What do you do when your kid is the most stubborn person on the planet?

My husband, the Original Obnoxious One, and my son, the Obnoxious One, are both extremely stubborn, but my daughter, The Demon Child is in a league all of her own. Ever since she was a baby she has been…well…challenging. She has never believed that no actually applied to her…more that it was suggestion she could take into account.

• no, don’t put the dirty old toilet plunger on your head
  

  look at me

• no, don’t stand up on the paddle boat in the middle of the ocean

• 

  look what I can do

• no, don’t slurp your spaghetti, especially when you’re in a restaurant
  

  but it’s so yummy this way

• no, don’t touch the poisonous frog, especially when we’re in a boat-access-only location on the east coast of Costa Rica
  

  but he’s so cute

• no, don’t take off on your own and try to get back on the ginormous cruise ship without your ID 

• 

  Mom, you should be the one answering this

The first objective confirmation of my daughter’s character came when she was in Grade Three. The Head of her school called me in for a meeting to discuss my darling Demon Child. When I mentioned she was rather stubborn, he said:

Mrs. R., your daughter is the most stubborn child I have ever come across in all my thirty years of teaching.

Oooooh really…rats!

I had always longed for a sweet, attentive and malleable little girl I could dress up and take shopping. Never, ever happened and never gonna happen. Some mothers take pride in their daughter’s stubborn nature – not me. I can honestly state that I think stubbornness is an over-rated trait. Yes, as everyone insists, it might help her in the long run…but what about me in the short run?! I always figured my job was to get her through school while the two of us remained in one piece. Sure enough this project has proven to be the most demanding, the most painful, the most ambitious and ultimately, hopefully, the most rewarding one ever I have undertaken.

I’ll let you know how rewarded I feel – next year!

By the way, there is a reason that boarding schools exist — so that mothers and thirteen  old daughters can one day have a reasonable relationship. But that’s another story…

Fast forward to now that my darling angel…

yes my wings are broken and my halo fell off, but so what?

has just turned eighteen.

As I mentioned in a prior post, she went to Nicaragua on a school class trip for three weeks in March. Unfortunately the Demon Child did not enjoy the experience  - to put it mildly – because of warring personalities, challenging conditions, but especially the hypocrisy of rich white kids performing “make work” projects in a third world country. She decided the class was beyond stupid so she tried to drop it…at the beginning of April with only two and one-half months left of school. Heck, the last two and a half months of her high school experience! Of course I told her to suck it up and finish the course…her dad, her brother and her teacher all gave her the same advice. Finishing it meant cranking out a couple of  reports, showing up to class occasionally  and checking in with her teacher from time to time. Could she please do that? - absolutely NOT, apparently.

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So, we had a couple of disagreements followed by several all-and-out wars battles fights. We met with her guidance teacher who also encouraged her finish the course; however, when he confirmed that she didn’t actually require it to graduate from Grade 12 (she has enough credits without) and the university of her choice doesn’t require it…it was game over. She politely thanked him for his time, and then told me there was absolutely, positively, no way she was ever going to that class again or completing any reports for it.

I tired to reason with her…not a chance

I threatened her…I’m not proud

I tried to bribe her….yeah I know, I’m such a great mother

But in the end I had to stop because I still have to live with her until September when she goes off to university far, far away. then I can do my happy dance. In the meantime, I’m the one that has to suck it up. I’m the one that has to pick my battles. And I’m the one who has to survive in one piece.

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Really!

Come on, it’s NOT that difficult…just make a decision!

So how many times have you said that to your parents? Me? Well…I’ve probably said it a couple of times (although usually a bit nicer) but I sure have thought it many, many, MANY times. I mean really, how many times do you have to discuss dinner plans, travel plans, or moving plans, or…? Actually quite a few with my parents.  Like maybe a billion.

As a case in point, let’s consider their cottage.

My parents live in Southern Ontario and they have always either owned a cottage or had access to their parents’. Or they owned a piece of property on a lake where they had plans to build a cabin. Note that when I say cabin, I really mean cabin, as in perhaps 500-600 square ft. total. For four people. Well actually 3.5 as my sister was just a baby at that place.

So yeah, my parents (who are not quite eight decades old, but almost) have been cottage goers since the dinosaur ages, but the last several years have been worrisome, and we know how much I like to worry . Although picturesque, their cottage was on a northern lake (north of Muskoka and Parry Sound) that had a fairly small population of cottagers, especially regular cottagers.Half the time their land-line phone didn’t work, and they never quite remembered exactly how that new-fangled cell phone worked. They’re not quite as agile and nimble as they once were,

we’ve all changed a bit over the years – gotta love that 80′s hair!

so getting down to the beach became a bigger and bigger issue, and the boats were used less and less frequently. My father is not the superb driver he once was and my mother can no longer drive the car at all. (she now has mobility issues) . So my sister and I were rather concerned and we chatted with them several times, numerous times, a gazillion times about selling. But they are stubborn…especially my mom!

My parents just could not make a decision.What would they do instead? Who would they hire to list the place? How much should they charge? Would anyone buy it? The list of questions to be considered and debated was endless.

Finally after many years, and a bazillion conversations, they actually put their cottage up for sale! And guess what…low and behold they had some interest… AND A BUYER. Well, let me tell you, this sent them into a major tailspin.

It happened too soon!

We weren’t expecting this quite yet!?

What do we do now???

Thank goodness, however, they did sign on the dotted line.

But then the real work began, because they had to deal with all the things they had acquired over the years and years and years of cottaging. What to do with all the dishes, and towels and sheets? What about the dishes and glasses and mugs and cutlery? And don’t forget the games and photos and pictures. Once again, my sister and I had an infinite number of conversations with them  -  especially my dear darling mother. Did we want the salad fork/silver spoon/blue mountain pottery mug/macrame hanging/picture???

Don’t take this spoon!

 And on and on. During a weak moment  I offered to go and help them sort through their crap junk  very important stuff…luckily they did not accept my kind offer.

Fast forward a year and they are happy that they are finished with the entire process. Thrilled actually.

Similarly my husband and I also own a cabin – not in Ontario, but up Indian Arm, a wild and magnificent fjord adjacent to Vancouver. We’ve owned this place for over 15 years, but have not used it much recently.We’ve had some technical difficulties – like having to replace the cement pilings that were falling apart, and then the rotten lower deck. Out place is water access only and the boat doesn’t always work. Lately the kids never want to go, cuz they want to spend time with their friends in the city, where there’s electricity (rather than a generator), computers and T.V.’s, (we have neither up there), shopping (the cabin is literally in the middle of nowhere) and warm swimming pools (as oppose to freezing cold, extremely deep, salt water).

But when we arrive on a sunny day, it’s absolutely magical. And it’s less than an hour door to door.

So here’s the thing: a real estate agent contacted us a couple of weeks ago to say that he had a client who was very interested in purchasing property up Indian Arm. My husband responded immediately and showed them around. Meanwhile, I was - silently – freaking out! I’m just not ready to sell…I don’t think. I mean, we had so many great times there over the years, and so much fun. And even though we haven’t used it lately doesn’t mean we won’t go there in the future. Both kids have expressed interest in hanging out there this summer, with their friends...and without us. My son just turned 20, so has been “legal” in BC for a year and my daughter will be 18 very soon.But still, the thought of them going there with their friends with no real adult supervision...gives me the heebie-jeebies. Not happening.

But do I really want to sell the cabin? I mean, we have our house up for sale, but what if it doesn’t sell? The kids don’t want us to sell the house. And we do have a ton of amazing stuff at our cabin – photos and books and games and pictures. And since the cabin is water access only, it’s always challenging to transporting anything up and back.  I just don’t know what to do! I can’t make a decision!

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But I’m so not like my parents...really!

Time to Man Up

My husband utters these words all the time and it drives me absolutely crazy. Sometimes he refers to our son, sometimes the dog, and sometimes people at work. He generally knows better than to use those dreaded words in connection with me. So I guess I’m just going to have to do it for him.

Because I’ve fallen off the edge of the world.

Because I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole.

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For those of you who have read my blog previously, you’ll know that for the past couple of months I have been whining complaining writing about the amazing people in my life, and in particular my daughter, the Demon Child.

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This school year has proven to be  a nightmare,  a disaster of epic proportions, an extremely stressful and challenging one, given the fact that the Demon Child :

• is in Grade 12, her last year of high school
• has a steady boyfriend who is in Grade 11(he doesn’t have the same stress as those in Grade 12)
• has been applying to several prestigious Canadian universities back east
• is a hormonal teen age girl who seems to be PMS-ing 24/7!!!
• has ADHD, so that ordinary difficulties for other kids become MONUMENTAL END-OF-THE-WORLD TYPE PROBLEMS for her which she typically takes out on her poor, long-suffering mother (yeah, that’s me)

The past month in particular has been a topsy-turvy crazy roller coaster ride;

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heck, it’s been the 10 hour version of Space Mountain, that super scary Disney roller coaster ride in the dark – yeah that’s my life.

courtesy Orlando Fun Tickets

Especially this past month. Something about March….spring, renewal, and its opposites – death, destruction. Okay maybe I’m the one that’s being a wee bit dramatic now.

So let’s consider the good, the incredible, the WOW March factors…

• the Demon Child traveled to Nicaragua on a school trip for 3 weeks - I tried not to clap and cheer too too much before she left
• my hubby, The Original Obnoxious One and I went to Maui for a week…just the 2 of us…for our first visit ever! Yes, we were absolutely the only people in West Vancouver (other than our kids) who had not been to Maui.
• the Demon Child actually got accepted into each of her top 3 choices for university.  I’m still not sure how that happened!?
• We kind of bought a new house, subject to the sale of our current home – even the paperwork has been signed!
• After the power washing and the window washing and the cleaning and the gardening and the staging, we put our house up for sale

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But of course, we never get the absolutely terrific stuff without the awful, dreadful terrible crap. And this time the bad has been  really bad. It put all of my whining and all of my complaining into perspective as just that…whining and complaining.

First off, when we had the building inspection done on our new house – it failed every single test…and not just a little, but a ton. In fact, it’s a miracle the place is still standing, because any minute it just might slide into the ocean. So yes, I pouted and was a little upset. But this was nothing…

courtesy iclipart.com

Compared to the loss of Killer, our 12-year-old yellow lab that we’ve had since she was a puppy. She wasn’t eating everything in sight as usual and was vomiting so I took her to the vet to for a checkup …and left with a death sentence. Tests clearly showed a multitude of tumors in her lungs; she had been experiencing difficulty breathing, but we thought old age was simply catching up with her.  We waited 24 hours for our daughter to return home, (which meant that my husband was then out of town) and skyped my son in.

The next day Killer was gone.

You may think Killer was just a dog, and an old one at that, but

• for 12 years she gave each member of our family unconditional love and support
• for 12 years she was a calming presence in a house full of big personalities and bigger egos
• for 12 years she kept me company when the kids went to school
• for 12 years she delighted us with her sniffing and snorting, her moaning and her groaning, her sneaking of chocolate, butter and garbage (yes, all poison for dogs)

Life will never be the same for our family. Over the past 12 years, our children have grown into young adults, my husband has lost a few more hairs from the top of his head, and a few deep lines and wrinkles have taken up permanent residence on my face.

But, there is this relatively new little boy in town.

So guess what – it’s time for Franklinstein and me to man up.

But we will never forget.

Rest in Peace Killer.

I love my husband, but right now I just want to kill him !

During three of the past five weeks my husband, the Original Obnoxious One, has been away on business. Leaving me home alone with the Demon Child, Killer and Franklinstein. And believe me, my daughter, the Demon Child has been rather…challenging. As I’ve said before, the Demon Child +PMS + stress from Grade 12 exams and essays + anxiety over University applications means that all I have to do is open my mouth or knock on her bedroom door

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and the result is:

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So when I mentioned that her jeans looked a little tight, thinking they shrank in the washer or dryer, her reaction was,

“How can you say such a thing? You’re a terrible mother! You’re a horrible person! How dare you tell me I look FAT!!!”

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Right, yeah. My daughter sure looks fat to me. Don’t you think so too?!

Of course, this was after she told me that I was too old to wear the cozy plaid James Perse shirt I just bought, that my shoes were ugly and that my coat was too bright and obnoxious, and that my belly was too big. Oh and dinner was terrible and could she please have money to go buy food. Anything for you darling! And… it was raining a lot in Vancouver, as it tends to do in February. Yep, it rained every single solitary day. So, I was barely coping.

Back to my husband, the Original Obnoxious One  - first of all he went to China (actually Hong Kong and Beijing). That was okay because I knew the weather wasn’t great, the air was foul and I’ve been recently. The second business trip my husband went on without me was to Laguna Beach. Who but a bunch of corporate lawyers go to Laguna Beach for business?! And by the way, the other partner he went with took his wife. Can you hear my teeth gnashing?! But just in case I wasn’t exactly sure what I was missing (I’ve never been to Laguna Beach and would love to go), the Original Obnoxious One emailed me numerous shots of the resort where he stayed and of the beach where he went running. In a fit of  rage clarity, I deleted all the photos he sent. But they looked rather like this :

courtesy Montage Laguna Beach

and this:

courtesy Montage Laguna Beach

I sure wouldn’t want to go there, not when it looked like this at home:

courtesy Vancouver Sun

On his third trip he spent several days golfing with buddies clients and potential clients in Oregon,

that’s my guy taking the shot

and then a couple of days in San Francisco.  Now I’m not a golfer, so I wasn’t too choked about missing Oregon, but San Francisco??? Hello, what’s not to love? – the architecture  the people, the food, the shopping, the jazz bars!? And yes, once again he sent me numerous photos – for some reason I deleted most but kept this one:

And to add insult to injury, in BC it was our very first Family Day - which I was celebrating by writing helping my daughter with her History essay on the Cold War. Hmmm…writing a Grade 12 essay on Stalin vs. shopping in the sunshine in San Francisco  Gee, I really don’t know which I would prefer.

So when my husband the Original Obnoxious One finally came home, I treated him as any mature, thoughtful, woman would – I yelled at him, pouted big time, went to bed early without him and totally ignored him.

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But I really wanted to kill him and still do! So when psychologists opine that women have much higher Emotional IQ’s (than men) because of their ability to handle difficult situations with tact and professionalism, and site their conflict management and relationship building skills, I say absolutely!

By the way, the next day I informed my dear darling husband that should he ever find himself travelling somewhere lovely without me, he should keep his friggin’ photos to himself. Really!

 What do you do when your loved one deserts you and then emails you the “nasty” details?

Don’t call me Kate!

So my darling daughter, the Weird One came home from school the other day rather annoyed. She had one heck of a problem.

“Mom, I went to the washroom today and there were two LG’s in there who started talking to me – I think they were in Grade 10, but I don’t really know.”

In case you’re not up on the latest teenage lingo, “LG” means “little girl”, and of course being all of 17 years old in Grade 12 means my daughter is just so so so mature. Right…and if you believe that one,…

“That’s nice dear” – always the supportive mom, that’s me

” Anyways they thought I look like Kate Middleton.” – she uttered in disgusted tone of voice

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“Well that’s really very nice darling.”

“No, it’s not. I’m upset! I’m insulted!”

“What are you talking about?!” Is she crazy or has she totally lost it?! I would be thrilled  to be told I looked like Kate Middleton – the hair, the figure, the face…

“Mom, Kate Middleton is SO old. She’s like…30. She’s ancient!” Right, 30 is practically over the hill. What does that make 50? – second thought, I don’t want to know.

“Oh, um, well, I’m sure those girls meant it as a compliment, you know.” It’s official – my daughter is totally certifiable! ” So darling, who do you think is attractive? Who would you like to be compared to?”

“Well, first of all I don’t want to be compared to anyone – I just want to look like myself, NOT somebody else.”Okay, I take all that back – my daughter is brilliant and amazing and…“But if I wanted to look like somebody, it would be Zooey Deschanel. She’s SO great!”

Oh…okay…I get it…I think. Zooey is very quirky – she’s definitely a unique individual with a mind of her own. That’s good, right?

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Being the anal, research-oriented, analytical mother that I am, I did an extensive Google search on Zooey and Kate. Guess what? Turns out that Zooey is actually older than Kate – by 2 whole years! Which is totally significant when you’re 17. The Weird One’s response?

“Oh, yeah Mom. Whatever…”

Apparently Kate and Zooey issues were SO yesterday. I guess that since I’m a wee bit older than 30, I have trouble keeping up.

Really!

 

Only the best for my babies

Yep, I feed my darlings ( the hairy ones) very expensive, high quality, hypoallergenic potato & fish kibble from a local producer First Mate because, after all, they’re worth it.

courtesy Firstmate.com

And they love it.

I’ve thought about a “raw food” diet for them – for about 2 seconds, but sadly, even I have my limits. Besides, I’m not sure just how discriminating their taste buds really are. Killer loves garbage and rotten sticks and barnacle encrusted clams, while Franklinstein adores drywall, dirty old shoes (the smellier the better), furniture and of course, how can I forget …poop.  I  hope think we’ve cured him from that one, but still.( see Help – My Puppy has Coprophagia)

Being the ever vigilant mother that I am , I am constantly on the hunt for yummy but low-calorie treats for them. I’m not one of those dog folks who keeps treats in all her pockets , cuz that would drive my babies crazy. Labs they have a tendency to gain weight pretty quickly, and if it was up to them, they would eat 24/7 until they looked like this:

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And I’m in enough trouble as it is with my vet, who happens to think they’re both too fat. Really?! So, we have tried each and every one of the following treats, but they all have their issues:

• doggie cookies – too many calories
• rawhide bones – easy to choke on (apparently)
• dentabones –  last barely 2 seconds

Imagine my delight when I found the perfect dog chew – all natural and loved by both, but especially by Franklinstein.

Courtesy Bullwrinkles

The packaging proclaimed:

Great for larger dogs that need a long-lasting treat.  Made from real dried beef… full of rich flavor with a crunchy texture. These beef chews are  high in protein and low in fat. Highly digestible and can help improve dental health.

There was only one problem - the price. Individual treats cost almost $8 each. I wouldn’t mind if they lasted awhile, but Franklinstein demolishes them in about 10 minutes. So I talked to the folks at the local doggie store and asked for a deal – well the deal was that if I bought a box of the dog chews for $200, they wouldn’t charge me tax. But wait, $200 for a box of dog treats?! Are you crazy ? Ordinarily I would’ve laughed and said forget it, but I spent over $1,000 repairing all the damage Franklinstein did to our home (not to mention shoes, books, etc.), so….$200 was a bargain…relatively.

Well the doggie delicacies were a HUGE hit. I  got into the habit of giving them one or two every time I went out – to pilates, to grocery shopping, to taxiing around my daughter, or whatever. I felt great knowing  my babies were happy. We’d go through a box every month or so, but I just kept telling myself that it was money well spent.

One day I waltzed into the doggie store and said to the cashier, “Can I have a big box of those bones?” She wasn’t sure what I was talking about, so I showed her the chews.

“Those aren’t bones ma’am”

“Well, what are they?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know”

“No really, I do. What are they?”

She came to close to me and whispered in my ear as if imparting the secret to eternal life.  ”They’re bull penises.”

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WHAT? So I did what I usually do in a situation like this: I went home to do research on the internet. Surely I could get to the bottom of this…situation. Guess what – bully sticks by Bullwrinkles are made from beef and steer pizzle and pizzle is a nice word for…penis. They cut them off, clean them, drain them, stretch them and dry them. Sometimes they braid them. Then they cut them and package them. Really! (See What are Bully Sticks if you don’t believe me!)

Well, there was NO way I could keep this information to myself, so I immediately texted my son, the Obnoxious One with the news of Franklinstein’s latest and greatest tendencies. My son’s response? (after the expected %#*)  - Just two words:

“SELL HIM”

Really!

You are SO busted mister

As I have moaned about mentioned previously, I have been blessed with two good looking social children. (See The curse of the social teenaged kids.) Kids who rarely stop talking or texting or skyping or …you get the picture. I did think hope our family vacation would be different. I mean, after all, it’s called a FAMILY vacation, which means you leave town, leave your home, and leave your friends  behind. Somehow my son didn’t get the memo.

The first indication of this came when we were checking out of Dreams Los Cabos; after the initial disasters troubles we had checking in, we did start to enjoy ourselves, in between thunder storms, windstorms, and the inevitable melt downs by my daughter,  the Demon Child . And the sun did appear. Eventually. But when checking out we had another nasty surprise: a $350 phone bill for my son. Apparently the Obnoxious One had called his cell phone service provider from the phone in his room and tried to sort out his long distance package and internet. (The hotel was supposed to supply free internet but it was problematic.) He was placed on hold so many times that the phone call lasted 40 minutes. Can you imagine my dear darling husband’s reaction?

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Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. So instead of check-out taking 10 minutes, it took almost an hour. Of heated discussion. Numerous clerks  were brought in to sort things out, phone calls were made, fingers were pointed and finally the hotel manager was contacted. Words like fraud and poor customer service and nothing we can do were bandied about. The kids wisely skulked in another part of the lobby, far away from the front desk and their dad. I kept walking back and forth to ensure my hubby didn’t completely blow his top and that the kids or our luggage didn’t wander away. Actually we almost lost half of our luggage – the hotel staff loaded it onto the bus of passengers bound for New York. That would really have made our day!

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Finally the manager approved a write-down. We still had to pay far too much, but decided to pursue the matter at home with Lily, our amazing travel agent. Enough was enough.

Except that it wasn’t. A week after we got home, while my husband was in China on business, I received the bill for the Obnoxious One’s cell phone. Care to guess how much??? Did you say…$900? Yeah – gives me a heart attack just looking at that! So this time I sent the bill to my son and said, you deal with it! Although he has no money (except what we give him – he doesn’t have a job at university) I figured he could call the cell phone company and moan and groan – after all, he’s so good at that! In the meantime I decided not to tell my husband – yet.

Somehow, the Obnoxious One must have the gift of the Irish or something (My father’s family did originate from Ireland long, long time ago) because he managed to get the company to reverse $550 from his bill. Apparently he spoke at length with a “very nice lady” – yeah right – and she  removed his texting charges. And you know who he was texting non-stop the entire week? – his girlfriend.

Except that he said she’s not his girlfriend – nope, she’s his “friend with benefits”. Right – I saw those movies  and I know how they ended. He doesn’t stand a chance.

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Really!

Have you been faced with ginormous phone bills from either hotels or cell phone companies? What have you done about it?