Boarding the Crazy Train once again.

Me again. Yes, I admit, I'm not very good at keeping up here. This whole getting an "edumacation" thing interferes in nearly every facet (how's that for a grown up word?!) of my life.

So, what brings me back, you ask. Well, first of all, procrastination. I have several assignments and tests to study for, but for some reason, my blog suddenly became a priority. Funny how that happens, isn't it? This is the exact stuff that I get on my kids about, guess my other half has rubbed off on ALL of us (ha!). I should probably talk to him about that. Secondly, I was discussing the fact that I had a blog and said I would send someone a link, so I figured I'd better put something 'current', and thirdly, I've had a week from hell.

Back-peddling a bit, last Friday on my commute home from school, I noticed that my shitbox reliable autobmobile was making noises. It always makes noises (because it's old and stuff), but these were new and different noises; noises that just sounded bad; you know, the ones that may just 'clunk' like it's about to fall apart, but through it, you actually hear the "cha-ching" sound of the garages cash register. Once I got home in one piece, I really didn't give the car too much more thought. I parked in front of the Loser Cruiser (AKA: the "VAN"), locked that thing up (funny that I lock it - someone stealing it would almost be a favour!!) and forgot about it. We packed our stuff up and headed out Griswald style to Toronto for the weekend, we were, after all, celebrating Imp's birthday. The weekend itself was awesome - uneventful(ish - it was US that we're talking about), relaxing(ish - as relaxing as it can be with 3 devilspawn delightful children) and fun-filled.

Then we came home.

And that's about where it all started to fall apart. I had tests, quizzes and a presentation to prepare for; not to mention Mt. Washmore that was growing at an alarming rate in my bedroom (the tight-ass cheap-skate in me won't use the "machines" in the house during "high peak" times, so I'm limited to evenings and weekends, and well, when you're not around all weekend, it's hard to tackle the laundry. And have you any idea how much laundry a family of five people can generate in a very short period of time?! Apparently we're dirty people because holy crap - there is A LOT of laundry here. I swear that it breeds - which kinda-sorta grosses me out - because 1) it's in MY room - where I sleep. I'm not really OK with that kind of activity in my 'sanctuary' or 'personal space' and 2) it's creepy). As we were peeling our high-strung children off the walls after a fun-filled weekend, and I was desperately trying to regain some of the life that was sucked out of me on the drive home (driving in the car with Banshee and Imp can be very trying (they bicker. A LOT) - especially with Banshee telling us the same stories she told us on the way down, and the countless days before. She makes life exactly like a real-life Groundhog Day movie, except instead of Bill Murray, it's us. And instead of Groundhog Day, it's every day), I remembered about the car. There was no way in hell that I could travel down the highway in that - because I was pretty certain I'd never arrive home in one piece. I stewed about that piece of shit reliable automobile all night long, totally convincing myself that we'd have to suck it up and buy a new car (something that we're TOTALLY not wanting to do right now - you know, because it doesn't fit into the 'plan' or *MY* timeline).

After settling and diffusing World War 6516519816513217 (the everyday morning experience in this household), I pulled up my panties and took that car to the garage. By the time I arrived home after dropping it off, there was a message from the garage folk. They had a verdict. Already. Surely that couldn't be a good sign.

And it wasn't really. After spending several hours minutes rhyming off all the things wrong with it (I didn't even know that cars that many breakable things on it!!), they said it was fixable. After determining that it still has a lot of life left in it, I made the executive decision to go ahead with the repairs. And they were expensive; expensive enough that I figured I'd have to pimp myself out on the corner here in this little padunk town. Those that know the area well know just how frightening the potential clientel here might be. YIKES!!! Thankfully I haven't had to resort to that. YET, anyway. After making that decision, and popping a few Advil, I headed out to school. I figured it was an easy day - just one 50 minute class. No big deal, right? Wrong. After the leaving the house, my handy-dandy bluetooth scared the ever-loving life out of me by proudly announcing "call from Uh oh, not again", which is my childish (but kind of fun - because if I don't make light of some of this shit, it would consume me) way of dressing up the fact it's the little kids school.

My heart sunk. That can only mean ONE of 2 things. Banshee was sick, or Imp was in shit. And from frequent recent experience, it was most likely the latter.

And I was right (DUH! like I needed to say that, I have ovaries, therefore I'm ALWAYS right).

Reader's Digest version . . . he got in shit and I had to 'voluntarily withdraw' him. Again. For what feels like the bazillionth time in his few short years of school. Fan-freakin-tastic. For the record, voluntary withdrawl is a fancy phrase for "suspended, but we don't want to be bothered with the paperwork associated with this, so just take him home and we'll call it good". I drove to the school and gathered up my juvenile delinquent darling son and headed to MY school. I had no one nor the time to find someone to watch him, so he came with me. Talk about a lack of punishment. I think he thoroughly enjoyed all the oohing and aahing over him as he sat perched in the corner of my classroom. Funny how he was as pleasant, calm and well-behaved as I've ever seen a kid - he truly appeared to the perfect picture of a well-behaved child. You wouldn't know he was the vicious animal they make him out to be at the school . . . but that's a whole 'nother blog that I'd love to share with you all, but I might end up getting myself into a HEAP of trouble, so I'll just leave you to ponder it on your own.

On Tuesday, I had a quiz and a presentation. Add to that the fact that I had a boy that didn't want to go back to school - he was adamant that he wasn't going - and when he gets all anxious about it like that, it's almost cruel to force him, but . . . I HAD to be at school, and if I have to be there, then he bloody well needs to be at his school as well. It was also the day my car was being fixed. I was almost sick thinking that they were going to start the work and find out that it couldn't be fixed, and then I'd really be screwed (well, not really, because I don't think I could perform under duress like that. Oops! Did I just touch that hush-hush topic out loud?!). I got into town and went to the garage. They successfully fixed the beast, I paid for it, then went to retrieve my other half, and rushed home to get our little bundles of joy from the bus. I went to zumba, you know, the class I go to to release stress and to improve my overall well-being, and messed up even more my already messed up knee (it's STILL swollen and sore). Little boy wonder has a cold, and he was a snot-infested disaster. He snorted and snotted all night long. That really provided a delightful sleep for us all. That said, it was probably the best day of the week.

Because on Wednesday, the week all went to hell. I realized that I was very reliant on the little orange light on the dashboard that tells me when the car is in drive, park, reverse, etc. It wasn't working. It worked when I took it INTO the garage, but definitely not now. That's a pattern for me. Take the car in for one thing, and it comes out with another problem. Murphy and me, we're *THIS* close. I nearly killed myself trying to put the car in gear; every single time. School was long and boring; we had house guests for dinner - unexpected guests, but I didn't end up home for it anyway (in fact I treated myself to a delicious, nutritious dinner of cheesy-dill popcorn - of which I pretty much devoured the entire bag all by my lonesome); I had a headache (huge); my hormonally challenged daughter just 'was'; my other half is a man (which most times is good, but sometimes it irritates me, as I'm sure I irritate him - like right now - he's probably really irritated with me typing away on the computer interrupting his television experience); Imp was still snorting and snotting; Banshee fell off the playstructure in the backyard (because it's perfectly acceptable for an accident prone kid to play on something such as that when it's all icy and shit) and hurt her ankle. AND . . . I was starting to stress about a test on Friday; a test I hadn't studied for at all.

BUT . . . that was no problem. I had Thursday off and would stay home to deal with the studying then. Yeah, that was a good thought in THEORY, but, I was interrupted about 4 times with phone calls from Banshee telling me that her ankle hurt (I was somewhat alarmed because this was the same ankle she broke a couple summers ago. And I know you're wondering how the hell she did that, so I'll tell you, it was a trampoline accident. Yes, I'm one of those horrible mothers that allows her kids to play on fun shit). I ended up at the walk-in clinic with Senor Snot, where they basically told me "congratulations! It's a cold." Took a trip to Costco because Imp likes the samples (seriously - he walks around taste-testig everything even though he eats nothing most of the time); Drove home just in time to get Banshee ready for her cheer practice and team pictures. That meant that she had to be in full uniform - complete with hair all done up and such. Touching Banshee's hair is like trying to take a steak from a lion . . . you have to mentally prepare yourself and be ready for the backlash. And did I mention that she was in a mood? Because she was. Holy shit, was she ever. I brushed the rat's nest and got it up into the ponytail, but then I sicced her on teen, who graciously curled the ponytail (while being verbally abused by her 7 year old sister, although I admit, it almost warms my heart to see that, because I totally hold Teen responsible for teaching Banshee everything she knows about being a bitchy girl. For real, it almost makes me panic thinking about what Banshee is going to be like when the hormones actually kick in. Good grief! I don't know if we'll come out of this alive). I nominated my other half to take her to the gym, but realistically, that wouldn't work; that'd be like feeding him to the sharks (he'd be surrounded by all the cheer moms, and while they're all very lovely people, he kinda-sorta feels out of place among all the "lady" talk), so . . . I took her, which meant no studying still. I finally got her home, showered and into bed, and I finally started to study. At about 8:30pm. Yeah, that was lots of time. I eventually gave up and went to bed.

This morning I got up early and studied a bit more. I wasn't feeling great about the test, but figured I knew half of something (as opposed to all of nothing). I wrote the test (and am trying to repress the memory of this experience); all the while, my phone was freaking out in my bag (vibrating - I'm not one of those tools that leaves my phone on so it rings in the middle of a test or anything like that), When it 'freaks out', that means that it's a real phone call. And there's really only one reason any person (or group of persons) would call me in the middle of the day on my cell.

Imp.

And I was right. Being all about equal opportunity and all, I texted my other half and had HIM call the powers that be at the school (it had NOTHING to do with the fact that I couldn't bear to deal with another ounce of bullshit, not at all). He dealt with it, but told me what it was all about, and being the Mom that I am, I stewed about it. A LOT.

Then . . . I went to class again, drove home (and got hung up in some ridiculous line of traffic behind a snowplow - because YES, there's white hell falling from the sky this evening), and took my family out for dinner because there was no way in hell I was cooking. Teen is out at a friends house for the night; the little kids are in bed, and I'm still sober.

And THAT my friends, is nothing short of a miracle. After this week, I'm shocked that I'm not a drunken, snivling mess right now.

Or curled up in a ball in the nice padded room.

I bet they serve me meals there; and do my laundry and such, too . . . hmmmm . . . . . .