It’s Time for an Intervention

 

So, there was an intervention yesterday.

An intervention between two 12-year-old boys.

Yes you read that right, two 12-year-old boys.

Why you ask?

Well because they were acting like bloody girls that’s why!

Over the past few weeks, there has been a storm a brewing between Moomoo and his mate that he has had since Day Care.  Words have been said, txts have been sent, Instagram had lost followers, the world has ended a few times.  There have been tears, yelling, fighting, a whole hormonal shit storm has entered both houses.  They would make up then break up and honestly, I couldn’t keep up.  It really started impacting both families and it went full tilt shit storm yesterday morning.

It started like your usual day.  ‘Boys, get up, get showered, get your lunch, where’s your hat….’ you know, that old chest nut.(here is a previous post I did about that http://wp.me/p2tuId-1h) and then I decided to have a look at his txts (yes I read his txts, I also check his Instagram and messages, how else am I going to keep ahead of the game?)

Well, that is right about when shit did hit the fan!  Moomoo and his mate were having a txt war the other night.  We were aware of it and we shut it down…….or so I thought!  That turned out to not be the case.  My darling sweet little devil in disguise angel had actually started a bit of cyber bullying.  I was mortified!  We didn’t bring up this kid to do that! Yelling ensued and all out war broke out between the child and I.  Moomoo would not accept responsibility for his actions.  The tears flowed, the yelling continued, the guilt set in (yes from me) it was on like Donkey Kong. I could not believe that the war between the two was still on and from what I could see, Moomoo was the instigator – m o r t i f i e d!

So…… after the dust settled and the tears abated, I dropped them at school.  It was a shit crap morning and I’d had enough.  Enough of this ridiculous bitch fight between the two so I decided that an intervention was needed.  Now seeing as it would have been frowned upon to put them in a ring Gladiator style (damn political correctness), sitting them down and having a conversation with them was the next best thing.  The Mothers came up with a plan.  I was taking Moomoo over that afternoon and they were going to work it out!

5.00pm hits.  I leave work, get home, tell Moomoo to get in the car and come to the shop with me.  He’s smart this one, as we’re driving he’s like, ‘Why did you want me to come with you?’, ‘What are we getting at the shop?’, ‘ WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE!’ ….as we pull up at the mates place…..and he sees his mate walking across the road and as his mate sees us pull into his driveway there was the same look on his face as there was on Moomoos – Panic, sheer panic (sheer brilliance I’m thinking!)

Up we go, sit them down and lay it out.  Sitting in between two sullen boys, telling them how ridiculous this fight is and how we don’t care if they are friends or not but just letting them know in calm and rational voices (yeah, it was a struggle) that THIS SHIT HAS GOT TO STOP!  There was a bit of staring and then a few words got mumbled then Moomoo admitting that he kinda started it and then apologies made and then we sent them to Fight Club downstairs to go and chat, sort it out and see what happens.

Off they went reluctantly for their 5 minute talk, that turned into a 25 minute hang out session that included apologies, chatting, gaming and finally and end to the war.

For the moment………(and I’m pretty sure they don’t ever want to be sat down like that again!)

Any wars at your house?

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  Sorry………but this is hilarious……

How to Raise Gun-Free Boys

itsnotjustmeright:

This….this folks is pure brillance – a post on the blog of the very wise Becoming Cliche!

Originally posted on Becoming Cliche:

When my husband and I first started talking about having children almost two decades ago, one of our concerns was the pervasive violence in our culture. Seeing boys barely old enough to write their names pretending to blow one another up was troubling, and we decided our kids were going to be different. We didn’t buy in to gender stereotypes. Kids are blank slates. We were going to raise our boys to be peaceful. We’re seventeen years into this parenting gig. Twelve of those years have been spent raising boys, and I’ve worked with hundreds of children aged preschool to high school, so I do have at least some experience when I offer this advice.

To raise gun-free boys:

  1. Teach them new meanings to common behaviors. Children naturally extend thumb and forefinger. Teach them it’s an “L” for “Love.” If that doesn’t work, I recommend gluing their thumbs and…

View original 256 more words

Enter The Green Zone……Again

Seven years of this shit and still it goes on…….

Can ya guess where this one is going???

Yup for all those crazy drivers, this one’s for you.

So as I’ve said before, I drop the children at ‘Green Zone’.  This is an area that is a drop off zone – 2 mins max.  These are the rules as per the school:

• You may stop and pick up only in the green zone.
• You may stop for no longer than two minutes.
• If your children are not ready, you must move on and
come back later.
• You may not queue , waiting for a
space in the green zone.
• If there are no spaces in the green zone you must
continue driving and return until a space becomes
available.

Simple right?  And in case that is too hard, here’s a translation.

Morning Drop Off - This is normally not to bad if you get there by 8.30, after that, all bets are off.  And so it goes:

Kids open door.

Kids get out of car.

Kids run along happily to school, excited to face the day ahead of them.

Mum waves, smiles, blows kisses and does a little happy dance with both hands on the wheel, indicates, checks mirrors then pulls into traffic safe in the knowledge that for at least 6 hours, there will be no kid whingeing.

After School Pick Up -  Right this is where it gets dicey.

Get to the school street and join the queue, not that there should be a queue because as stated above, if your kid isn’t ready, move on – hence no blocking of the street.

Wait patiently as the queue starts to move, watching kids run on to the road dodging traffic so they can jump in the car because this is much more fun than being safe.

Get to the end of the actual Green Zone queue, spot children, start to move up – only to find that someone has parked in the 2 minute drop off/pick up Green Zone!

Indicate getting ready to pull out into the traffic while giving the ‘parked person’ dirty looks (yeah righto and a few choice words but it’s ok because your windows are up and they won’t hear you so it’s not really road rage), move around said ‘parked person’ and stop.

Yell to the kids to jump in, bags in back, seat belts on, indicate, check mirrors, play dodgem cars and get the hell out of there!

Ask the children how their day was and get either:

a grunt – indicating no need to carry on this conversation further or

a rant – indicating time to zone out whilst carefully responding when prompted.

So that folks is the daily grind with the Green Zone – no wonder school is a stressful environment!

BlogBlockBlogBlockBlogBlock!

I have bloggers block.

I have lots of ideas.

I have even written them in my journal.

I have 3 posts that I have started.

Yet I cannot finish them.

I think I need some more stupid shit to happen so I can write about it.

I am leaving now.

I will return…..soon………

Too much?????….

Transformers is a story about….

Well, The Wiggles didn’t really hang around for too long.

Bob packed up his tools and off he went.

Animation flicks still get a look in because, well, they’re animation.

We have certainly entered the Action Testosterone Filled Movie scene…..Thank God!

The latest escapade we went to was Transformers 4, or 5 or whatever it is up to now……The boys were in car heaven.  Look, let’s be honest.  It’s a movie about alien trucks and cars that transform.  Do you reckon there’d be much story to it?  It’s got Marky Mark in it playing a dorky yet cool nerdy inventor Dad with a way too hot daughter.  There’s funny moments, there’s sad moments and it’s all tied together in a very loose story about……..well…..alien robots came and there were other alien robots and then …… Marky Mark saved the day – seriously, we don’t care what it was about, it was cool.  It was a cool, fun flick to check out that the critics are panning – they obviously did not go with a 10 and 12-year-old!

 

 

School Hellidays….Again….

Yep, it’s that time again.

It’s school holidays

And they are off to Nanna and  Poppys for a week.

And not a moment to soon…………

They got to have the first week of the holidays with Mr Cruisey but for week 2, rather than fork out the money that equates to a house deposit for school care, they are off to Nanna and Poppys.

So by the time school holidays gets here, we’re all done.  They’re tired and ratty and whinny and argumentative and in our case, the horrid hormonal monster has been visiting a fair bit.  We’ve had the emotional unstable monster, the angry monster, the down right psychotic hormonal beast of a monster and it has wiped me out!

So, Mum came to pick the boys up on Friday while I was at work so of course the first thing I did when I got home was to de flea clean the place.  I put away the mattresses that had been out for the week from their sleep overs in Moomoos room.  I dusted, vacuumed, mopped.  I picked up clothes, water bottles and put away games.  I had the place spick and span all the while keeping an eye on Beverley Hills 90210 (yes, I know, shut up, I>LOVE>IT).

I look forward to a week of less washing – although, just like Ethan Hawke in Reality Bites, their clothes keep showing up in each load.  I look forward to a week of peace.  I look forward to a week of not really having plans for dinner (yeah ok, kids here or not, that’s nearly everyday).  I look forward to a week of sanity.  I look forward to missing them so bad that I can’t wait to see them.

Mr Cruisey and I are really grateful to Mum and Pops in the fact that the kids can go to their place and despite a little resilience every now and then (and a few Poppy gets grumpy comments), the boys love it.

So I hope you’re all enjoying the school  holidays doing whatever it is that you’re doing.

Let’s hope Dawn still feels this way by Friday….

The Break Up

Break ups are always hard and it’s only after the break up that you analyse things and ask yourself ‘what went wrong, what happened I mean we had such a good relationship didn’t we?  I didn’t even see it coming?  I don’t understand?’

All those times we spent together hanging out, shooting the breeze, building the relationship.  I’d rock up to find different staff in the salon and get the run down on the goings on.  I’d pretend like I knew who you were talking about so I could fit in, you’d pretend like you remembered my name and I would come out feeling on top of the world with a new colour or cut.

But something went wrong……..

When I rocked up to my last appointment, the salon was full of strange ‘look at me’ and ‘I can talk the loudest’ type salon folk.  The scene was a little unsettling but I really needed a cut.

So we’re making small talk in between him talking to everyone else and everybody else talking to everybody else and it’s all a bit chaotic and it’s like that time I did acid and I had no clue about what was going on around me and before I know it, my hair is being straightened and then he starts blissfully hacking away.  I feel a little uncomfortable not dissimilar to that trip, however, I have put a certain amount of trust in my hairdresser and he hasn’t steered my wrong yet but just like acid, when thing’s seem warm and fuzzy and pretty and shimmery, just lurking below the surface is a scary arse dragon.

And the dragon is rumbling.

My hairdresser is talking and cutting and talking and cutting and oh wait, the phone rings, so my hairdresser answers the call because everybody else in the salon is too busy talking to each other about themselves so he is the only one that can answer the phone mid haircut (customer service 101).  Seriously! I watch him flamboyantly waving his magic scissors around as he is talking with his over exaggerated gestures – clearly the conversation is all about him.  So I’m watching and waiting and waiting and watching and man, I just want to get off the blue bus and get outta there. Finally, he is done.  He apologizes and gives me a run down and then starts hacking and chatting and hacking and chatting and then the chair spins and voila – it’s done and feel it, doesn’t it feel good and don’t you feel better and that’ll be $60.00…..

What the fuckidy fuck?

$60.00…. seriously?

$60.00, no shampoo, no scalp massage just a flashback to a trip from days gone by.

And just like that, we are done!

But like any relationship, we had some good times, but sadly, I finally realized that maybe it was me who was putting in all the effort and now, I’m done, it’s time to move on.

Thanks for the memories, I will miss you…..

This is what I asked for….