Friday, February 10, 2006
As a professional in the IT and programming field, I like to think that I am somewhat computer literate. Not only can I break down a computer into it's various components, I can upgrade said components. I can wipe hard drives and install operating software. I can create databases that hold vast amounts of data handled by hundreds of people across several countries on a network that exists only as a figment of the internet. But I cannot create an ebay sellers account. Sure, I can BUY stuff on ebay. But creating that sellers account seems just out of my grasp. For I, ladies and gents, am stuck in a loop so sticky, so unescapeable, so tight, that even days and days of correspondance with the wonderful peeps at ebay support have not helped one single bit. I have dutifully followed each instruction (with the focus of a pug watching somebody eat popcorn - and that is FOCUSED). I have repeated the process over and over thinking that something might change and it will actually WORK this time. I have heard it said (okay, Yarn Harlot said it once and my therapist more than once but that is besides the point...good sources, okay?) that to do the same thing over and over and expect a different outcome was Freud's example of insanity. So by all rights and purposes, I am truly, certifiably, and unequivocably INSANE. I sit for what seems like hours each day, logging in, entering credit card info, clearing cookies and caches, logging out, swearing, talking in jibberish and pulling my hair, slamming desk supplies (sometimes pounding a stapler down several times in a row just feels so good. Temporary, but for that one moment so satisfying). All to end up at the same screen. "Hey, you need to create a sellers account!". I don't know whether to cry, vomit, or just give up. Other people can manage to create their accounts. People that are not computer literate at ALL. People who take snapshots on a 35 mm regular camera then ask how to get the pictures out of the film onto the hard drive (um, get them developed and then scan them in? No, I am not kidding. Now take the camera out of the mouse dock). People who misspell simple words and use poor grammar. Why, oh why, can I not create an account like all these other people? *SOB!*. Today is Friday. I will be spending my week-end cleaning this hellhole, trying to wedge in some family time, and maybe getting DD's ears pierced. And somewhere in all that I will try - AGAIN - to create a sellers account. If you don't hear back from me next week you can assume I am wandering the neighbourhood in my underwear in the snow, babbling about sellers accounts and transfering registrations and deleting cookies while hitting myself in the head repeatedly with a laptop. For your amusement until then, here is a picture of Jasmine "The Gigantic Cat". She has just stolen the chair from Ruby, who you can see sulking behind it LOL. Ruby will be snoring away in a comfy spot, and Jasmine will saunter over. The cat will STARE at her. Just stare at her. not touch her, not hurt her, just stare. Eventually Ruby will get all nervous and vacate said spot, and Jasmine will take it. I do believe Jasmine thinks our dog is her personal spot warmer. See 'ya!
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Last night, right before bed, my darling daughter looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and said "Don't forget about my hundred things". What hundred things? "Tomorrow is hundred day, and we need to bring in one hundred things". On the hundredth school day, every school in the city celebrates 100 day in various ways. I figure I can bring it upon myself to count out 100 cheerios, so not a big deal. "But not food!" the child states, holding up her hand in perfect 'stop' fashion. "We are going to line the things up on the floor of the gym and measure them to compare". NOT FOOD?!?! In JK we sent cheerios. In SK we sent pumpkin seeds. And now, all of a sudden, they are too grown up to bring food items? I suppress the momentary panic that my baby is growing up (which usually makes we want to lie down with a wet cloth on my forehead) and rack my brain for ideas. What on earth do we have 100 of, that is worthy of this discerning child? No way can I get away with "you go to sleep and I will think of something". Not this kid. She wants to see it and approve it. Drat. So my husband and I scour the house. Well, I scour the house, he follows me around rejecting anything I come up with. Legos? Not all the same shape and size. Leaves from the dead plant in the living room? Ewww. Bottle caps? No way do we have 100 bottle caps. And no time for him to catch up and drink 100 beers (that we don't have anyway) by tomorrow morning. 100 crocheted chains in a piece of yarn? Now, why did they give me THAT look? I know I am a dork, and that is just the way it is. I would have been thrilled to bring a crocheted chain for MY hundred day at school. Which they didn't have when I was in school so the whole thing is moot. We settled on 100 glass pebbles, like as in the stuff you put around candles or in fish bowls or glue onto bowling balls to make lawn ornaments. No, they are not exactly the same size and colour but seeing as there were no other options (and I don't normally let DD LOOK at let alone touch the glass globs) she deemed them acceptable. And never mind that I laid awake part of the night wondering how I could possibly have ONE HUNDRED glass pebbles in my possession (plus more, bags and bags more) with no wedding centrepieces in sight. Don't look at me like that, I told you I had issues. Happy Hundred Day!
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Have you ever noticed that the speed your family moves is inversely proportionate to how late you are getting somewhere? We were late for swimming lessons last night. First time ever (really, I swear!). I was at the door, coat and boots on, frantically yelling "Let's go let's go let's go!" while DD (my darling daughter) was still sitting on the couch and DH (my d[fill in the blank depending on circumstance] husband) was JUST going into the bathroom. They kept looking at me like I was losing my mind - and rightfully so because I was - and I kept looking at them like they were in another dimenion or something. You know on a tv sitcom where a person comes back as a ghost, and they can see their family and friends and talk to them, but their family and friends can't see or hear them? That is how I felt. After we all got in the car and going (5 minutes after swimming starts mind you), DH says "I didn't know we were late". I think my brain short circuited a bit. What part of me pushing, pulling, throwing boots and coats at them, standing at the door screaming WE ARE LATE, IT IS TIME TO LEAVE, WE HAVE TO GO was too subtle for him???? All ended well. She started her lesson late but one of her classmates was sick and the other left early so she got some one-on-one time with the instructor to catch up. Of course, we sat in a steam bath (with clothes on) with wet bare feet (no shoes or socks allowed on deck) and did the "drying off and getting dressed" ritual - that takes longer than the swimming ever does, by the way - for all of 15 minutes of a swimming lesson. Hardly worth the trip? Well, yes and no. I personally think it is better to be late than to skip something altogether. I know it is irritating when people are late, it makes it seem like they don't value your time. But not showing up when you are expected, isn't that somewhat worse? And it really doesn't happen often. I just know now for next week I have to start my pushing and pulling and shoe throwing 10 minutes earlier.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
I am not sure what a kazoodle exactly is, but mine is frozen. I haven't heard the temp yet, but I am sure it is very very cold. Bright and sunny, and colder than heck! There are days the fact that I can get my daughter up, dressed, fed, and to school on time simply amazes me. 6 year olds are fanatically slow in the morning. And ornery. And stubborn. *COUGH* Especially on nights when mommy was grocery shopping and Daddy lets them stay up an hour and a half past bedtime *COUGH*. There is something about that slowness in the face of the ticking clock that just gives me fits. Want to give me an aneurysm? Know that we had to leave three minutes ago, then decide that you have to "say goodbye to the dog" before putting your boots on. My daughter is particularly resistant to winter clothing such as hats, boots, coats, anything warm when the weather is cold enough to freeze your kazoodles off. "I don't need a hat, I will wear my hood. I don't need gloves, my hands are hot. I don't need boots, I won't step on any snow". Yeah, right. The minute we get outside, in the car, and pull out (meaning out of reach of said warm items and we are so late there is no turning back to get them) she starts whining and winging...."I'm cold. My hands are frozen. My feet are wet". Because guess who practically LAID in the snow as soon as we got outside? Sigh. Then we get to school, and as a good mother I dutifully stand outside with her and wait for the bell to ring. Freezing my kazoodles off, and WEARING all of MY winter gear. I am sure the other parents think wonderful thoughts about this. I am bundled to the hilt, and my daughter is half naked and crying that she is cold. A better mother would have shoved all those warm wooly items into a bag and carried them along, knowing they would be needed. A better mother would have found a way to convince the child to wear the warm items when it is cold outside to begin with. A better mother would not consider herself having a good day if her daughter is wearing clean (albeit not matching) clothes and managed to make it to school before the bell rang. Notice there was no mention of brushed hair or teeth in that sentence. What is it about winter that pulls out all of my parent-anxiety? In the summer, when it is warm and, well...sunny, she can prance almost naked in the yard looking at bugs, drinking iced tea (sugar AND caffeine, what was I thinking?), burning marshmallows and digging in the dirt. She can go to bed late, with dirty feet and a kool-aid smile, and a mother says to herself "She is building memories". But send the child to school ONE DAY without a hat, and you feel like the worst mother of the year. Fathers are different though. Fathers go by other rules. Fathers can feed the children ice cream for breakfast, put yesterdays dirty school clothes back on them the next day, and pack a can of ravioli with a can opener in their lunch. And never feel the slightest bit of inferiority while doing all that. It's a "git her done" mentality. The child was fed, wasn't she? The child was dressed, wasn't she? The child didn't die of diptheria, did she? Then all is well. Some day I might figure it all out. Someday I might be able to let things go and feel I did the best I could. Some day I might remember to bring the mittens. And someday I might remember to carry kleenex in my purse. But not today. Did I mention it was cold enough to freeze kazoodles out there today?
Monday, February 06, 2006
Wow. I am a blogger. I have a blog. I am one who blogs. Not that most people even understand what that means. "So, you mean, you write stuff". "Yes. I write stuff". "And people can read it on the internet". "Yes, I write stuff and people can read it on the internet". "For free". "Yes, I write stuff and people can read it on the internet, for free". >>insert many minutes of silence here<< Uncomfortable silence where the moments tick by as I grin like a moron and the other person calculates the proper trajectory to fling their coffee at me so they can made a good escape. After all, posting writing on the internet must mean that I am some sort of deviant. Isn't the internet nothing but porn and chat groups where people discuss meeting to look at porn, and spammers spend their day sending links to porn in bulk email? Sure. But the internet is so much more than that. There are entire communities of people that form "groups" on the internet. Groups of crafters, knitters, woodworkers. Groups that enjoy cooking and eating and "talking" to people about cooking and eating. Sometimes these people travel and meet each other IRL (in real life), and other times the relationship is strictly electronic. Either way, these "imaginary friends" become a very real part of every day life. I have posted for a few years on several bulletin boards. Some are very strict and serious, others are more lenient and allow for regular "conversation". But the basic response from most of my fellow posters has been "You should be a writer". "Your posts are so funny". "You have such a way with words". "I look forward to your posts". So, I guess 'in a way', my imaginary friends have gotten their way. Some notes first though. 1. I tend to ramble (a blogger that rambles? How unusual - tee hee!). 2. I suffer from overuse of brackets, brackets within brackets, and variable brackets. If you get lost in my thought, don't worry. You are not alone. Just keep reading, I promise the thought comes back together at the end. And if not? Well, feel free to add your OWN brackets if you want to make it clearer. 3. I am neurotic and obsessive about things that other people don't even notice. I have strict rules about eating, for example. If you want me to screech, cover my face, and generally freak out bring food or drink into the bathroom. Anything too small (Polly Pocket shoes) or too large (standard poodles) weirds me out. There is more, much much more. 4. I do odd things like garden organically, crochet, knit (most recent), and make things from scratch when it would be quicker, easier, and cheaper to buy them ready made. I am dorky enough to think doing this is fun. 5. In my little world, people always do what is right and kind and moral and ethical all the time. Needless to say, I am disappointed a LOT. 6. I am, well, shall we say - dramatic. Some would say overly so. And that is fine, I am not every single person's cup of tea, nor do I expect to be. If I wasn't so dramatic then this wouldn't be very fun to read, would it? 7. My child, my husband, my pets, my insane crafts, these things are my LIFE. Even when I complain about them. Even when I act like I don't like them. Without them, I would be nothing. Well, that is about it, for now. 'Till next time! Dances.