Classic TMI

Every day this week I've opened my computer, sat down and willed myself to write something. Every. Day. And six hours later, stymied, frustrated and dejected, I've closed my laptop and walked away. It's not that I have writer's block, or don't have anything to say, it's just that I don't know how to write what I want to say with out sounding like that insane screechy person on the subway platform prattling on and on about the end of days a'coming and hoping no one pushes her onto the tracks.

So I've decided to take my time and parse my words, for once, thinking before I speak, or rather, pressing 'publish.' I'm trying to show a depth in growth here people, but it's no fun.

In-law/sibling relationships are hard, hurty and complicated and life would just be easier if I didn't mind picking up a flamethrower and burning a few bridges to the ground. I could totally chant, "Burn baby burn!" as I wielded a big old blowtorch.

Life would be so much more fun if I was a pyromaniac with little regard to other people's feelings or my own happiness.

Sigh.

So as I have struggled to figure out how I feel, why it matters and if it's even worth sharing, (because really, who hasn't had difficulty with a relative or an in-law or even just another human being before in their lives? It's not like my particular family dynamics are particularly interesting or unique and I'd likely just be another person prattling 'woe is me' when you all have real life problems and then you'd all want to either smother me with a dirty pillow or hit me upside the head with a broken laptop.) I've taken to wandering around my yard, pulling the occasional weed, planting the odd flower and cursing at the wildlife.

Remember this fine fella from earlier this spring? He/she/Pat (it's not like I'm going to ask him/her/Pat to hold still so I can inspect what's between it's legs) has taken to standing in my driveway, eating the tops off of all my fruit trees off and pooping wherever I have to walk. Apparently Pat the Moose is neither scared of the pack of dogs I keep, or the air horn I blow when ever he gets too close to my favourite cherry tree.

Pat just keeps coming back.

I found Pat bathing in my pond yesterday. Pat wasn't shy at all. Of course, I kept a healthy distance between Pat and myself because as much as I call myself a redneck and for as long as I've lived out in the country, I am a born city slicker who squeals like the girl I am when ever I comes face to face with an animal taller than I am.

I gave Pat my permission to stay in my pond because if he/she stays in the back half of my property then I know he/she won't be eating any more of my tree tops, will stay out of my garden and I won't have to scrape moose poop off of Jumby's wheelchair tires.

Also, I can hear my husband screeching at me that it's a girl moose but for all I know Pat could just be a slow developer. Like I was. Maybe his balls haven't dropped and his horns are slow. DO I LOOK LIKE A FREAKING ZOOLOGIST BOO? STOP MOCKING ME.

Of course Pat the Moose is much friendlier than the bitchy beaver I happened upon last week. I only had my iPhone with me and when I tried to get closer to show you all the true majesty of our royal beaver, the little witch smacked her tail at me, bared her teeth and then chased me a few meters.

Insert stuffed beaver joke here.

There was no chance of me getting any tail with that beaver, as I was too busy half laughing, half squealing and full out running as fast as my little legs would take me away from the beastie. I wanted to turn right around and point out just who owned what but then I remembered what a beaver did to my dad's dog so I just kept on running.

I'm a pansy like that.

What does it say that a girl can't even walk around her yard with out being chased by an angry beaver? Don't answer that. It was rhetorical.

You'd think with all the recent brushes with death I've had via my wild life encounters, I'd have finally figured out how I want to write what I need to say. You'd have thought wrong. Because when I am not taking my own life into my hands by walking around the yard, I've been ogling the construction men my husband hired to fill my hole.

Cue the bad 70's porn music. Bow chicka bow wow. Except the only dirty thing going on over here is how it rained nonstop the moment my husband ripped out our driveway. My yard is one big slip and slide involving sweaty, muddy men playing with Lego styrofoam blocks and feeding me beer.

Turns out this construction gig isn't half bad.

JUST KIDDING.

There was only one beer. Most of the time the manly men refuse to talk to me and instead they prefer to walk around the yard holding their cell phones up trying to find one bar of reception so they can call my husband and therefore avoid walking up the deck, knocking on the door and being forced to talk to me.

When they do have to talk to me, they stare at my feet and pretend I'm not drooling on them. They're very professional like that.

I can totally hear my husband yelling at me to STOP TALKING. I bet he's really glad Xplornet finally fixed my internet.

For those of you who are interested in my husband's man cave, well, we've gone from having a driveway, to having a pit to hell, to having footings, to now having first floor walls, a septic system, plumbing, electrical and absolutely zero driveway. Next up, I hear my sidewalk and my lawn are on the list to be ripped out.

Sob.

My husband, being the man he is, is bouncing around with excitement and barely takes any notice of how ugly everything is right now. He just keeps telling me 'it has to get ugly before it can get pretty, Tanis,' and I keep wanting to hit him over the head with a shovel.

It turns out that this entire building project, the sheer enormity of it, the cost, the time factor and the myriad of a million loose threads all needing to be tied together in one giant bow are taking their toll on me. My husband sees a shiny bright future filled with ease and double garage doors and I see that spot where Bug used to sit in a plastic pool erased, filled now with concrete. That sidewalk he wants to rip out? Bug walked those blocks. With every little change necessary to make room for my husband's dream it seems like it's erasing the memories of my past, scattering them in the wind like dandelion seeds and I'm struggling over it.

In the meantime, I'll keep wandering about, begging Nature to be kind to me, while hoping the next construction crew doesn't drink cheap beer and I'll wait for the words to come.

At over 1200 words today, I don't think I'll have to wait much longer.

A mock-up of what the man-cave should end up looking like. Picture girly doors though. Because I like girly. And my husband didn't check the order. Heh.

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.