My Little Black(mail) Book

Lena's birthday party was today, and we had a houseful (even though many people couldn't make it due to the INSANE snowstorm we had today that made most roads treacherous). My beautiful sister-in-law Julie was there with three of her five boys (I know, right? She's a saint. And don't you dare ask me when I'm going to "catch up to her"! LOL).

She told us how she has kept kind of a 'little black book' over the years of all the crazy, horrible, hilarious things her children have done. Such as her boys opening every single one of her just-made jars of homemade jam and smearing it all over the cat and the walls downstairs. Or them getting a hold of a 5 gallon jug of cooking oil and pouring the entire thing on the carpet. *laughing*

All mothers have had experiences like that, myself included. And so that got me to thinking that I should start up my own Little Black Book. But whereas Julie is doing it as a remembrance of her children's antics, my own motives are less noble. Blackmail, baby!

Oh yeah, I'm planning on making my kids pay for all the angst they've inspired over the years. Muahaha! When Gunnar and/or Ardan is in the NHL or are a world-famous dirtbiker (monster truck driver in Ard's case) or in a rock band -- and these are all real aspirations for them -- I'm going to pull out my book and remind them of a few certain things. If they have any sense of guilt, they'll repay my mental and emotional trauma with something a little more substantial. Like, oh, say, a cabin-mansion. Or an all-expense paid trip to wherever. Getting to name their firstborn (I like Rhannon, don't you? Its from Willow).

Here's a few...

** When Ardan was a toddler, he "christened" his newly-painted-and-decorated bedroom by removing his dirty diaper and grinding the contents into huge patches of carpet. When I walked in and discovered this, I realized that no amount of scrubbing or pulling or even a professional cleaning (which was definitely out of the question, money-wise, back then) was going to get rid of it and I did the only thing I could... I had to get a box-cutter and CUT OUT those huge sections. Then try to find an area rug in that particular shape to hide the giant holes in the carpet.

** Around that same time, Gunnar (who was probably five or so) accidentally destroyed a huge pile of his dad's prized dirtbike magazines when he spilled a jug of juice on them. He had been too impatient to wait for me to finish folding laundry in my bedroom and took it upon himself to pour a cup. Unbeknownst to me, he then (frantically, before it was discovered) came up with the brilliant idea to dry them all out in the microwave. The smell of burning brought me out of the bedroom in a rush. Thick black smoke was billowing out of the microwave! Just as I was about to open the door to make the microwave stop cooking, fire broke out inside. I quickly filled a cup with dishwater from the sink full of soaking dishes, opened the door and dashed the water inside. When the fire was finally out and the smoke had somewhat cleared, I noticed that the time display was off. The machine was completely dead. Gunnar was so terrified of what my reaction would be, and I knew he felt so bad, and had gotten a real scare by the fire. So I didn't freak out. But I did tell Hubs that the machine mysteriously died for no apparent reason. Eventually I 'fessed up, and now we all laugh about it. But at the time it really sucked, because Ard was still on bottles and until we could afford to buy a new mikey, I was having to heat up his bottles in a pot of hot water on the stove.

** We were at Family Dinner at my mom's one time; it was summer and everyone was in the backyard on the deck, chatting and visiting. The baby was being fussy, I think it was Lena but it could have been Ryder (think I can get double blackmail from this if I tell each kid it was them that did it? lol). Suddenly, the baby sprayed my entire front with puke!! It was sooo gross. Everyone was laughing hysterically at me while I just stood there like, "Now what?" Got the baby changed into fresh clothes and calmed down, then palmed it off on someone and went inside to find something of my mom's to wear. Now, she's tiny so I knew there would probably be nothing that would fit, but she went through her closet for me anyway. She brought me out a pile of clothes which I could tell from looking that the majority would be too small. One shirt in particular looked like it might fit but I was so torn! It was the ugliest shirt I'd ever seen in my life! I mean, seriously. A cross between mustard-yellow and burnt-pumpkin, with ruffles around the collar reminiscent of Shakespeare's ruffed collar. A slick, slimy feel to the fabric. The fabric itself was vertically crimped like a fan, with thousands of tiny pleats. PLEATS, people! I looked at my brother's girlfriend, who had come into the house with us. She looked at me. Both of us were thinking the same thing, "Hell no!" But did I really want to stay in my puke-soaked shirt? It was a real dilemma. Finally I couldn't stand the smell of myself any longer and went to try the shirt on. It fit and so I really had no excuse not to wear it. Mom was ecstatic, "Oh, you look so nice! Don't you love this shirt? Its so beautiful!" Becky and I both did double-takes at her and she noticed. "What? You don't think so?" Mom, I hate to break it to you, but... honestly, that shirt is just... ohgod, its bad! Its so bad! Its ugly! She was shocked, couldn't believe I thought that. "Do you think so too, Becky?" Yeah, Kelle, its... bad. Like... BAD. She thought we were nuts. Becky gave me a look like "Poor you!" and I nodded back, "Yes, poor me!" So I had to wear that circus-clown-freak-on-a-bad-acid-trip shirt for the rest of the night. And so JUST FOR THAT, I don't even care about the actual puking (although it IS what led up to having to wear that shirt!), that is what is worthy of blackmail. If I had a picture of the shirt to show my kids, they'd double the payment, I'm sure.

** Speaking of puke, there's the 100+ times that Ryder has upchucked during the last year and a half. Sometimes on me, but mostly on himself, the carpet, his bedding, the carseat, other people's carpet... Now, a baby's involuntary puking would not be considered blackmail material, unless said baby had actually developed a highly-sensitive gag reflex in order to get attention and his own way. This is how Ryder came to be known as Exorcist-Boy. He gradually stopped doing that (on purpose, I mean) and now he only hurls when he's having a coughing fit or tries to swallow huge chunks of food. Because he's a boy, impatient with the process of eating. He wants that food in his tummy now! ("Get in ma bellah!" -- anyone get that reference? 10 points if you do!) So last week, we were driving to Wetaskiwin for Gunnar's league play-off game. We were on Hwy 2 just out of Red Deer and the rush-hour traffic was INSANE; seriously, when did everyone in the world move to Red Deer? It was very stressful. Before we'd left Sylvan I had picked up sandwiches and Timbits for the kids, and even though the donuts were supposed to be saved for the arena, you know what kids are like. They had that box opened and half-devoured by the time we left Red Deer. So we're driving along about 20 minutes out of Red Deer and suddenly I hear Ardan yell, "AAAACKKKK! Moooooommmmm! Ryder puked!" The traffic was so terrible that I honestly could not take my eyes off the road for one second, so all I could do was ask Ardan, "What? Why? You gave him a whole Timbit and he shoved the entire thing in his mouth? How bad is it? Bad? Really, its that bad? Well... use the spare blanket in the back to wipe most of it up! Oh, you already did that and there's still major puke? Uhhh, okay, there's wipes in his bag, use those to wipe it up!" Poor poor Ardan. Because he was sitting next to Ryder he had to deal with that traumatizing mess. And it wasn't like I could even pull over at a roadside stop, because I never would have been able to merge back into the non-stop traffic. So little Ryder had to sit in his puke-soaked clothes for the entire way to Wetaskiwin, windows cracked to let in the fresh air, all of us breathing through our mouths. When we finally got to the arena I changed Ryd's clothes but realized I hadn't brought a spare coat. And even after cleaning his coat as best I could with wipes, it still reeked and was soaked. So I had to suffer the indignity of rummaging through the arena's lost and found, in front of all the other hockey parents, to try to find a spare coat or sweater he could wear. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a high-and-mighty priss, in fact I love going through lost-and-founds, looking for "treasures" -- but only when I'm alone and no one can see me. I felt like I had to make a big deal of the fact that I needed something for Ryder to wear, so they wouldn't think I was a poor desperate slob. Found him a hoody that required multiple sleeve roll-ups and looked like a dress on him, but hey it was warm. And even after all that, the stink of puke still clung to me for the rest of the night. I felt sorry for anyone sitting near me. But mostly I felt sorry for myself, haha. So yes, that is definitely blackmail material in my book.

** Here is a story that gets told often in our family. Milena had literally just been born, she was days old, and we were at the mall getting our taxes done. Ardan had just turned three and was entering a real talkative phase, where you never knew what would come out of his mouth. We usually got quite a kick out of him. Kids really do say the darndest things. Or, in some cases, the most incredibly embarrassing, awkward, rude, oblivious, innocent things. The lady doing our taxes was quite a, um, big lady. Like, really big. And she had some sort of speech impediment which honestly made her sound like she was mentally challenged. It became a real test of my endurance to show no reaction. Anyway, there we were, sitting in our chairs facing her, when Ardan looked at me and muttered something. I only caught one word, "fat", and having just birthed a child days before and feeling slightly self-conscious about my flabby tummy, I winced and said, "Ardan, you know Mommy just had a baby, that's why I'm fat." He stood up on his chair and turned to face the lady, pointing his little finger at her, "NO! I SAID THAT SHE'S FAT!" Oh... my... Gawd!! What does a person even say in a situation like that? "ARDAN! Sit. Down. And. Be. QUIET! Oh god, I'm so sorry! He's at this stage..." She handled it very gracefully, "That's okay. He's an honest boy." Well, what do you say to that? I think we all chose to just ignore what had happened and finish the taxes, but every so often I'd cut a glare at Ardan, telling him with my eyes: You sit there and be quiet and don't even move! At one point, after the tax lady had finished a lengthy speech about something, a speech in which her impediment was glaringly obvious, I was sitting there trying to keep a straight face, and Ardan pipes up, "She talks..." My head whipped toward him so fast, eyes probably looking like fiery lazers, and he got the message. Whew! Close call. This incident is the one that earned him the nickname Mouth.