Category Archives: after all this i’ll need a drink

Just Call Me Buzz McKillington

A few days ago Will and Charlie were outside doing some chores that included the use of our lawn tractor and the small trailer attachment. When they were finished they decided it would be fun to ride up and down the road each taking turns standing up to do a bit of surfing in the trailer. The object of this game was to see if the driver could dislodge the surfer. When I caught sight of this I had to holler at them to stop and then proceeded to give them each a lecture on why this was not a safe activity.

When I was finished screeching at them in a voice only the dogs could here Charlie piped up.

“Mom, why do you always have to play the roll of Buzz McKillinton?”.

Which them prompted me to ask them to write a Guest Post on why they think I am such a Buzz Kill. Here is their post, completely unedited*.

Our mother the buzz kill.
A short story by Will and Charlie.

 

Who wants to hear a story about a bridge? Well nobody but with mom its everyday occurrence, Just hearing her calling our names from upstairs means something that won’t be fun.
What we think will be fun, She thinks will be “Dangerous” Obviously it’s dangerous that’s why it’s fun! She won’t even let us ride bikes down stairs, our poor little brother will grow up in a cruel and un-fun house.
Here’s a list of how she kills our buzz.
1. Sheep in the pool (Apparently it would kill it and that’s “A bad thing”)

2. Everyday when she dumps Henry on us. (Apparently its a bonding experience)

3. Whenever she calls our names from upstairs. (We know its either two things. Work, Or Trouble)

4. How we cant have overly violent games. *Cough* Buzz kill *Cough* *Cough*
5. Shes expects things of us.
6. Expects to feed ourselves.

7. Expects us to not do something Half-assed

8. Work! She expects us to get off out lazy butts and pay attention to her.

9. She expects me. A 16 year old teenage boy to wake up before 12 in the afternoon. (Gasp!)

10. She expects a 14 year old XBOX junkie to not play for 7 hours a day or until his fingers are numb.

11. She expects us to NOT be dumb teenagers. (Who does she think she is?)

As you can plainly tell. Our Moms a real buzz kill, She expects us to do things and enjoy doing them, Her idea of fun is throwing us outside for the day and making us watch Henry. PLEASE! CALL CHILD SERVICES! We don’t know how much more buzz killing we can take. 

TM of Will, Charlie and Henry. :) Have a great day that’s not full of a buzz kill mother. Cause we sure wont.

 

And there you have it folks, all the reasons why I am Buzz McKillington. 

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 *It nearly killed me not to spellcheck and edit this post!

Send In The Troops

It has been 19 years, 5 tours of duty, countless courses and field time and I always feel the same butterflies in my stomache when Sgt is about to return home. It is the same feeling I would get when we first started dating and I knew he was on his way to pick me up. I start a project but my mind quickly goes to something else and I find myself leaving a half cleaned rec room to start rearranging kitchen cupboards. I can not focus on one thing for any length of time and as a result it looks like my house has been burgled by very messy, very dirty thieves.

Let’s start with the bedroom. I have several large piles of my clothing on the floor and on Sgts side of the bed. Some are to be taken to the local thrift store for donation. Some are winter items that haven’t been stored yet. Some are clean and I haven’t put them away. And some are my maternity clothes that I am just not able to part with at this time. (But that’s a post for another day … or a session for me and my therapist.)

The laundry has piled up and I am afraid it will topple over and smother one of the children.

The kitchen still has last nights supper dishes sitting on the counter. Rice has yet to be swept up from underneath the highchair. The floor is beyond sticky.

The livingroom looks like Fisher Price stopped by after a night of kegging and threw up all over the floor.

I won’t dare set foot in Will and Charlie’s rooms without HAZMAT gear and a stick to beat off any creatures that may lunge out from under their beds. Teenage boys are gross.

We had a small flood in our storage room in March and everything that was taken out has to be put back with some sense of order.

The only rooms that do not need any cleaning or reorganizing are the bathroom (only because I have OCD when it comes to a clean bathroom) and Henry’s room.

This is my last day as a single parent due to deployment. Sgt is scheduled to return tomorrow night, around 7 o’clock and it may just take a small army to get this house ready for his return.

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Two Sundays and a Shephardess

Last Sunday – It was a beautiful day and I had planned on getting the gardening finished. I had my whole week planned out but following that schedule went to the wayside when #8 decided to take a turn for the worse. 

I was heading out to the barn to collect the eggs for the day and when I turned the corner there she was, lying flat out in the straw*.  My first thought was “Shit, she’s dead.” but upon closer inspection I saw she was breathing. Laboured breathing but still breathing. She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes and I teared up. She looked to be in so much pain at that point I did the only thing I could think of. I called my neighbour. (We’ll call him George)

George is a cattle farmer and a great neighbour to have when you are in a bit of a crisis. He calls in on me often to make sure I’m doing alright with Sgt away and always offers to lend a hand. Our call went a little something like this.

Me – Hey George, it’s MrsSgt from down the road. I have a very sick ewe that is suffering, is there anything you could do to help her out?

George – Sure, let me just call my son. He’s got the rifle in the truck.

Me – Oh.  *followed by stunned silence

George – Or you can call the vet who will charge you emergency fees for a Sunday call and then you will need to call the deadstock disposal folks who will charge you for an emergency Sunday call. It’s up to you MrsSgt.

Me – It’ll be quick right? She won’t suffer right? I don’t need to be in the barn when it happens right?

Now before you get all animal activists on me please understand that this poor creature was suffering and was beyond help.  I do not run amok shooting animals for the hell of it and you will not see my picture on the upper right hand corner of the  TV screen one night with a reporter chatting with the local farmers in co-op all saying how quiet MrsSgt was and how hard it was to believe such a nice lady could keep body parts in her freezer and if anything she should have been arrested and charged with writing a really bad run on sentence.

It turned out George could not track down his son but he did pop by to assess the situation. His conclussion was that #8 was going to expire at any moment and he assured me it would be sooner rather then later. I felt better after his visit knowing she would be off to greener pastures before the sun went down.

Or so I thought.

An hour later I went out to check on her … still breathing. Two hours … still breathing. Three hours … you get the picture. 10:30 that night I sent Charlie out to the barn and he returned to inform me she was still alive!  I headed to bed hoping that sometime in the night she would see the light at the end of the tunnel and head towards it.

6 am and Charlie heads back out to the barn. He returns and says “Mum, she’s still alive.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Please tell me you’re joking Charlie.”

“Yeah, she’s dead. I thought it would be funny to see your reaction.” The little shit.

Let’s flash forward to this weekends events shall we?

Late Friday the sheep got into the feed room and devoured approximately 25 lbs of chicken feed.  This is not a good thing for sheep to be doing because it can cause complications like bloat. Sheep may be long on cute but they are most definitely short on smarts and will eat themselves to death. Saturday morning I notice one of the lambs is looking poorly. His head is hanging down and he’s not moving about as much as the others. I can tell he’s not well so I decide to move him to the back of the barn where we gather the sheep for handling. While I was at that I figured it would be a good time to update the vaccinations and drench everyone for worms. Once I had all the sheep in the catch I notice the #10 ewe is looking a bit hangdown as well and decide to keep her and her lamb in the catch with the other lamb. We continue to check on them throughout the day and both seem to be coming about.  After dinner Will is out in the barn and shouts to me that #7 is going down now too.

Fuck.

Now I have 3 sick sheep and a husband that is 10,000 kms away. I am really starting to dislike this whole army thing about this time. And the whole “Let’s raise some sheep” idea that was mine in the first place. What the hell was I thinking?

Sunday morning comes and out in the barn I have two ewes and a lamb. All very dead and all very bloated. Will and Charlie head out to the back pasture to start digging a hole for the lamb and I call the dead-stock removal folks.

Guess who doesn’t work Sundays? Dead-stock. Guess what the weather forecast was for the day. Satan’s Bowels Hot with a dash of Rain Forrest Humidity.

Will and Charlie move the ewes into the empty hay storage area where it is shaded and hopefully cooler. While moving them the ewes belch and fart out all of the gases that have built up in them.**

Finally this morning (Monday) the dead-stock folks call and ask if I still need them to come by for the sheep. I think I surprised the man on the phone when I hollered “Hell yes! When can you be here?”

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Sgt will be home in just over a week and I wouldn’t blame him for filing for divorce citing failure to keep livestock alive as his reason.

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*For those who are not familiar with sheep this is uncommon unless they are extremely ill. Most sheep will jump and run when people approach them.

**My intention was to have you throw up just a little in your mouth. Was I successful?

Second Verse, Same As The First

Alberta’s Finance Minister opened up her big gob recently and has sparked yet another debate about stay at home parenting. For as long as women have been shooting offspring out of their bodies this has been a hot topic and it is one I have stayed away from.

Until now.

Ms. Evans feels that good parenting means sacrificing income to stay at home while kids are young. What Ms. Evans believes and what is real are totally different things.

They’ve understood perfectly well that when you’re raising children, you don’t both go off to work and leave them for somebody else to raise,” Evans told the small crowd. “This is not a statement against daycare. It’s a statement about their belief in the importance of raising children properly.

What I do not know is whether she stayed home with her three sons while they were growing up.

As a mother who has been it all, SAHM, WAHM, and WOHM I can say without any hesitation that I know what is best for me and my family. Period.

I refuse to sacrifice my family home and our lifestyle so I can be home all day. And I take it personally when I feel I am being judged because someone thinks I should.

I know I am a better mother because I work outside of my home. Even on my days off Henry goes to daycare because I know he will have fun and learn more then he would if he was with me all day. I really am that boring.

I know my son is well loved and cared for in his daycare. When it is time for us to go in the morning he happily puts on his shoes and runs to the front door, eager to go. When I pick him up at 5 o’clock he quickly runs to me for a hug and a kiss then runs back to play with his friends. When I ask him to find his shoes and sweater he hides because he does not want to leave. There have been days when I have carried him kicking and screaming from daycare.

He has started counting to 10, knows most of his colours and loves to sing the “Clean Up” song. Could I have done any better if he had been home with me all day? No. Could I have done any worse? Probably. Like I said before I really am that boring.

I think it’s time we stop pointing out to one another what it is we are doing wrong as parents and start pointing out what it is we are doing right.

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