April's Real Blog

Thursday, February 07, 2008

When U C Mike, just say, "DUH!"

Mike's got another story 2 show U his parenting is made of fail:

Formerly little sis. I like sleeping. Don’t you? I find that after I have had a troublesome day, there is nothing like a good, long nap to ease my sorrows. It’s sort of like baseball – 3 strikes and you’re out and headed toward being pleasantly unconscious. One strike would be kids fighting over a vegetable peeler. Strike two would be fighting over a Galaxy game. Strike three would be fighting over getting to play with the bunny.

After my daughter and my son got into an argument over the differences between seeing and looking, I did the only sensible thing a father could do. I picked up the child who was the lightest and said, “Well, it’s obvious that you two can’t get along this evening, so I’m going to separate you.” So I picked up my son and he said, “No!” and my daughter said, “No, Dad!” I suppose they thought I might not be smart enough or strong enough to separate them; however I remembered that the boys in our family are always the lightest. My boy picked up his teddy bear for extra weight, but he was still the lightest.

I may not have mentioned this before, but this fight was going on your old room in the house, the rec room. I said, “Meredith, you stay in the rec room. Robin, you come upstairs with me.” My daughter uttered what must have been a magic spell with the words, “Nyaah!! I get to play with the bunny!” , because the bunny that I have not seen in months magically appeared on the floor along with a big, empty cage.

Upon seeing the bunny, my son started yelling, “I WANNA BE WIF THE BUNNY!!” You may note, formerly little sis, that my son did not say, “I want to play with the bunny.” He said, “be wif”. Obviously, I can’t let my son be a wif(e) to the bunny. Humans and bunnies aren’t allowed to marry in Canada, at least not yet, anyway.

Well, the thought of my son marrying a bunny simply took the energy out of me. As my daughter was going “Pfttt” behind my back and my son was crying a generous arc of tears. It was like I was talking about before. I suddenly became very sleepy. I said, “Maybe you both should go to bed.” That seemed like a great idea to me. I would get to sleep. My children would be sleeping and wouldn’t bother me. However, there was one problem:

My daughter said it best, “I don’t wanna go to bed! It’s no fair!!! We’re not TIRED yet!!” That’s right, April. You probably remember from my post last Monday that I had not yet finished supper, because while I was in the process of making it, I was taking time to read my newspaper. It was actually sometime around supper time, but unfortunately not late enough in the day for my wife, the lovely Deanna, to have returned home from the pharmacy. So, my kids were right that it probably was a little early for them to go to bed. I was at my wit’s end, trying to keep up with them. After all, they had disturbed my supper-making and interrupted my newspaper-reading and…there’s bound to be something else in there. Oh yes, they ruined my masterful use of a timer to break up a fight.

Then I felt something mysterious come over me and I suddenly felt like my face was beginning to look like Grandpa Jim’s face. My chin jutted out in a way it had never done before. My eyebrows lightened up, and I could feel the temperature on my forehead was higher and a few beads of sweat sprang off my forehead. I was thinking, “Who’s looking like Grandpa?” and my answer to myself was, “Well…I am.” Let me tell you, April, it is a frightening experience. Just remembering it again has shaken me and I need to stop writing now.

Michael Patterson
Mike, after all this time, I cannot believe U R referring 2 the rec room as my "old room in the house." NO! My "old room in the house" is the one U AND DEE TOOK OVER AND FOR WHICH U NEVER THANKED ME. I'll take those thanks from you anytime, Mike. Anytime.

Another thing. U have FOUR bedrooms in that house. Yr kids do not have a 2 share a room! Duh! Also, Robin's "wif" was mispronouncing "with," not "wife." Another "Duh."


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  • At 8:51 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. I write a story and you correct me and tell me where I am wrong. You are getting to be more and more like mom every day, it almost brings tears to my eyes. Keep it up, and you could be editing one of my novels some day.

    Michael Patterson

  • At 12:07 PM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    The sad thing is that Mike thinks that's a compliment. That would mean that he'd misunderstand your tears as being those of joy.

  • At 12:10 PM, Anonymous liz patterson said…


    Wait, why did you abandon your bunny when you moved away, are you just too cool for him now or something?, I mean, I lost interest in my bunny too, but not because I tried to be cool, it's just that bunnies are boring, why did we get them anyway?, oh yeah, Mom thinks it's funny to watch them bite the dogs.


  • At 12:36 PM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Poor Amazon River catfish supervillain. I understand that perhaps in the Amazon, a catfish might not want to be like its mother. However, in Milborough, there is no greater aspiration.

    Michael Patterson

  • At 3:20 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    liz, we got our 1st bunny, mr. b, cuz u bought him @ an auction when u were visiting w/uncle danny, auntie bev, and cousin laura in winnipeg. and u fobbed him off on me when u didn't want the responsibility of caring 4 him nemore.

    butterscotch stayed @ the pattermanse cuz dee laid on a bunch of guilt abt how robin and merrie wd b sooper-sad if they cdn't keep her.


  • At 5:13 PM, Anonymous liz patterson said…


    Those kids scream and cry all the time, how would anyone know if they were "super sad," seems like they are always unhappy to me, just like Frenchy, she's always complaining, "Why does that woman have to be here? Why does she have to wear those frumpy clothes? Why does she eat a whole packet of Oreos when her ass is like a 10 gallon sack of pudding? My real mama is stylish and thin! My real mama sends me nice clothes, not barf-colored turtlenecks to be worn with neon lilac overalls! Why can't my real mama live here with us!", and then Anthony has to tell her to go to her room until she appreciates how lucky she is to have a Patterson stepmother in her life, well let's just say Frenchy spends a lot of time in her room lately, hmm, maybe I should get her a bunny to keep her company, or send her over to Mike's for a play date.


  • At 6:25 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    no, liz, don't buy her a bunny. she is way 2 young 2 care 4 him, and i know neither u nor anthony wd give a bunny the care it needs. better 2 do playd8s if u think francie wd like 2 visit w/a bunny.


  • At 8:06 PM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. “Butterscotch stayed at the Pattermanse because Deanna laid on a bunch of guilt about how Robin and Merrie would be super sad if they couldn’t keep her.” That is quite a tale you have told, little sis. You seem to have forgotten that my lovely Deanna was looking at puppies originally. However, if I go back to our old monthly letters you wrote for the Pets, your readers can see the real answer:

    In July, you wrote:

    Buttsy is fine - I'm sad about giving her to Robin and Merrie, but I know Mike will keep her company during the day and Dee will make sure she's taken care of. I'm going to be so busy this summer, and I don't want her to be stuck in her hutch at my parents' house all the time, so I guess I'm doing the right thing. I miss her already, though.

    In August, you wrote:

    Buttsy seems happy - she gets a lot of attention. Mike lets her sit on his lap while he works, and it's Meredith's job to feed her. I think I made the right choice in leaving her with them at our old house, especially since I won't be here much in August.

    Don’t you remember your “I’m too busy” list, where you, in short order, got rid of your rabbit, your band and your boyfriend? You can go be a veterinarian if you want, but don’t blame Deanna for decisions you make.

    Michael Patterson

  • At 9:10 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    shut up, mike. i m 2 busy 2 let u make me feel bad.


  • At 2:03 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. One of these days, when you are off on your own, you will live in a place with a middle-aged ethnic woman nearby to give you advice on your life. I can only hope that when that day comes, you will have a woman as knowledgeable and competent as Deanna and I had when we lived next to Lovey Salzman. From the time that my daughter was born, Lovey showed me the ways of Egg Timer Discipline. It may not have worked initially when I tried to use a timer to get my daughter and my son to share that Galaxy game, but never give up when you are using tried-and-true methods taught to someone from the old country.

    I had taken my two fighting, disobedient children to their room and told them to go to bed. Well, they managed to get their pyjamas on, and my daughter got on her bed, and my son lowered the railing on his crib, so he could climb into the crib; but did they actually go to sleep? No! Why not? Because I didn’t tell them to go to sleep. I told them to go to bed, which they did. You have to watch how you word things with a 3 and 5-year-old. They are not old enough to realize what you mean when what you say is not exactly what you mean.

    I had gone back to my chair to read my newspaper, and I could still hear them fighting. You would think that after I put them to bed early because of their fighting, that would stop them from fighting. Maybe I should give some thought to letting them have their own bedrooms. It might make a little more sense to separate 2 kids who are fighting into different bedrooms. Ha! Ha! That’s a silly thought.

    I listened to them fight. My daughter said, “Ha, Ha! Robin’s mad an’ I’m sad, an’ I know howta tease yaah! Drink some ink, an’ then you’ll stink, an’ then we’ll hafta freeze yaa!” Her rhyme was going very well until the last word. As you know, April, “tease yaah!” does not rhyme with “freeze yaa!” You need that final “h” sound. I got out of my chair and said, “Well, that does it. My daughter is not even rhyming properly.” As I went up the stairs to their room, I heard my son say, “YOU stink!. His rhyme was even worse than hers.

    I popped into their room, and saw that my son had once again, failed to pull up the bars on his crib, after he had put them down to get in. With the egg timer in hand, I was ready to deal out justice by the timer full. I said, “That’s IT, you two!! I’m turning on the timer. If you’re not quietly lying down in 15 minutes, there’ll be no T.V. tomorrow!” I had on my serious face, you know the one where my eyes are squinty and I only have 3 fingers on my right hand. It works every time. The kids were both looking at me with wide open eyes as the timer went, “Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick…” I left the room and went back to my chair and my reading. I could hear kids saying, “No, Meredif. We don’t hafta lie down till the timer stops. We can still play until then.” And my daughter said, “T.V. We can watch T.V.? Since when can we watch T.V.? If I could have watched T.V., I would never have wanted to play the stupid Galaxy game.” My son said, “Meredif!”

    The sounds of their voices faded and eventually I heard the tell-tale BING!! of the timer finishing its 15 minutes. I rose out of my chair to check and make sure they were quietly lying down. I found them both in my daughter’s bed, sleeping away. I thought to myself, as I pulled the covers on them, “Saved by the bell!” and then later “Saved by Lovey’s timer bell” That ethnic timer idea worked its Voodoo magic once again.

    As I was saying before, April, when the time to find your ethnic middle-aged woman comes, make sure she knows her stuff. If you get the right one, that ethnic advice will be a treasure to you for years to come. That reminds me, I should probably call Lovey up to see if she’s had a heart attack or at least has bought my book.

    Michael Patterson


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