Pool Snark

Local temperature:  hotterthanfuckinghell for the past few days.  i’d managed to ditch work, and get poolside by 4pm.  Silence.  Between baking in the heat, and dipping in the cool, chlorinated water, i was enjoying a fine decompression cycle.

Fifteen minutes into my human laundry operation, i heard a gaggle* of boyz descending upon the communal facility.  Five of them, ranging in age from about eight to twelve years old.  Equipped with squirt guns, they barreled through the gate, and dive-bombed the water as i was relaxing on a lounge chair…

Their mother/keeper and a friend settled in a few minutes later on their chairs, a few yards away from me.  As the boisterous boyz played a noisy game of “Capture, Drown and Torture”, their mom said “Watch out that you don’t get other people wet with those, okay?”

i was the only ‘other people’ there, so i appreciated that she was attempting to manage the chaos.

Within minutes, however, it was clear she was going to SUCK at managing the chaos.

Running on the concrete, taking one of the metal pipes apart, and very nearly drowning the youngest.  “Don’t squirt water in his face!  You hear me?”  They were having a blast on a hot day.  “I said you need to stop running, okay?”  The noise didn’t bother me, as they were having fun.

It was when i got hosed with the squirt gun unexpectedly that i started to get a bit miffed.

Mom:  Boys!  Be careful with those!  And stop running!  [to me] Sorry!

i waved it off.  Went back to dunk in the pool again to re-soak my body and swimsuit.  As i walked down the steps into the pool, one of the kids ran past Mom (who was now back to yakking with her friend), and then cannonballed himself into the pool nearly on top of me.

Mom hollered some more ineffective parental-sounding statements, and the boyz went back to their chaotic play.

It wasn’t the noise, or even the splashing, that finally got me to leave.  It was having to listen to one of those milque-toasty, door-matty, victim-moms pretending to be an adult, while a herd of kids run her over like a sailcat on hot asphalt.

Started to pack up my gear.  Put the towel around my waist, slipped on my sandals and headed toward the gate.

Mom:  Sorry they’re so loud!

daisyfae [cheerfully]:  Well, being sorry and actually doing something about it are apparently two different things!  But hey, enjoy the rest of your day!

pic found here, along with a nicely written post on wimpy-ass parenting.


* What’s the collective noun for a group of boyz?  In this case, i’d have to go with “A Feral of Boyz”.  For crunchy, middle-aged broads like me?  Pretty sure it’s a “Snark”…

Trading favors

As i came home from work, my daughter’s boyfriend, ZZ, came up the stairs with a rather serious look on his face.
ZZ:  Follow me.  There’s something I have to show you.
daisyfae [looking concerned]:  What happened?
ZZ:  Nothing – just follow me to the kitchen.
He then produced several styrofoam boxes from the refrigerator.
ZZ [smiling]:
I bought you and The Girl dinner!  Veggie burger for her, and wings and potato wedges for you!
daisyfae [stuffing face]:  Om nom nom….
ZZ:  Didn’t know what sauces you liked, so I got honey barbecue and mild sauce.
daisyfae [continuing to stuff face with bird wings]:  So… om… mmmmm…. [slurp], what is it you want? [snarf]  Do you want to sleep with my daughter?
The Girl:  Hey, are you negotiating my virtue in exchange for a dozen hot wings and some tater wedges?
ZZ:  Isn’t that called a dowry?
daisyfae: They are pretty good wings…
After i successfully bashed through dinner, The Girl and ZZ were preparing to head out for some grocery shopping.
ZZ:  Do you want us to bring back ice cream?
daisyfae:  What?  Are you trying to buy my favor?  BenAndJerry’sNewYorkSuperfudgeChocolateChunk.  What is it you want from me?
The Girl:  He’s trying to get into your pants.  Ice cream worked on me…

Another Mother’s Day

My two spawn are pretty good with the Mother’s Day presents.  In 2008, it was a party – with a great cake.  Last year? It was a silly multi-generational dinner, topped off with a great card.

We tend toward the simple when it comes to holidays, preferring a very low-key approach.  Upon my return from my motorcycle test, i found this on the dining room table…

Once again?  They get it right…

Flowers, a pack of smokes and single malt scotch...

Upon closer inspection?  It was the thoughtful addition of “BK Technology” from the floor of The Boy’s car that made me giggle this year…  Just in case i need to inhale that bottle of scotch through a half-inch “pipe”?  i’ll have one handy…

The BK Pipe. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em...

* Personal note to The Unbearable Banishment?  Told ya… i know my kids, and they know their Ma…

Sending Children to Therapy, Part 278

It wasn’t even my party.  i simply offered my home as a “party substrate” – a place where a young friend, a university student without suitable digs of her own, could invite some friends over for a “direct sales” party.  With limited income, she wanted to earn some credits to acquire products essential for survival during her final year in college.

Not my fault she was selling fluids, lubricants and sex toys…

It was a “Pure Romance” party.  Sort of like a Tupperware Party for dildos, instead of air-tight food storage containers.  It’s pretty mild stuff, but provides a nice way to introduce people to the concepts of pleasure augmentation through advances in technology. 

The basic idea?  Invite all your friends over, a Product Hostess demonstrates and discusses items for sales, tasty fluids, lubes and powders are licked from wrists, games are played, food and massive quantities of drink consumed.  It’s just a party.  Attendees may place an order at the end of the evening.  We opted for a co-ed party, which meant no actual implements were displayed.  Or raced across my coffee table*  But it was still fun…

For me there was a gentle bit of awkwardness, however, since both The Boy and The Girl were home… at least when the party started.  They’d both been warned…  As the first attendee arrived?  The Boy was miraculously finished with laundry and escaped out the door to head back to his apartment.  “See you later, good luck with finals…” shouted as he slammed the door and squealed his tires out of the driveway.

The Girl wasn’t quite as efficient.  i had invited her, and her boyfriend, to stick around if they wanted to…  but they managed to have plans, and were gone before too long…  They returned as i was putting away the last of the food shrapnel, and cleaning up the kitchen before heading to bed.  The Party Hostess had left several catalogs and order forms, so i handed one off to The Girl, mentioning that if she still wanted to order something, it could be done directly with the hostess – no “middle mom” involvement required. 

We agreed that this was a bit freaky… even though neither one of us are particularly uncomfortable regarding the subject of sex, it’s strange when the discussion includes “hardware”.  With your Mom…  So we kinda left it at that for the night.

Late morning, i was up and around, scratching my bits and seeking caffeine.  She was at the counter, perusing the wares… and asked “So, are any of these things any good?”, in reference to a particular series of potions.  “Umm… yeah… they’re all ok, i guess….” as i went back to putzing in the kitchen.

Somehow, i just couldn’t bring myself to deliver the same glorious product testimonials i’d provided to the attendees at the party the night before…  Maybe it was just too early in the day? 


* At a party a couple years ago, i realized that some of the more articulated implements, when powered up to “Eleven”, could be raced.  Wagering occurred.  Perhaps there’s a “Robo-Dong Racing” reality series in my future?

Sign language

Even before he pulled this stunt on me at ten years old, The Boy had a knack for embarrassing me…

Both kids were in after-school care at a local facility*, known for the spectacular staff.  Retrieving my sprogs after work one day, one of the teachers, Miss Sharla,  intercepted me as i entered, pulling me aside into an unused classroom. 

Needless to say, i was worried… He’d recently broken his arm falling from the book loft, and was in the midst of his artistic phase that involved putting “butt faces” on people.  There were many reasons Miss Sharla might have pulled me aside for a private conference…

Miss Sharla’s son, Ben, was a friend and playmate of The Boy.  She proceeded to tell me about an incident with her five year old son over the weekend. 

As they were driving, another driver cut them off in traffic, forcing Miss Sharla to hit the brakes.  Ben lifted his pudgy little boy arm from the back seat, and flipped off the rude bastard.  Miss Sharla, maintaining her composure said “Ben, that’s not a nice gesture.  Do you even know what it means?”

Ben:  Sure.  It means you’re a bad driver.  The Boy taught me that.  Says his mom does it all the time…

bad parenting

he was askin' for it...

* The Charles Manson Family Day Care Center had a waiting list…

clothing optional

The Girl has successfully been repatriated into my basement.  Painting, decorating, purging and organizing is mostly done.  She has also scored not one, but two, part-time jobs while she continues her search for career-grade employment.

We are doing pretty well learning to cohabitate again.  She is a good cook.  That helps.  A lot.  Her boyfriend, ZZ, has become a fairly regular visitor.  Over the past month, he’s starting to acclimate to the strangeness of our clan.  Oh, and he is a good cook, too.  That helps.  A lot. 

Monday night, i was enjoying a rehearsal-free evening, and was putzing about the condo.  As is often the case, i was wearing a tank top and underwear.  i was putzing.  That’s the general garb one wears when putzing, right? 

As i was scooting out of the kitchen, moving something from Point A to Point B, i noticed ZZ step onto the front porch, about to ring the doorbell.  i just opened the door, standing sort of behind it and said “Hi.  i’m not wearing pants.  She’s downstairs…”

ZZ laughed, and trooped down the stairs.  i heard him announce to The Girl “Your mom isn’t wearing pants…” but i couldn’t hear her reply.

Last night, i apologized for the misfire. 

The Girl:  Yeah, I told him that I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

daisyfae:  Well, it’s kinda what i wear most of the time… i hope he wasn’t too freaked out.

The Girl:  Oh, no.  He said “It’s nice to see the thighs from which you sprung…”

daisyfae: *snort* oh, shit…

The Girl:  I just told him “Not exactly.  It was a C-section…”

T-Shirt Friday – Breast Cancer Awareness

in keeping with the recent theme of “breast cancer awareness”, here’s my contribution to T-Shirt Friday, around a fun sliver of the blogopolis…  expect there will be a few folks playing along, including nursemyra, silverstar, sylvied and perhaps queen of breast support, olga the traveling bra!  Oh, and though technically not a t-shirt, the lovely dolce has popped a new twist to the game!

 Don't let cancer steal second base...

yesterday’s post has the message.  as for the shirt?  was getting my nails painted last week, and a salesman for “hair saloon” paraphenalia wandered in to deliver hair products and nail polish to the proprietors.  when he whipped out a stack of these, my friends there immediately called me over and said “you gotta have one of these…”.  Four brief nanoseconds later, the deal was sealed!

Still not winning any “Mother of the Year” awards, i snagged The Boy to snap this… it’ll come out in therapy one day…