The monkey.

Considering I call him a monkey regularly, it seems fitting that Jack’s treatment room at the child-centric dental practice was the Monkey Room.  Because of his dental issues, we were referred to this practice, and I grudgingly admit it was worth the money.  The dentist and all but one of the assistants talk a little too “happy happy we’re just big kids” for me, but whatever.  Kids seem to like it.

Jack had an oral sedative, and then we sat around for an hour.  Once in the room, he chose the flavour of nitrous gas (watermelon), donned his sunglasses and a pulse-ox meter, and away they went.  Honestly, he did really well.  So well that I can keep up the hope that one day, just maybe, he’ll be able to have fillings at our dentist.  The one who doesn’t charge more.

Overall, I think we’re out of pocket about $200.  I can write that off, plus mileage and meals, on our taxes next year.  Woo!

Now we’re back at my parents’ place, and he’s got a frozen mouth, but he’s good.

Mascara was a very bad idea.

Today sucked. Specifically, the time frame from 9 am to 9:45 am. Crying still gives me a headache. And puffy eyes are a lovely look.

Some days, I don’t want to be the adult any damn more. I hate having to make decisions like the one to end Cookie’s life. I hate that I feel guilty about it, even though she was not in great shape - losing weight, unable to see much of anything, etc etc. The vet was very nice (same guy as when I had to put Ziggy down 4 years ago), and he did comment that she seemed quite old. The simple truth is that the addition of 3 new cats to the household would have been the end of her anyway. Her stress level would have escalated, and she would have been deeply unhappy.

I just have to keep telling myself I didn’t take her in because of the other cats….it truly was because of her overall quality of life. The somewhat nice thing about the sedative they give before the final injection is that she finally allowed me to truly hold her and pet her. Cookie was not a cuddly animal, and I have often wondered what she suffered in her life to make her so tense when being picked up. She & I had worked out the parameters of what touches she could handle, but she was by far the most prickly animal I have ever met. I know that her last years with us were happy - she was a fearless hunter of birds and squirrels, and she & Rastis ruled the household.

I still cannot believe how fast the injection works. She was gone in seconds, and the vet left me alone to deal with her body. I had briefly considered cremation, but decided that she should be buried in what has become our kitty graveyard (a corner of the front lawn).

Yep, today really sucked.

Oooh, shiny.

Our new front-loading washer & dryer arrived this weekend.  Me likey.  Me likey LOTS.

Now to get my hydro rebate!

Oh, and it turns out I can read directions and assemble a bbq correctly.  Nothing blew up when I used it last night, and my steaks were yummy.

Here’s to summer!  (if it would ever care to arrive, that is….)

Answering the “is she CRAZY?” question for the last time.

Yes, it turns out she is. Certifiable, that is.

D had some “issues” with his neighbours, and his cats have had to move here. He was going to stand his ground, but the gun-related threats made him think twice. That, and the fact that his cats like to lounge in the quiet laneway, and it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine one of the neighbours “accidentally” running them over. So, a day after the kids & I returned from visiting him, I drove halfway back to meet him and the cats.

Let’s do a head count, shall we?

Rastis, Cookie, Gizmo, Birdie - the original crew
Mouse, Alex, Dante - the new guys
Wiley, Goldie - the requisite dogs

Good lord.  I have seven cats.

Truth be told, we’ll be down to six tomorrow.  Cookie is going to the vet for the last time.  She’s losing it, I fear.  Not only has she taken to crapping on the lino by the front door (where the dog can eat it…GAG), but she crept up and peed on the floor right next to me last week.  On the lino, thankfully, but still.  It’s time.

Wish me luck.

Oh. Shit.

The probability of a freshly-laundered GameBoy Advance SP recovering any function: 1 in a bajillion (give or take a kajillion)

The probability of my 5 year old crying his little heart out when he discovers his toy is dead: Um, yeah. It’s going to happen. Don’t take the bet.

The probability of him being over the damn moon when he discovers mommy & daddy, courtesy of Future Shop gift cards, have upgraded him to a DS? Again, going to happen. Not a good betting day around here!

Now to figure out the timing of the new DS his big brother is sure to covet. Oy.

Perfect Saturday.

While I normally avoid the word perfect, yesterday deserves the title. The reasons, they are many:

1. The weather. At long last, SUN. And with it, HEAT. I do believe all our snow has really melted.
2. The husband. He is home for the weekend. Yay!
3. The deals. Used bike for Jack, $40. Water cooler @ garage sale, $30. (it’s possible the cold side isn’t working, but I don’t care.)
4. The clean house. I vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, reorganized the kitchen, did laundry, and cleaned out the van. It was weirdly satisfying to get some stuff done.
5. The parade. I took the kids to the annual May parade in town, mostly so they could load up on the candy.
6. The “nap” D & I took in the afternoon. Woo!
7. The dinner I didn’t have to cook.

And, the #1 highlight of my weekend:
Jackson learned how to ride a bike without his training wheels!!!!! He’s outside now, practicing with his brother.

Truly a Soccer Mom.

I swore that I wouldn’t coach again this year. Yet….I’m coaching Jack’s team again. With the same co-coach as last year, since we get along well and our kids adore each other. Saturday was (finally!) the first day of soccer. No snow in at least a day or three, and some intermittent sunshine. Woo!

My day looked something like this:

9 am to noon: SOCCER
noon to 1:15: feed children
1:30 to 3:45: SOCCER

Oy. Not every weekend will be like that, thankfully. I had to be there early to distribute t-shirts for my U5 division, and then our U6 team had 2 games back-to-back. I took my co-coach’s kids home for lunch, and returned for Austin’s game at 1:30 (in the rain, ick) and his buddy Ainsley’s at 2:45 (sunny again).

I got a bit of a workout, seeing as we have semi-real games this year. I reffed the games with the other coaches, and spent 1/2 of each game being the ball thrower-inner/game starter. The kids were pumped and had a blast, scoring several goals on both sides. And watching Austin play in the afternoon was like watching a different kid. He’s gone from ignoring the ball and half-heartedly running after it to actively seeking the ball and moving it around the field quite well. I am SO proud of him!

How not to dial 911.

First, decide that the Panasonic cordless phone you have had since Christmas 1998 - good memory, eh? - is in need of replacement. Then, proceed directly to WallyWorld the next time you’re in BigCity. Once there, peruse the shelves, rejecting brands such as VTech (they make annoying kids toys, so how could they master a telephone?) and Uniden (uni-who?). Settle upon a set of GE cordless 5.8 gHz phones.

Return home with said phones, and retire the trusty, but old, Panasonic. Enjoy the new phones and all their splendour for several months. Have vague pissiness about the “can only use one phone at a time” feature that these new things seem to have.

As the one-year mark - surely, the limit of whatever piss-ant warranty GE might have provided - approaches, realize that one phone is possibly possessed. Either that, or it’s just fucking with you. Dialing out? A crapshoot. Answering properly? Not always going to work. Realize that the phone is slowly dying, but it’s not that bad. Decide to live with it for now, using the good phone for most calls.

Wake up last Friday and decide to call Karate Mom/Friend to see if Austin will be riding the bus to her house and proceeding to class. Dial her number, which looks something like this: *9*-1122, using the Crappy Phone.

Reach 911 operator instead. Try vainly to explain to dispatcher that you did NOT dial 911, and that NO, nobody is being beaten, killed, maimed, burned or flayed at your home at that very moment. Confirm the number you ACTUALLY dialed. Realize that Crappy Phone has now turned into Evil Incarnate Phone.

Hang up, curse violently at phone. Vow to disembowel it forthwith.

Call Karate Mom/Friend from the Good Phone, confirm plans. Answer phone when it rings almost immediately after hanging up. Explain to RCMP officer that NO, you did NOT dial 911. Mumble something about a faulty phone. Assume the matter is closed.

Leave for work. Drop kids at daycare and proceed to office. Debate answering phone before office is actually open - lose debate and answer it. It is your mother-slash-roommate-slash-employee. The RCMP have arrived AT YOUR HOUSE. To check to see if anyone is being maimed, flayed, burned, killed or otherwise injured at your home, even though you kindly explained that NO, you did NOT call 911.

Thank mother for telling officer that Evil Incarnate Phone will be removed from the premises shortly. Tell story all day long, still in disbelief that the phone could be such a piece of shit.

Only in my neck of the woods…

….is it possible to follow up the “I hate snow!” post with a report on my sunburn. Yes, indeedy. I have a sunburn. My left arm and the left side of my upper chest took the brunt of it - perhaps sitting my chair to read a book and watch the fire die down was not the best idea. I spent part day burning dead trees (something else that’s getting old), but for once it was sunny. And warmish. The kids were their ever-helpful selves, which means they rode their bikes, brought out all the big toys from the backyard, ignored my requests to help, etc. You know, the usual. D didn’t make it home this weekend, so I could only do so much. He is in charge of the chainsaw; although I can use it, I certainly can’t start the damn thing.

Miss Fat Dog took an unscheduled trip to the vet yesterday. She has calluses on her elbows, mostly because of her weight. She lays on the floor, which puts pressure on them, blah blah. Well, one of these calluses has been damaged, and she bled all Friday night. Not much, but enough to stain the bedroom carpet, and enough to make me worry. She was not thrilled to go to the vet, but she survived. Of course, I got the vet call, and he used that slightly condemning tone that some doctors and vets seem to master. Goldie “has to lose weight”, should “sleep on a softer bed” and “is in dire need of a dental cleaning.” At the risk of sounding like a heartless bitch, does he really think I’m going to drop $300 on a dental cleaning for a dog that is likely at least 11 years old? Oy. And the weight thing. Well…she’s currently 97lbs, which is probably 20-30 lbs less than when she first came to us. I have tried to walk her, but it breaks my heart to see the stress it causes. Yes, I know it would get easier if I kept the walking going, but it’s hard enough to find time to walk myself, let alone a dog. And the softer bed? I made her one, and she won’t fucking lie on it. She likes to be as near to me (or D) as possible, which means the floor is it. Her new bed of pillows & blankets is right next to my bed, but she is making a point of cramping herself into the spaces left beside it. I think it’d be pretty tough to teach her to sleep on the bed….she wouldn’t even get on it for a treat!

So. I’m going to be a bad dog owner, and let her cruise for a while. The best part of this is that her bloodwork came back totally normal. No kidney issues, no diabetes, etc. I was actually a bit surprised by that one, but it’s good news. For now, she’ll continue as usual. I’m going to try & walk her as often as possible - just up & down the driveway should help (it’s 100 metres long).

Damn. Gotta go. Kids are in the tub, creating a new mess for me to clean up. Little do they know that bedtime is 8 minutes away.

This is getting old.

It has snowed here almost every day this week. Hell, for the month of April. Today, May 1st, we woke up to yet another dump of the white shit. I’m having my winter tires taken off today - I’m illegal as of last night. Funny, I suppose our government assumed the fucking snow would typically be GONE by May 1st. Silly of them.

There is one small upside: soccer has been delayed a week. This helps me immensely, considering I just confirmed all my coaches two days ago, the t-shirts aren’t in, the jerseys will be late, and none of the teams in either of my two divisions have their actual equipment. I’m not the only one doing the last-minute scramble, which has alleviated my guilt.

Other things I think about posting, but cannot find the time:

- I participated in a soccer coaching clinic on Saturday evening. What a workout!
- Soccer clinic + burning trees for 4 hours on Sunday = one sore ass & two sore legs.
- My computer. It’s screwed. I need to get it to a repair shop soon, or I’m going to drop-kick the damn thing.
- Computer again. I managed to delete all the accessories AND games on the weekend, in a vain attempt to remove Internet Exploder, which I blame for 92.4% of computer problems. I do NOT use the program, but it’s there, and it’s fucking with my karma.
- I am having an internal debate about my oldest cat and the fat dog. Cookie (cat) is almost totally blind, losing weight slowly, generally cranky, and prone to living under my bed for days at a time. Methinks this is not a great quality of life. Goldie (dog) is old, probably arthritic, and tends to go through bouts of using my living room as her personal bathroom. During those times, I am certain she needs to go. Then I give her an anti-diarrheal med, things improve, and I like her again. GAH.

Ok. Brain hurts. Thank god April is over.