Tag Archives: humor

An unhappy childhood

I.

I know you all worry about fucking up your children. You wouldn’t be a thinking parent if you didn’t. I’ve got great news for you. We* had a meeting the other day, and we decided that:

1. All of our kids will need therapy anyway.

2. “Successful” parenting means they’ll need therapy for different things than WE need therapy for.

Right? We can’t get everything right, of course not. How can we? So long as we avoid/minimize doing what we know is wrong—what we know first hand is wrong… we’re doing ok.

So chill. But also, add a “saving for Joey’s therapy” line to the family budget…

II.

Proof that, on the whole, we get it right:

Flora: Mom? What does that say?

Jane: It’s an excerpt from an Ernest Hemingway book. Someone asks, “What is the best early training for a writer?” And the answer is, “An unhappy childhood.”

Flora: Well, I’m screwed then. Good thing I’d rather be an artist or a veterinarian, anyway.

Neurotic parenting for the win!

III.

Sean: What are you doing?

Jane: Wallowing in existential angst.

Sean: Again?

Jane: I put it in calendar as a regular thing. Every Monday, 8:30-8:45. Then I drink coffee. Then I function.

Flora: Dad? Is Mom crazy?

Sean: Yes. But she’s ours, and we take care of her. Now, go let the dog out while I grind her coffee beans.

Flora: You’d better give her some chocolate too.

Ender: On it!

I love them buttsacks of mine.

xoxo

“Jane”

NBTB-Unhappy childhood

PS Looking for me? Find me here.

 * “We” = select members of a select club I belong to called Elitist Bitches Who Don’t Like to Make New Friends, thinking mothers with issues all. No, you can’t join, but you could secretly start your own chapter. Except now that I’ve told you about it, the other bitches will probably blacklist me. Ooops. My bad…

xo

PS2 “This is a very short post, and sort of short on insight, Jane. What’s up?”

“What? Nothing. Why? What have you heard? Not true. Ssssh. I’ll be long-winded next week. Maybe. Deadlines…”

Interlude: “They fuck you up, your mum and dad”

I fell in love yesterday, and I can’t wait until September to tell you about him. OK, so he’s been dead since 1985, but little things like that don’t stand in the way of true love. Never. You might know him already, of course—and if you do, goddammit, how could you let me live this long without introducing me to him? I may never, ever forgive you…

If you don’t know him, please, allow me to introduce you RIGHT NOW. Ladies and gentlemen, parents and children of all ages, meet Philip Larkin, via  “This Be The Verse”:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

 Philip Larkin, “This Be The Verse”
First published in the August 1971 issue of New Humanist,
Most easily found in his 1974 poetry collection High Windows

 Now, most of us, most of you reading me, of course, didn’t listen and we all have kids of our own… and we’re sure, four out of five days, 10 out of 12 hours, that we’re fucking up. Big time. Right? Here’s a nugget of wisdom, loves, that I got from my brilliant friend and the closest thing my arrogant self will admit to a mentor, L.: our kids will need therapy. For something. The definition of parenting success is that they need therapy for something OTHER than what we need therapy for. In other words—let’s give them new neuroses, not the ones our parents gave us. 😉 Isn’t that a goal most of us can meet? I think so…

 If you would like to learn more about my new beloved—apparently, Britain’s best-loved poet of the last 50 years, and, according to The Times, Britain’s greatest post-war writer (I plead being Canadian, rather than utterly ignorant, for not meeting him until yesterday)—there’s a detailed  Wikipedia entry on him  and there’s a bit  of his verse in quotable chunks on  GoodReads. And here’s an Observer article, In Search of the Real Philip Larkin. To really drown yourself, of course, you need The Collected Poems (the 2004 edition, I have learned, is considered superior) or the like, but here’s another wonderful taste, via the Poetry Foundation.

Philip and I have plans for the rest of the day—forgive me, editors, clients, children. They involve words. But he’s whispering in my ear that I should leave you with one more verse:

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.

“Aubade” (1977), Collected Poems

 And an excerpt from a private love letter:

Morning, noon & bloody night,
Seven sodding days a week,
I slave at filthy WORK, that might
Be done by any book-drunk freak.
This goes on until I kick the bucket.
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT”

– Philip Larkin: Letters to Monica

You’re welcome.

xoxo

“Jane”

NBTB-They fuck you up-Philip Larkin

P.S. I’m not here. Really. You didn’t see me. Don’t tell anyone. Nothing By The Book is taking a page from old school un-social media and doing a rerun summer, while I spend the hot days getting a tan, running through sprinkles, selling one book, writing another, reading two dozen more, neglecting my garden, falling in love, jumping off cliffs—you know. Everything but blogging. But, you get reruns of my favourite stuff, so everyone wins. Likely keeping up with Instagram—NothingByTheBook—connect there, if you like? Or Twitter—  or/and .

Who will win “most annoying child contest” and other tales

Sleeping Mommy Approach with Coffee

I.

I know I’ve trained you all to NOT ask me if things are back to normal or how reconstruction is going. And I appreciate that. But I know you want to know. So. It’s going like this:

Flora: Oh, look, there’s one of the workers!

Sean: I don’t think we should call them workers. That suggests they actually, you know, work.

Cinder: We should call them the guys who come into our unit every once in a while and look around.

Flora: That’s not fair. Sometimes, they also smoke in our driveway.

And there you have it. That’s better than what Ender and his mother call them. Did you catch that, beloved, in my running away story? Go look.

II.

Flora: Ender’s so cute when he’s sleeping… and not demanding stuff!

Yup. Flora and I drink in that peaceful cherubic face… and magically, it blots out the trauma of the tantrum he threw when he found out that he could not share that chocolate croissant all by himself…

III.

Cinder: Mom? Are you running the ‘Who’s the most annoying child?’ contest today?

Jane: Um… well, no, I wasn’t planning on it… Why?

Cinder: Too bad. If you were, I think I just won. Want to know what I did?

Jane: No. No. Not even a little bit.

IV.

Flora: Mom! Where is my iPad?

Jane: On your bed, under the rainbow pillow.

Ender: Mooooooom! I can’t find my shark-car. Have you seen my shark-car?

Jane: In the bathtub, under the blue washcloth.

Cinder: Where is my Calvin & Hobbes book? Mom! Where is…

Jane: On the landing, under your snowpants!

Sean: Jaaaane! Have you seen my phone?

Jane: Under the couch…

Wait. I see the pattern. I am going to break it.

Flora: Mom? Where is…

Jane: I don’t know.

Ender: Mooooom!

Jane: Don’t know.

Cinder: Mom, I can’t find…

Jane: Not a clue.

Sean: Jane, have you seen…

Jane: Nope. Don’t. Know.

Will it work? Fingers crossed.

♠

Next week: a meditation on guilt and gratitude. And the week after… oh, that one, I really can’t wait for you to read. Do you “just want your kids to be happy?” Let that marinate in the back of your head for the next two weeks, and then you can read me explain why I don’t…

xoxo

Jane

P.S. My very brilliant friend Katia wrote this amazing piece last week on fighting in front of children: Forgive Me For Stomping All Over Your Victory. Highly recommended, insightful piece.

P.P.S. Yes, we have the plague right now. Three down. Two to go. But it’s only Wednesday…

Flu Bed

On getting kids to do their own laundry, slime molds and deadlines

I.

So it goes like this:

Cinder: Mooooom! I’m out of pajamas! And pants! And socks! And…

Jane: Cindeeeer! The washing machine is, I believe, empty and fully functional. Do a load, or go scavenge in your dirty clothes pile! I’m writing!

Cinder: I’ve already worn everything twice… Will you show me how you do the laundry again?

Jane: As soon as I… just ask Flora to show you.

Cinder: Flora knows how to do laundry?

Jane: She ran out of underwear on Sunday.

Interlude for the aspiring writers in the crowd: Once or twice a week, I get an email from a “I want to be a freelance writer!” asking me if I have any advice to impart. It boils down to this: Pitch. Query. Write. And when you get assignments, MEET YOUR DEADLINES (and if you break them, you’d better have a really good excuse, like… FLOOD! And even then, your editors will say, “So… if you get power back on Thursday, does that mean you might be able to file on Friday?”). MEET YOUR DEADLINES. And did I mention… MEET YOUR DEADLINES.

Awesome Dryerase Board
II.

And then it goes like this:

Flora: Mooooom! What’s wrong with our sink?

Jane: Keee-rist, did Ender clog the drain with Lego again?

Flora: No, come look.

Jane: Sweetie, I really need to finish…

Cinder: Gah, Mom, you need to come see this.

Jane: This better be… Kee-rist. What the hell is that?

Flora: I think it’s a slime mold.

Jane: Is that moving?

Cinder: Sometimes, slime molds move.

Jane: That is not a slime mold. I doused the entire bathroom in cleaners and alcohol after we had the plague. I’ve only been neglecting the house for two weeks. Not enough time for a slime mold to..

Flora: Oh-my-god, it totally moved.

How you know we’re all a little whack:

Cinder: Should we take a picture?

Flora: Can I keep it for my museum?

Jane: I think if we leave it until Daddy gets home, he’ll deal with it.*

Interlude for the aspiring writers in the crowd: MEET YOUR DEADLINES. Deal with the slime mold later–or delegate.

xoxo

“Jane”

PS I’m not reading anything not directly related to my billable work right now, my apologies to the blogosphere. Um, well, except for this. Have you read Jessica Olien’s Salon piece, Inside the Box: people don’t actually like creativity. Brilliant. Painfully true.

*He did. Cause he’s the best Daddy-husband-to-writer ever. And, if you’re wondering: it was just a blob of shampoo-toothpaste mixture, carefully sculpted by the Ender. Of course. Obvious, you’d think. But we sort of liked going with the whole moving slime mold thing…

Kill! The! Cheater! Or, playing board games with children

photo (22)

The game: Carcassonne.

The purpose: Build a… screw it. It doesn’t matter. This is not a board game review. You want a board game review, go watch Will Wheaton’s Table Top, the Carcassonne edition, or spend some time on Board Game Geek. You’re hear to read this:

Ender: Kill! The! Cheater!

Sean: I am not cheating! Jesus, Ender, what the hell…

Cinder: That’s how they used to do it in ancient times. Kill the cheater.

Jane: Flora–get Mom more wine. Please.

Cinder: Why are you upset , Mom? Did you just notice the mistake that cost you nine points?

Jane: F@ck.

I play board games with them. It’s proof of how much I love them.

Bonus Phrase aka Guess the Context:

Sean: Well, if our Carcassonne game smells the next time we play, we’ll have to get a new one.

♠

The plague visited my house this week. ’twas awful. I’m still not sure I will live. But let’s not dwell on my imminent death. All three kids survived, and they have a great Daddy.

♦

Meanwhile, in the Blogosphere: My brilliant blogging friend Kimberly from All Work And No Play Make Mommy Go Something Something wants to tell you about true love. Or is it Barf and Bracelets? Go let her. And my also brilliant blogging friend Stephanie from Where Crazy Meets Exhaustion (I only have brilliant friends; I’m prejudiced that way) was interviewed Inside the Blogger’s Studio on Danielle Herzog’s Martinis and Minivans: it’s a really neat piece on the “why” of blogging. And, have you heard? Deni from Denn State is finally no longer pregnant! Go say congrats!

But if you only read one thing this week (other than me), go read Brian Sorrell’s A Thousand Words About Bullying Poverty & Fathers.

xoxo

“Jane”

I win parenting, and the #whatsyourtotemanimal report

Ender: Moom? Can you put me to bed? I’m really tired.

Yeah. It really happened. It was 8:15 p.m. He was out by 8:18 p.m.

One day, if you’re really, really sweet, perhaps I might tell you how I achieved this (hint: it involved three bowls of ice cream with chocolate and caramel sauce on top). Today, all you need to know is I won parenting that night (I know it’s not supposed to be a contest. But you know it is. It always is…) And now, prepare to meet your inner beast:

Maker Faire 3

The Totem Animal Report

The delicious Deb at Urban Moo Cow (twitter handle @UrbanMooCow) is a porcupine: prickly on the outside, cuddly on the inside.” Oh, yes. Love.

The just-perfect Jean at Mama Schmama (twitter handle @mamaschmama) took a test that told her she’s a wolf. She’s processing. I think it fits.

My kissable Kristie from Finding Ninee (@findingninee) is a monkey. Minus the poop throwing and gross stuff. Um. She thinks I’m a bear.

Cataclysmic Cathy (who doesn’t blog but who needs to start writing that book we talked about last time we went parking* on Nosehill, you’re gonna, right?) is a giraffe but would like to be a dragon. Meet the dra-gaffe. Who thinks I’m a rat. My fleas wiped out half of Europe in the Dark Ages. Score one for the dark side. (She qualified that the ick factor and disease-spreading didn’t enter into the picture, and that I was “super smart, a bit dangerous, intimidating to those who don’t know you, endearing to those who do, definitely adaptable and resourceful.” So, I forgive her. Flattery will get you almost everywhere.)

Rockin’ Rachel from The Tao of Poop (@TaoofPoop) is a deer and she’s sticking to it.

The sultry Sarah at Left Brain Buddha (@leftbrainbuddha) is a dog. Maybe. But what kind?

Salacious Stephanie from Mommy, for Real (@mommyisforreal) says it’s supposed to be a secret. Shhhhh. Knowledge is power, secret is magic, all that stuff.

The decadent Dani at Cloudy With a Chance of Wine (@chanceofwine) cheated (how??) and is an owl.

The secretive Spy Garden of, um, Spy Garden (@spygarden) is a leopard-print fish if she must choose an animal… but she’d rather be a plant. She thinks I’m a furry seal. With a loud bark. She’s also new to Twitter, friends, so give her a follow and some love.

Lovely Larkin (@larkinwarren) is a brown bear. Possibly a golden retriever. Clearly–furry and with a great snout.

Jennifer, whose kids’ hair is just as wild as mine, doesn’t know hers, but each of her first three kids has had an “out of the ordinary animal encounter” in the first year of their lives. She’s got an orca, otter, and a skunk. The fourth might be a deer.

Jessica, who blogs at Jessica’s Journal, is a “cross between Goofy and Eeyore. And maybe a polar bear.” (twitter handle @goaliej54)

Linda, from Elleroy Was Here (@modmomelleroy on Twitter), and host of the I don’t like Mondays Blog Hop (which I always mean to play at, but see, it’s Monday, and…), is a pug. Of course. Check out her All You Need is Pug page to understand.

Funky Fox, of Trailer Park Unschoolers, is a–get ready for this–fox. Her lovah’s a lynx, and her babes are a racoon (mebbe weasel), boar, rabbit and bear cub. She thinks I’m a coyote. I like.

Quincy, from the Talk 2 Q Radio Show, is also a fox (@talk2Q): “Sly, decisive, works well with a pack, but can function independently.” He didn’t dare guess what I was.

Beth, from Writer B is Me, is an elephant. And she KNOWS she’s an elephant. She thinks I’m a bad-to-the-bone jaguar. I’m wondering which posts she’s been reading… At least she didn’t call me a cougar. But someone else did. Read on…

Chelsey aka Chessakat from Five O’Clock Dance Party is a heron. She had a close encounter of the spiritual kind with one in a Seattle back alley. I know the best people…

Elizabeth, who hangs out at Rebel Mouse (@ElizabethM_J), is a dragon. And she owns it.

Here’s something really weird: tantalizing Tracy from Crazy As Normal (@crazyasnormal) and sizzling Stephanie from When Crazy Meets Exhaustion (@CrazyExhaustion) are both WOMBATS. There’s a moral in this story somewhere, I know it. I’ve got it… no, wait… it’ll come to me…

Dazzling Deni from Denn State (@homeecwreck–that’s two ee-back-to-back, got it? Home Ec Wreck? Get it?) is pregnant. Wait, hopefully not any longer. I meant to say, a capybara. The largest rodent in the world. She was choosing her totem animal while well past her due date, but I’m not reading anything into that. Wait, no, she’s a mantis shrimp. One or the other. Both? The psychic who lives next door says you can have a lot, and different ones take different precedence at different times in your life. So there.

Jazzy Jenn from Something Clever 2.0 (@JennSmthngClvr) thinks she’s a cat. But I think she’s wilder. More a lioness. Maybe a cheetah.

Klassy Kim from One Classy Motha (@MothaKim) is kreative. “Tonight it’s a sloth. Tomorrow, I’m hoping a gazelle.” (I’m sorry about the Ks. I know it’s wrong. But isn’t classy better than Cantankerous? Actually, that kind of fits. I should change it. Cantankerous Cim… Soft “c”. F@cking English. Spoiling the best alliterations.)

Lea from Becoming Super Mommy (@bcmgsupermommy) is a ferret: “Awkward and erratic and supremely un-self conscious. Full of joy and confusion and affection.” Nice.

Georgie, from Georgie Lee Books (@georgieleebooks) is “a really big, black horse, like Manfred in Engagement of Convenience.”

Lounging Lovelyn from Nebulous Mooch (@nebulousmooch) is a dragonfly. I love.

Olga at MrsDBooks (@MrsDBooks) is really into mice. One mouse in particular. His name is Carlos. It’s sort of a long story…

aLluring Lori Pickert of Project-Based Homeschooling (great book and resource, btw, folks) (@campcreek on Twitter) is a hippo. Which is beyond awesome. Hippos. Are. Just. Cool.

A visitor from The Educator’s Spin On It (@EducatorsSpin) is an antelope.

My flood coven** consists of a wanna-be-a-raven-but-alas-I’m-a-crow-with-a-shot-of-black-panther, a slithering serpent who could be a heron at times, a raven-with-a-touch-badger, and a rabbit-moose-but-we-all-think-she’s-a-horse-skunk-with-a-touch-of-dolphin-and-otter. Also a tadpole, a mermaid, and a Canada goose.

The managing partner of that law firm–you know which one–says he’s an eagle (aren’t they all?) and I’m a wolverine. I say I can take down a full-grown moose! I win! Of course it was a contest. It’s always a contest.

The ex-managing partner of that other law firm–you know which one? no. Not that. Not that one either. For chrissake. Stop guessing and keep reading–has an affinity for dock spiders. Seriously. Family Pisauridae. Canada’s largest spider, he informs me. I don’t know what that’s about. He says I’m a hyena. I know what that’s about. You’re reading my blog, dude, and taking time out of billable work to email me. I win. (It’s always a contest.)***

Did you play and I missed you? Don’t get angry. Rectify the error in comments. Feel free to self-servingly include Twitter handle and blog link. It’s that kind of post.

Finally, I don’t think any of you nailed my totem animal. And perhaps I don’t have one. Or maybe I’m just Homo sapiens without any hidden symbolism. I’m cool with that.

“Jaaaaaaaane! Why aren’t I sultry, decadent, kissable or sizzling?”

“Please. We barely know each other. I am not a blog slut. It takes time, baby.”

There’s a snow fall warning in YYC. Cuddle up to a loved one or your inner beast, and stay warm this weekend.

xoxo

“Jane”

*Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s like hiking, except when you get there, you realize you’re underdressed and you’re wearing un-sensible shoes, and it’s November, Christ, it’s cold, and so you just enjoy the view from the car. See? Like hiking, minus all the walking.

**I live in a really interesting neighbourhood. And we had this flood thing. We’re compensating for lack of walls with witchy get-togethers and a lot of wine. Which, I admit, is not the best long-term coping strategy. But, you know. Keeps you warmer… ;P

***I always win. Wink.