Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Oh really now

Another day another tantrum... What is it about the male species (yes they are another species) that makes one want to hug them one second and throttle them the next. Bah ! And they actually have the gall to call women "hard to understand". Boy o Boy.. they happen to be so much worse. If you think PMS is complicated then i don't have a clue on figuring out men's mood swings. They all crazy and incompetent.. and if you are a male reading this i am betting you didnt notice the grammatical mistake i just made. If you are not male however chances are you spotted it. Which leads me to my next point of irritation. Men's lack of attention to detail.
This might seem to you like one long senseless rant against the male kingdom.. and you would be absolutely right. They are insensitive, silly, petty children who need to be petted and pampered by their mommies at all times.. but wait a minute.. i forgot about the other things that annoy me. The way they can smile to make your heart melt when you just about ready to turn the knife. The way they do random cute things that make you go "awwwwww" and then just as soon they drive you absolutely insane with their idiotic ideas..
I am fed up of them and their silliness and i am fed up of caring about them until my insides feel bled dry. Caring is one thing... letting them drive you to homicidal thoughts is quite another. And even then.. when you threaten them with bodily harm for even one more act of complete and utter nonsensical proportions they smile adorably and offer a cheek to slap or a shoulder to cry on.. unfailingly the right choice no matter what the situation.
I guess what they say about women is just as true for them too... "You can't live with them and you can't live without them"

My monster... My friend

Expectant mom: darling, would you like a baby brother or sister?

Son: no thanks mom!

Tough luck kid, you tried but you've got no choice. However you eventually reconcile yourself to the idea of a younger replica-a slave to your every whim, your slightest command the focal point of their existence. WRONG AGAIN.

Pretty soon you think all the hype was about nothing. That is until you actually meet the SCREECHY, WAILY, CHANGE-MY-DIAPER AND FEED ME, BUNDLE OF RED SOMETHING! That your wise and all knowing parents have deemed fit to bring home from that house of horrors (judging by this midget)-the hospital.

Soon your little alien is growing in alarming leaps and bounds and you begin to wonder if his mother ship is ever going to come and take him back to his home planet.

Finally resigning yourself to the fact that you are basically stuck with him for life (groan) you decide to make the most of a situation you can't get out of. But no matter how imperious your commands or how threatening your stature the little squirt simply refuses to obey. The fact that he cannot turn onto his side yet is absolutely no excuse!

Determination is the key. "All right you little martian-Walk the plank!" Gurgles accompany a total resistance to your glow in the dark neon sword. How such an insignificant morsel of humanity can ignore the might of your lustrous rapier sends you into the throes of a violent rage.....and you do the only thing that can possibly salvage your wounded pride-hide the pacifier!

What follows is quite predictable... ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE is not a term to be used lightly but it captures the scene that follows-right from the harassed mother searching high and low for the missing heirloom, to you poking the little beast in the diaper to get him to shut up. May I add that this form of inducing silence is highly unsuccessful-it only leads to more high pressure decibel assault on sensitive eardrums.

It might seem unthinkable but soon the little squirt starts to grow on you. No one else can smile with that adorable lack of teeth and then howl without drawing breath until he turns a totally rad shade of blue.....of course your mother might not regard the latter as a highly desirable trait.

You come to the decision that life can be quite unaffected by this little intruder. WRONG! (Funny how many times that keeps happening) You discover just how wrong when you arrive home from second grade to find squirt sitting under (yes, under!) a pile of your clothes beside your open wardrobe. Apparently someone is learning to walk and apparently that same someone picked the wrong hand support to pull himself up. So now you have been condemned to the most dreaded chore ever-THE CLEAN UP!

Then bit by bit their nocturnal overtures seem to mature a little. Rather than scream (loud enough to wake the dead) at the three second delay in their 2 a.m. feeding they resort to more localized torture. They climb out of their crib, toddle over to the nearest bed and howl right in the occupant's ear.

That you happen to be the occupant of the nearest bed is just an unfortunate twist of fate. How are they to know that a six year old is utterly unaware of how much distilled water goes in their formula-Hell! You didn't even know he ate normal earthling food. You just assumed he subsisted by mentally absorbing the torment he inflicted on your innocent by-stander of a teddy bear.

And no mom, I don't care how small he is, he simply cannot have my teddy bear-so what if he's my baby brother- I didn't ask for one. Santa got the letters mixed up-I distinctly remember asking for a puppy - not a beastling!

And then the beastling in question is no longer in the infantile stage of existence. The current stage is highly treasured in later life but at the time is one of the most exasperating experiences ever! THE ADORATION AND ADULATION! How in heaven's name do you explain to a midget in baby bucklers that his stunt of fitting both tiny feet into one of your in line skates would quite possibly cause the forced removal of his two front teeth - need i add his only teeth - front or otherwise!

Also you have no idea why squirt follows you around all day long-alternating methods of locomotion-his choices being-

1. On all fours (where you occasionally trip over him)

2. On very wobbly legs that don't seem to agree with each other on the direction of movement

3 .and of course by hanging on to your leg and hitching a ride....

"Go Away! I am NOT mommy, in fact there are times I deny any biological connection to you whatsoever! "Yet after a while, despite your misgivings about the safety of a diaper, you accept defeat in exasperation, "Alright I'll carry you!"

Well, the squirt has won another round and judging by that smile on your face... it doesn't seem like you lost either, now does it?

Fallen from Grace...

Having a middle name "Grace" is not particularly helpful when you are trying real hard to be one of the boys (growing up with boys as my closest friends this was something i tried very hard to do). You see... Grace is a very lady-like name… prim, proper and very dignified... not really qualities you can attribute to a tomboy who climbed trees and had a better eye for a catapult than some of the boys she hung out with. Sigh.. But those were the days alright. Of midnight ghost stories and cricket at 5 am… To being allowed to bat as long as you wanted because you were the only girl there... The only one who deigned to play silly boy games? Who didn't run home screaming to mummy when offered a frog (of course i would do that now) and who thought going snake catching was the coolest thing ever. But as bad as this may sound i wasn't the wild child i would have liked to be. I was still held back by some kind of inbred well mannered conscience to actually behave. Well I thought i was behaving… How was I to know that my mother despaired of the little hellion she had borne every time I wandered home with my latest black eye/bruise?

Despite these antics I was always mummy's angel and daddy's little princess… Might I add the only one who could poke him in the eye while he was sleeping saying "Dada.. You cheeping ?" and lived to tell the tale. And six years down the line the hellion to make all previous hellions seem tame in comparison-my baby brother- arrived. I will admit I was quite enamored with the white wrapped bundle my parents had brought home from the hospital. For around 5 minutes… He lost a little of his novelty when I discovered his antics were limited to gurgling happily at my nonsensical stories. After that my new favorite game became “lets see if Kurt can turn blue from screaming (loud enough to wake the dead)” although my mother soon put an end to that. Bah !

But I have to be honest and admit I never realized the brat had it in him. He faithfully carried my banner after I left home and proceeded to drive my family to the depths of despair at his complete lack of regard for anything that got in the way of what he wanted. (on occasion I have heard my mother tell an aunt or somebody “how I wish he wouldn’t be so much like his sister… one hell raiser was enough”) boy was she wrong…

It’s been 21 years now. And I still can’t bring myself to say I am 21 years old. I don’t feel old. Although I might dispute that statement when I am forced to see what the world looks like before noon... let me warn you now. Wake me up when I am meant to be asleep and I will not be held responsible for any kind of fatal damage I might inflict on you.

At the time of this post I am a dignified young lady (gag) who knows how far she can push the envelope without going completely overboard or getting in over her head. All that’s left to say now is adios and till next time.