December 31, 2012

In Conclusion

I'm writing two letters today. The first is my official resignation letter to the bank, and the second - well, the second is this one. To you.

I've put your letter off because I truly, sincerely didn't want to write it. At first, I couldn't, conventional wisdom being that you inform your employer before you inform the rest of the world (crazy, I know). Now that The Letter is out of the way, I can't put this one off any more, much as I want to.

So to answer your question, WilliamB: I didn't quit when Lucy was born because I didn't have to. I technically don't have to until the beginning of February, and we all know how fond I am of technicalities (::coughthreematernityleavesinfouryearscough::), but now that I know for sure that I'm not going back, I can't in all good conscience field any more "so when are you coming back?" questions with the oh-so-clever "my scheduled back to work date is February 27th" lie of omission.

Yes, I was sure I wasn't going back before I even got pregnant with Lucy...but then I wasn't either. It's a good job I'm leaving. A career job, in a field that I love, that pays well, so as easy as it is for me to walk away from it to stay at home with my babies and never send them to daycare again, it's hard at the same time. A job is a job, you know? Safety in employment something something something.

What truly decided the issue is a simple bit of money math (and we all know how much I love money math, right? If I go back to work full time, and we pay for full time daycare for Lucy and Oscar and after school care for Norah, I will be making minus two dollars a month. So basically I'll get paid two dollars a month to stay home with the kids.

Or let's put it this way: If we're going to be poor whether I work full time or stay at home, I'd rather be poor at home all stressed out with a dirty house than poor at work all stressed out with a dirty house (Mom: this is totally not true, I am very happy and my house is very clean).

Really, though? I'm Christmas-day-without-the-bloody-nose excited about this actually happening, while at the exact same time Eyeball-surgery-day-without-the-sedatives nervous and scared.

And then there's the small matter of the girdle.

The girdle, you see, was because I was applying for a starting your own small business program through the Ontario government and needed to make a good impression.

And we all know that  nothing says "confident entrepreneur" like a girdle, right ladies?

I didn't get in. This is because I was technically still on maternity leave and therefore not technically eligible, what with the government already paying for me to have children and all (oh, the injustice of it all and woe and stuff), so I'm saying screw the government (except for the baby bonus and health care) and starting my own fee only financial planning company.

My butt cheeks haven't relaxed yet from just typing that.

(Um. I didn't type it with my butt cheeks. Just...uh, so we're clear. No butt typing has occurred here. Ever.)

So to sum up: I'm quitting my job, staying home full time with my three children, and starting a business so I can talk about other people's money. And - oh yeah - quitting The Mrs. I will truly, truly miss writing here. I will miss hearing that Leslie snorted her tea all over her computer screen, I will miss being a public weirdo, and I will miss you. All of you. Sincerely.

But something has to go, and it's this.

Love,
Sandi

(I just finished writing this and now I don't want to stop writing ever. Blergh.)

December 8, 2012

Lannis: Queen of Manipulation

So this is a cat blog now. Awesome.

* * *

I have long suspected that Hamster is a jerk. Loooooong suspected.

He eats. He sleeps. He avoids everyone. When put in his roller ball, he sits in the middle of the floor and stares at us.

He’s a jerk.

Then recently he escaped his cage, and made me take all the books off the shelves (because his favourite spot is hiding underneath our bookshelves), and have Mr Lannis help me move them to search for his fuzzy butt.

It was time consuming. And annoying.

And while the now-seven-year-old fretted that the cats might eat his lovable (ha!) Hamster—seriously, the kid was giving himself a coronary after watching Moggie toss a field mouse around the backyard—we shifted those damned bookshelves to discover... a hamster, blink, blink, blinking at us.

And this:


That, my friends, is a hamster-sized mountain of cat food. Along with a nice BIG hole (circled, with Mr Lannis’ hand beside it for reference) in our carpet.

Yes, not only did Hamster scurry across the living room to the kitchen and squirrel away cat food RIGHT under the noses of two mousers, he also decided that our carpet made good bedding material. And the underpad underneath did, too.

Yes, that’s our SUBFLOOR you can see beside Mr Lannis’ hand.

::headdesk::

At least it’s under the bookshelves we have no plans to move any time soon?

Oy.

So we put the situation to rights, replaced Hamster in his cage (several times the seven-year-old requested I not call his hamster a doofus—I kept forgetting), and went along our merry way.

The next day—still under house arrest thanks to her running off—Moghedien protested said house arrest by occupying what she probably thought was my favourite toy (thanks to its daily use):


I snapped this shot and uploaded it to Facebook, whereupon one of my friends (Hiya, Jacy!), mentioned that once upon a time she had a cat pee in her dryer...

CUE MOGGIE PEEING IN THE WASHER!

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was creeping my Facebook account!

This sudden rebellion of two pets in our usually serene (who’m I kidding? haha!) household seemed suspect...

There’s only one who hasn’t kicked up a fuss lately. She’s smart, she’s dignified, she’s prissy and a cat’s cat... she’s exactly the kind of personality that would manipulate two lessers into defiance so she looked like feline perfection by comparison.


Highly suspicious, Minette. Highly suspicious.

I’m on to you, missy...

Regular Saturday poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.


If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.

December 4, 2012

The Super-Fantastic, Mega-Amazing Advent Calendar of Awesomeness

Everybody's doing it.

Advent activity calendars, that is. Not for our children the crappy stamped plastic chocolate of yesteryear. Nope. Instead we (The Pinterest Generation) are planning elaborate activities for every day of the advent.

I had a weak intention to sew an advent calendar this year, but realized (in time, thank goodness) that my sewing skills are not even mediocre, and that the last thing I want to look at every Christmas until my children grow up is a crooked, baggy, ugly advent calendar hung up on the wall for a month.

So we bought one. Hooray for retail!


Last week I was all set to write beautifully calligraphed, keepsake worthy notes for every box. Our activities were a mix of cookie baking, ornament making, Christmas book reading, toy drive giving, new pyjama getting fabulousness.

Then came Thursday. The day I caught what I thought was The Man Flu when Seth had it. Words cannot explain how truly crappy I felt until this morning.

So I made a movie. Here's me on Thursday (also Friday and Saturday):


Saturday was the Santa Claus Parade, and the Stupid Advent Calendar of Stupidness had also promised my children that we'd decorate the tree, too, so here's a movie of us all frolicking throughout the day, glowy and happy and filled with Christmas Spirit:


Right.

By Monday, even though the concrete snot in my face had solidified enough that my teeth were about to fall out, I roused enough to get excited about the phone I won from Christine at Cook The Story in her Where's Your Coffee Contest:


(Yes, those are dirty diapers piled up on the arm of my sofa, Judgy McJudgerson.)

Today I have drugs (and a sinus infection. Hence, the drugs). Norah is home from school for the second day in a row with strep throat.

The Advent Calendar of Doom has decreed that we're making and writing Christmas cards today. Don't be alarmed if you get one from my Glitter and Profanities collection.

(Also: Thanks Christine. I really am excited, except I look like a starved hobo and my house has fallen down from lack of cleaning. Also I'm buried in laundry.)

December 1, 2012

Lannis: Missing

Fine, keep your muddy feet. JUST STOP HAVING ADVENTURES ALREADY!


That was Wednesday. Thursday morning, with the intention of printing and posting these signs around appointments, I take a round about way home from dropping kidlets off at school, and guess who’s crossing the street three blocks over?

Screeching the van to a halt while simultaneously screeching, “MOGHEDIEN! YOU LITTLE SHIT!” was probably not my most graceful moment. Probably.

(Who’m I kidding? “Graceful” is an adjective that’s rarely used to describe me... ha!)

In other news... guess who’s getting microchipped as an early Christmas present?

::grumble grumble ungrateful cats grumble::

Regular Saturday poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.


If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.