I'm Such A Suck!

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Trouble was supposed to start Junior Kindergarten today. He turns 4 years old in a couple of weeks. The problem is that he isn't ready for it yet. Neither am I, for that matter.

Sure, the Ontario school system would gladly take him in. He's old enough by their standards. Heaven knows he's smart enough ... as witnessed by the fact that he outsmarts me on an almost daily basis. (A little side story here ... we were driving down the street yesterday, and Hubby was musing about his stress levels, indicating that he needs to re-discover his "happy place." Trouble suggested, "How about WalMart?".)

But he's just barely toilet trained. I mean, mere weeks ago, he was still flatly refusing to accept any of the many generous bribes I was offering for a short stint on the potty. He's still having accidents from time to time, as well. And, with the understandable rules in place at school stating that they can't help him with his toileting needs, that means I would have to drive out there each time he needed a little cleaning up. Kinda hard to do, since I presently am without a vehicle.

We're also still struggling with what is turning out to be an extremely tenacious umbilical cord. It's probably a by-product of me being a stay/work-at-home Mom this time around, as opposed to with Mini-Me, who was a daycare baby. Mini-Me handled the transition to JK way better than I did. He gave me a casual wave and a "See you later, Mom", while I cried my eyes out for the rest of the day (mind you, I was 8 months pregnant at the time as well, so hormones played a big factor in that incident). Trouble isn't quite so blase about our parting. I tried to leave him at my sister's house last night while I went out to meet with a prospective client. The ensuing tantrum would have had Child Services breaking down the door, if the neighbours didn't already know the whole story.

I thought about it, though. If we were still living in Quebec, he wouldn't be attending school for another 2 years. So why is it so gosh darned important for him to go right now, just because we're 600km away?

Hubby and I discussed it and made the decision to keep him home this year, let him start Senior Kindergarten next year. That gives me - I mean him - a whole year to get used to the idea...

Crackbook

(Author stands with hands clasped behind her back, shuffling her feet nervously)

"Hi, my name is Bikermomma."

(Crowd replies)

"Hi, Bikermomma!"

"It's been eighteen minutes since my last login to Facebook."

(Smattering of applause)

Hubby was recently invited to join this highly addictive on-line community. After he exchanged pleasantries with a few of my friends, I thought maybe it was time I gave it a shot.

BIG mistake.

What a fabulous way to trot out all of my old highschool insecurities! I wake up every morning and, before I even check my e-mail (because that takes waaayyy too long on my dinosaur of a laptop), I have to see what's going on with my Facebook account. Has anyone contacted me? Has anyone responded to my requests for friendship? Is anyone looking for me? Have any of my "friends" posted on my wall? Has anyone sent me a gift? A hug? A beer? Thrown sheep at me? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!?!?!

This is all my husband's fault, you know. He's the one who introduced me to Facebook (or, Crackbook, as one of my friends so appropriately nick-named it). He's the one who stays up late every night so we can search for more long-lost friends. That's OK, though. It's nice to know there's an enabler in the house if I ever wanted to - say - start smoking or take up on-line gambling. At least that's one good thing I can say about Facebook - it's free, so my children's college funds (or therapy money) won't suffer for it.

On the positive side, though, it is nice to catch up with all those old friends I haven't seen in years. So far, I've gotten in touch with old high-school buddies, a couple of long-lost cousins, the children of old neighbours I haven't seen in decades, and the guy who introduced me to my husband.

There is, of course, a dark side to all of this "re-connecting", though ... other than the addiction, I mean. It's meeting up with these "kids" whom I haven't seen in years.

"Oh, honey, look! It's Little Suzie! You remember her. She's George's daughter, they lived across the street from us in Hometown. How old was she when we first moved in? Four? Five? She was such a cute kid. Remember how she used to come over to ask if the dog could come out to play? I wonder what she's up to these days. Oh, look! She's in College now. And she has a boyfriend. Let's look at her pictures, maybe there are some pics of her dad in there..."

Bom chicka wow wow...

Suddenly, you're looking at photos of scantily clad drunken college girls in a hot tub, all flashing their various piercings at whatever lucky college guy is holding the camera.

As I try to resist the urge to burn out my retinas, I suggest to hubby that we file that one under "Too much information."

So, beware, my friends. The addiction hits hard, and it hits fast. It's damn near impossible to resist. And, when you least expect it, you'll stumble across some bit of information that you could happily have gone your whole life without knowing ... like the fact that you are getting very, very old.

Got Skunk?

What a lovely way to start the day.

I was woken up at 5:00 in the blessed AM by hubby dearest swearing like a trucker. The bleeping dog had gotten sprayed by a bleeping skunk ... yet again.

This isn't a new routine for us. The bleeping dog, and her bleeping predecessor, had been sprayed by skunks before, always at ungodly hours of the morning. You see, hubby dearest works these wonderful shifts, and so, he feels he is doing the good dog-daddy thing by letting the dog out for a pee before he heads off to work. This is despite (or, perhaps, in spite of) my repeated requests to stop because - d'uh! - there are bleeping skunks in the area and, being nocturnal animals, they're all heading home for a good night's - or day's - rest at precisely that time of morning.

What I find amusing about this whole ordeal is that the inevitable comment that follows a multiple spraying like this is, "You'd think she'd learn her lesson after the first time."

Oh, yes. Of all the characters involved in this comedy, you'd think the dog would be the one to learn the lesson. As intelligent as she is ... and she is extremely intelligent ... she is, in fact, a dog. She is a highly prey-driven, chase-anything-that-moves kind of dog, to boot. Would I expect her to take a face-full of fresh eau de skunk as a lesson to stop chasing little things that run? That would be nice, but I'm not holding my breath (well, technically I am, but that's not what I mean here).

I immediately embarked on my virtual quest for skunk-spray remedies. I've come across one interesting recipe, repeatedly, which everyone swears will works like a charm. The directions involve peroxide, baking soda and liquid dish soap ... oh, yes, and a pair of thick rubber gloves. The recipe also cautions that you should keep the mixture in an open container, as enclosing it with a lid might cause it to explode.

Forgive me, but I'm a little hesitant to pour a volatile concoction, with the potential for combustion, onto my dog's head. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm funny that way.

What other options do I have? Well, it's not likely that she'll spend the rest of the season in the back yard. She's been out there for 4 hours now and has almost figured out how to open the patio door by herself. She's most definitely an indoor dog, and doesn't take kindly to being separated from her pack. The last time I went to the back door to make sure she was OK, she gave me an intense stare and then ... I swear to you ... with her nose, she pointed at the door handle. She was very clearly saying, "Look, I've had quite enough 'fresh' air now. Would you open the freakin' door already?"

I can't very well put her in the car and take her to a groomer or to the pet store to pick up some dog-safe product with which to bathe her. Aside from the fact that hubby dearest would probably divorce me for stinking up the truck that badly, I do have two young children who would have to come with me, and I think enclosing them in a car with her at the moment could be construed as child abuse.

I also can't leave her in the back yard while I go out. Not only is she a chaser, but she's a climber as well. As soon as I would walk out the front door, she would scale the measly 4 foot fence just like a cat. Now that I think of it, she must have learned that particular trick from all the cats she's chased out of our yard over the years. Gee, thanks, puss!

So, she'll have to spend the day out back, offending our neighbours, until hubby gets home from work and one of us can go shopping. In the mean time, my biggest challenge will be keeping the kids from inadvertently letting her into the house during their various daytime wanderings. That task should prove a bit of a challenge - kind of like trying to build a dam out of a pair of pantyhose.

BACK IT UP!!!

This is a quick entry to remind everyone of a very important lesson I learned the hard way last night.

For the love of all that is holy, BACK UP YOUR HARD DRIVES!!!

I had a spectacular crash last night. Every digital picture I've ever taken or been sent through e-mail, every piece of clipart I've collected over the years, every client project file, every project template I've downloaded, the drivers for my new laser engraver ... all gone in the blink of an eye.

And all this happened when I had two projects that absolutely needed to be done last night and a very large one waiting in the wings that needs to be started this week-end and which will take a week and a half of full-power, 12-hour days to complete.

Luckily, hubby has a computer that we were able to install the laser's drivers on, so we were up and running and had the "must do" jobs completed by 2:00AM.

But I'm still mourning the loss of all of my photos, clipart and data, as witnessed by the box of Timbits I killed today.

So, please, learn from my mistakes. Back-up your hard drives weekly, if not daily. Your stomach (and the lack of ulcers therin) will thank you for it.