Right. THAT lobotomy. How could I forget? Eye roll.

"Um, did your dad tell you why you had this lobotomy?"

"No. I don't even really know what it is. I guess I should Google it."

Have I ever mentioned how pretty my kid is? And how very blonde her hair is?  Or how my husband likes to play practical jokes on his poor naive children?

"Ya, I'd recommend you Google that. Just make sure your father is around when you do. I'm sure he'll have some explaining to do."

"Good idea. Thanks Mom."

"Ya. Sure. Anything for you kid." It was all I could do to keep from busting out in laughter.

"Mom?"

"Ya?"

"I wonder if I have a big scar. Dad thinks I should totally shave my head to see it. What do you think?"

I think my husband and I are going to have a conversation when he gets home.

"I think you are a very sweet kid. Hey, do you remember that time when I had you convinced your middle name was Frederick?"

"Yes! For like two years you had me telling everyone my middle name was Fred! I told half the kids in my kindergarten class that and they still tease me about it."

"Ya. That was awesome."

I still giggle at the memory of it.

It's good to know when I drop the practical joke ball my husband is there, years later to pick it back up. I can only imagine how expensive her therapy bill will be for this.

*Just remember kid, we love you.*

 

Send Pillows Please

So I'm stealing my parents' internet right now. I'm jacking their signal. I'm up in their modem. Okay, I'm not really stealing it since my mother graciously invited me over to her house, gave me the wifi password and even offered me the use of her laptop all so that I could write this post. Her only condition was that I wear pants. She may have encouraged me to comb my hair as well but I took that part as optional.

My internet crapped out. My internet is provided by Xplornet and for more than two years I have had no complaint with their service other than it's slower than molasses even when I was paying for the fastest signal they have.

Then Christmas rolled around and my internet slowed down some more and I just attributed it to my children being Youtube addicts and baby gamers and didn't think about it again. Until Wednesday. When my internet gasped a final breath, shuddered and then quit completely.

That sound you hear is a woman trapped in the sticks with her often misbehaving children, screeching to the Gods of Internet Signal TO COME BACK TO ME. STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT.

After sobbing hysterically to my husband, (because priorities 'bitch first, fix later', I haz 'em) we called Xplornet. Where they said that really sucks and yes, we see your signal is being bounced between three different towers and you are being disconnected from signal more than a THOUSAND TIMES A DAY and ya, that's not really good. But no worries sweet internet addict, they crooned. WE CAN FIX.

Great. The problem has been identified, the solution is easy, let's get it done.

At least that's how it would work if I could will it with the power of my mind. The reality is, they identified the problem, know the solution and oh wait, we don't actually fix the service we make you pay for, we source it out to technicians. You'll have to call them.

So we did.

And the technicians said? HAHAHAHAHAHAH. GET IN LINE BITCH.

Well actually, they were much politer than that.

So after an epic freak out to my husband, several calls to Xplornet, one lovely run in with a dude named Brandon who sounds like he hates females, his job and possibly life in general, my offering blow jobs to a bunch of technicians that either don't like blow jobs or crazy women, a bazillion angry tweets on Twitter and finally Xplornet calling ME, well, I still don't have any internet.

Because there is a line and I am at the back end of it because, lady, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN INTERNET EMERGENCY.

Clearly Xplornet does not understand how A.) I make my living, B.) Communicate with the outside world and C.) Stay sane so that I don't go around smothering people with pillows.  Because right now, I'd very much like to do just that. And it doesn't even matter who I smother. I'm twitchy like that. It's probably best to avoid eye contact with me. And if you see me eyeing any pillows I suggest you run.

So I'm sitting here, at my parent's house, eyeing their throw pillows and begging my dad to come a little closer, I just dare you Dad, while stealing their internet.

Something tells me I'm going to be spending a lot of time here until Xplornet decides they should fix my signal. Because guess what? THEY ARE STILL MAKING ME PAY FOR THE SIGNAL I AM NOT RECEIVING!! YAY!!

There's a bright side to every coin, right?

So while I'm packing to basically move back into my parents house (cheaper than a motel with free wifi, yo) even though I haven't asked them and oh hey, it's going to be so much fun sharing a room with my sister again, you should totally go read my Babble article.

It's probably the most honest words I've ever typed out about my marriage and we all have Xplornet, their crappy customer service and their NO SIGNAL PROVIDING service to thank for it.

Mean time, I'm just fluffing the pillows. I swear.

But hey. At least I have both of my thumbs. Life could be worse.