Thursday, March 3, 2011

Open Letter to the Men in My Family

Emma, aka The Pole Dancer, has had it...Kate can hardly blame her. Every single thing in her house is male. There's only so much testosterone that one can handle...


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Dear Males,

I am pulling an “Eat Pray Love” and running away to Europe.  I am emptying the savings account and my forwarding address for the future is...Italy.  And when asundry folks ask why I am on "holiday" - here's why. I am back from a long weekend visiting my sister with my youngest son, Youngest.  I left my oldest son, Eldest, and Hubby at home.   I was amazed to find that my name was Mud when I returned.

My name was Mud because the Netflix subscription was suspended.  Our credit card was hacked (again!) and I apparently haven't updated all the automatic payments yet.  Why is it that only I am capable of typing in the new 16 digit Visa number into the website?  Keep in mind my significant other has a math degree and a computer science degree. 

My name was Mud because Eldest's lunch card was out of money. While I had updated the credit card info for this site, I had not reset the parameters for when to auto deduct money.  Six seconds on the website fixed the issue - but Eldest had to eat on the free lunch program cereal meal of shame the entire time I was out of town.  And yes, I feel badly but even if genius husband couldn't figure out how to update the website, how about handing the boy $5?  

While my name is Mud almost every night in the cooking department - from tears at the thought of eating the dinner I cooked to outright refusals from the boys, and lackluster reviews from Hubby in the form of “It's ok…” “It tastes like a spice is missing…” or “I've had better...”  - while  I am away, they eat Dominoes, subs from Safeway, McDonalds, sausages from the freezer that they said smelled funny, and spaghetti at a neighbour’s house.  First night back I make garlic lime fajitas - and all I hear is - you didn't buy any sour cream?  If they choke on the chocolate chip cookies I baked, I'm not sure what the odds are that I'll actually perform the Heimlich Maneuver. But I know they’re low.

My name is Mud because Eldest didn't have any spring clothes.  Or more accurate - clothes from last year that still fit and that he likes.  It was 42 degrees when I left and 75 when I got back 5 days later.  I had actually completed the Seasonal Clothing Migration as I was looking for things for the trip for Youngest.  No thanks given that there were choices of shorts and t- shirts at hand in the drawers just when they were needed - only complaints that the choices were unwanted this season.  

And the question - do "we" have time to go shopping for new clothes?  God I hate the WE.  WE all know that the WE in the equation is ME.  I hate WE even more than I hate IN.  Does anyone else have an IN rant?  You know the one that starts "I said IN the laundry basket (drawer, car, backpack...) not near, by, on top of, hanging out of, underneath, in the vicinty... IN IN IN!!!  Followed by a look at your watch to see how late in the day it is - and usually it's only 8:25am.

My name is Mud because I hadn't adequately defined the playdate schedule.  I had arranged for Eldest to be dropped off before school at a neighbor’s house and have playdates each day after school.  The final day, his friend's mom was picking up Eldest at school.  Which caused this:

Eldest:  Where?
Me: At school.
Eldest: But, where??
Me: At the front of the school.
Eldest: BUT WHERE??
Me: OhfortheloveofMaude! What. Do.  You. Want?!  Six meters from the front door?  The longitude and latitude?  It is not a big school and there is only one door you’re allowed to use. Find her. 


My name was Mud because Eldest didn't have a science notebook.  I supplied every single item on the sadistic teacher's back to school shopping list. Admittedly, the marble notebooks from last year that came home with only the first 8 pages filled, I ripped out and made Eldest reuse. But he gave some sob story to Papa and they had to go out and buy a new one.  It was apparently traumatic for Eldest and vastly annoying for Hubby and I had to hear about the trauma in great detail.  I just Google mapped their harrowing journey - according to their GPS system, CVS is a 4 min drive from my house.

My name is Mud because I put the cord I found on the floor with what looked like phone jacks on either end in the spare cords section in the tool room.  How was I to know it was a crucial part of the LEGO Mindstorms and the robot wouldn't work without it? How about putting it IN (there is that word again!  deep breath, exhale) the specially purchased Mindstorm bin next time?

So call me Mud and call me in Italy.  I will be eating tiramisu, praying to the god Bacchus, and loving the sunset over the Grand Canal.

And probably in a Mud Bath. It’s only appropriate.



(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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