Repentance

So I was just minding my own business the other night, watching my children wrestle over the television remote while I surfed the net looking for randomly odd things to pin on Pinterest when I heard the sweetest sound of all.

The ping of my email announcing I had something new to read.

I'll admit it, I still get excited over new unread email. I mean you never know what is going to be waiting for you there, in your shiny Internet mailbox. Will it be the promises of an all new, incredibly powerful penile enhancer or will it be a proposal from a African prince who has a weak grasp on the English language who needs you to rescue his Kingdom from evil overlords all by depositing your life's saving into his bank account, but no worries, he'll pay you back with interest and kittens as well as make you a Knight of the throne. Or something like that.

More often than not it's email spam lovingly forwarded from a naive family member (cough*my sister*cough) or some lame joke I first read in 1998 that a different family member is just now discovering (cough*Boo*cough).

But every now and then I get gems such as this:

RM:
I really enjoyed your Valentine's Day story, but that image of crap on a cracker has kind of stuck with me.

I mean I can see it and smell it and I'm seriously in danger of tasting it.

Would you please repent?
Thanks,

(Name Redacted to Protect the Moronic) from Alaska

To be honest, I didn't really know whether to laugh or to be sketched out. I decided to choose the latter and figured my wisest course of action would be to ban his IP from commenting on my blog. For the remainder of time.

However that would take knowing his IP and I couldn't find one.

But then I had a light bulb moment! Ding! and realized I could match the time code of the email to the IP tracker in my blog analytics. (I knew programs like Google Analytics, Statcounter, etc...were for more than inducing crushing despair at realizing no one reads my blog anymore. Except weirdos in Alaska, apparently.)

Yep.

I was right.

There this person was.

And just like he said, my analytics reported that my new friend was indeed Sarah Palin's neighbour. (Well, okay, the program didn't say that. For all I know, my new friend could be that Levy dork's neighbour.)

I also noted I had a fairly high amount of traffic from Transylvania of all places. I thought only Dracula lived there. Who knew?

As I dug, I noticed that my new friend had a long and storied history of visiting me. I figured my new friend must like checking in to see if I was in the process of cleaning up my language and start the repenting process.



I mean I know that's why my husband keeps reading my blog.

And that's when I noticed that my new friend wasn't just reading my blog from the newest igloo on the block. My new friend was actually using a computer with a trackable IP.



Huh. Looks like I found the one employer who hasn't banned my blog from the work place environment. I wonder if I could get someone up there to talk to someone down here about making sure my blog is available for my husband's place of work. I know my husband would enjoy being able to show all his employees and employers exactly who he is married to.

Ok, probably not. Whatever.

Still.

My new friend was quite clearly using government equipment to be, well, creepy.

Busted!

So here's the deal my new friend whose name shall remain redacted unless you continue to creep me out, I'm very sorry that you are kind of a freak.

Worse, I'm really, really sorry that you spent an ungodly amount of time downloading my image off of my blog than I cared to count. I'm even sorrier to think about what in God's green earth you are doing with your hard drive filled with my face.

Very very sorry.

I don't want to get anyone fired and I certainly don't want to shame anyone.

But you did ask me to repent.

And everyone knows repentance starts with admitting your sins and asking for forgiveness. And crap on a cracker, if that ain't exactly what I'm doing here. So that's what I'll be spending my days doing from now on.

Repenting.

Right after I talk to my banker about saving some African prince and investing in penile enhancers.

Guilt is Overrated

Every now and then I get hit with a pang of guilt that my life is fairly easy.

Generally this happens as I'm sitting at the computer playing Solitaire and reading other people's blogs while munching on whatever candy I managed to pilfer from my children's rooms and ignoring the rabid dust bunnies threatening to chew off my toes.

It's not like my life isn't filled with it's own hardships. I certainly never thought I'd be married to a man who is only home for what amounts to 30 days or so a year. And I certainly never thought I'd be raising his feral smalls all by myself.

Then there is the whole 'I've got me a disabled kid, let's try to keep him healthy and alive this time' complex I battle with every day since I'm haunted with my lack of success in that category previously.

And let's not forget that every spring my plumbing freezes up for weeks at a time so that I'm forced to channel my inner pioneer woman by melting snow on the stove, wash out of a bucket and pray for the day the toilet decides to work again.

Wow, when I type it out it all sounds so difficult and so primitive.

So I have to pee in a bucket for a couple of weeks every year. So what that I have no running water in which to sterilize my youngest son's medical equipment with or wash my hair with or you know, drink, for weeks on end. Eventually my husband comes home and makes everything right as rain once again.

And after my husband has fixed everything up and made everyone happy he leaves again to go back to his daily grind. Which I tend to think, is much, much worse than mine.

I mean he doesn't get to see me every day the way that I do. Surely this mean his life is imminently more difficult than mine even if he never has to be in three places at once thanks to his children and their requirements, or if he never needs to be responsible for ensuring there is enough toilet paper for all the smalls to waste just so.

He is singularly responsible for providing food and shelter and safety for his wife and children. On top of holding a real person's job. One that does not involve twitter or Facebook or IM'ing with his best friend all through the day.

People actually depend on him. People other than his children and me. Other men and women. He has an adult job with adult responsibilities on top of making sure his children have iTunes cards and his wife has unfettered access to the internet so she can lol about cats and get overwhelmed by Pinterest and write odes to the misunderstood but clearly beloved band Nickelback.

So ya.

Pangs of guilt.

Ping.

So when I was struck by said ping the other day as I was surfing the net and licking the Cheetos dust off my fingers I decided I would do something my husband wouldn't expect. I would be thoughtful and wifely and send him a picture of myself with some playful words so he would know that as he tackled the big scary world to provide for his family, his dutiful and caring wife had not forgotten her manly man.

Not that kind of picture or those kind of words, you perverts. It was mid-day and let's face it, I can barely be bothered to shower let alone shave my legs. I was trying to woo him, not frighten the poor man.

Thinking of you Boo. I miss you.

Sure I may have had an ulterior motive for sending him a picture of me. After discovering he had the worst picture of me ever (think double chins and serial killer eyes with bad hair) propped up on his desk for all the world to see I wanted to make sure he had an alternative to replace the dreadful shot with. But whatever.

Minutes later my phone buzzed.

"Where are your glasses?" he typed.

"I'm not wearing them." Just call me Tips.

"I can see that. Did you get new glasses you don't want me to know about?" Like I would do that. Ahem.

"No. I was trying to be nice."

"You're freaking me out."

"My being nice freaks you out?" What is wrong with this man?

"You're only nice when you buy weird crap off the internet. What was it this time? Finally found a stuffed beaver you like?"

"You're so suspicious! I bought nothing! I was just trying to show you that I was missing you."

"I'm going to find out T. The credit card statement comes to me, remember?"

"I didn't BUY ANYTHING."

"I really don't want to come home to find any two headed ducks in my living room, Tanis."

"Oh for pete's sake, Boo. I was just thinking of you."

"Thinking about how to distract me so I won't notice whatever it is you are trying to hide. I know how you work, T. It's all about the art of war with you,"

"It was one picture! I wasn't wearing my glasses because I took them off to clean them and never put them back on! I haven't found any beavers or stuffed ducks or new frames or voodoo dolls or fancy cooking wear that I'll never use but still covet or anything. I was just thinking of you!"

"Oh. Well in that case, you look very nice."

So the next time I get that pang of guilt for living the easy life while my husband works so tirelessly to support me in my lifestyle of unlimited internet access and all the Cheetos I could desire?

Just slap me.

It Only LOOKS Like I Forgot About Valentines Day

Do you ever have that nagging feeling that you've totally forgotten something, only you can't quite remember what it is you've forgotten but you're smart enough to remember that you have indeed, forgotten something and that it was something rather important?

I had one of those moments just as I was elbow deep in baking cupcakes for my son's junior high basketball team for their final regular season game. (Side note for all those teens reading my blog who shouldn't be reading my blog: 1.) Stop reading my damn blog and go do your homework and 2.) I am so proud of your season and the way you boys played this year. It was a pleasure cheering you on. Now get off my blog.)

I couldn't quite shake the feeling I'd forgotten something so after I put the cupcakes into the oven, I wandered over to my computer to look at my calendar. I figured I probably forgotten a doctor's appointment for Jumby or something and as I was going through the dates, it hit me.

It was Feb 13. And I forgot about Valentines day.

Crap on a cracker.

Of all the Valentines days to forget about over the years, I had to go and pick the one Valentines day my husband would actually be home for?

My timing was impeccable.

I had even forgot to purchase class cards for Jumbster to hand out. Valentines day had completely foiled me.

My husband, however, was quick to save the day and while I was icing cupcakes he was showing me the horribly commercial valentines day cards he bought for the Jumbster's classmates. (Really? Buzz Lightyear is still a thing? Bring back some He-Man so I can relive my youth and feel hip while signing my kid's name on all those cards, would ya?)

"You know, some mothers hand make their children's valentines cards for their classmates," my husband teased.

"Yes. We call those mothers 'over achievers' and we secretly hate them for making the rest of us with our pre made, cheesy character cards look bad. It's the joys of motherhood, really," I muttered as I stuck another stupid heart sticker on yet another card and scratched off another name off the class list. "Besides, I just baked cupcakes for 30 teenagers. I don't completely fail at parenting."

"Am I to presume you baked me a cupcake for Valentines day or have you already thoughtfully purchased a Valentine for me while forgetting to get them for your kids?"

Crap.

"Valentines day is over rated. Besides, we're married. And every day is Valentines day with us, lov-ah," I purred as I batted my eyes at him and tore another ridiculously silly card from the pack.

"Uh huh. That's what I thought," Boo replied smugly.

"Well it's not like you have anything planned yourself!" I've found that when my flaws are pointed out by my husband, the best, most mature way to handle the situation is to counter with indignation and accusations. It works every.time.

My husband, however, just rolled his eyes at me, pointed out that I missed three names on my son's class list and then walked away.

I hate when he won't let me win by being obviously wrong.

I woke up this morning to find not one, but THREE flower arrangements, more chocolate than my arse will ever need and a bag of cinnamon heart candies (my favourite) waiting for me beside the coffee pot.

Guess Boo did have something planned.

Dammit.

There is nothing quite like munching on your Valentines day candy first thing in the morning while feeling like a first class schmuck. It's the most romantic feeling in the world.

"Happy Valentines Day," he grinned.

I grunted thanks and felt shame burn on my cheeks for a second.

"It's okay if you forgot about Valentines day Tanis, I know you love me." He sounded sincere but I know he was secretly gloating that he'd been victorious in my valentine failure. Marriage is, after all, about give and take. I mean, what else is there to do in marriage once the novelty of the gooey romance has worn off?

And that's when it hit me.

I had a card to play that my husband totally forgot about. I could still pull out a win, or at the very least, tie the Valentine's game up.

I thanked him sweetly for the flowers and candy and then I looked up into his big blue eyes and told him to hang on a second while I went and got his Valentine.

Boo looked at me suspiciously, wondering what I was up to.

I came back, holding Jumby and handed him to his father.

"Happy Valentines day Boo," I said as I kissed both my boys on the cheek.

"Um, thanks?" he said as he bounced the Jumbster around.

"You don't remember do you?" I asked.

His blank look confirmed it. He knew he was overlooking something but he just couldn't remember what.

"I gave you your third son three years ago today. Happy Valentines day. He needs a diaper change by the way."

Jumby. The very best Valentine ever.

I totally win.

Feb 14, 2009. Welcome home Valentine. We'd been waiting.