It is time to face facts, even for a toddler, the Nazgul is just plain weird. Around Crap Headquarters we are pretty used to some of her more interesting behaviours and don't really blink when a new one crops up, after all we are usually busy wondering why Rainman is biting his own shoes or trying to black out the last 3hr soliloquy on Pokemon. This week she has been ill and has developed a penchant for carrying around, what can only be described as "security cheese", this is a small piece of cheese that she has no intention of eating but is comforted by carrying it around until it has bred enough bacteria to ensure intestinal damage, and then attempting to force feed it to me.
We have become accustomed to the fact that the Nazgul prefers to communicate largely in sound effects and a series of intricate hand gestures that are bordering on interpretive dance. But ultimately we are reliant on The Screech (from which springs the inspiration for the moniker "The Nazgul") and our ability to interpret it's varying pitch in order to understand what the Nazgul wants. I actually didn't think she was "that bad" (My first husband and I now have the catch cry of "well at least she is not as bad as Rainman was at this age") until today, while I was talking to a friend (and proud owner of 3 small psychopaths of her own) The Nazgul didn't get it's own way and therefore subjected me to the shriek, my friend thought it was so hilarious that she asked me to video it and that's when it hit me...no, not all kids do this, just ones I have sculpted (I should had a few clues that perhaps we were breeding something rather special here, when we went to a sleep centre when the Nazgul was 10 months old, and the nurses who had spent 40+ yrs in the industry heard her down the corridor and said "What the hell is that").
So onto today where I managed to hit a new parenting milestone. The Nazgul was particularly displeased with having to wear trousers to pick up Rainman from school, we had already had a WWE style wrestling session trying to get them on her and I was walking down the street pushing a pram containing a convulsing, shrieking little wreck who was pulling her shoes and socks off (she lists hurling shoes onto busy roads as one of her hobbies) when a group of Asian women were startled by the sight, or more accurately - the sound, of us. One actually made movements to cross the road with the same look on her face as if there were a pack of demented wolves roving the neighbourhood but then had a better idea, she stayed and one of her friends filmed the tantrum. Yes, bask in my awesome parenting, my kids are now so badly behaved members of the general public video their antics. When I told My First Husband about the incident, he just said "Did you tell them to fuck off*?" in such a way that I suspect he had seen this coming.
So hold on for the next youtube sensation "Dangerously unhinged white baby"
*Please note, this is a pretty standard response from My First Husband, who one day announced "You know a stranger is just someone I haven't told to fuck off yet"
Monday, 22 August 2011
Thursday, 11 August 2011
Danger Words
This morning as the Nazgul force fed me a grape of indeterminable vintage, I got to thinking about how being alerted to imminent danger has changed. In the past, the warning of potential hazards and unsafe situations was pretty standard "Fire", "Run" and "Last Drinks" being the most notable. While the word gravity is now positively sinister, it is more of a slow creep than one that immediately freezes the bowels and makes legs twitch.
It has become accepted around Crap Headquarters that the word "igh-ees" (rough English translation: eyes), is usually immediately followed by a sharp poke in the eye and corneas scratched by sharp, dirty little fingernails and shrieks of delight from the Nazgul. In a similar vein, hearing the mutterings of "busybee, busybee, biz biz, busybee" is pretty much a sign to head for the fallout shelter, it is the signal that the Nazgul is rampaging through the house destroying then coating the debris in sunscreen or moisturizer. Recently I was trying to send a text message when I heard the dreaded mutterings to look up and see the Busy Bee sculling soy milk (football hooligan style) while attempting to key the glass doors. Busy Bee also has a penchant for throwing things into the bath (particularly electrical goods), putting popcorn in the toilet and ramming herself into the protective barriers we have placed around everything until she can get close enough to the TV to attempt to key that. I am not sure where she got the idea that a Bee is a vandalising serial killer but it has caused me to add one of those suits that police dog trainers wear to my birthday wish list.
The Busy Bee is not the Nazgul's only alter-ego. We often have prolonged assaults from "The Little Cat", who plays the sociopath to the busy bees psychopathology. The warning bell for the appearance of the Little Cat, is the Nazgul crawling up to you on all fours going "Ahhh Ahhh", then crash tackling you in a head butting frenzy of over enthusiastic kisses, cuddles and general unbalanced love, the Nazgul cuts an elegant figure with the body shape of a front row forward so this little game always ends with a shriek and an agonised "GENTLE, WE DON'T HURT MUMMY". Unfortunately, the main characteristic of the little cat is that is doesn't heed any advice, instruction or pleas for mercy. In the past fortnight alone, she has attempted to decapitate me with the broom on three occasions, attempted to tear my earrings from my ears daily and I suspect has caused life long damage to my septum with the kisses.
The reinterpretation of danger words is not the Nazgul's doing alone, Rainman has the superhuman ability to make a noise that can instantly induce rage in the listener. I am sure some sinister military agency will one day synthesise this sound to play at enemy insurgents - a modern version of the fabled 'brown note". This noise is usually an indication that you will turn around to find Rainman punching his own shoes, pulling at chunks of his hair or biting his own trousers leaving you on the verge of the parenting faux pas of screaming "What the fuck is wrong with your brain?". This is not the most dangerous or most psychically damaging of Rain Man's sounds, as soon as he utters the words "Pokemon", "Munchkin" (some overly complicated imaginary game he plays with his friends) or spies, you know that you are in for a 3-4 hr monologue which eventually degenerates into a nonsensical diatribe or argument (recently he claimed he had already completed some spy training as he had medical knowledge and went into a rant about 'clerics' and healing, when I gently mentioned he was talking about something made up from a role playing game, he had a fit that he was talking about the real world not a game and became so frustrated he was almost frothing at the mouth).
Similarly, I am alerted to danger from My First Husband when he says "Hi, I am home", but that is another post entirely.....
***The Crap Housewife would like to apologise for the delay in posting, she has been under constant terrorist attack in the form of an imaginary bee and kitten and has not emerged unscathed from the encounters. However she makes no apologies for the spelling and grammatical errors, she just can't be arsed***
It has become accepted around Crap Headquarters that the word "igh-ees" (rough English translation: eyes), is usually immediately followed by a sharp poke in the eye and corneas scratched by sharp, dirty little fingernails and shrieks of delight from the Nazgul. In a similar vein, hearing the mutterings of "busybee, busybee, biz biz, busybee" is pretty much a sign to head for the fallout shelter, it is the signal that the Nazgul is rampaging through the house destroying then coating the debris in sunscreen or moisturizer. Recently I was trying to send a text message when I heard the dreaded mutterings to look up and see the Busy Bee sculling soy milk (football hooligan style) while attempting to key the glass doors. Busy Bee also has a penchant for throwing things into the bath (particularly electrical goods), putting popcorn in the toilet and ramming herself into the protective barriers we have placed around everything until she can get close enough to the TV to attempt to key that. I am not sure where she got the idea that a Bee is a vandalising serial killer but it has caused me to add one of those suits that police dog trainers wear to my birthday wish list.
The Busy Bee is not the Nazgul's only alter-ego. We often have prolonged assaults from "The Little Cat", who plays the sociopath to the busy bees psychopathology. The warning bell for the appearance of the Little Cat, is the Nazgul crawling up to you on all fours going "Ahhh Ahhh", then crash tackling you in a head butting frenzy of over enthusiastic kisses, cuddles and general unbalanced love, the Nazgul cuts an elegant figure with the body shape of a front row forward so this little game always ends with a shriek and an agonised "GENTLE, WE DON'T HURT MUMMY". Unfortunately, the main characteristic of the little cat is that is doesn't heed any advice, instruction or pleas for mercy. In the past fortnight alone, she has attempted to decapitate me with the broom on three occasions, attempted to tear my earrings from my ears daily and I suspect has caused life long damage to my septum with the kisses.
The reinterpretation of danger words is not the Nazgul's doing alone, Rainman has the superhuman ability to make a noise that can instantly induce rage in the listener. I am sure some sinister military agency will one day synthesise this sound to play at enemy insurgents - a modern version of the fabled 'brown note". This noise is usually an indication that you will turn around to find Rainman punching his own shoes, pulling at chunks of his hair or biting his own trousers leaving you on the verge of the parenting faux pas of screaming "What the fuck is wrong with your brain?". This is not the most dangerous or most psychically damaging of Rain Man's sounds, as soon as he utters the words "Pokemon", "Munchkin" (some overly complicated imaginary game he plays with his friends) or spies, you know that you are in for a 3-4 hr monologue which eventually degenerates into a nonsensical diatribe or argument (recently he claimed he had already completed some spy training as he had medical knowledge and went into a rant about 'clerics' and healing, when I gently mentioned he was talking about something made up from a role playing game, he had a fit that he was talking about the real world not a game and became so frustrated he was almost frothing at the mouth).
Similarly, I am alerted to danger from My First Husband when he says "Hi, I am home", but that is another post entirely.....
***The Crap Housewife would like to apologise for the delay in posting, she has been under constant terrorist attack in the form of an imaginary bee and kitten and has not emerged unscathed from the encounters. However she makes no apologies for the spelling and grammatical errors, she just can't be arsed***
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Best served very cold.
Well as it is generally known amongst my friends and arresting officers my mantra is "Any day without a stabbing incident is a win", which at first people laugh at but then they meet my family and the "unattainable goals" conversation invariably follows, it is with this in mind I think of my poor friend stuck crying in the bathroom while one demonically possessed child calls her a "meanie pig" and the other just destroys beloved possessions. While I am forever grateful for the phrase "meanie pig" (which incidentally I may use on the employee appraisal section of my next performance review), I also have some advice for my friend whose only crime was the desire to shit unobserved...There's is absolutely nothing wrong with planning revenge on your children.
It was an idea that my first husband and I developed when Rain Man was a toddler, neither of us believe in hitting children and after Rain Man had rampaged through the house and subjected us to many prolonged hours of SAS style torture (this kid was born knowing to go for soft tissue areas), My first husband turned to me and said "On his 18th Birthday I am going to jump out of a wardrobe or something and beat the crap out of him...of course I'll be old and he'll be in his prime so I'll leg it afterwards but it'll be worth it" and with that statement a bit more magic entered this jaded old world.
I call it my Revenge Diary, but while I may forget social niceties and to cook food before serving, all my tactics are so firmly etched in my mind that I have no need to write them down. I look forward to my son nervous before his first date, and when I go to kiss him good bye and lean in, screw up my face, gag and say "Oh my god you have BIN breath", or the first meal he cooks for us when he moves out, so painstakingly prepared, which my first husband and I will claim has dirt in it, refuse to eat, up end the plate and throw a chair. We shall also phone him up in the early hours of the morning and scream for no explicable reason, unmake all the beds in his house and piss around his toilet rather into it. You may think this sounds a little uncharitable but these ideas have all been lifted directly from him.
Now he is older and his foul treatment of us isn't so easily translatable I have had to diversify my revenge portfolio a little, this year alone he has earned himself (to be delivered at age 15) when his friends come over me wearing a t-shirt of his favourite band (ill fitting of course) singing along and dancing, being the mum who tries so very hard to be cool, and of course my First Husband and I being extremely candid about our sex life.
So to my unit bound friend, grab an exercise book and a pen and plan on how you will get those little bastards back...
It was an idea that my first husband and I developed when Rain Man was a toddler, neither of us believe in hitting children and after Rain Man had rampaged through the house and subjected us to many prolonged hours of SAS style torture (this kid was born knowing to go for soft tissue areas), My first husband turned to me and said "On his 18th Birthday I am going to jump out of a wardrobe or something and beat the crap out of him...of course I'll be old and he'll be in his prime so I'll leg it afterwards but it'll be worth it" and with that statement a bit more magic entered this jaded old world.
I call it my Revenge Diary, but while I may forget social niceties and to cook food before serving, all my tactics are so firmly etched in my mind that I have no need to write them down. I look forward to my son nervous before his first date, and when I go to kiss him good bye and lean in, screw up my face, gag and say "Oh my god you have BIN breath", or the first meal he cooks for us when he moves out, so painstakingly prepared, which my first husband and I will claim has dirt in it, refuse to eat, up end the plate and throw a chair. We shall also phone him up in the early hours of the morning and scream for no explicable reason, unmake all the beds in his house and piss around his toilet rather into it. You may think this sounds a little uncharitable but these ideas have all been lifted directly from him.
Now he is older and his foul treatment of us isn't so easily translatable I have had to diversify my revenge portfolio a little, this year alone he has earned himself (to be delivered at age 15) when his friends come over me wearing a t-shirt of his favourite band (ill fitting of course) singing along and dancing, being the mum who tries so very hard to be cool, and of course my First Husband and I being extremely candid about our sex life.
So to my unit bound friend, grab an exercise book and a pen and plan on how you will get those little bastards back...
Thursday, 5 May 2011
A Day in the Life: Tuesday 2nd May
Snapshot of Tuesday 2nd May:
The Nazgul was starting her first music class that morning, she was pretty subdued being a new situation and I even managed a few smiles (to and from) a couple of the other parents. Unfortunately I quickly established myself yet again as the parent who gets way too into it (plenty of woos and hair whipping dancing). Cue the loaded silence as I look up after a particularly enthusiastic song from me, to see all of the blonde, lycra-cladded, surgically enhanced Mums staring unblinkingly right at me. Luckily this being my 2nd child I am used to public humiliation. Unsurprisingly, there were no "how old is your daughter? Are you from around here? Have you been here before?" comments afterwards.
Then I was forced to do that weird jog thing that only big boobed woman can do, around the super market because My First Husband was/is having one of his mental fits and refusing to the drive car so we can't do the groceries (I can't drive). As a result I needed to get something that required no prep to give some Mums from school for lunch and then to arrive home before they got to my place with enough time to wipe the sweat from my brow, brush my hair, safely put The Nazgul to bed and then practice smiling and murmuring “Oh no really it was no bother at all”. They arrived about 4 ½ mins after I did and came in very quietly so not to wake The Nazgul, however this unnecessary because she was in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a raincoat, stinking of shit, licking individual pieces of pasta and putting them back in container, while doing her infamous screech whenever bed, taking the raincoat off, nappy changes or stop licking that bloody pasta was mentioned. Fortunately for me the unaccustomed find the screech quite confronting so I did not feel the need to explain why I looked like Tim Minchin or offer any insight into the workings of The Nazgul.
CUT to trying to get into the house after school pick up where, Rain Man over excited by getting a book in the post, grabbed the mail off the pram knocking it backwards, which started The Nazgul screaming (who by the way was standing on porch tearing up my pap smear results) this sent Rain Man psycho. Of course they did this while I was putting in the alarm code, I stuffed up the numbers and set the alarm off which made the little mental patients scream even more. So there we stood in full view, with the alarm blaring, them screaming and me desperately hammering on the alarm keypad as my brain melted and I completely forgot how to shut it down.
40 mins later The Nazgul was still chucking fits over every single thing that happened, so being the model parent I am I retreated into facebook (to some beautiful souls who peer-pressured me into this blog) but it came at a price, putting ABC kids on the TV and allowing The Nazgul to coat me, herself and my brand new mohair/wool jumper, in zinc based sunscreen. Unfortunately what I forgot was that while I was doing this I had turned my back on Rain Man for an entire 10 mins, I had asked him to get out of his uniform. Obviously I was not specific enough because when I turned around he was getting extremely into Play School, while jumping like a deranged orangutan and thus grinding all the sultanas that The Nazgul had spread over the floor into the rug (I estimate based on the debris that it was 2 packets worth), still dressed in his uniform. Realizing my folly I rounded him up, made him get changed and start his home work. This prompted The Nazgul to decide that climbing onto a chair (now wearing a beanie with the tags still attached), dancing and singing (in baby language) to the Smiths was the way to deal with her brother's struggle with calm.
At this point I asked My First Husband via text to pick me up a bottle of wine. It was while I was pondering whether to knock myself up a nail polish remover and meths aperitif that I heard the beeps of a series of text messages hitting my phone. Due to The Nazgul's proximity to the phone and my reflexes being dulled by years of aperitif's, she intercepted the phone and proceeded to hold it in front of her shouting "HI YA", when the phone failed to give the appropriate response she stared at it, grinned, shouted "OOOPS" and threw it forcefully on the floor laughing as the back, battery and phone flew in different directions. By now Rain Man was bouncing on his seat, twitching and saying "Can you stop her screaming? It is starting to really annoy me" (thanks Son, I look forward to you having your own toddler and repeating this useful and inherently calming phrase back to you). When the phone was finally reassembled it immediately began ringing, imagine my unbridled delight as My First Husband frantically declared that he had had to leave the bottle shop because he went in to get the wine but there were all these bottles and it freaked him out. I guess I'll never know whether it was my diplomatic and charming response to this statement, the sound of The Nazgul and Rain Man in the background gearing up for a new and ingenious attempt to make me scream till blood came out of my ears or his deep-seeded (and completely unjustified) fear of me in all my shoe-throwing glory, but he had a change of heart, faced his newly acquired fear of bottles and the world was saved.
The Nazgul was starting her first music class that morning, she was pretty subdued being a new situation and I even managed a few smiles (to and from) a couple of the other parents. Unfortunately I quickly established myself yet again as the parent who gets way too into it (plenty of woos and hair whipping dancing). Cue the loaded silence as I look up after a particularly enthusiastic song from me, to see all of the blonde, lycra-cladded, surgically enhanced Mums staring unblinkingly right at me. Luckily this being my 2nd child I am used to public humiliation. Unsurprisingly, there were no "how old is your daughter? Are you from around here? Have you been here before?" comments afterwards.
Then I was forced to do that weird jog thing that only big boobed woman can do, around the super market because My First Husband was/is having one of his mental fits and refusing to the drive car so we can't do the groceries (I can't drive). As a result I needed to get something that required no prep to give some Mums from school for lunch and then to arrive home before they got to my place with enough time to wipe the sweat from my brow, brush my hair, safely put The Nazgul to bed and then practice smiling and murmuring “Oh no really it was no bother at all”. They arrived about 4 ½ mins after I did and came in very quietly so not to wake The Nazgul, however this unnecessary because she was in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a raincoat, stinking of shit, licking individual pieces of pasta and putting them back in container, while doing her infamous screech whenever bed, taking the raincoat off, nappy changes or stop licking that bloody pasta was mentioned. Fortunately for me the unaccustomed find the screech quite confronting so I did not feel the need to explain why I looked like Tim Minchin or offer any insight into the workings of The Nazgul.
CUT to trying to get into the house after school pick up where, Rain Man over excited by getting a book in the post, grabbed the mail off the pram knocking it backwards, which started The Nazgul screaming (who by the way was standing on porch tearing up my pap smear results) this sent Rain Man psycho. Of course they did this while I was putting in the alarm code, I stuffed up the numbers and set the alarm off which made the little mental patients scream even more. So there we stood in full view, with the alarm blaring, them screaming and me desperately hammering on the alarm keypad as my brain melted and I completely forgot how to shut it down.
40 mins later The Nazgul was still chucking fits over every single thing that happened, so being the model parent I am I retreated into facebook (to some beautiful souls who peer-pressured me into this blog) but it came at a price, putting ABC kids on the TV and allowing The Nazgul to coat me, herself and my brand new mohair/wool jumper, in zinc based sunscreen. Unfortunately what I forgot was that while I was doing this I had turned my back on Rain Man for an entire 10 mins, I had asked him to get out of his uniform. Obviously I was not specific enough because when I turned around he was getting extremely into Play School, while jumping like a deranged orangutan and thus grinding all the sultanas that The Nazgul had spread over the floor into the rug (I estimate based on the debris that it was 2 packets worth), still dressed in his uniform. Realizing my folly I rounded him up, made him get changed and start his home work. This prompted The Nazgul to decide that climbing onto a chair (now wearing a beanie with the tags still attached), dancing and singing (in baby language) to the Smiths was the way to deal with her brother's struggle with calm.
At this point I asked My First Husband via text to pick me up a bottle of wine. It was while I was pondering whether to knock myself up a nail polish remover and meths aperitif that I heard the beeps of a series of text messages hitting my phone. Due to The Nazgul's proximity to the phone and my reflexes being dulled by years of aperitif's, she intercepted the phone and proceeded to hold it in front of her shouting "HI YA", when the phone failed to give the appropriate response she stared at it, grinned, shouted "OOOPS" and threw it forcefully on the floor laughing as the back, battery and phone flew in different directions. By now Rain Man was bouncing on his seat, twitching and saying "Can you stop her screaming? It is starting to really annoy me" (thanks Son, I look forward to you having your own toddler and repeating this useful and inherently calming phrase back to you). When the phone was finally reassembled it immediately began ringing, imagine my unbridled delight as My First Husband frantically declared that he had had to leave the bottle shop because he went in to get the wine but there were all these bottles and it freaked him out. I guess I'll never know whether it was my diplomatic and charming response to this statement, the sound of The Nazgul and Rain Man in the background gearing up for a new and ingenious attempt to make me scream till blood came out of my ears or his deep-seeded (and completely unjustified) fear of me in all my shoe-throwing glory, but he had a change of heart, faced his newly acquired fear of bottles and the world was saved.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
The Cast
The Crap Housewife: President and founding member of the Crap Housewives Association, extremely qualified in the role, Career highlights include - Stapling as a form of hemming, completely cooking all moisture out of a potato, and dubious parenting behaviours such as paying son $10 to leave her alone. Also as you will note in posts, is never, ever, ever in the wrong. Currently played by Christina Hendricks (Well I dye my hair red and have big boobs, and like anyone in cyber space is gonna know the difference).
My First Husband: Also current and only husband to the Crap Housewife.Could be termed a lovable eccentric but that would be a fucking lie, he is an acerbic mental case who is hell bent on driving the Housewife insane. They have been together for 10 years and he is yet to stop talking.
Rain Man: The first born of the Housewife and the Husband, so named because when things go wrong he has the tendency to over-react in the same way Dustin Hoffman over-acted in the crap 80's film Rain Man. At present Rain Man is seven years old and appears to have no short-term memory and yet can monologue about computer games for upwards of 3 hrs.
The Nazgul: The 19 Month old daughter of the Housewife and the Husband, so named because she can screech like a Tolkien creature whenever she is displeased, the housewife quite often checks the Nazgul's back to see if she is indeed carrying a ring-wraith.
Together this mentally unbalanced group form the basis for a bizarre daily sitcom that no one really gets but kind of likes because watching them makes everyone feel better about themselves. There maybe a snap-shot of the Crap Housewife's day every week or so, or maybe just the bitter ramblings of someone who just doesn't understand when to shut up.
My First Husband: Also current and only husband to the Crap Housewife.Could be termed a lovable eccentric but that would be a fucking lie, he is an acerbic mental case who is hell bent on driving the Housewife insane. They have been together for 10 years and he is yet to stop talking.
Rain Man: The first born of the Housewife and the Husband, so named because when things go wrong he has the tendency to over-react in the same way Dustin Hoffman over-acted in the crap 80's film Rain Man. At present Rain Man is seven years old and appears to have no short-term memory and yet can monologue about computer games for upwards of 3 hrs.
The Nazgul: The 19 Month old daughter of the Housewife and the Husband, so named because she can screech like a Tolkien creature whenever she is displeased, the housewife quite often checks the Nazgul's back to see if she is indeed carrying a ring-wraith.
Together this mentally unbalanced group form the basis for a bizarre daily sitcom that no one really gets but kind of likes because watching them makes everyone feel better about themselves. There maybe a snap-shot of the Crap Housewife's day every week or so, or maybe just the bitter ramblings of someone who just doesn't understand when to shut up.
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