The Verns

Something weird is happening at our house. As usual.

I don't remember who started it and why, but it is a growing phenomenon.

Somebody started calling Boychild "Vern." It might have been me in an effort to hurry him along one day. I can hear myself saying, "C'mon, Vern. We're going to be late." I don't know why "Vern" instead of "Ambrose" or "Todd" or "Jimmy," but it has stuck.

Some days we call Boychild "Vern" more than we call him by his real name. In fact, there are probably a bunch of people who have encountered us at stores and such who think we have a boy named "Vern." Not that there's anything wrong with that. At one point Boychild complained, but now he seems to find it funny and has joined in the fun. You see, the Vernification of our household has spread. Girlchild is occasionally called "Vernette." Daddy is "Daddy Vern." I am "Mama Vern." The cats - either one of them at any given time - are "Vern Cat."

This is not really a new thing, but it is the first time it has been applied to people in the house. Years ago, for a reason that escapes both of us, we started calling MacGregor, our enormous tabby cat, "Schooley." I can't tell you why "Schooley" - I haven't the foggiest idea. Sometimes we call him "Pilot," too, but only when we pick him up to carry him and his back legs stick straight out - kind of like an airplane's tail.

I see some identity issues in our future. Therapy, for sure.

The Farmer in the Dell - As sung by Girlchild this evening

The foimer in a dell
The foimer in a dell
Hi ho derry oh
The foimer in a dell.

The foimer takes a wife
The foimer takes a wife
Hi ho derry oh
The foimer takes a wife.

A wife makes a tild
A wife makes a tild
Hi ho derry oh
A wife makes a tild.

A tild takes a moose
A tild takes a moose
Hi ho derry oh
A tild takes a moose.

A moose takes a dog
A moose takes a dog
Hi ho derry oh
A moose takes a dog.

A dog takes a cat
A dog takes a cat
Hi ho derry oh
A dog takes a cat.

A cat takes a rat
A cat takes a rat
Hi ho derry oh
[Big finish] A rat taaaakes aaaaaa cheeeeeeeeese!
[Insert wild clapping and praise here.]

Thinking about [yawn] tomorrow

It's hard to be a good mom when I'm tired. Of course the term "good mom" depends on the definition du jour - be it the one who bakes cookies and takes the youngsters to the playground or even just the one who doesn't yell.

I'm tired a lot these days because the work-from-home-and-end-of-semester-crunch is upon me. I work too late at night. Plus I think I have something a student termed "The 100-Day Cough." I'm on about day 14 now. Coughing is tiring work, but finding time to get it checked is also challenging, and I don't want to go for unnecessary antibiotics if I can avoid it. So I'll give it another 70 days or so. Er whatever. We'll see.

Thing is, me as Tired Mom is also Uninspired Mom and Impatient Mom and Mom Who Let's the Kids Watch Too Much TV and Mom Who Grits Her Teeth and Mom Who Banishes People to Their Rooms. I'm adoring some other bloggers' great advice about not feeling guilty about these things, especially at Christmas when things are in hyper mode regardless of what else is going on in life, but I'm not good at not feeling guilty. Instead I find myself thinking, a lot, "Tomorrow will be better." And then I stay up working too late again and I'm tired again and the cycle repeats.

Tomorrow [yawn] will be better.

Live in the present, "they" say.

So, as I write this I'm making low-fat oatmeal raisin cookies that both kids like as snacks. That makes me feel happy because it's not bad for them. Baking relaxes me, which is handy. I wish I could do it more often. This is a rare, almost blissful, half hour.

Maybe today isn't too bad. Yawn.

Love a Parade - Except for the Noise

Tonight was the Santa Claus parade in our town. It was a nursery rhyme theme, which was great for pointing things out to Girlchild. Boychild and his buddies collected tonnes of frozen candy from dozens of frozen parade participants. Night parades are beautiful - but can leave you feeling quite raw (she said, still shivering and sipping tea).

Boychild has never been a big fan of loud noises, unless he's making them. Many a tear has been shed over such things as electric carving knives, drills and fireworks. He's much better than he used to be. Now instead of dissolving into tears, he's more likely to walk around with his hands over his ears.

The parade, of course, features fire trucks and large tractor trailers. The trucks, of course, sound their sirens and horns. The boy, of course, stands with his hands over his ears while his friends have their hands outstretched to collect candy. Not only that, but he has discovered that he gets better ear blockage by raising his arms straight up and pressing them against his ears. This makes him look, well, odd.

Kids are weird. Weird, weird, weird. It's at this point that groom-boy and I point to each other and say, simultaneously, "Your child."

The Acidic Tax Trip

I'm afraid the only person who may find this post funny is me, but I'm writing it because Heather commented on my previous post, which featured the Storm Cloud Girl graphic. She wondered whether I drew it myself and, alas, I cannot take credit. Say what you will about Microsoft, but it does have some pretty compelling clipart!

Storm Cloud Girl (my term, not Microsoft's) reminds me a little of some images I found for one of my various gigs. I was hired in the spring by a municipality to produce a brochure to be distributed to all ratepayers outlining their tax dollars at work. Let me tell you, doing a tax brochure is, well, um, let's just say it was daunting for me. In my communications career I have been asked to explain a lot of things. As a reporter I covered municipal councils and had to write about budgets and taxes routinely. Always, though, I approached this topic with a degree of trepidation. I don't find it easy.

Fortunately, the mayor and some of his staff had a vision for what they wanted to see in the brochure, and so it was relatively easy for me to follow through. They wanted simple graphics included that would help to explain this vision.

So I found a bunch of clip art with a theme. Stuff like this

and this

and this.



When I met with the mayor, who I have worked with before, to review my first draft, he slowly circled a couple of my funky arrow guys, honing in on the bulging eyeball, and said, "Um, were you on acid when you did this?"

Of course you had to be there, and you have to know that I am unlikely to ever do acid, but the context of that question in relation to a tax brochure AND that clip art had me snorting with laughter. Even today, when I'm perusing clip art and encounter this one-bulging-eyeball theme Microsoft has going on, I can't help but giggle.

The Creeping Uglies

If someone were to take a picture of me today (heaven forbid), I think there would be a little cloud over my head and my own personal storm. I have no idea why.

The day has gone reasonably well. I've had no less sleep than usual (which isn't to say I got a lot of sleep, of course). Maybe it's because I'm slowly cutting back on coffee - eliminating that silly afternoon cup that had snuck back into my routine after a 10-year absence.

For whatever reason, late this afternoon the Creeping Uglies(TM) came over to hang out. All this means is that I am not as well equipped to handle the Suppertime Nasties(TM) - you know, when everyone is crabby and hungry - with my usual grace, charm and wit. HA! I use the word "handle" loosely, of course.

Things that usually don't bother me much are suddenly quite annoying, such as:

* Boychild's 20 questions about something inane

* Boychild's habit of not actually looking for something before assuming I, through some sort of telepathy, know where he dropped it ("It's at your feet, Boy!")

* Girlchild squirming all over me while I try to help Boychild with his homework

* Girlchild shouting "Mine!" in that special two-year-old way

It's all the usual stuff and it comes with a routine set of responses (some good, some not so good), but without that usual stock of patience I am just at a loss. Sigh. I betcha it has to do with the coffee.

Oh, the Screaming!

Over the last few days, Girlchild has started another new thing. Think "banshee," "screaming demon," "blood-curdling shriek" and "tortuous screams" and you'll get the idea.

For whatever reason a two-year-old might have, she has decided it is just fine to wait a short time after going down for a nap or off to bed, lulling her parents into a false sense of security, and then she starts to scream as if someone is poking her with hot irons or shoving bamboo under her fingernails.

Naturally, the first few times this happened, Daddy or I made the grave error of "rushing in" to see what was wrong. As soon as I entered her room, she stopped shrieking and said, very happily, "Hello, Mommy! Want juice!" Yes, these dramatic episodes generally end with some sort of simple request, like a drink, a snuggle or more music.

Grrrr.

It didn't take us overly long to realize she had a New Great Game and that this horrible, horrible sound brought Mommy and/or Daddy in on the run. So we stopped running and started setting the timer for five-minutes-that-seemed-liked-45-minutes before going into her room, patting her on the head and saying, "There there. You go to sleep now, dear. Nighty night." This is sooooo hard to do at 3 in the morning when you just KNOW it is going to wake up Boychild, too. It makes for a long day.

Ever looking for the silver lining in things, I'll say this: 1. At least at this time of year the windows are closed, otherwise the neighbours would be calling the police to investigate whatever it is that is causing someone to scream like she's being sawed in half. I tell you, it would wake the neighbourhood in the summer. 2. This whole horrible, horrible phase may be short lived. The frequency was down today. We can always hope it will be over soon because anything that involves demon-like shrieking is just not good.