written in exile

ode to an unbloggable blog

I give up

Here I sit, ousted from my own blog by the almighty power of the internet security system. We have had this installed for our kids’ benefit on their computers, but my husband goes through periodic fits of installing it on ours. I want to like this program. It does block a lot of the unsolicited material which bombards you when you open an otherwise harmless website, but there is always a downside. In past incarnations, I have accustomed myself to losing the use of google image searches (which makes identifying a particular rash a tad difficult). I have lost the ability to see half of the pictures when other people post them. Again, this is livable. I can work out the gist of the thing from what I do see. But this time, I am beyond my tolerance level.

BSafe has decided to block me from reading comments on any blog. It has blocked me from any page in which I can log on. So, while I am perfectly capable of reading my blog or any other (including those with what would be deemed offensive language), I cannot post. Apparently, I need to be protected from myself. Lord knows what I might type if given the opportunity to set my fingers to the keyboard. Oh wait. I am typing those words now. So, I guess it is simply protecting the rest of you from having to read it!

The dear husband, when asked, did apparently submit a request for un-blockage, but I have very little faith in the system. And as the trend would go, I suddenly have a million thoughts.

Maybe BSafe got a look at my untidy house and figured I needed a little push in the cleaning direction. Oh how misguided this effort to save me from myself. I am obsessive. I can find anything to distract me from what I really should be doing – including the overwhelming guilt from being unable to conquer the grime. The waves of depression from that one are good for at least two days’ procrastination. After all, there’s nothing like the knowledge that I can spend hours scrubbing away only to turn around and find no evidence that I have done a single thing.

Ah well, I guess it’s back to the pile of papers I am trying to sort. I tried to talk myself out of it. I really did.





ooh-ooh ah-ah p.u.

Recently, I have been running across precious quotes made by children. All parents feel suddenly warm and fuzzy, captivated, or amused by the fact that “kids say the darndest things.” I am not immune. But the recent bouts of kid-isms which have given me a jolt are from two distinct categories. Both require set-up.

Imagine if you will Princess Pink One in all her splendour - perched upon a pile of pillows in the most comfortable seat in the house, hugging her blankie tightly. From this position, she is perfectly poised to bark orders out to anyone passing.

“Happen my juice?”

“My have cookie!”

“Not dat! Want my baby show!”

This is a daily occurrence. I interject, of course, with small instructional words in an attempt to teach politeness or, perchance, with refusal (heaven forbid), so the child might come to understand that she is not the center of the world.

On such a day, when the demands and requests had been flying past any ear within range, I happened to walk by and get an insistent dose of, “Mo-o-o-o-o-o-m, ooh-ooh ah-ah p.u.” And I just had to laugh (behind her back) as her mien became that of a poor little rich girl directing her maid, “And by the way, my stuffed monkey stinks. Take it away.”

It’s one of those you had to be there moments.

kidism part two:

The littles enjoy going in N’s room and “borrowing” his stuff. This trend is so common that we had to put a latch on the top corner of the door to lock them out. Every once in awhile, that door is inadvertently left unbolted. Like yesterday. So, I had to laugh when I went up to say my goodnights last night, and I saw the sign N had written that was hanging on his door.

_____________________

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
“You must be at least this tall to enter.
If you do not meet the designated height requirement,
a rabid monkey with a sledge hammer will attack you.”


kidism part three:

And as I typed this:

N: Mom we need to buy J (mumble mumble)

Mom: Buy him what?

N: Bigger ears. (pause) You should think of investing in some too.