I knew I shouldn't have gloated about that toilet. I knew it. $170 later, I'm feeling a bit less cocky about our progress on our toilet-stuffing problem. Seems man (or, rather, little girl) has triumphed over technology yet again. On the bright side, Larry made sure to be home when the plumber got here and learned the finer points of toilet removal and replacement. If we're going to do this twice a month, we'd better become do-it-yourselfers.
Rachel has a bad cold now, which is good - she's spending a lot of time napping. Less time for mischief, you know. Maybe we should get Anna to nap more. She broke our exercise bike by punching the control panel. She showed me, huh? That's okay - we'll get her back by dragging her on long family walks. She really hates us, with a loathing so complete it's almost admirable. I'm beginning to think we need an exorcist.
It occurs to me that I should have something else to write to you folks about other than how badly my children have been behaving. But I don't. Even the ones that have been being good I don't trust anymore. I figure they could turn on us at any moment. Oh, well, only 16 years to go. And no matter how crazy the kids drive us, at least we still get that child tax credit for each of them. Doesn't quite make up for all the trouble we're going through, but I do think it takes the sting out of the situation. Larry made me finish the taxes today (he bribed me with M&M's), just so we could pretend to be solvent for a few weeks or so. We spent the latter part of the afternoon high-fiving each other over our fat refund (yes, I know it is really our money and the government shouldn't have had it all year in the first place, but we're financial idiots, okay?) and trying to research how much a new exercise bike will cost. I'm not quite sure why Larry is wanting to buy a new one, unless he feels the need to keep something expensive around that the children can break. At least it doesn't fit down the toilet...
Or maybe Larry just needs an excuse to treat himself. He had the week from hell this past week. Every evening he'd walk in the door, hoping for a few minutes to sit down, drink a beer, relax a bit (he's a hopeless optimist); and every evening he was greeted with a crisis in one form or another. One evening it was the toilet (but, of course); the next, the shower drain in our basement bathroom "threw up" a bunch of chopped-up food from the kitchen garbage disposal (the plumbing's a little weird in this house, even without a 4-year-old messing with it). The shower scenario wouldn't have been so bad if we had discovered it right away. But, seeing as how we have the basement bathroom padlocked in order to keep Rachel from breaking the potty, we weren't aware of a problem until the food lying all over the shower floor began to decompose. So Larry spent 3 hours down there cleaning up and unclogging the drain and trying to remove the stench. To say this put him in a foul mood would be a drastic understatement. But our basement smells a lot better, I must say. The next three evenings and mornings Larry spent setting mouse traps in the kitchen and disposing of the rodent victims (total body count - 5). At least he feels needed, is how I look at it.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A Brand New Year, Thank Goodness
We're sort of resigned to the status quo here - Anna angry, sullen, alienated; Rachel incarcerated (cheerfully) in her room; Theo counting the days until he's out of this madhouse....
That's right - Theo, rightfully realizing that things are going to heck in a handbasket here, got himself a summer job (or, as he refers to it, a paid vacation) at the Boy Scout camp he attended a couple of summers back. Apparently he prefers sleeping in a tent for 7 weeks to dealing with the craziness here. David and Brian are joyfully planning dairy-laden menus to have while he is away. They were only slightly let down to hear that there are going to be a lot of chores being reassigned during his absence. The directors of the camp were willing to take Anna on staff too (well, they didn't meet her); but she became irate when I suggested it to her. She's only spent the last 4 months telling me how much she hates me and how she can't wait to get away and now I give her her chance and she yells at me. I guess the idea of sleeping in a tent teed her off. I'm thinking of paying her to go.
Susie, thankfully, more than makes up for the, um, personality deficiencies around here. She is very talented and knows how to blow kisses and wave bye-bye and pout prettily when she doesn't get her way. And yes, I just eat that stuff up. As does Larry. We're both suckers.
Oh, I know - you all want to hear about the toilets, don't you? Well, you'll be surprised to hear that there's been nary a visit from our friend John the Plumber since the last newsletter. Seems that supersonic, jet-propelled-flush toilet is doing the job. It even swallowed Theo's military ID without a hitch. So Rachel has chosen to focus on expensive musical instruments this month instead. She managed to get hold of a grapefruit and impale it on the piano lamp (please, please don't ask me why), but none of the keys seem to be sticking, thankfully. Then she got hold of Anna's flute. Apparently, when we warned Anna never to leave her flute anywhere except on the highest shelf in her locked closet, we weren't specific enough. Now she wants to know why she's paying for the repair. Because we are unreasonable, that's why.
Larry and I actually went out to the movies a couple of weeks ago. His supervisor gave him a gift card to the local cinema and we thought, "What the heck - we haven't seen a real movie together in, oh, 14 years, maybe it's time, you know?" Larry wanted to see The Good Shepherd and I thought "Total guy movie," but I agreed to martyr myself by seeing it (Larry promised me popcorn). You know, it was actually a good film. That Matt Damon is hot. I'm so out of it, I didn't even know who he was until Larry told me. Wow. Larry enjoyed the movie also, though his enjoyment was somewhat diminished by my drooling over the main character.
Anna says we're always trying to control her (we had told her to get some exercise and stop glaring at us all the time). Apparently she woke up one day and said to herself, "Who put them in charge?" and it's been unpleasant here ever since. She's really getting on our nerves (which are, admittedly, a tad frayed at this point).
But, no matter - our ship has come in. As anyone who checks out the coupon section of their Sunday paper may already know, Scott Paper Company (of toilet-tissue fame) is sponsoring a contest wherein one is invited to tell the story of their "worst clogging incident." (There's a euphemism, if I ever heard one.) First prize - $25,000. Yes! That money is mine!
That's right - Theo, rightfully realizing that things are going to heck in a handbasket here, got himself a summer job (or, as he refers to it, a paid vacation) at the Boy Scout camp he attended a couple of summers back. Apparently he prefers sleeping in a tent for 7 weeks to dealing with the craziness here. David and Brian are joyfully planning dairy-laden menus to have while he is away. They were only slightly let down to hear that there are going to be a lot of chores being reassigned during his absence. The directors of the camp were willing to take Anna on staff too (well, they didn't meet her); but she became irate when I suggested it to her. She's only spent the last 4 months telling me how much she hates me and how she can't wait to get away and now I give her her chance and she yells at me. I guess the idea of sleeping in a tent teed her off. I'm thinking of paying her to go.
Susie, thankfully, more than makes up for the, um, personality deficiencies around here. She is very talented and knows how to blow kisses and wave bye-bye and pout prettily when she doesn't get her way. And yes, I just eat that stuff up. As does Larry. We're both suckers.
Oh, I know - you all want to hear about the toilets, don't you? Well, you'll be surprised to hear that there's been nary a visit from our friend John the Plumber since the last newsletter. Seems that supersonic, jet-propelled-flush toilet is doing the job. It even swallowed Theo's military ID without a hitch. So Rachel has chosen to focus on expensive musical instruments this month instead. She managed to get hold of a grapefruit and impale it on the piano lamp (please, please don't ask me why), but none of the keys seem to be sticking, thankfully. Then she got hold of Anna's flute. Apparently, when we warned Anna never to leave her flute anywhere except on the highest shelf in her locked closet, we weren't specific enough. Now she wants to know why she's paying for the repair. Because we are unreasonable, that's why.
Larry and I actually went out to the movies a couple of weeks ago. His supervisor gave him a gift card to the local cinema and we thought, "What the heck - we haven't seen a real movie together in, oh, 14 years, maybe it's time, you know?" Larry wanted to see The Good Shepherd and I thought "Total guy movie," but I agreed to martyr myself by seeing it (Larry promised me popcorn). You know, it was actually a good film. That Matt Damon is hot. I'm so out of it, I didn't even know who he was until Larry told me. Wow. Larry enjoyed the movie also, though his enjoyment was somewhat diminished by my drooling over the main character.
Anna says we're always trying to control her (we had told her to get some exercise and stop glaring at us all the time). Apparently she woke up one day and said to herself, "Who put them in charge?" and it's been unpleasant here ever since. She's really getting on our nerves (which are, admittedly, a tad frayed at this point).
But, no matter - our ship has come in. As anyone who checks out the coupon section of their Sunday paper may already know, Scott Paper Company (of toilet-tissue fame) is sponsoring a contest wherein one is invited to tell the story of their "worst clogging incident." (There's a euphemism, if I ever heard one.) First prize - $25,000. Yes! That money is mine!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
More Toilet Tales
Why not? I have nothing else to do....
Our plumber came by on Wednesday and installed yet another new toilet (to replace the new toilet he installed in October). And not just any new toilet - this toilet has a jet-propelled flush which, he claimed, could swallow 8 golfballs without a problem. I told him to keep his voice down - we simply do not need to give Rachel any new ideas. In fact, the device struck me as sounding rather dangerous, but he solicitously reassured me that this was just the toilet for us. He said, and I quote, "When the salesman came to our shop last month and showed us this new model, I thought of you." I guess I'll take that as a compliment. Some people have an interior designer; I have a personal plumber.
So that was Wednesday. Thursday night I had the rather dubious pleasure of calling him up and informing him that his indestructible toilet had been laid low (on the first try) by my 4-year-old. Atta girl, Rachel! I'm so proud. It seems that the power flush (which is, I must admit, very impressive) fascinated her. Drop something in and WHOOSH! it's gone; drop something else in and WHOOSH!...well, I'm sure you get the idea. John (that's our plumber - might as well know his name, he's practically a member of the family now) came by Friday and fixed it, but he seemed a little shaken up by the whole experience. He did get to meet my father (who's been bankrolling this whole plumbing extravaganza); so now at least Grandpa knows I'm not making any of this up.
Anyway, Larry's home for the weekend, which is a blessed relief to me; at least I can't get blamed for not watching Rachel enough. I went out early and did some errands and Larry kept control of things on the homefront. Or so he thought....(insert evil laugh here). On his watch someone went down to the basement, got their hands on some confectioner's sugar, and pretended it was, um, snow. After we finished cleaning up the family room and interrogating the usual suspect, Larry headed out to Home Depot to pick up a lock and padlock for the refrigerator. I'd like to say at this point that I'm noticing a pattern here. I've been spending the last 4 months racking my brain for innovative behavior modification techniques to solve our incorrigible-child problem, while Larry has responded to any new Rachel challenge with some sort of technological solution (did I mention that he loved the jet-propelled flush concept?). Think of Wily E. Coyote going to all sorts of ridiculous extremes to outwit Roadrunner. At first he (Larry, that is, not Wily) put locks on all the doors. When that didn't work, he installed a motion sensor inside Rachel's room, over the door. The sensor worked, until that little monster stole it (don't know how - I mean, I couldn't even reach it). So Larry - not to be outdone - upgraded to an honest-to-God home sentry system. Now all our bathroom doors chime when we open them (sounds sort of nice, actually). And Rachel's bedroom door, too (the one with 3 - count them, 3 - locks on it). For reasons unknown to us (we refuse to accept the "she's smarter than us" explanation), none of this has stopped her. All I know is, we're really in trouble when I see Larry coming home with a case of Acme dynamite to rig to that toilet.
Actually, we are really in trouble. And that child psychologist we saw on Friday wasn't even worth the $20 copay. Rachel had her number in a heartbeat. That woman must talk to some very stupid 4-year-olds.
We had our annual Chanukah party tonight, and Larry took a walk on the wild side by actually letting Rachel out of her room for it (over my protests). He even let her play dreidel with everyone. I felt it necessary to warn the other kids to keep an eye on their money. For some reason Grandpa still thinks Rachel is cute, even though she's cost him close to $3000. I offered to let Grandma and Grandpa take her back home with them, and they laughed at me. That wasn't nice.
Have I mentioned my plan for Christmas? I'm going to get someone to dress up in a Santa suit and go into Rachel's room on Christmas Eve and spank her, all the time chortling, "Ho, ho, ho!" and "Merry Christmas!" I think that that would provide Larry and me with some much-needed Christmas cheer. And it beats our drinking ourselves into an alcoholic stupor.
Our plumber came by on Wednesday and installed yet another new toilet (to replace the new toilet he installed in October). And not just any new toilet - this toilet has a jet-propelled flush which, he claimed, could swallow 8 golfballs without a problem. I told him to keep his voice down - we simply do not need to give Rachel any new ideas. In fact, the device struck me as sounding rather dangerous, but he solicitously reassured me that this was just the toilet for us. He said, and I quote, "When the salesman came to our shop last month and showed us this new model, I thought of you." I guess I'll take that as a compliment. Some people have an interior designer; I have a personal plumber.
So that was Wednesday. Thursday night I had the rather dubious pleasure of calling him up and informing him that his indestructible toilet had been laid low (on the first try) by my 4-year-old. Atta girl, Rachel! I'm so proud. It seems that the power flush (which is, I must admit, very impressive) fascinated her. Drop something in and WHOOSH! it's gone; drop something else in and WHOOSH!...well, I'm sure you get the idea. John (that's our plumber - might as well know his name, he's practically a member of the family now) came by Friday and fixed it, but he seemed a little shaken up by the whole experience. He did get to meet my father (who's been bankrolling this whole plumbing extravaganza); so now at least Grandpa knows I'm not making any of this up.
Anyway, Larry's home for the weekend, which is a blessed relief to me; at least I can't get blamed for not watching Rachel enough. I went out early and did some errands and Larry kept control of things on the homefront. Or so he thought....(insert evil laugh here). On his watch someone went down to the basement, got their hands on some confectioner's sugar, and pretended it was, um, snow. After we finished cleaning up the family room and interrogating the usual suspect, Larry headed out to Home Depot to pick up a lock and padlock for the refrigerator. I'd like to say at this point that I'm noticing a pattern here. I've been spending the last 4 months racking my brain for innovative behavior modification techniques to solve our incorrigible-child problem, while Larry has responded to any new Rachel challenge with some sort of technological solution (did I mention that he loved the jet-propelled flush concept?). Think of Wily E. Coyote going to all sorts of ridiculous extremes to outwit Roadrunner. At first he (Larry, that is, not Wily) put locks on all the doors. When that didn't work, he installed a motion sensor inside Rachel's room, over the door. The sensor worked, until that little monster stole it (don't know how - I mean, I couldn't even reach it). So Larry - not to be outdone - upgraded to an honest-to-God home sentry system. Now all our bathroom doors chime when we open them (sounds sort of nice, actually). And Rachel's bedroom door, too (the one with 3 - count them, 3 - locks on it). For reasons unknown to us (we refuse to accept the "she's smarter than us" explanation), none of this has stopped her. All I know is, we're really in trouble when I see Larry coming home with a case of Acme dynamite to rig to that toilet.
Actually, we are really in trouble. And that child psychologist we saw on Friday wasn't even worth the $20 copay. Rachel had her number in a heartbeat. That woman must talk to some very stupid 4-year-olds.
We had our annual Chanukah party tonight, and Larry took a walk on the wild side by actually letting Rachel out of her room for it (over my protests). He even let her play dreidel with everyone. I felt it necessary to warn the other kids to keep an eye on their money. For some reason Grandpa still thinks Rachel is cute, even though she's cost him close to $3000. I offered to let Grandma and Grandpa take her back home with them, and they laughed at me. That wasn't nice.
Have I mentioned my plan for Christmas? I'm going to get someone to dress up in a Santa suit and go into Rachel's room on Christmas Eve and spank her, all the time chortling, "Ho, ho, ho!" and "Merry Christmas!" I think that that would provide Larry and me with some much-needed Christmas cheer. And it beats our drinking ourselves into an alcoholic stupor.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Holiday Spirits
Ahh...the holiday season...wrapping presents, baking cookies, looking for our missing cellphones...yes, Rachel is still on a rampage. I don't really want to talk about her much right now. We're hoping the (loud) motion sensor Larry installed in her room has some diminishing effect on her activities. You can't blame him, he's still mad about all that beer she poured into the VCR.
I'm just trying to decide - what does one get for one's plumber for Christmas? He feels like a member of the family already. Of course, maybe he should get us something instead. I mean, he has all our money. He just got back from a trip to Aruba. Must have been nice.
Maybe the child psychologist will know what to buy him - we get to meet her on Friday. I bet she begs us not to come back. I don't think she's the right person to see, anyway. We're not dealing with a child here - we're dealing with an adult career criminal in a 4-year-old's body.
Enough already! It's the holiday season and I'm looking forward to entertaining friends and family. We kick off our December party season with our annual Chanukah party this Saturday night. With any luck, no one in our immediate family will be throwing up, like they did on Thanksgiving. Most of our guests showed up anyway (they must really like turkey) and showed no ill effects afterwards. Still, it was a bit of a damper on the festivities.
What with all the damage inflicted recently by an out-of-control preschooler and a temper-tantrum-throwing 13-year-old, my house is now tastefully decorated in what appears to be a cross between Modern Jailhouse and Shabby Chic. I think I'll just serve lots of liquor so no one notices. Lots and lots. What Larry and I haven't drunk up already in an attempt to self-medicate, that is.
You know, you raise the children you have, not the children you wish you had.
I actually got around to making photo Christmas cards this year - I figured they'd be more interesting than a plain card, as I never manage to finish a Christmas newsletter. Actually, I didn't even try this year - too painful. All I can remember is that we were sick the first half of the year, and then Rachel and Anna went berserk for the second half. In fact, it seems quite likely to me that their weird behaviors were precipitated by some sort of a virus. Or bacteria. Or maybe a prion-eating disease of the brain. Perhaps I should contact the CDC. All I know is, it's not our fault. We feed them, we shelter them, we clothe them, and we don't even yell at them (much). Larry and I are most emphatically not taking the fall for this problem.
And, yes, I am feeling a tad defensive tonight. I'm telling you, as parents we were on top of our game only 4 short months ago, and just look at us now. It's pitiful. Erstwhile confident, in-charge authority figures (yes, us) are currently reduced to begging a 4-year-old girl with big eyes and cute curls to "please, please tell us where Daddy's cellphone is, honey!" and to searching her room every night for hidden scissors and other implements of destruction. Or we lie in bed at night, plotting ways to get back at our insolent teenage daughter while listening warily for the sound of the motion detector placed strategically in Rachel's room. Oh, how the mighty have fallen....
And, no, Theo, David, Brian, and Susie haven't run away yet. They're just a little shaken up, is all.
Time to go to bed - can't let Rachel wake up before me....
I'm just trying to decide - what does one get for one's plumber for Christmas? He feels like a member of the family already. Of course, maybe he should get us something instead. I mean, he has all our money. He just got back from a trip to Aruba. Must have been nice.
Maybe the child psychologist will know what to buy him - we get to meet her on Friday. I bet she begs us not to come back. I don't think she's the right person to see, anyway. We're not dealing with a child here - we're dealing with an adult career criminal in a 4-year-old's body.
Enough already! It's the holiday season and I'm looking forward to entertaining friends and family. We kick off our December party season with our annual Chanukah party this Saturday night. With any luck, no one in our immediate family will be throwing up, like they did on Thanksgiving. Most of our guests showed up anyway (they must really like turkey) and showed no ill effects afterwards. Still, it was a bit of a damper on the festivities.
What with all the damage inflicted recently by an out-of-control preschooler and a temper-tantrum-throwing 13-year-old, my house is now tastefully decorated in what appears to be a cross between Modern Jailhouse and Shabby Chic. I think I'll just serve lots of liquor so no one notices. Lots and lots. What Larry and I haven't drunk up already in an attempt to self-medicate, that is.
You know, you raise the children you have, not the children you wish you had.
I actually got around to making photo Christmas cards this year - I figured they'd be more interesting than a plain card, as I never manage to finish a Christmas newsletter. Actually, I didn't even try this year - too painful. All I can remember is that we were sick the first half of the year, and then Rachel and Anna went berserk for the second half. In fact, it seems quite likely to me that their weird behaviors were precipitated by some sort of a virus. Or bacteria. Or maybe a prion-eating disease of the brain. Perhaps I should contact the CDC. All I know is, it's not our fault. We feed them, we shelter them, we clothe them, and we don't even yell at them (much). Larry and I are most emphatically not taking the fall for this problem.
And, yes, I am feeling a tad defensive tonight. I'm telling you, as parents we were on top of our game only 4 short months ago, and just look at us now. It's pitiful. Erstwhile confident, in-charge authority figures (yes, us) are currently reduced to begging a 4-year-old girl with big eyes and cute curls to "please, please tell us where Daddy's cellphone is, honey!" and to searching her room every night for hidden scissors and other implements of destruction. Or we lie in bed at night, plotting ways to get back at our insolent teenage daughter while listening warily for the sound of the motion detector placed strategically in Rachel's room. Oh, how the mighty have fallen....
And, no, Theo, David, Brian, and Susie haven't run away yet. They're just a little shaken up, is all.
Time to go to bed - can't let Rachel wake up before me....
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Of Teens and Tots
Well, we've had a little bit of improvement on the teenage front around here. We told Anna that she was grounded until she did everything expected of her without being told and started acting like a human being again. The turnaround has been amazing. I guess she realized that 5 years could be a very long time. Of course, she still hates us; but we're past caring.
Theo and Larry are escaping on a weekend bike trip tomorrow morning. That leaves me as chief prison warden, making sure that Rachel doesn't get her hands on anything that she could possibly do mischief with. Which is, uh, everything you can imagine. She scares me. I don't want to be left alone with her. Preschool isn't helping. The teachers there pride themselves on teaching the children to improve their fine motor skills and to become more independent. Just what we need. Thanks a lot.
Oh, and Rachel knows how to drive. She told me so. We don't doubt it for a minute. Larry and I are assiduously hiding all car keys.
Halloween went well, though Larry once again took all my candy to his office the next day. He could have left me a few pieces, don't you think? He says it was all gone by the end of the day. And he thinks I'm a glutton.
Theo turned 15 and we couldn't think of anything really wow to get for him. But next year, that's different. He'll be 16, and eligible for a driver's permit, and we all know what that means - it means he is getting a really, really nice bicycle. Because we won't be able to afford car insurance for a teenage male. But, hey, it doesn't matter - Rachel knows how to drive. And I don't think State Farm has any insurance rates for 4-year-old girls.
Thanksgiving's coming - yes! No gifts, just food - how simple can it get? Roll out Tom Turkey, cook some cranberry sauce, round up anyone who has nowhere to go - instant holiday! I wish December were that easy. One good thing, though - we're not traveling all the way up to Maine this Christmas. Seems Auntie Kate, um, felt a little uneasy about having our 4-year-old monster staying in her house after the slashed-suitcase incident (see previous post). Talk about a silver lining...
Theo and Larry are escaping on a weekend bike trip tomorrow morning. That leaves me as chief prison warden, making sure that Rachel doesn't get her hands on anything that she could possibly do mischief with. Which is, uh, everything you can imagine. She scares me. I don't want to be left alone with her. Preschool isn't helping. The teachers there pride themselves on teaching the children to improve their fine motor skills and to become more independent. Just what we need. Thanks a lot.
Oh, and Rachel knows how to drive. She told me so. We don't doubt it for a minute. Larry and I are assiduously hiding all car keys.
Halloween went well, though Larry once again took all my candy to his office the next day. He could have left me a few pieces, don't you think? He says it was all gone by the end of the day. And he thinks I'm a glutton.
Theo turned 15 and we couldn't think of anything really wow to get for him. But next year, that's different. He'll be 16, and eligible for a driver's permit, and we all know what that means - it means he is getting a really, really nice bicycle. Because we won't be able to afford car insurance for a teenage male. But, hey, it doesn't matter - Rachel knows how to drive. And I don't think State Farm has any insurance rates for 4-year-old girls.
Thanksgiving's coming - yes! No gifts, just food - how simple can it get? Roll out Tom Turkey, cook some cranberry sauce, round up anyone who has nowhere to go - instant holiday! I wish December were that easy. One good thing, though - we're not traveling all the way up to Maine this Christmas. Seems Auntie Kate, um, felt a little uneasy about having our 4-year-old monster staying in her house after the slashed-suitcase incident (see previous post). Talk about a silver lining...
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