FlipSide:Starting October 22, 2001

A journal of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs in the life of a woman in the 21st century.

Inspired by my friend Maggie, who I observed instructing her 7 year old in the joys of housewifery a couple of Saturdays back, and in the interest of keeping me sane (which, of course, benefits the entire household, as our credo is "if Mommy ain't happy, {say it with me now} ain't NOBODY happy"), a new rule has been instituted here at the Dominik gulag. Everyone, and this includes Daddy, must do at least 15-30 minutes of housework, outside of the normal daily requirements like cooking and dishes, every night. Only Mommy can grant a stay of this obligation. So, to satisfy their daily requirement tonight, the youngest members of the household joined Mommy in jewel of the housework crown . . . cleaning the bathroom. Rhiannon's assigned duty was the bathtub. Jack's marching orders were the sink and counter area. Mommy, lucky me, got the toilet. Of course, I did not let the opportunity pass to point out to my direction-challenged son the results of his, ahem, lack of aim. And they enjoyed it. They were singing and laughing and telling me how much they enjoyed cleaning. Okay. They obviously have gotten into some happy pills somewhere. I need some of those. Tomorrow night, we start on their bedroom. We will pack some boxes for storage and try to clear a path between their bed and the door. Sigh.

Tonight's supper was a new low fat recipe for scalloped potatoes (needs a little more seasoning, I'll have to work on the recipe) and chicken cordon bleu. I must admit I wasn't happy with the recipe. I think I'll go back to my full fat recipe (which was baked, not fried like this one) and adapt it.

Well, I am out of inspiration tonight, must have been scrubbed up along with the yellow scum around the toilet. Sweet dreams.

Is there something on the Y chromosome that makes men detection challenged? It all started tonight when John was searching the house for the roll of quarters to do laundry. He swore up and down he put them by the microwave like always after he finished laundry the other night. He looked in our room, he pulled out his jeans and checked the pockets, he started accused the kids and me of moving them. I finished making supper, walked out of the kitchen, looked at the microwave. And there, beside the microwave, was the roll of quarters. "Oh, dear, would you come here, please?" He comes stomping out of the bedroom, grumbling. I point. "Oh." he says.

Told Jack to put on his pajamas (okay, so tonight's choice was actually a large teeshirt. If the teeshirt hangs below the knees, they're jammies in my book). "I can't find them." In your jammie drawer. "They're not in there!" I go in, open the jammie drawer, and, big as life, there is the teeshirt. "Oh." he says.

Asked John if he was going to put away supper tonight. "I can smell it but I can't find it." I lift the cake pan that was sitting on top of the 6 quart crock. Not a small object, by any means. "Oh." he says. Sigh.

In fact, John is on a roll tonight. I was telling my Mom about the play we are going to on Thursday, courtesy of Mellon Bank. "We're going to The Taming, oh, oops no, Kiss Me Kate" I tell her. John brilliantly cuts in with, "I would never attend The Taming of the Shrew with you, dear." Hmmm . . . Kiss Me Kate is The Taming of the Shrew. It is about a theatre company presenting Bard's tale. And, by the way, are you inferring I am a shrew? "Oh." he says.

He also didn't like the fact that I was turning off the dining room light using the cord so the ceiling fan remained on. (Seems it is too hard to reach around the corner for the kitchen light when he comes in with the kids. He's only lived here 9 years, apparently he will get lost in the dark going around the corner, just inside the door.) So, he removed the cord from the light.

And he wasn't liking the way I was linking to him in my hyperlink, so he was proceeding to instruct me like I was a help desk customer (you know, "is it turned on, is it plugged in, is your pilot light on").

He has wisely taken himself off to another room as to not antagonize me further. I am currently debating if he will be sleeping indoors this evening. It is supposed to get pretty cold tonight.

Funny, a friend and I were just discussing the trials and tribulations of adjusting to living with another person. I was assuring her that both parties adjust and compromise and it all works out in the end. Even when they snore. LOUDLY. And hog blankets (we now both have our own separate blankets, problem solved, maybe we need our own, separate light switches?) I guess those adjustments just keep coming . . .

Jodi's car is named "Stanley". It seems Stanley's computer is mounted too close to the engine, so said computer gets very warm and the computer is shot after 75,000-100,000 miles, the range that, of course, her car is in. Seems this is a known problem in Chrysler cars of a certain vintage. Jodi gave me a ride home tonight. Or, she tried. Stanley objected to rush hour traffic from St. Paul and began doing his trick, refusing to shift out of 2nd gear. Not a good thing when the speed limit is 70. The cure for this normally is just turning the car off and starting it again. Today, Stanley was having none of this. Apparently he enjoyed having a new person to perform for. She tried encouraging him. She tried cajoling him. Finally, she threatened to send Todd after the car with a wrench. No dice. I have a new theory. I think Stanley is actually Sylvia and likes having Todd bend over her front end with a wrench.

...and he put my new jeans in the dryer and he snored all night. Phew. On to a new day. It will be better, right? He has learned his lesson. I have always contended that, contrary to popular opinion, John can be taught.

So far it is sunny and pretty out today, but there are blizzard warnings out for north western Minnesota and snow (SNOW!) showers predicted for tomorrow. Our high today is forecast for 44, which we hit at 7 am this morning. Apparently, we have had all the autumn we are going to get here in the Great White North and we are moving into WINTER. And I think Jack may still need new boots. Part of the spelunking expedition in the bedroom tonight will be to discover the snow clothes from last year (not to mention the couch covered in clothes and the remains of the cardboard toy box that Jack destroyed in one of his wakeful nights), what still fits (and is still fit to wear), and what needs to be purchased.

Jeez. Suddenly I am exhausted. Not even sugar can get me out of this funk. You know when you're so tired you feel like you are in a fog? Like your head is thick and you are stupid? That is the state I am suddenly in. Good time to stop this post. (Especially since it took me an abnormally long amount of time to type this simple paragraph. You wouldn't believe the typos.)

Gee, I guess the animal kingdom has some musical taste. The following is from MSNBC's Scoop column.

"A German farmer whose crops were being destroyed by packs of wild boars (!) reportedly has found something that strikes terror into the hearts of the beasts: Britney Spears' singing. "Madonna didn't work too well," farmer Herrmann-Joseph Becker said, according to The Scottish Daily Record. "Robbie Williams was a dead loss. But they can't stand Britney Spears. When I switch on 'Oops I Did It Again,' or 'I'm Not That Innocent,' the pigs come snorting out and running off for the woods."

I thought wild boars disappeared in Europe in the middle ages?! Apparently not. They are alive and well in Germany, and apparently eating very well in Herr Becker's fields. However, I understand just what the pigs are feeling. She hurts my ears too. The pigs should count themselves lucky that he didn't play her videos. The clothes alone are enough to make one scream "My eyes, my eyes!" I would think polka would work as well. You know the old adage, "Welcome to Heaven, here's your harp. Welcome to Hell, Here's your accordion." (Or your CD.) Or maybe Weird Al music would work too. Should we try this in Afghanistan? Nah, you're right. I'm sure it's against the Geneva convention. Something about cruel and unusual punishment.

Well, John made it through the minefield last night. He even got to sleep indoors, which was a good thing, considering it snowed last night. Just enough to coat the ground and it has already melted, but it's the principle of the thing. I just have a problem with snow BEFORE Halloween. Kids in Minnesota buy extra large costumes so they can trick or treat door to door with their costumers OVER their snowsuits. It's just so sad. 'Course, we hang out in the mall and hit up the merchants for candy.

Last night the kids and I continued our quest for domestic cleanliness and togetherness. We went in their room and found their couch. GASP! It was under several layers of toys, books, and clothes that had either been washed and never put away (usually Rhiannon's), or worn and not put in the hamper (actually both kids). So, toys went into the toy box, books got stacked, and each piece of clothing had to be inspected for stains and given the "sniff" test. If it passed, they put it away. If it failed, it went in the hamper. Then there was the pile for the third category, the "it doesn't fit or is ripped beyond repair or stained beyond belief" pile. (Most of the ripped and stained clothes were Jack's, of course. It is amazing how many pairs of jeans that boy goes through.) Which is, of course, still outside their bedroom door. In the process, we also managed to find their snow pants and boots from last year. Timely, don't you think. After 45 minutes for what should have been a 20 minute job (somehow the children who found scrubbing bathrooms fun were less than delighted to clean their room, go figure) I discovered that there is, indeed, a floor in their room.

So far, the kids and I have managed to do at least the 15-30 minutes every night. (I think Daddy is counting doing the dishes. Daily chores don't count, John. tsk tsk.) The trick will be to keep this up and make it a habit. Well, it won't happen tonight. Tonight is Kiss Me Kate. Let's see if John survives seeing it with a "shrew". Harumph..

(ed - No, he sometimes just runs out of brains and gas early. Especially considering that the suggestion "breakfast food for supper" included the dreaded "peanut butter pancakes" which small children and some other person in the house enjoy, and one doesn't, and the one is told "then you can make your own dinner". I'm surprised she didn't mention the complete and utter failure of the non-stick coatings last night - non-stick Bundt Cake pan, Teflon-coated electric fry pan, and non-stick regular fry pan... All completely and utterly failed. We're blaming the evil winter gods and low humidity, which helps, but only slightly. The cake had to be extracted with tools (but was surprisingly edible after all that), the electric frying pan is probably still waiting where I put it and forgot about it, and the regular non-stick frying pan is in the dishwasher, which I might have forgotten to start. Old and feeble-minded, that's me. Now, where's my teeth and that jar I keep my brains in... Hey, it could be worse. I could be consorting with goats! -- jd).

Parents are funny creatures. We complain about the sleep loss caused by our offspring. How they don't want to go to bed at night and don't want to get up in the morning. How we have to hound them to get dressed, remind them to brush their hair and teeth. How we have to deal with indecisive, grumpy, half-awake munchkins that don't quite know what they want to eat, just that they want to eat. NOW. Remind them to tie their shoes and herd them, whining and complaining out the door. So you would think that John and I would be ecstatic at the fact that we didn't have to do that this morning. Rational people would take full advantage of this fact, that we would sleep those extra 30-40 minutes or spend some delicious extra time under a warm shower instead of our normal cat herding and lassoing.

We both jump out of bed, actually somewhat earlier than we have all week, and race to get dressed to see who can hop in their car and get to the kids first. And we didn't even have to get Rhiannon for school, she was riding the bus with Ashley. But, we wanted to see her before school. A whole 36 hours without seeing her was just too long to contemplate. At this rate, summer camp is right out. Hell, college is going to have to be local. And she will have to live in my basement with her husband and kids. I guess we'll have to build on for Jack's family.

Of course, they haven't seen to have suffered much ill effects from the whole thing. For Jack, it was an adventure with his 7th grade idol. For Rhiannon, it was a sleep-over with a buddy. For Mom and Dad it was . . . long. Don't get me wrong. We enjoyed our dinner without admonitions "eat your vegetables", "cottage cheese is not finger-food", and the ever popular "more eating, less talking". And we loved the play. It was very well done and had wonderful music. It was great to be able to watch something without having an 8 year old want you to predict what was going to happen next or having to take the 5 year old potty at a key moment. Yet, I was thinking, "Gee, Rhiannon would really like the singing and the dancing." "Jack would like the pretty girls." (!)

Today, my boss and the VP of HR came in my office and closed the door. My first thought, "Oh shit." They immediately told me that it's nothing bad. (My paranoid nature has not escaped my their notice, apparently. Either that or I have lost my ability to play poker in my old age.) They just wanted to ask me to help another coworker out on a project that she feels some "ownership of". (Translation, she wants it done her way on her time schedule.) Not a problem, she and I work well together. It is a project with files, not filing (for which I have a rather famous {infamous? notorious?} hatred) and they think my "special skills" will be a big help to the project. (Special Skills=anal retentive attention to detail, the ability to work and play well with others, and sheer determination to get myself out of the damn file room as soon as possible.)

Well, tonight calls for some family togetherness. Movies and a picnic in the living room perhaps. Maybe Dad will even sit in the living room with us rather than behind the computer desk. Nah, that's pushing the togetherness thing too far. He'll just grunt from behind the desk.

Finally. A weekend that we weren't running hither and yon every moment of the day. Friday we cozied up in front of the TV with Old Fashioned Hot Chocolate and caramel corn, watching Halloweentown.

Saturday was house-cleaning. (Explain to me why a child that cheerfully scrubs a sink and/or a bathtub balks at picking up toys from the bedroom floor?) We discovered that Jack's bed was, in fact, not part of the toy box, but had a good 4 feet between the two. We also managed to discover yet another healthy amount of clothing that had not been worn recently, as my offspring, in their haste on previous occasions to "clean" (and I use that term extremely loosely here) their bedroom, had deposited the clothes, not in their dresser or in the hamper to be laundered, but in the toy box. How they expected to find these clothes to wear again, I have no idea. One pair of Rhiannon's uniform pants had probably been there for several months to a year, as she has not yet worn them to school and I bought them before she started first grade. Sigh. And of course, Rhiannon swore she never had anything to do with this atrocity. It was all her brother's doing and she was busy polishing her halo at the time. Jack, naturally, was also guiltless, so it must have been the cats, in a diabolical plan to rid the house of the newest residents, who framed them.

Today was equally scintillating. There was Mass, Children's Liturgy, the boy scout pancake breakfast, and the park, as temperatures soared near 60 degrees. And we know, without a doubt, that we are on borrowed time for that kind of temperature.


	Lots of "hanging around" was done at the park today. However, both kids had mishaps from this.

Resulting in Rhiannon getting a face-full (and underwear-full) of sand. As you can see, she didn't appreciate it, or my taking a picture of her in her discomfiture. However, Mommy felt the moment needed to be recorded, to be brought out at the proper time to bring her down a peg or two. Perhaps when she brings that special someone home . . .
	However, not everyone was interested, sympathetic, or even awake.
After Jack's fall from the big bad slidy-thingee, it was time to go home. To be fair, Jack took a far bigger header than his sister, as, instead of landing face-first in the sand, he landed face-first on the landing pad. (He always has to one-up her.) He was persuaded that a cup of Mommy's special hot chocolate would fix what ailed him. Fortunately, what ailed him was not a concussion. Don't think Mommy's hot cocoa would do much for that. Of course, Dr. Rhiannon was confident that he didn't have a concussion, as her brother was fully capable of telling her how many fingers she was holding up. I told her I would ask her medical opinion in 20 years, after the completion of her residency at Johns Hopkins.

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Copyright © 2001 Ann Dominik. All rights reserved. Complaints about the technical details of this page can be directed to the abused geek who takes care of it for me, and is grossly underpaid for what he does, he thinks. No reproduction without written permission. The opinions and content of this site are my own, and not the responsibility of this site's host, my employer, my pets, my parents or anyone else you may care to blame. Please respect my opinions and I will do the same for you. I may on occasion publish e-mail to me; if you do not wish your mail to be published, please write CONFIDENTIAL or DO NOT PUBLISH at the top of the e-mail. If you would prefer to remain anonymous, please note that as well. If you're incapable of reasoned civilized discourse but feel compelled to correspond with me, I'll be happy to filter your mail out after a few choice comments regarding your ancestors, upbringing, and the likelihood of your family tree not