Don’t Want to Play Today

I had an adorable story to tell you today about Teddy having a rough time watching his sister the other day. It was funny and rather insightful I must say.

Then I woke up and read that 298 people were murdered. Why? Because someone wanted to make a statement. Prove a point. Show that they could.

Does it matter why? Someone came up with the idea to do it and people around him or her didn’t punch his or lights out. Instead they helped them carry it out.

All human beings have terrible ideas that quickly pass through their brains now and again. Vicious, disgusting and repugnant ideas that flit across the synapses like burrs from a weed. Decent people shake their head, chastise themselves and move on. Insane or evil people act on them.

Insane and evil won today. You miserable bastards.

No funny story today because a world that has someone plan 298 deaths doesn’t have room for funny in it.

Tomorrow though, tomorrow we take our world back and work to make sure that you get yours. Maybe that isn’t the most mature response, but then again I’ve seldom been called mature. If being immature means I will rejoice when the bastards who did this are punished, then I am thrilled to be immature.

For the non-bastards of the planet, let’s all try to be kind to each other today. I think we could all use it.

Love to you all.

Not Waiting for the Lightening Strike

No one puts their thoughts and ideas on a public website without wondering who is reading it. At least I hope not. If you do that you really have some issues. For the rest of us, words and ideas go online and there is at least a brief thought about who will read the missive. I’ve seen enough internet writing “stars” to know that talent has very little to do with success. You are either struck by lightening or you are not.

Every now and then I get a bee in my bonnet about branching out and “doing something” with my work. Mainly when I want to plan an expensive holiday or an unexpected bill comes in and I furiously try to figure out how to quickly score some cash. I’ve joined a few blogging groups and I do my best to pay attention to SEO (Search Engine Optimization for my non-techie friends….also known as how to make people see your website on Google) I’ve looked back at some of my writing and I think some of it works. Some of it is an embarrassment to my late English teacher mother and every writing class I ever took….but some of it is funny and I think is worthy of the lightening strike of fame.

Sooo, where’s the flash?

Every blogging group mentions the same key element to success: post regularly. Pick a day and keep to the schedule. Regularity is building block to a successful blog. Be in people’s thoughts constantly and momentum will spread. Daily or weekly columns in newspapers follow the same principle. It works.

Clearly for me, in order to have any chance at getting to that elusive success level I need to buckle down, dig deep and keep to a schedule.

Now I have an answer to why lightening hasn’t struck me. There’s no way I can write regularly and on schedule. I write what I write because of the unusual and unexpected things that hit me. Granted, most of these things are unexpected because I live in a delusional world that insists that this time….the worst thing won’t happen, but my point is that I don’t control it.

I can’t ever decide it’s time to write and then sit down and type away. I think that shocks my friends the most when they ask me how I write something. I sit down at the keyboard or iPad and the words just pour out of my fingers. Verbal vomit for those with strong stomachs.

I see or hear an event and the story is just there. If I can get to keyboard and get it out great but if I can’t; it’s gone.

I’m sure this is proof that I am not a genuine writer. I can only imagine that the truly gifted can write what they need and when they need to create. However I can’t. I haven’t written anything for two weeks not because I’ve been home with the kids on school holidays…well, maybe a little. It’s hard to write when you are mediating fights over who gets to tell the other one what to do in a Mario Kart game. Don’t ask. It still hurts my head to think about it.

I haven’t written because there was no story to tell. Funny and sad things have occurred but the story didn’t appear.

I’m not sad about never achieving glory though. I think this little blogging industry is overwhelmed with people WHO MUST WRITE SOMETHING NOW!! Sure, there is some bonafide talent out there but there is also a large amount of people only writing in hopes of getting other people to notice. If that makes them happy, more power to them.

For me though, I keep writing when I need to and not writing when I don’t. Whether I get 70, 700 or even zero hits on my page, it’s all good.

Not the zero part…I do have some pride.

Crossing the Line

As a family we have drawn lines in the sand (metaphorically speaking)  to establish rules and guidelines of behavior.  It’s these boundaries that ensure that we understand each other and respect one another as individuals and human beings.

Lines have been crossed at the Tencza house this fine day. Some of us broke some rules of engagement and handled themselves in a less than adult like manner.  For some of us, this is no surprise.

The boy took it upon himself to add extra nails in Tessi’s voodoo doll. Nailed right through the eyes, which brought the image of a Mad Max terrifying character wearing sunglasses.

Remember when I posted about the fury of a nine-year old the other day? The story about the sweet little girl who was too shy to confront her tormentor? I can now attest to in a court of law that in this case, that particular limitation does not apply to confronting her brother. Or as he is now known “The Rottenist Jerk Face E.V.E.R. Who Will Someday be Really Really Sorry” personally I don’t think this title flows that smoothly, but I wasn’t getting in the middle of that fight for all the tea in China.

I did what any reasonable well-seasoned veteran mother would do. I hid in the kitchen behind my iPad and drank my tea. I figured I’d just wait until the blood splatter hardened and have Connor hose it off the walls. Always have a plan, I say.

Teddy behaved as any annoyed teen would. He said something highly offensive and as Missy ran to my secret hiding place in order to rat him out, he quickly grabbed his stuff and hauled tush out the other way to head out the door. Normally I frown on any minor using bad language in my house (that’s MY job) but in this case I must concede that sometimes a brother has to do what a brother has to do.

Sadly, this left Tessi in the kitchen with me in order to deal with her rage. Nope, no I am not. Not gracefully at least. I retreated back to the stove and turned the kettle on. Sure I already had tea but the sound of the water heating up should temper the sound of her fury.

It was at that moment that Connor started talking about chocolate. I don’t know if she was trying to distract Tessi or was merely daydreaming about a happier time. Regardless, we stopped and all three of us started dreaming about chocolaty goodness. As you do.

Because Mother Nature, Fate, or Vishnu seemingly like to mess with my cosmic equilibrium, somehow Connor saying the word chocolate embedded the Dora the Explorer Chocolate song in my brain. Before you could say, “What the Hell happened?” I was singing the preschool tune “Chocolate, Chocolate, Bate, Bate, Chocolate!”

Since no one is more vengeful than I am, I retaliated by singing it out loud with a “Let it Go” type of frenzied fervor and now we are all cursed with it. Both girls walked away shrieking that they HATE Dora and WHY do they have that song stuck in their brains.  Why, they ask?  Because if I was going down, so were they.  Thems the breaks.

I broke the cardinal rule of motherhood, “Thou shalt not share thy Hell with your blessed children and thy must shield them at all costs” but in doing so I saved a bit of my soul.  In my book that means I didn’t as much cross the line of decency but just toed it.  Maybe danced over it and quickly returned.

If it gets that damn song out of my mind quicker I will sleep just fine knowing that I am a less than awesome mother.  Just fine indeed.

Simple Problem Solving

My youngest Tessi, is having a some boy trouble at the moment.  By boy trouble I mean there is one boy at school that she hates with all the passion a nine-year old girl can muster…which is a helluva lot.

Unfortunately this is not the normal school bully scenario.  He isn’t a bad kid.  He just views the world as his personal rugby pitch and he is the prop.  For non-rugby plays that means he’s like a bull in a china shop.  Half the people this kid passes by end up on their rear ends.  Not because he’s bullying them, he just has no idea that it’s wrong I think to send kids sprawling. That and I don’t think he notices that people end up air born around him.

Tessi could live with that, Lord knows she isn’t the most graceful person, if he would simply say he was sorry when it happens.  In her mind there is no greater sin than to hurt someone and not beg their forgiveness.  The other day during some dance practice he knocked her for a loop and then kept going.  Her rage was palpable.

This has been going on for a while and I keep telling her to either yell at him or hit him back.  She won’t do that because she’s terrified of making her teacher angry with her.  I try to explain that defending yourself is not the same as bullying someone, but she won’t listen. She refuses to do anything that she might get yelled at about. Sure, her TEACHER she’s scared to annoy but ME, eh not so much.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Friday afternoon as school she rucked up to me sobbing that he had done it yet again.  Apparently he walked by,  knocked her down and not only did he not say sorry, none of her friends helped her up.  This was the worst day of her life.  Ever.  In real life.  The tears drenched us both.  Once more, I counseled her to yell at him, tell him to stop and yes…. hit him back or just do ANYTHING.  No, she refused.

Then it hit me, as most of my crazier ideas do. Alrighty then.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  It’s time to bring a non-traditional solution to a traditional problem.

“No, you’re right.  You can’t punch him.  But we can make a voodoo doll of him.”  Tears stop instantly.  “Voodoo doll?  What’s that?” her timid voice croaked out.

I explained that in the Voodoo religion people believe they can make a doll in the image of someone who has wronged them.  Then they can inflict damage on the doll and they believe that the person in question feels the pain.

Eyes larger and brighter than the biggest stars gazed reverently up at me.  “Feel the pain? Is it true?  Can I make him hurt?”  “No Baby,” I had to deflate this idea quickly. “It’s not real, but it will feel so good to pretend that it is”

Off to the shops we went and tried to find a doll.  We had a few misfires shopping wise and found out that there really aren’t that many male dolls.  We tried using the little army figurines but that plastic is amazingly hard.  Just a quick public service announcement: don’t try boiling the figurines, complete waste of time.  Can’t get enough heat to melt.  Sigh.

Finally I found a Ken doll at the local K-Mart.  Good old Ken, taking one for the team.  I didn’t want to take any chances and this time didn’t bother with pins or needles and went straight to hammer and nails.  We spent a good thirty minutes lining up the shots and hammering away.  I counselled her away from stigmata wounds but Tessi’s foot was hurting from a recent injury and she insisted that he needed to feel that pain too.  I did steadfastly refused to allow any genital stabbings.  I felt we were already dancing too close to the edge of socially acceptable behavior. If we crossed into that domain I knew  I definitely would get some phone calls.  Tessi agreed.  Besides….that’s icky. Wise beyond her years, that one.

Below are some images of Madam pounding away her rage.



Not the best picture I know.  However this is the happiest she has been while mentioning the dreaded boy’s name in MONTHS.


We discovered that while the entire body was made of a very sturdy plastic – KUDOS Science – the head was actually quite flexible and rubbery.  This was perfect for nailing in earrings and a rather impressive number of nails in a small area.


Not just content with nails, Tessi broke out the markers (textas) and drew black eyes and blood.  Her doll complete she felt vindicated and properly avenged.  After she was done she took the doll, grabbed one of her non-mutilated Barbies and played for while.  She had the Ken doll explain to the Barbie doll exactly what he had done to deserve his wounds and then apologize.  The Barbie was most forgiving.


I’ve told her that she can tell people that we made the doll but to NEVER say the name of the boy she made it for.  She adamantly agreed that it would be wrong to name him publicly besides he must never, ever know.  What if he makes a doll of her?  Yes, THAT’S the reason not to tell.  Good Girl.

Problem solving, Motherhood 101.


What am I Looking For?

The past two weeks or so have been a little rough for me internet wise.  I tried a new approach to dealing with stupid people on Facebook, Twitter, Reddit and some message boards I’m on.  I dug down deep inside my soul and came up with thoughtful, kind and compassionate responses to dimwitted comments on topics I feel strongly about.  I countered every, “No, it isn’t!” with a reasoned display of facts and information.  At no time did I utter anything that anyone could find insulting or the tiniest bit inflammatory.  I even manged to lie few times and type the phrase, “I see your point, but…”  I’ll be honest, that hurt, but I did it.  All in the name of harmonious discussion.

Each time I ended up taking a 45 minute shower afterwards screaming into the hot water, “YOU ARE SOOOOOOOOO S.T.U.P.I.D!  DEAR CHRIST, GET THE HELL OUT OF THE GENE POOL AND JUST D…I…E!!!!!!”  Then there was a lot of head ache medicine and some “Mommy Quiet Time”

I gave that up as a bad job rather quickly and swung to the other side of the arguing pendulum and went on the offensive. The next issue that hit me in the face I latched on like a rabid chihuahua; countering their bizarre opinions with facts, information and more than a few questionings of their intelligence. I did make note of several high schools in the area to make sure we are never around them as obviously their Biology departments are CRAP.

Those scenarios didn’t exactly end any better.  I didn’t have to take the screaming shower afterwards but still chugged (sculled Aussie friends) a fair amount of headache medicine.  Unfortunately for me, I’m still not drinking either after a horrific four day long stomach virus so no relieve there for me.

Today though I have to ask myself…why?  Why on earth am I fighting with strangers?  I gave up fighting about politics when I lived in Texas.  I was just browbeaten by the monstrous opinions there.  Eight years later and I still won’t get into a Democrats versus Republican discussion with anyone…I find the whole thing numbing.  Yet, here I am blasting away online and trying to get people to see my point.

I suppose I’ve just answered my own question.  I was doing it because I need to change their minds.  I’m terrified that there are people out in the wild that seriously believe that vaccines inject “icky stuff” into children.  I’m paralyzed with fear when I hear that people have no trouble forcing their religion on me and my children and yet scream persecution when another religion steps up and asked to be recognized.  I am enraged to point of apoplexy when I read about yet another women being raped because a man or men felt they had a right because they opened a car door for her.

I want these people to see what they believe is wrong and I want them to admit it.  I think I keep fighting because I can’t feel safe for myself and my family knowing these nut jobs are out there.  People crazier than me, living free, driving cars….voting.  Those thoughts send shivers up and down my spine.

So I will continue to argue.  My friends reading this passage right now have headaches from rolling their eyes back through their head and snorting a little too loud. Seriously? Was there ever any other choice?  Not for me.  I seldom am capable of having an unexpressed opinion.

Just a friendly FYI, if you read me posting somewhere that I can see someone’s point please know that I’m still giving the “Nice Gal Cecelia” approach a try.  Try not to call my house for an hour or so though, I’ll probably be in the shower screaming.

Oh and just so there is no misunderstanding:

1:  There is no rational reason to not vaccinate your child just because someone with silicone implants said you shouldn’t.  For GOD’S SAKE, TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR.  YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING TO KILL US ALL.

2.  It is OBSCENE that Tony Abbot’s government is insisting on hiring christian counselors with over $250 million public dollars for public schools when my daughter can not receive any official help from the school for her Dyslexia because the budget have been slashed and special needs teachers have been let go. No, this statement is NOT THE SAME as being anti-Christian.  I’m not.  I’m anti-proselytizing.  There’s a difference.  If you don’t see that then you are part of the problem.

3.  No one ever, ever EVER deserves to be raped.  Female or male. It’s never okay.  It’s never justified and I am proud to be called a feminist because I have the gall to say the women are equal to men.


I’m right and you’re wrong, so there.  Pffffttttt!