Pussy? Really Siri, you hate me that much?

Yesterday while marking the kids spelling homework I accidentally pressed down on my phone lying under the book. Siri beeped her questioning beep. I muttered, "Sorry, Siri" as I moved the book to the side. Siri springs to life with her, "Here's what I found on the web for..." and Diggle grabs my phone. He loves to ask Siri silly questions and tell her she's dumb.

The next words out his mouth were not what I was expecting. Keep in mind, to Siri I have an accent and half the time she doesn't understand me. 

An incredulous, "Mom, you said pussy?"

Now I'd like it to be known that while he does know that's a bad thing to call someone, he hasn't yet figured out why. Dick, he does know, only because he asked me after hearing someone use it so, since I believe in honesty and not ducking questions if they're asked, I explained.

I look up in alarm, stammering, denying I said anything of the sort and wondering just what he's seeing on my phone. The next words out his mouth had me nearly vaulting the kitchen counter to get my phone back. 

"Siri says for pussy you can go to Big Al's..." He starts to laugh saying pussy really loudly over and over because now he can sense my panic. Am I going to have to give an impromptu sex ed lesson while cooking pulled pork? (it's amazing how the most innocuous things can seem dirty if you think about it, I promise I really was cooking that.) My mom this whole time is standing behind me, very quietly, head down, concentrating on the onions in the frying pan. 

I grab my phone and wrestle it from his hands to see what I have to explain.  Scanning the screen I find yes, Siri does think I said Pussy, she thinks I'm in the market to go pet shopping and is directing me to the closest pet store, Big Al's Aquarium. 

I need a life...or perhaps an intervention

My WTF moment came this morning driving the kids to school. Let me set the scene. It's just after 8am, Diggle has yelled his customary, "it's time to leave." I've yelled, "have you brushed your hair? Get your sweaters and shoes on," back at him. 

After some panic over not finding his sweater and the fact that he cannot undo the knots his shoe laces are tied in, we are ready. Princess in this time has brushed her hair and is quietly waiting by the door. We rush out to the car and as I walk down the front path I realize I'm wearing sock type fuzzy slippers. I haven't even put on shoes. This is a first. Should I turn back and change, then we'll be late. I drove to school, prayed for no reason for me to need to climb out the car and raced back home. Once back in the house, I took a look at myself in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Unbrushed hair, well I ran my fingers through it, does that count? My cute nightshirt with a sleepy owl on it tucked into a pair of baggy sweatpants. No underwear to be seen. My mind flashes over those motherly words about not leaving the house without clean underwear in case you get in an accident. I guess this would circumvent that issue. But then again last time the nurses had to cut my clothes off me in hospital I don't remember anyone commenting on my pretty undies as they tossed my jeans and underwear in the garbage. Back to my state of attire. I had completed today's stylish ensemble with a sweater of DH's thrown over the top and zipped up, and of course let's not forget my multicoloured slipper socks. 

Who is this woman and what is she doing in my body? 

You'd think from the above description there's no place to go but up right? You'd be wrong. Shortly after this I seriously considered using the dog shampoo for my hair. What? It says it leaves the coat shiny, tangle free and moisturizers the skin...that's more than mine promises. I was soaking in a hot bath when I realized I'd left my shampoo in the shower. No I didn't use the dogs, I mentally took control and decided not to sink that far.

They say you have to hit bottom before you claw your way back up. I might be there. Time to get my life back in order and get some stuff done. Once I have the taxes in, which I can't finish yet until I get some paperwork emailed to me from South Africa, I have some major projects I need to start here. I will get busy, I will get organized...I will not promise to get out of my pyjamas before driving the kids to school though.

Running Away From Home

Firstly no, it’s not what you think, as much as I threaten and bitch, this time I’m not the one who is planning on fleeing.

 

The past few days have been interesting. Let me start at the beginning.

The kids as they are getting older are getting more responsibility and being allowed to roam further and do more with their friends.

Well Diggle broke some rules and I was mad...like furious mad. He has been grounded, well not kept inside grounded, I’m not crazy. But he is limited to playing on our street for the next little while (I told him a year). He is not impressed. He has threatened to run away a few times. Here is our conversation yesterday.

Diggle: Comes storming in from outside and plonks himself down forcefully in the chair next to me. “Thanks a lot, mom!”

Me: “You’re welcome” Goes nonchalantly back to Twitter.

Diggle: “I was being sarcastic you know.”

Me: “Uh huh. Your friends go to the park without you?”

Diggle: “Yes and it’s your fault ‘cause you won’t let me.”

Diggle: “You don’t love me! No-one loves me. No, wait, Granny and Smudge (Monster Dog) love me. They’re the only ones who don’t yell at me.”

Me: “Really. Because I don’t want you dead or hurt ,I don’t love you?”

***

The conversation carried on for a while about why I don’t want him dead or hurt and what could happen to him if he doesn’t listen to the rules. Why rules are in place etc. Then he got frustrated.

Diggle: “I should just run away.”

Me: “Okay, well just remember it’s dark at night and you’d have to sleep in the forest. Your sister wouldn’t be there to wake up to go to the washroom with you...oh and you’d have to use leaves as toilet paper.”

Diggle: Squinting and glaring at me. I wouldn’t sleep in the forest. I’m not telling you where I would sleep.” Glares at me some more.

Me: “You’ll miss your sister.”

Diggle: “I’d see her at school. I’d still go to school you know.”

Me: “Who would make your lunches for school?”

Diggle squints at me some more while he processes this.

Me: “Also who would get your breakfast and dinner? I guess you could catch bugs for breakfast. They’re high in protein, but you’d better get up early to get enough so you don’t get hungry at snack time.”

Diggle: Squinting really hard now as he tries not to laugh too much. He gets up and walks off now rather than admit defeat.

Me: “I love you...can I have a hug?”

Diggle: “No!”

***

It took him about 5 minutes before he was back, sitting on my lap squeezing his arms around me tightly. He put his mouth really close to my ear and very softly whispered. “I love you too mommy.”

I think he’s planning on staying.

91

91, that's what my dad would've been turning today. Happy Birthday Dad.

It's been just over two years since he passed away.

My dad was not a hands on dad who did a lot of stuff with me, maybe it was different for my brothers, I should ask them. I was a late addition to the family, an after thought if you will. My mom always wanted a girl and at the last minute decided to try one more time. (I joke that she's regretted it ever since, but truthfully it's probably only during the teenage years from 14-18 that she had her doubts). I was the only girl with three older brothers. Maybe he just wasn't the sort of dad that got down on the floor and did stuff with you and that's okay, I'm not exactly that sort of parent either. He was however an incredible man and I never grew up wanting for much. We never had a lot of money for extravagances, but we always went on our camping trip holidays and were well taken care of. He taught me the value of being outdoors, doing family hikes in the mountains, trips to the dam to go sailing and I like to think gave me his gift of lateral thinking to make a plan when necessary. 

My dad was an exceptional man for his wealth of knowledge, I like to think if I inherited a fraction of his intelligence I will get by just fine. If we needed to know anything from chemical compounds to how to weld, he was our go to guy. He played a variety of sports through his years, from cricket, rugby, table tennis, hockey, ball room dancing to lawn bowls by the time he was elderly. He hiked the mountains, he was an avid amateur astronomer and a fantastic slight of hand magician, always entertaining our friends at birthday parties (while we cringed in case he made a mistake). He built us our first fold up caravan (camping trailer for you North Americans) before the collapsible models were on the market, it was a feat of engineering genius, with all the luxuries we could want. This was one of the reasons we were able to go on all those camping holidays. He welded security gates and fences for our home when things reached a point that we needed them. He also glued my burglar bars onto my bedroom window so I could no longer do nightly disappearing tricks when I was a teenager, but perhaps the less said about that the better.

He was a very quiet man, not very vocal unless shouting about injustices of the referee in the latest rugby match. I sometimes wish I'd got to know more of him as an adult, or sat down with him and asked him about his younger years, his time in the army and his family life as a kid. The only bit I know about his army days was during the war he broke his jaw while playing rugby for the army and spent most of his time recuperating at the Oppenheimer house in Johannesburg that had been turned into a convalescent hospital.

He did leave with me the extensive family tree, he did this in his younger years and traced it all the way back to Germany starting with relatives born before 1540. I have tried to continue it on and put all the information into digital copy along with the photos he left. He has left a legacy of 4 kids and 8 grandkids and I hope we have made him proud.

Murderous Tendencies

It's a wonder my kids are still alive, but that being said, I'l admit they have learnt to feed themselves and are pretty self sufficient, even the dog has learnt to bark at me when she wants dinner, and paw incessantly at her empty water bowl for a refill. However, before anyone calls child services, in this case it's okay, I'm referring to plants. Let's start two days ago. DH went to the store for a few items and came back with a potted hydrangea. I love hydrangeas they remind me of my moms garden back home, she always had an abundance of them in the flower beds, a testament to how easy they are to maintain and grow as like me, she was never a gardener. The plan I formed in my head was to keep it indoors for the next week or two then, when it's a bit warmer plant it in the garden for summer. We had the family over for Easter Dinner on Saturday night and my one sister in law commented on how hardy they are. I think she was insinuating I wouldn't kill it in the next two weeks. I laughed and said, "Give me time."

Honestly I have no ability to keep plants alive, but I did expect it to last longer than two days. I woke up this morning to a limp, flaccid (those are never good words in any context) plant. I have no idea what I did wrong. I gave it a glass of water yesterday, I didn't want to over water it. 

I'm attempting plant CPR as you read this, I'll let you know. 

... (update) it's responding to being drenched in the sink. I guess the poor thing was parched.