Diversion Tactics

With final exams looming right around the corner for my older children, there has been a lot of talk of what the future holds in store for Fric and Frac.

And by 'talk' I mean, I've done a lot of lecturing, pleading, bargaining and straight up whining to try and get my children to take exam season seriously.

My children? They aren't worried. They've never struggled academically and they are less than worried about the latest go round of academic hoops they'll have to jump through now.

They're such good little show ponies.

But as their mom, and their primary parent due to geographic location, it's my job to take their future seriously. You never know when one bad grade on a test will lead to a downward spiral towards poverty, uselessness and living on my ugly arse couch munching on Cheetos while asking me if I picked up the latest Archie and Jughead comic book for them.

This cannot happen people.

There is only room for one arse dent on my couch and that is mine.

I just want my kids to have the best, shiniest future I can give them and I don't want them messing up years of my parental dreaming and scheming.  I need my kids to take their studies seriously, do well on their exams, and have as many options available to them as possible when it comes to finally settling into their first adult path after high school graduation.

Hopefully that path will include medical and law school but I'll just as happily accept engineering and astrophysics.

(Kidding! Kinda! My kids know I'll support them in whatever they chose to be when they grow up as long as it's legal and it pays them enough money to not live on my couch. I'm really not all that fussy. JUST GET AN EDUCATION AND A JOB KIDS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.)

Ahem.

Of course, all of this talk of hope and shiny futures has of course, led to the unearthing of some tarnished pasts. Namely my husband's and mine.

I must have missed the day they were teaching new parents how to effectively lie to their children in parenting school which kind of sucks because all of those years of being honest and forth coming to my children? Turns out they were actually listening and they remembered everything we ever told them about ourselves. Like where we went to school, how good our grades were and what we wished we had and hadn't taken in post secondary school.

Dammit.

"But Mom! You don't even use your training! You wasted your education! You sit at home all day on the computer! Writing essays!" Said like I've lost my dang mind. Which, you know, I may have.

"And Mom! Dad was just like us in school and he totally makes more money than you and he doesn't have to write any essays!" Said like this was a good thing. Which, you know, it may well be.

And then they point out the fact that they have to pass this week's French exam before worrying about taking any SAT's or departmental exams and that as long as they don't get knocked up before they graduate they are pretty much winning at life.

And oh hey Mom, what's a ribbed condom for?

My children are devious. And mean. I'm so very proud. And a tiny bit scared.

 

I Solemnly Swear These Are The Last Ones

I'm not the type of girl who can't admit she has a small problem. I know I have a sickness. I may indeed need help.

I bought more glasses.

My husband is ready to divorce me. Only he can't because he made some sort of vow about loving me in sickness or in health and I'm pretty sure this qualifies even if he disagrees.

I am an eyeglass slut.

(Thanks for pointing that out Neil.)

I have now stopped counting how many pairs of glasses I actually own and have vowed to not purchase any more ever again. Or at least not until my vision changes drastically.

I'm almost starting to feel a little guilty about my addiction. Almost.

I still need a white pair.  And yellow would be neat too.

Ahem.

Anyways, without any further ado, these are my new glasses. And my last glasses. For now. I hope.

(You can click on the pictures to blow them up bigger if you like.)

It's really hard to take a picture of oneself without making faces. I feel so stupid doing it.

Ya. I feel stupid. But look how pretty my new glasses are! They're so colourful! They're stripe-y! Multi-coloured! They even match my ugly chair!!

And look! Redheads can wear pink! Even fake redheads like me! Yay!

Now excuse me, I need to go see someone about this disease I've contracted. It's quite the spectacle.

Heh.

Where The Sidewalk Ends, Hell Begins

It would appear I wasn't the only one having a good time this weekend.

I left my husband alone.

With this:

Which, in hindsight, may not have been my smartest move.

Because when I came home, this is what I found:

I couldn't even see my house from this side of our drive way.

And once I managed to find my way around the big pile of Earth, (because I certainly wasn't going over) and got into my house, this is what I see, staring back at me:

I don't know whether to laugh or cry or just jump into the TEN FOOT DEEP HOLE AT THE END OF MY SIDEWALK.

What I do know, however, is that I now have a very deep hole in which to bury someone if he doesn't hurry up and build this damn garage.