That is the email I just got. The lovin' seestor would be Roz. The other loving seestor, Gilly, never checks in. Good thing; she'd probably point out how often Roz and I lie to you.
I was planning on blogging today anyway. I read this letter to the editor in The Star and started going a little crazy. Er. Read this:
So Vedran Saciragic thinks medicating hyperactive boys is abhorrent. But medications offer almost instant relief. That’s why so many women depend on antidepressant prescriptions instead of alternative therapies.
Obviously, Saciragic has never had to deal with a disruptive child impeding the education of other pupils, or one so unfocused that even starting an assignment is a major hurdle.
In my day, it was much simpler. The nuns beat us into submission. We wince at the memory now, but it worked.
Garry Burke, Coldwater
Oh, Mr. Burke. Where to begin?
I'm sure the Star printed this to troll, but it worked. I'm taking the bait. He wants to medicate children (who are usually just acting as, you know, children) into submission because he at least understands that the alternative method used on him - being beaten into submission - while effective, would probably raise a few eyebrows. Points for introspection, there.
I'm wondering who he thinks these medications provide 'instant relief' for. But as I was pondering that nugget, I stepped into his next sentence. About women. And the fact we chase after anti-depressants. Unlike men, who....don't. So, let me follow the trail of breadcrumbs that is Mr. Burke's thought process: children should be medicated more, though women are medicated too much - mostly out of laziness. But ultimately, perhaps we should all just be beaten because hell, look how good he turned out.
I'm going to leave this alone now.
Moving right along...my basement reno is coming along nicely. I've discovered I can work away even with jackhammers and planers and saws blazing away beneath me. I have spectacular tile going up. It makes me happy. The lads reconnect my washer and dryer every Friday so I can do marathon laundry every weekend. Maggie the Cat is starting to make friends, though she greets them with a decided Stink Eye every time. They do not believe we have a second cat; JoJo hides in someone's dresser drawer all day.
Mousecapades happened again this morning. Just yesterday, Roz called to say apparently there is no snow at the cottage (a friend has a place close by ours) and it will probably be a terrible year for mice. As I was considering the nasty cleanout this will entail come spring, my girls decided to do a little preview. Someone ushered a mouse into my room this morning. As it was JoJo wailing at the top of her little lungs, I'm guessing it was Maggie who had it firmly stuffed in her mouth. In fact, when I peered beneath my bed, there she was, peering back at me, caught with a mouthful of fur that wasn't her own. And a tail. Gross.
I started hollering for her to drop it, which of course led her to this thought process: "I am right under Mom's bed. It is a king sized bed, and she can't reach me if I go right *here*... scooches over a bit...perfect. She doesn't have her glasses on yet, so she's not even sure if I have this mouse or not. And she's yelling at Ari to get a flashlight, but we all know Ari went to bed about 2 hours ago because he's off on exams and probably stayed up half the night on that damned computer. We won't even pretend Christopher will hear. We could light him on fire and he wouldn't get up. I don't think Mom would actually do that. Would she? She's still yelling at me to drop it. But if I drop it, JoJo might get a shot at it. Stupid mouse is still wiggling a little. I'd bite down harder to stop it, but why break a perfectly good toy? Oh crap. She's poking me with something. A hanger. And she's put her glasses on. Damn. Now Ari is looking under here, though he's still blinking half asleep, so I doubt he's a threat. Good thing; Mom is useless at this, but Ari might give me a run for my money. Ow. Dammit. She reached me. Wait! Mouse! Don't take off! Dammit. It went back under the bench. Have to wait till Mom goes down to make tea. I'll leave it somewhere real special for her later."
For anyone still tuned in, I do not want to go into my bedroom.