Today we went to buy fireworks from one of those roadside stands. Actually, we went to buy fireworks from Wally World, but after 20 minutes of roaming and a shopping cart full of blank CD-ROMs, a 12 pack of beer and a Wictor (OK, mostly full of a Wictor) we discovered that particular mega-mart was not selling fireworks, and we gave up.

So we told the children that we would go to a public display instead. Then we happened to pass the field from where said display would be viewed and were horrified to see that they were setting up a fairground. A small, horrible, overpriced fairground. The type of magic fairground that kids absolutely have to line up to ride. And no, just one ride will not do, and when one of them sees an understuffed, dusty purple dog on display major cases of The Whines ensue and suddenly the night becomes all kinds of stressful.

Of course, we could say “No” but it is much easier to bypass the wailing and determine up front that we will not, after all, be going to the public fireworks display because it will be “too muddy”. We will, instead, we proclaim, go buy fireworks from a roadside fireworks stand. Ooh, exciting.

And also slightly intimidating, but we could not change our minds yet again, so we parked the car and unloaded the kids and made our way to the stall.

Surprisingly, we found it manned by a group of maybe 17 year old boys. Which suddenly explained the hordes of teenage girls channelling Carmen Electra draped across the counter as we arrived. Thankfully, they disappeared, taking their visible panties with them,  and made room for us to goggle the fireworks, of which there were confusingly many. The teenage boys were polite, patient, knowledgeable and happy to impart advice such as “you’re not supposed to hold it in your hand but everybody does”. They gave us lots of free extras. It was a pleasant choosing experience.

And then we tried to pay and you know that old joke “How many … does it take to change a lightbulb?”  Well, to work out what we owed for our five token fireworks, it took three.

One to jab ineffectually at the calculator and give up after he “oh yeah, pushed the times button by mistake hahaha”. He then tried to work out the total on paper.

Two to look over his shoulder, point out that he should start with the ones, and then give us the sum of the ones as the total.

Three to come along before I had managed to pay the hugely diminished sum, and work out the true total in his head.

Oh, party pooper Number Three!

Later the Daddy and I talked about the nice young men and what great customer service personas they had and how the most shocking thing was not that they could not do long addition on paper, but that they could not use a calculator.

And then The Daddy pointed out that rather than stupidity or under-education, they had maybe just been smoking.

And I am holding onto that thought…

…I find it strangely reassuring.

I think if I sat and wrote for a million years, I would never finish recounting the events of the past ten days.

But I can always make a start: this past weekend I donated my SUV to the Salvation Army.

Here it is, being led away by a tow truck.

After almost two years of urging by The Daddy, I had to give it up. Because, although I was sentimentally attached to it, housed it, hand washed it and bought it anything it wanted (new battery and cables! new cooling system! sticky tires! new rear end! - and by that I mean a double hip replacement, not some sort of cheap fancy plastic surgery…) , it did not repay my love.

The sad and sudden end to our relationship began Tuesday afternoon outside Walgreens, when the T-Bot, The Wictor and I got back into the car only for it not to start.

Again.

My first thought? “This is a sign that I must stop visiting drugstores”. Because last time the car wouldn’t start it was parked outside CVS. And my mind works like that. I can make the connection between an emergency 9-pack of toilet tissue and $879 worth of repairs in the time it takes to click your fingers.

And clicking his fingers was no doubt what the Ford service advisor was doing as he processed my car. Clicking his fingers as he sang gaily “We’re in the money! We’re in the money! We gotta lotta whaddit takes to get along!” Although it took him precisely 30 hours to get to the point of gay abandon, at least over my particular car. Due to the fact that they had work “backed up” like nobody’s business.  Or like a clogged toilet. Choose the metaphor you prefer. Personally I choose the latter where my local Ford dealership is concerned, and yes I do consider it everybody’s business that you have sh*tty service, Ford. Actually I do.

(I would like to stop here to mention specifically the day I took my car in to Ford for an oil change appointment at 9am, informed the service advisor that I needed it back for the school run, was told it was no problem, heaved my 1 year old in his car seat into the courtesy bus, sat at home car less all morning, started calling at noon to be told each time that my car had “just gone into the shop” , requested the courtesy bus at 1.30, got into it at 2, and arrived to see my car parked out front. And then they told me there was nothing to pay - because they had not gotten around to doing the oil change yet.

I am not even going to go into the rear window hinge repair they did under a recall, during which they broke the hydraulic seal on the hinge and then refused to repair it because it was not covered under the recall. OK. I just went into it. Because I am mad.)

So, putting all rancor aside, before I could actually get my car to the service advisor I had to call some people I am very very familiar with. The AAA. I get on well with the AAA. We have been seeing each other quite regularly for over a year now. We are friends. They tow me. They don’t charge me (well, apart from my yearly membership fee) and we part company on good terms.

Then I went to see some other good friends of mine, Entreprise Rent a Car. Their office is on the Ford compound, you see. Which makes it very very convenient to rent a substitute car, at vast expense, every time my main ride refuses to start.

Only, not any more! This is how desperate I was to get rid of Ford, in fact, to never set foot on their premises again:

I took my family on vacation!

We spent two whole evenings at Disneyland! the Toyota Salesroom!

And we emerged with this:

(A stock photo! Because I am such an awesome Mom that I forgot to take a photo of my kids with the new car - until 10 minutes ago. At which point I discovered it was dark. And snowing.)

And yes, it may possibly take us hurtling down the highway with the throttle jammed open, who knows. I don’t take the hype all that seriously, considering the fact that for almost 5 years, until about 6 weeks ago actually, I was unknowingly driving a car which could have spontaneously combusted at any moment.

Or just randomly broken down.

So, here we are all happy happy happy, the car is quiet, just the right size and the seats are clean. I got free this and free that and even free oil changes. And it doesn’t guzzle gas.

It feels good - apart  from that big bruise on my shin where I keep kicking myself for not doing this earlier.

Can you say “Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish” here? Or does that sound like Hugh Grant should be mumbling it through his fringe?

Maybe, this being the USA, I have to say “Good Riddance to Bad Trash”?

Tomorrow is the 100th day of school and Baby Sister is supposed to go in dressed as a 100 year old lady.

Luckily we still have some silver hairspray left over from Halloween and she is going to wear her ballet tights ‘cos they go baggy.

“Hmm… ” I said, “…and I’ll see if I have something to paint some lines on you, to look like wrinkles”.

“Why?”,  she asked seriously.

“Because old people have wrinkles on their faces”

“Oh!” (studying me closely) “You mean like the ones on your face?”

“Yes. Like the (sigh)… ones on my face.”

“So you are going to draw wrinkles all over, all around my mouth and eyes -  just like yours?”

***

Talking of wrinkles, I have done something absurd. I just bought my first ever dryer.

To be fair, it is really only half a dryer - I bought the Euro model which as well as being half the price is a teeny tiny little number. I was hoping its small stature would encourage me to (cough) only use it when really needed or for emergencies, as my lack of dryer has, until now, been more or less my only contribution towards saving the environment.

But now I fear it will just have me swearing on a daily basis as I try to cram all the contents of my XXL Texas-Sized washer into it in one go.

And I bet all that cramming will negate the whole reason for the dryer, which was to eliminate wrinkles.

I mean, wrinkles in my clothes.

I would like to introduce you to a couple of Baby Sister’s birthday presents which I find - despite myself - supremely amusing.

We have already reviewed Tattooed Barbie.

Here’s another:

Her younger sister Teresa - and her peeing cat, as seen in this commercial. An awesome gift, and she loves it, especially as it is not long since we got our own cat. But talk about taking Playing Mommy to extremes. Now she’s not only looking after plastic babies, she is wielding a pink plastic pooper scooper and changing the kitty litter. Just like Mommy every morning. Except Mommy doesn’t have to hold the cat up and squeeze its sides to help it do its business.

Thankfully. Mommy wouldn’t handle that sh*t.

Then there is this present:

A Shining Stars Unicorn. Nothing strange about that, you say.

Except, she had to name this friend for Cuddly, Fuzzy and Nounours. And she chose to name it ….

Horny.

After two days of trying to gently talk her out of it, she finally relented. Now the unicorn’s name is Stacey Butterfly Tuesday Horn.

I was going to make a comment about how it sounded like a stripper name, but then I did some impulsive googling and discovered there are a lot of very clothed people with serious faces and advanced degrees called Stac(e)y Horn.

So I decided against it.

I am a little worried that this post came off a little negative. Like I was gritting my teeth while homeschooling or something.

The truth is, while other commitments mean I really do not have the time to homeschool and keep my sanity, home schooling itself has turned out to be a pleasure.

I enjoy the T-Bot’s company and we have fun doing what we do. If I was a SAHM whose only other major pulls were Target and the laundry this would be a snap.

Now, for another one of my why-do-I-do-this-promoting-people-who-aren’t-paying-me-a-dime things:

I have mentioned that spelling is not a strong point. Although the T-Bot is slowly “getting it” he didn’t seem too convinced for a long time when I explained that half the time putting words together is just like his beloved Lego* . You join bits to build something that works.

We tried taping phonograms onto duplo blocks, which was OK except for the unbelievable amount of work it took cutting up those itty bitty bits of paper and sticking them on. Then The Wictor started crying because he wanted his Duplos back. So when someone recommended Reading Rods so I decided to give them a try.

Reading Rods are from the same company who make cuisinaire rods, which have always perplexed me. It was always difficult enough remembering addition and multiplication tables without also having to memorize what the pink rod or the blue rod was worth. But these are cool.

We ordered a Phonics Pack , which was about $20 including a folder with a tiny whiteboard and a cheapo whiteboard marker which I soon discovered to be a permanent marker but not before we had scribbled everywhere and couldn’t erase it. Also some cheap and nasty workbooks and a crayon. But that’s not why I bought them. I wanted them for the Reading Rods, which are awesome. There are single letters and phonograms (vowels and consonants are color coded as are groups of vowels) which should allow you to build just about any word you choose.

They snap together, like building toys. Even The Wictor has grasped that you can make words with them, and if his “words” are a little long and fanciful and quite frankly rubbish, we can build on that (geddit? geddit?). Baby Sister got as far as making her own name by herself, which is also a start.

We have incorporated Reading Rods into our daily spelling now, and while I can’t say they have made the whole ordeal easier, they have made it more fun. And it’s something we can do when the younger kids are home too.

Here’s a little exercise we did last week, when Baby Sister and the Wictor were home and wanted to have some fun too:

1. Everybody gets an ending and has to find additional blocks to make words.

2. Once we have made a word we write it on a piece of paper.

3. Then draw a picture to go with the word!

4. It was so much fun, the T-Bot wanted to do it again by himself the next day. This time I gave him the camera to take a photo of each word.

Then I printed out each photo and he drew a picture next to it on the paper.

Why yes, we are using the same words, because he didn’t remember how to spell them from the day before. *Sigh*.

Still - Reading Rods. Colorful. Cute. More fun than rote learning.

*(and it is at these times that I wish we spoke Spanish so that phonics rules would make sense all of the time. Who invented English anyway? Don’t answer that.)

I am the cheap one in our family. For years I have refused to let The Daddy spend money on a USB hub, preferring instead to give up my mouse every time I needed to plug any extra USB device into my laptop.

Then he found one for $10 on Amazon, at which point I had to give up and gratefully accept his generous gift.

I didn’t check it out before he bought it. What you can’t see in the photo is that the central LED also changes color about twice a second.

I am just a little bit worried there may be a strip joint hiding in there somewhere.

Yesterday I was in Lowes, minding my own business, when I happened to pass this toilet seat. And I had to have it, in the way most of you probably just have to have a pair of shoes (whereas for me, shoes, nah….they mostly make my feet look silly.)

So, not only have I stooped to blogging about a toilet seat, I am also forced to admit it was an impulse buy.

You might understand better when I tell you about our guest bathroom (for overseas readers, the guest bathroom is the main bathroom downstairs, the one all your guests are sure to use even if they only stop over for a quick cup of coffee. As opposed to the other 3 bathrooms, which are for family).

We haven’t really done too much to this house since we bought it, almost 2 years ago. And when we bought it, it had (and still has) this interesting quirk: the previous owners had poured money into decorating the master bedroom, including expensive blinds, swathes of drapes and the only wood floors in the house. The rest of the house was simply and sympathetically decorated, if not quite our taste. The guest bathroom, however, the one room everybody is sure to see, is a mess. The wall texture looks like it has been fingerpainted on by a hyperactive toddler. The 1980s fake marble countertop has a huge stain on it and the fake gold is peeling off the faucets. But the absolutely worst thing? The toilet seat. Scratched and beat up and bubbling. Urgh.

When I mentioned this to The Daddy he pointed out that the previous owners looked the type to have no friends and spend most of their time in the master bedroom.

(Ahem. Watching TV. They had their TV in there. What did you think he meant?).

And here I will hold my hand up. Yes, sir, guilty as charged, it has taken me this long to take action too. I was waiting to upgrade the whole bathroom. Somehow it didn’t register that I could buy a new toilet seat for $25 and the room would instantly look 100% better.

We are all enthralled with our new throne. The moment The Daddy arrived home yesterday T-Bot ran to him to regale him with the details of its technical features. Because in the end I spent $48 for an upgrade. And believe me,  the extra money is worth it when you have three children using the potty all day long:

This is a toilet seat which doesn’t bang.

Can you imagine that? Leave it half up and it glides down gently… And silence reigns Inzaburbs.

Well, almost… Last time I looked I still had three children.

Right now it all seems to be about Christmas inzaburbs. Or rather, presents. I had to take the boys shopping with me this morning and while I was there (TJ Maxx, if you must know) I found a toy which Baby Sister has been coveting and which I had resolved not to get her ask Santa to bring because it is just too expensive for what it is.

Goodness knows we have piles enough of grotesquely molded plastic without adding even more, but it is too late, my children are already aware of the outside world, and have done nothing for the last few weeks except make request after request for items of dubious quality. Such is life. Also, I love a bargain, and this is one, battered box and all. So I bought it.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, if your monniker is Baby Sister) it is rather a large item and so of course the T-Bot noticed, as did The Wictor, who erroneously decided it must be allowance day, attached himself to a Thomas train and, when denied it,  tantrumed his way to the checkout and all the way out of the store.

Then, to avoid awkward questions about why I was buying something for his sister and not for him, I was forced to reveal to the T-Bot that I had already bought him a present from me. So sorry Santa, you get credit for one less thing this year… I spent the rest of the afternoon deflecting intense questions of the what is it, where is it nature.

And then he gave up, went upstairs and erected a “trap” in the hope of catching any passing stray toys.

Rest assured that my children will not be getting all the plastic they desire this Christmas. They will also be getting other items, carefully chosen by me, things they do not know they want yet. Like these, which arrived today and are ever so cool and nifty (the robot is my favorite, but they are all good).

And judging by past Christmases, this is what they will still be playing with in years time, when all the bright and shiny toys of the moment have been long forgotten.

*************************************************

And now, I need your help. I have three children and everything they are asking for seems to be yet another variation on something they already own. Are there any original yet exciting toys left out there (of the plastic or other persuasion, I don’t mind) ? Let me know, below. You will win nothing - but my undying gratitude.

Today I went to our local supermarket by myself.

It was a very Twilight Zone kind of experience. The Wictor loves the supermarket, so I usually have at least one child in tow. Today I left him behind. I was feeling in need of a break.

I was feeling in need of a break, so I went to the supermarket, by myself.

As I arrived, I realized that I had been listening to the kids favorite music CD in the car. The one polluted with Dolly Parton, Belinda Carlisle and Nickelback, which is what passes for kids music around here. Too  late,  “Heaven is a Place on Earth” had already finished and “Borderline” was about to start.

I started to park in a “Customer with Child” space as usual, but realized my mistake and had to reverse out and drive to the next vacant spot at the end of the car park.

I was then required to walk at least 200 feet to get to the door of the store, feeling like there was something missing all the way. I am walking funny, I thought to myself. Did one leg suddenly get shorter than the other? Oh! It is just that there is nothing pulling down my arm. Look Ma! Both hands!

A slight moment of anxiety when I noticed there were none of those wonderful car-carts left. Oh. Yeah. Standard cart.

Hey Mister? Why aren’t you giving me a balloon?

Once in the supermarket I settled in for a standard supermarket run. Except… I took my time. I studied packets. I avoided nothing. I parked up in front of the kiddy vitamins for at least 10 minutes and reveled in the decision. Flintstones or Scooby Doo? Barbie or Cars? Hmmm. I could settle in here. It’s very peaceful. Somebody bring me a seat.

Finally at the checkout, instead of fielding requests for Gummi Bears! M&Ms! Lollipops! I bought two of these:

One for me and one for The Daddy.

Sigh. I really know how to live.

Other Exciting Wii news! I finally found a Wii Fit! 

Target came through, once again. They actually had five but as expected would only sell me the one. It doesn’t matter, one is all I need, and my RL friends just had to get themselves down there pronto to nab the last ones. Lucky, because really, if you want a super family game which is always impossible to find except online at outrageously inflated prices, who thinks of looking at Target?? 

(I think I earned myself some Brownie points there). 

Now that I have the Fit, I am looking forward to the kids being back at school so that I can actually use it, because during vacation time my Wii time is being measured in mere minutes per week. I am talking about maybe 20 or 30 minutes. Because I can’t stand whining. And also I love my kids. 

In the meantime, The Daddy (that’s right, The same Daddy who has a gym at work) has been working out with the kids. In the space of days he has reduced his Wii Fit Age from 45 to 24. Although to be honest, the 45 was probably just the result of a few beers.

I get to watch sometimes, which has done nothing to reduce my Wii Fit age from the current 102. But I am biding my time… Soon the Wii will be mine! All mine! Bwaaaa haaa haaa haaaaaaa!

Shockingly, the boy who lost 8lb over summer - yes, that would be the T-Bot - has become the most addicted to Wii Fit. He easily spends 20 minutes on the Wii Fi jogging trail, scurrying along while his Mii struggles to keep up. And all the while the Wii admonishes him that “keeping up a steady pace will help you burn more calories”.  I am torn between congratulating him on all that healthy exercise, and banning him from the Wii forever because calories? We don’t want to be burning more of those, unless, of course, you are putting more into your body. 

I’ll tell you a secret. Yesterday I got a teeny bit freaked out and before I knew it, I was buying him Pop Tarts. 

Baby Sister doesn’t have a problem with calories. She likes to consume them. Expend them, not so much. Her fortes are the ski jump and the game where you adjust your balance to make balls fall through the holes. I would say that all those ballet lessons paid off if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s not true. I think over the summer (a summer devoid of any ballet lessons whatsoever) she sort of grew into her body. And now she doesn’t fall over anymore. In fact she has gone from being a little clown to a sort of one person balancing act.

Especially on the Wii. Those balance games can come in very useful if you don’t fancy burning any calories. 

The Wictor uses the Wii Fit too. Although it thinks he’s obese, because when he stood on the board to measure his weight, it didn’t register. And so The Daddy stood the T-Bot on there instead for the weighing part. (What do you want to bet, this is the first and the last time the T-Bot will ever be linked with the word obese?) And when it’s The Wictor’s turn (because we all get a turn, except for me), everybody lounges around bored and petulant while he stands there with the Wiimote repeatedly pressing “A”. That’s The Wictor’s Wii Fit Trick, the repeated pressing of “A”.  

I swear that yesterday I saw the Wii shrug, throw up its hands in horror and just give up.