There's a kiss for ya

At the dinner table.

Eva, Etienne, and I:  "Addie!  Say brisé"

Addie:  "Bsay"

Eva, Etienne, and I:  "Addie!  Say hello"

Addie:  "Allo!"

Eva, Etienne, and I:  "Addie!  Say I love you!"

Silence.

Then, suddenly, Addie lets rip a roaring fart that rattles the windows and shakes dust from the ceiling.

Good enough for me.

Mother Nature, you're a HO

Etienne just got back from nearly three weeks in Poland.

I have never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.

The first week was uneventful. My mother-in-law stepped in to help out with the kids in the mornings (I work an early shift)...and the lovely neighbour girl dropped by every couple of nights, to play with Eva while I focussed on Miss Independence, who is rather (ahem) demanding. It was all fine.

Fine...until that beeyatch Mother Nature decided to a) pour freezing rain on the city, b) drop temperatures below freezing and c) take a fat white dump on the city.

It was about twenty centimetres (that's about 8 inches, Kulio)...followed by another ten centimetres, three days later. It doesn't sound like that much. But when you live in the middle of a large city, that's pretty much like dumping a cup of flour on an anthill. An anthill that has only two days before been coated in a layer of ice an inch thick. And then paying people to kinda push the snow around just enough to BLOCK YOUR FREAKING CAR COMPLETELY WITH A THREE FOOT WALL OF WHITE. And then dumping ANOTHER cup of flour.

I've already explained how much I love dressing children for winter (drug-free root canal). I've already explained how impossible Addie can be, when it comes to winter gear. Now multiply this by GIANT SNOWBANKS and GIANT BOOTS THAT WEIGH TEN POUNDS EACH and GIANT PARKAS THAT WEIGH A TON AND MAKE YOU HOT AND ITCHY and CHILDREN WHO HATE THE FEELING OF BEING CONFINED and CONSTANTLY SOAKED PANTLEGS and SLOWED TRAFFIC and OH MY LIST OF HATRED GOES ON AND ON AND ON.

And it only got better Saturday.

We got back from brunch at a friend's house and there was nowhere to park except in front of our house...which had temporarily been designated a NO PARKING ZONE because of snow removal. The signs say between 7am and 7pm. Which usually means the plows will show up the next day.

I drove around for about 20 minutes, looking for a place.

NOTHING. ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY NOTHING.

It was about 1pm. I looked both ways and saw no sign of incoming plows.

Normally the plows are preceded by a tow truck that blows its horn loud enough to rattle the windows (and wake the dead) for about ten minutes before the plow arrives. I figured the odds were that it wasn't going to come anyway...and even if it did, I'd have some warning (although it would suck donkey to the highest degree to have to shake the kids awake and race them to the car).

If I hadn't been alone, it would have been no problem. One of us would go in with the kids, while the other would find a safe parking spot.

No such luck when you're alone.

I decided to take my chances.

And lo and behold, luck was on my side. No tow trucks came.

The kids napped, they woke up, and I began to relax.

All that was left was to give them a nice little snack, and then we could quietly head on our way.

I had just strapped the grumpy Addie down and handed her the apple slices, when...

HONKA HONKA HONKA HONKA HONKA HONKA HONKA HONKA

I have never seen Eva move so quickly in my life. Well, except perhaps for the time(s) when Addie shat in the tub with her. She moved pretty quickly then, too.

Addie didn't even have time to bellow her disapproval at seeing her snack dumped in the compost as I jammed her into her snowsuit, grabbed our stuff, and raced to the car. Remember that scene in Home Alone, where the family is racing through the airport? No? How about that scene in Indiana Jones where he's outrunning the giant ball? No? How about that beach scene in Chariots of Fire? That was pretty much us.

We managed to beat the tow truck. BARELY.

But it just reminded me...ONCE AGAIN...how much I appreciate my husband.

And how much I HATE WINTER.

He's back.

And more snow is on the way.

Mother Nature, we can take ya. BRING IT ON, BABY!!!

To the waiter at La Mere Poule

I know it probably isn't the wisest, to take a five year old and a one year old to a restaurant.
But Etienne was working and I just wanted a break.
I wanted to be able to sit in a restaurant and have someone pour me a coffee...to sit back while my children coloured for a couple of minutes, and enjoy a meal that I didn't have to prepare.

The restaurant is one we go to fairly regularly; it serves only breakfast and lunch. It's very kid-friendly...the kids' meals come with little bowls of cut up fresh fruit, and they bring pictures and crayons for the kids to colour. And the food arrives quickly, a big priority when you're packing trolls.

Anyway, we blew into that restaurant like a noisy fart. All three of us poufy in our winter coats and boots, me dragging the squirmy Adele and carrying a purse big enough to haul freight.

They seated us near the window, which seemed like a lovely choice. We settled in...stripping off layers of winter gear and piling it all on the fourth chair. A highchair was provided, Adele tied down, and the colouring commenced.

All was peaceful. I sipped my coffee. The food arrived. We commenced shovelling.

Then the$?%#&! sun came out.

I'm sure you deduced from the previous post that Addie has a short fuse lately. Her teeth are making her crazy.

So when the sun peeped out from behind a cloud and poked a fat yellow thumb in Addie's eye...it pushed her over the top. She started whining and complaining. I tried to distract her with food...she tried one small bite of egg but her poor little mouth hurt too much. She spat it out with enough force to practically knock me off my seat, and started whining.

I picked her up and held her while she played with toast and smeared canteloupe all over herself and me, grunting, squirming, and complaining the entire time.
She wanted so badly to eat, but every bite hurt too much and would start another round of whining.

Of course the entire restaurant looked at me like I was the mother from hell.

I wanted to just pack up and leave, but the food had just arrived and Eva was behaving perfectly. She spends a lot of time compromising for Adele, and I didn't want to haul her out of her favourite restaurant just as her food arrived.

It was so hard not to say something to the faces glaring accusingly at me.

"YOU....the three women at the table behind me. I'm sure your children will be PERFECT and will never make a sound and YOUR LIVES WILL NOT CHANGE ONE BIT WHEN YOU HAVE CHILDREN. MUAHAHAHAA "

"YOU...perfectly-coiffed middle-aged woman and man at that table over there. I am NOT a rotten single mother with two devil spawn...I am on my own today and it is HARD WORK CORRALLING TWO SMALL CHILDREN. I AM TRYING TO GIVE MYSELF A SHORT BREAK SO SCREW OFF."

"YOU...beautiful snippy young couple holding hands over your plates. I know my child looks disgusting as she bubbles snot and smushes melon all over her face. Sorry for ruining your cheesy reverie. And if looking at my messy little family serves as birth control for you, ALL THE BETTER."

It's not like we were that loud - the tables are very close together so it was hard to ignore us.

And in our defence, we always work hard to keep them quiet, we never let them run around, and we always clean up after ourselves (including the floor). We want them to know how to behave in a restaurant.
And Eva did behave beautifully...she coloured, ordered her own meal (saying please and thank you) and ate quietly.

But I guess the people around us didn't know or notice any of that.

The most sympathetic people were the lovely lesbian couple in the corner who smiled at me every time Addie made a sound, and our sweet gay server.
He rushed to pick up every crayon Eva dropped, replaced the spoon Addie chucked, and whisked away our plates as soon as we finished. He also kept my coffee cup filled and told me my children were beautiful, even though I knew at that moment they weren't.

There's a reason I left him a five dollar tip and a grateful smile when I left.

And there's a reason why I regret judging other parents, before I became one.

Sometimes...circumstances create circumstances.

One more lesson my horribly wonderful children have taught me.

Hit me, babies, one more time

I work a morning shift.
I'm up at about 3:30, and finish around noon.
I like this shift; it works well for me.
But if I don't sleep well...or I don't nap...I get exhausted.
Heading into this post, know that I have not been sleeping well.

==========================


Addie seems to be cutting her molars.

Either that or she's pregnant.
Or menopausal.

Seriously...over the past couple of days, my sweet girlie makes that kid from the Exorcist seem mild-mannered.

Actually, if you replace the pea soup with drool, that's pretty much Addie on a good day lately.

At the daycare yesterday afternoon, the teacher said they'd thrown her shirt in the dryer because it was soaking wet. By the time I got her home (a 15 minute drive) her coat was soaked right through. I swear, I could have wrung that sucker out and watered a village for a freaking year. Unbelievable.

Anyway, Addie was absolutely miserable. She normally turns into a little beastie just before supper, but yesterday was SPECTACULAR...she pretty much tore my head off and shrieked black fury into my neck cavity for two straight hours. She ate nothing...just sat there slobbering and whining and grunting like a hairless Tasmanian Devil. Finally I poured her a bath (her fave activity) but even that wouldn't console her. I think she raised the water level two inches from drool, though.

Throughout all of this, Eva sat at the table and drew, scattering an office-tower's worth of papers around. When I asked her to pick them up, she flew into a fury..."but HOW am I going to pick up ALL THOSE PAPERS? NO! NEVER! I can't do it! NEVER!!!" Lovely routine coming from a FIVE YEAR OLD. I told her to pick them up or I would LIGHT THEM ON FIRE AND THROW HER ON TOP AND USE HER BURNING CARCASS TO COOK MARSHMALLOWS. Well, okay I didn't say that. I actually said, "Look, you can neatly put them away or I will put them all in the recycling" She whined and yelled at me again. I kept my cool and took out my meanest mommy threat - A TIME OUT (OOOOOOOHH HOW AWFUL). She kept it up. So finally I fired her into her bedroom and told her to come out when she'd calmed down. She kept yelling at me and stomping on the floor. All the while, Addie has been writhing in my arms and wailing away because of her teeth.

By this point, all I wanted was to quietly head out for A GIN AND TONIC OR FIFTEEN.

Addie passed out pretty much immediately afterwards - one blessing.

As for Eva...we were in the bathroom about to brush her teeth and she deliberately squeezed a golf-ball sized lump of toothpaste into the sink. Then she kind of looked at me sideways and said mildly, "oops". I absolutely hate having to scrape up that crap out of the sink, especially when I've just watched her squeeze it out ON PURPOSE.
And I told her so.

Then (legitimately, by accident) she DROPPED HER PINK STUFFED CAT IN THE TOILET FULL OF PEE.

By this point, I could only sigh. I trundled her off to bed, fished out the cat, and headed downstairs to the laundry room.

And...

Are you ready for this?

THERE WAS A BIG FREAKING SPIDER SITTING ON THE WASHING MACHINE, LIKE A BIG, SPECKED CHERRY ON TOP OF THE FREAKING SUNDAE OF MY DAY.

And it gets better.

I went to wad up a lump of toilet paper to squish her and when I turned around, THE WITCH WAS GONE.

I SWEAR - the only thing I hate worse than seeing a spider is LOSING a spider once I've seen it.

Whoops...gotta run.

My wee Tasmanian Devil is bellowing...naptime is over.

Pray for my safety...I may not make it out alive.

Time to work on that English...

1.  Recently, the girls' dad had to go to a conference in Poland.

The flight over involved a couple of stops.

So Eva woke up the morning after Etienne left, and said, "Where is Papa now?"

I said: "Probably at the airport in London"

Eva:  "One day, I really want to go to Angleterria"

YOU MEAN ENGLAND, MY CHILD???  

THE BIRTHPLACE OF YOUR (other) MOTHER TONGUE???

2.  Eva's friends' teeth are falling out all over the place.  I swear, it's like you gathered all those trolls together and dumped a box of Chiclets on the floor.  Teeth are falling like rain. 

 Anyway, Eva is JEALOUS of all of this, because her teeth are still solidly stuck in her head.

Eva:  "I don't have any teeth that fell out.  But I do have one that is TREMBLING".

3.  Also worthy of note - today Addie said, "BANANA" clear as a bell.  

4.  Remind me never, ever to take a 5 year old and a tired one year old to eat in a restaurant around naptime.  We just got back, and I feel like a truck ran over me.  Then backed up and ran over me again.  I think I have eggs in my hair.

If I ever want to do it again, SMACK ME DOWN, FAST AND HARD.

Not ready. SOOOOOO not ready.

I am not ready for winter.

And I don't just mean, "oh, I don't like winter".

Winter for me is like a four-month-long root canal with no aenesthetic, performed by a rusty-drill-wielding sadist.

Oh sure, I like skating and skiing and fondue and all that jazz.  

THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM.

The problem is DRESSING FOR WINTER.

I didn't mind it so much when the only person I had to dress was myself.  

Back then, I didn't have to worry so much about rounding up mitts and hats and scarves and stuff.  I had one or two of each and they worked just fine.  Boots went neatly in the closet and my gear was always put away nicely so it was easy to find the next time.   If the weather got too depressing, Etienne and I could sit in a warm pub and eat salty food while sipping a nice glass of red wine and watching the bundled-up folks walk by as fat, soft snowflakes fell gently from a rose-tinted sky.

Now, winter is...as I said...a four-month-long root canal.

It hasn't even begun, and we've already spent HOURS searching for waylaid hats, mitts, gloves, scarves, neck-warmers, warm socks, boots, etc. etc. etc.  Before I spawned, all my gear fit neatly in a cute little basket in the closet.   Now, we practically need a freaking semi-trailer unit to hold it all.  And for some reason, little fluffy hats and little warm mitts keep going the way of little pink socks.  We can always find ONE of a pair...but finding a MATCHED SET WHERE IT SHOULD BE is like the freaking holy grail of dressing-trolls-for-winter. 

And before you think this is just a fantastic lack of organizational skills on the part of the parents I'd like to point out that WE (the big people) put stuff back where it belongs.  But somehow...the little people manage to find it and HIDE IT.

The one blessing is that Eva can dress herself...although it takes her about two hours to put on boots, a hat, a scarf, mitts, and a coat.  Wait, make that three hours.  Okay, four is probably closer to the truth.  And even that is a conservative estimate and probably involved a lengthy series of increasingly creative threats.

As for little Miss Independence, if you can't get that kid fully dressed in 3.4 seconds, she is mad.  And I don't mean just a bit frustrated.  That kid spins like a freaking dervish, all the while tearing off any clothing already applied and spewing forth a stream of what must be spectacular curses in babytalk.  And of course, once you've got her all dressed and are finally heading out the door...she lets rip and takes a dump.  Kid has perfect timing.  

From that point, it gets even better.

KEEPING WINTER CLOTHES on Addie is next to freaking impossible.  The only thing that stops her from stripping herself NAKED in the car, is the five-point-harness in her carseat.  The second you start the ignition, she gnaws her mitts off with her teeth and then takes off anything that's not tied on, and flings it all over the car.   So once you arrive at your destination, you have to wedge yourself between the seats and heave your bulk through the car, gathering up gear and jamming it onto her AGAIN...while the freezing wind blows through the open door, and she COMPLAINS BITTERLY that the process is taking too long, and I COMPLAIN BACK that I WAS NOT THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE WHO STRIPPED HERSELF NAKED DURING A TEN MINUTE DRIVE IN MINUS 8 DEGREE WEATHER.

It is not even DECEMBER, and we are already sick of this crap.

It hasn't even really snowed yet.

The windchill factor isn't even a factor.

Root canal.

 

Sigh.

   

So nasty but still I laugh...

Addie has discovered that her nose has an INSIDE.

And there are THINGS in there.

And sticking an index finger inside prompts Mama to make a disgusted face.

And if the finger is left in there long enough, Mama will eventually laugh (Mama also laughs at burps and farts, but that's another story).

At any rate...Addie is now spending a lot of time with a finger up her nose, drilling harder than a blue-collar worker fixing a roadway.

Disgusting little creature.  

But funny.

Tho thith ith goodbye

Eva has always had a lisp as big as the great outdoors.

I've always considered it kind of cute, although I suppose I realized there is a point where lisps cease to be adorable.  Some people can carry them off with style, but I think it's safe to say that most parents kind of want them to disappear once the kid hits school.  We are no exception.

The last time we visited Eva's pediatrician, she mentioned the lisp and suggested we see a speech pathologist.  As luck would have it, I have a friend who is a speech pathologist so I spoke with her about it.  She said often lisps will just sort of disappear on their own...and she doesn't generally work with kids on lisps until after they lose their front teeth.  Which makes sense.  

Etienne and I decided to wait on it, until Eva lost her teeth.

Well, she still hasn't lost them...but this week, she did LOSE HER LISP.

It's really kind of amazing...one day she just started saying these sparkling, sizzling "S"'s.  

We hadn't really talked with her about it...she just kind of did it.

All by herself. 

It's amazing and remarkable and a weight off our shoulders.  I'm proud of her for taking the initiative and just doing it on her own.  Hearing her clear, certain speech is wonderful.

But.......it's also one more sign that our baby is growing up.

And I hate to admit it, but a tiny little weensy bit of me actually misses the lisp.

There.  I've said it. 

Thigh.

Bla bla bla

Typing furtively while Addie naps...a dangerous process considering she sleeps so lightly a butterfly farting in Brazil would wake her up.  Oooh Mama's feeling FRISKY on a rainy Thursday afternoon.  

1.  Adele's language skills have exploded over the past couple of days...she's been busy busting out with a bunch of brand new words.  

Among her repertoire:  "Chat" (cat), "Dodo" (nap), "Agneau" (lamb), and "chapeau" (hat).   Her verbal English is lagging a little, but her comprehension seems to be on par with the French.  So whatevah...I'm sure she'll soon be disagreeing with me in both official languages.  She can say "book" and locate her nose in English - really, what more does a kid need?

 

2.  HOLY HANNAH, was Eva in a shite mood yesterday.  Normally she's a pretty happy kid but yesterday she was a giant black thunderstorm sent by the forces of evil, vomiting misery and doom everywhere she went.  

NO idea what got into her but here was her first interaction with her dad in the morning (note - his tone is calm and friendly, hers LOUD and WHINY):  

Etienne:  "Good morning!"

Eva:  "Papa!  STOP TURNING ON THE LIGHTS!!!  It hurts my EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYES." - then she flings herself dramatically on the couch, moaning loudly.

No idea where the spontaneous severe photosensitivity came from, but it soon led to this cheery exchange:

Etienne:  "You have Judo tonight after school!"

Eva (whining more and more loudly):  "ARGH.  I have judo one night.  I have chess one night.  I have judo one night.  I have chess one night.  QUIT TELLING ME THAT.  IT'S NOT NICE, PAPA"

Later her crummy attitude and SAUCY MOUTH earned her a one-way trip to bed right after dinner.  Hate when we have to be the bad cop.    Hate, hate.  She spends most of the day at school...and then when we finally get to see her, it's cut short because she's so freaking miserable.  Grrr.

3.  When she's not busy spewing black goopy hatred all over us, Eva has been drawing like a FIEND and writing "LIAM" and "LILI" all over her artwork.   She also likes to draw thought bubbles over Liam and Lili.  No clue who the hell Liam and Lili are - kids in her class?  Am I a bad mother for not knowing the names of every kid in the class?

Anyway,  all the thought bubbles read, "bla bla bla".    So we now have stacks upon stacks of drawings of people named Liam and Lili saying, "bla bla bla" back and forth to one another.  Not sure if they ever say anything else, but they sure say a lot of "bla bla bla"   I suspect Liam and Lili may be politicians.

4.  Eva came home after having a substitute teacher for the day at school.  

Eva:  "She has five fingers on one hand and only three on the other.  She was born that way."  

Me:  "Oh really?"  

Eva: "Yeah, but she's SO LUCKY.  Like if she wants to count to three, all she has to do is (raises three fingers on one hand) go ONE TWO THREE.  The rest of us have FIVE"

Well, of course - I know I find those two gratuitous fingers on the left hand to be SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS when I'm trying to count.

5.  Chopped off the tip of my thumb yesterday while cutting spinach.  And I mean CHOPPED OFF.  I actually located the tip and had to throw a piece of myself in the garbage.  Eva was suitably impressed.  And NO, I did not cry.  

Uh oh...I think I hear the rumbling of a 20 pound maggot.

Apparently, a butterfly just farted in Brazil.    

WOW

I've heard so many voices today saying the words, "Never thought I'd live to see this day."

Whether you agree with his politics or not...whether you're a Democrat or a Republican...you have to agree that it's pretty freaking amazing, what happened last night in the U.S.

I saw this quote today:

Rosa sat so Martin could walk.

Martin walked so Obama could run.

Obama is running so our children CAN FLY.

As a mum, all I want in this world is for my children to fly.

And whatever you believe, whatever your background...I know that hope unites us.

America, you never cease to amaze me.

Little old lady

Etienne went to a department store the other day, and was handed a couple of tiny trial-sized tubes of anti-aging moisturizer for men.

Me:  "So, did you try this anti-wrinkle cream yet?"

Etienne: "Not yet"

Eva:  "I tried it.  IT DIDN'T WORK"

While doing laundry...

...I came across a sippy cup that had been missing for a couple of days.

It was buried at the bottom of the laundry hamper in the girls' room, and I fished it out while loading their clothes into the washing machine.

Funny, I don't remember ever giving Addie a sippy cup full of cottage cheese...

DOH!

Bodily function night. Plus bacon!!!

1.    Addie did it again last night.

I don't know whether it's the warmth of the water...the joy of being with her sister...or the fact that she needs to make room for her recently-eaten supper.

SHE SHAT IN THE TUB.  AGAIN.

Of course, poor Eva was in there with her...and exploded out of the bath in a loud streak of disgust and horror.  

Etienne was out with a friend so I was on my own.   

And when you're on your own and dealing with two wet, poopy kids and a tub full of floaty toys and brown lumpy water, you don't really know where the hell to begin.

Ideally, I'd leave the girls standing there dripping while I scooped out the toys and turds, then fully washed out the tub.  But Addie never remains in one spot for more than 0.5 seconds anyway, so that doesn't work.

And as long as the tub was full of poop soup, there's no way to really clean them off, either.

I finally soaped up Addie while she stood on the bathmat, then just rinsed her under the tap.   I dried and dressed her, went back and drained the tub and started scooping out toys and dealing with the - ahem - lumps...when suddenly I heard a BANG and a wail.

Of course Adele had employed her brand-new skill (learned so recently I didn't even know she could do it) of climbing onto the bed alone...and then promptly rolled right off, whacking her head on the floor.  I raced back to hold her, while Eva kept up her litany of "I'm cold...can I get back in the tub?  I'm cold...can I get back in the tub?"

Argh.  But the bodily function story gets better.

2.  So the girls get cleaned up and go to bed and all is fine.  I go to bed early...and about an hour and a half later, Eva starts coughing.  She has a mild cold and coughs...and coughs...and coughs.  

Now, when she coughs a lot, Eva tends to vomit.   Especially at night.  Especially in her bed.  Especially just as we're drifting off to sleep.

OF COURSE, SHE WAS TRUE TO FORM.

All over her bed.  All over the duvet...neatly missing the bowl I had placed in her bed EXPRESSLY FOR THIS PURPOSE.

Etienne was home by this point and together we cleaned up Eva and her sheets and calmed her down and gave her water and so on.

  

Kids, please....for your tired Mama and Papa....tonight let's make a concerted effort to keep all solids and liquids WHERE THEY BELONG.

3.  I mentioned BACON.  This comes up because Eva's sweetheart of a little friend Emie came over last night and stayed for supper.   Emie's family is Muslim, so they don't eat anything that comes from a pig.

Anyway, Emie was explaining this to Eva.

Emie:  "So I don't eat pork or bacon or dragon"

Eva (with an audible snap of her neck as she looks up from her drawing):  "NO BACON???"

Emie:  "Nope, no bacon...and (clearly trying to get a rise out of Eva) NO DRAGON"

Eva (loudly, clearly shocked): "YOU CAN'T EAT BACON???"  

(A pause, then even louder)  "NO BACON???"

So...apparently eating DRAGON is perfectly fine by my kid.

Pundit

We've often talked about politics at the supper table...but we didn't realize how deeply it was actually sinking in until tonight.

  

I have to admit, my little girlie's knack for names made me pretty proud.

Etienne:  "I can't believe that in ONE WEEK it'll be the U.S. Presidential election."

Me (to Eva):  "Who's going to win the presidential election?"

Eva:  "Stephen Harper?" 

Adele: (laughs out loud from her highchair)

Me:  "No...I think you might remember his name.  The other guy.  For PRESIDENT"

Eva:  "Barack Obama!!!"

Yummy, yummy crap

We don't buy sugary cereals for our kids.

Before you start thinking I'm ONE OF THOSE...let me state for the record that we are not those over-the-top parents who send their kids out with "SUGAR-FREE" emblazoned on their t-shirts, whose children eat sugar so rarely they get hyperactive after eating a prune.   Mine do get gum and candy and all that jazz.

HOWEVER...when it comes to the main meals of the day, we're fairly rigid on their nutrition content. 

Now, Eva is used to having sugary cereals while at her grandparents' house.  My mum and dad have made a lovely tradition of having a minivan-sized box of Froot Loops in their cereal cabinet for whenever the grandkids sleep over.   And you can usually find a similarly-sized box of Frosted Flakes at Etienne's parents' place.   It's one of those awesome things you remember about staying at your grandparents' house.  

But while Eva is used to having those cereals at her grandparents', she's not used to having them IN HER OWN HOME.

Today, her grandmama rocked that boat BUT GOOD.

This afternoon, they went out for a walk and wound up stopping at a grocery store where Eva asked for - and got - the Grand-daddy of all crap cereals.   Pink hearts, yellow moons, green clovers, blue diamonds...all made of synthetic neon marshmallowy fluffy hexametaphosphate (I kid you not, it's ON THE BOX).  

You guessed it:  LUCKY CHARMS.  

And these are not just regular Lucky Charms.

These are CHOCOLATE LUCKY CHARMS.

Eva couldn't believe her luck.  COULD. NOT. BELIEVE. IT.

CHOCOLATE LUCKY CHARMS.  IN MY HOUSE.

Tonight she gently took out the box of Chocolate Lucky Charms and carefully placed it on the counter.   Then she lovingly traced her index finger over the brightly-coloured rainbow, dotted with big hunks of artifically flavoured marshmallows, swirling about over that insufferable leprechaun's head.

Then she slowly and softly exhaled one word...

 "CALORIES!"

Bye bye, Mathilde

The first week of school, we heard the name "Mathilde" often.

She seemed like a nice little girl...Eva seemed to adore her and they played together often at school.  There was talk of play dates and sleepovers.

Then suddenly...things changed.

The planets shifted...the clouds churned...and suddenly, the name "Mathilde" was replaced by the name "Nadine".

All this was fine with us, as long as Eva was happy.

But the other night, Eva filled me in as to what happened to her great friendship with Mathilde.

"I was playing with Mathilde and it was fun.  But this other girl named NADINE comes along.  I didn't know her.  I only knew that there was this nice girl named Mathilde.  And we played.  But Nadine came and Mathilde didn't like her as much as me.  So one day they fought and Nadine had my arm and Mathilde had my other arm and they pulled and pulled and I was like, 'whoa this is ME' and finally they let go."

Me:  "And then what happened?"

Eva:  "Then they said I had to decide who was my BEST BEST BEST FRIEND"

Me:  "Wow...that's a tough decision... how did you do that?"

Eva:  "Well.......actually........I DID EENIE MEENIE MINEY MO".

Me: "And that's how you decided who your best friend forever would be?"

Eva:  "Yup!"

OOOOOOOOOH life is cruel when you're five...

This makes me want to wake her up...

...just so I can hug her for being so cute it makes my heart hurt.

Why do children fight sleep to the point of passing out SITTING UP???

Silly wee troll...SLEEP IS AWESOME!!!

Childproofing

Following our bloody incident the other day (see previous post)...we are re-childproofing our kitchen.

I started the process about an hour and a half ago, armed with a brand-new box of plastic childproof latches, a hammer, measuring tape, a bunch of screws, and a screwdriver.

I was optimistic...buoyed by the hope that we would finally be able to thwart our little Houdini before she slices off another finger or downs any more uncooked lentils.

I quit the entire blasted affair about five minutes ago, sweating wet, throwing the tools down in disgust and humiliation.

The result of my efforts...a single blasted plastic latch installed backwards in a spot that makes it impossible for the second part of the latch (the one attached to the drawer) to close.

WHY THE %&%?$!!!  DOES IT TAKE A FREAKING ENGINEERING DEGREE AND THREE FREAKING HOURS TO INSTALL A SINGLE FREAKING CHILDPROOF LATCH ON A SINGLE FREAKING DRAWER?????

Etienne has kindly taken over.  

He, too, is swearing.

But he is smarter and less of a quitter than his wife.

In fact, as I write this, he has just completed the latch.

AND THE $%$?#&!!! THING WORKS.

So, Addie, our dear little maggot...your parents might be battered and bruised in their efforts to protect you...

BUT YOU ARE NOT. OPENING. THAT. DRAWER.

Guilt, part 11,987

My constant flirtation with maternal guilt is no secret.  I feel guilty for pretty much everything I do or don't do as a parent. 

 

So that's what made tonight exceptionally awful for me.

And it was all my fault.

I was supposed to be watching Adele, who was wandering around the kitchen.  Etienne was busy in another room and all I had to do was keep an eye on her for a few minutes.  But I had drunk a bucket of coffee this afternoon...and I have a bladder the size of a walnut.  SO...I figured a 30 second (literally) dash to the bathroom (just around the corner from the kitchen, leaving the door open, returning to the kitchen immediately to wash my hands) would be safe.

I am such a freaking moron.

I was in there maybe ten seconds, when Addie started crying and spun around the corner...her hand and mouth smeared with blood.

I picked my heart up off the floor, jammed it back into my chest, and started searching for the source of the blood.  Initially, I figured it was her mouth so while she wailed, I checked inside. Nothing.

Finally, I figured out that the blood was dripping from a tiny little prick on her tiny little finger.

What happened was this: the childproof lock on the utensils drawer broke a couple of weeks back.   Now, we pretty much hover over Adele because she is the reincarnation of Evil Knievel...the kid is "energetic" (READ: TASMANIAN DEVIL).  So we kind of put off fixing the lock. 

The drawer holds serving spoons and a wide variety of utensils for peeling and preparing.  No knives or anything like that...nothing sharp...we figured it was totally safe.  However, Addie managed to find the one utensil that was not TOTALLY safe. 

It's a cute little red vegetable peeler, made just like a carrot peeler only with serrated edges.  I'm not sure exactly what it's meant to peel...tomatoes?  Zucchini?  

At any rate, it peels fingertips verrrry neatly.

Poor Addie.  I held her in my arms while Etienne gently washed her little finger.  Then he applied her first-ever Band-Aid.  The wound was teeny tiny...and I mean MINISCULE...but we just felt AWFUL for her.  

We put her in her highchair and like a mad dog, she immediately tried to gnaw the Band-Aid off her finger.

She finally calmed down when we served her dinner...leftover crepes stuffed with ricotta cheese, asparagus, and smoked ham, lovingly prepared by her Grandmama.  Who wouldn't stop crying for that?  Addie ate like a trucker and all was well.

Well...except for me, with a little black hole of guilt in my heart...for an injury that was very minor but still drew blood.  

I know every parent takes their eyes off their children momentarily...and I know it's impossible to watch the little whirlwinds every second of every day.

But still.

For a parent who already wrestles with guilt, this was like being pinned to the mat and smacked down hard. 

Poor little troll.

Fixing the damned drawer right away.  

My guilty conscience will take longer.

Randomness

1.  Back after a week away and settling into the routine once again.  Trolls went off to respective holding cells with relative ease, and I did the groceries-laundry-etc etc etc (my last Thanksgiving-related day off work).  Having friends over for dinner tomorrow night, which calls for a few exceptional measures.  Vacuuming, for one.  I also baked cookies and only ate three.  A heroic effort, if I do say so myself.

2.  Realized today that we forgot one thing when we went away for a week.  And it was something that one DOES NOT want to forget.   Some background:  we use cloth diapers.  When they get dirty and are waiting to be washed, they go into a diaper pail.  Generally, we do a load every couple of days but last week, the morning we left fell on an odd day and...well...we forgot five dirty diapers in the pail.  FOR A WEEK.  I opened the lid this morning and I swear, a mushroom cloud billowed out and stripped the top layer of skin off my face with a blinding flash of light.  It was like the freaking APOCALYPSE.  I streaked to the laundry room holding the pail as far from my nose as possible...and then wrung every last drop out of the bleach bottle in an effort to clean the fluorescent, bubbling, goopy mess.  In the end, the diapers came out snowy white but OH THE HORROR.

3.  It's Friday night so Eva picked a movie...this week it was "Sleeping Beauty".  During the opening credits, she said, "This happened in the 14th century".  Indeed.  Why is it that my five-year-old can remember datelines of ancient Disney movies she has only seen once before, but she can't remember to LEAVE HER SISTER ALONE, even when I repeat that phrase every ten seconds of her life???

4.  Washed three of Etienne's good shirts.  The really good, expensive ones he wears for work.  The ones that aren't supposed to be WASHED, but rather lovingly dry-cleaned by fairies who use golden sparkly wands that tinkle as they wave magic cleaning dust over the shirts.  The shirts now fit Barbie dolls.  I am such an IDIOT.

5.  Slow-cooking a giant chunk of beef with star anise gravy tomorrow for guests.  Also having rosemary-roasted autumn vegetables and lots of WINE! WINE! WINE!  I know you're jealous.

Um...unless you're vegetarian.

      

Class with a Capital "K"

Tonight I went with the girls to the home of a good friend and her husband, to spend the afternoon and have dinner.

Now, they see the girls maybe once a year...so I tend to hope my children will behave relatively well when we visit.

And they did, until the middle of our lovely dinner, when Eva got up to go to the washroom.

All was quiet for a few minutes, and then suddenly she hollered down the hall:

"MAMA! I HAVE A GREAT BIG SKID!!!"


(audible, defeated little sigh)

Not nearly enough swear words...

...to describe THIS.

THIS happened around 4 this afternoon. It started as sleet and then morphed into big, fat, fluffy wet flakes that STUCK (the bastards).

I talked with Etienne on the phone and he said he wore SHORTS today, back home in the east.
SHORTS.

Eva is delighted.
Of course, she's not the one who has to stuff a toddler into a snowsuit all winter long.

It begins.

(insert heavy sigh here)

Had an amazing Thanksgiving dinner, thanks to my beautiful mum.
Being here with her and my dad - even for this short visit - is a gift.

I am lucky.

And I am thankful.

These poor people

1. We are home. It feels good. Saw my mum and dad and all is right with the world.

2. The girls were great on the plane - easier than I expected. We ate nearly everything I packed for lunch plus some Timatin (or whatever they're called) morning fatfest sandwiches. Good stuff. Addie slept about an hour and a half between Toronto and here...WAY TO GO, KID! And Eva drew and drew and drew and Kung Fu Pandaed.

3. Amazing arriving at the airport here and seeing two dear friends waiting with my dad to pick us up. I hadn't expected them. These are women I've known since I was just a single digit old. They are intelligent, strong, and beautiful...it made my heart sing to see them. So grateful to know them.

4. Eva was shocked to find out that my parents have more than one car.

Me: "That's because they don't have a subway here".

Eva: "NO SUBWAY??? HOW RUDE, those people who built this city. They didn't even think to put in a SUBWAY???"

Stops to pump a fistful of Froot Loops into her mouth.

Eva, with all the sympathy a five-year-old can muster: "These POOR PEOPLE. They don't even have a SUBWAY".

Sorry

To my faithful readers (hi, Mom!) I just want to say sorry...I've been nutso busy.

Two great friends from back home were kind enough to drop from the skies for a visit...and I spent so much time having fun that I haven't written anything.

And now I, too, am heading home...back to the golden wheatfields of my youth...although now that I think about it, I'm guessing harvest is over and it's all just a mass of baked brown fields.  I always picture fall as idyllic but now that I think about it, Saskatchewan autumns are basically one month of standing in a wind tunnel, followed by a giant dump of snow.  

At any rate, thrilled to head home with my girlies to see my family for Thanksgiving.  

The only thing I'm not looking forward to is the flight...between my own terror and having to control Adele, it's going to be a rough ride.   Anyone want to bet on how many times she'll streak down the aisle with her thumb in her mouth, grumbling about the food?  Or arch her back with an audible snap and enough force to bend steel, to escape my evil clutches during takeoff and landing?    

At least Eva's an old pro at this travel thing.  She'll draw, play with Polly Pockets, and giddily snack her way across three states and four provinces.

Will update asap...think low turbulence and gentle landing thoughts for me.

Today I forgot....

1.  Eva's gym outfit.  She had nothing to change into and wound up being the only kid running around in gym wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of shorts and a t-shirt.  This was a big deal for some reason, but she wasn't quite able to tell me exactly why.

2.  Eva's naptime blanket.  The kids spread the blankets around on the floor and lie down on top of them (oh, how lovely and comfortable that must be).  She says she had to lie down ON A TABLE.

Okay, once again I'm the only parent who forgot.  And it's not Etienne's fault at all because he didn't know I'd brought home the gym stuff and blanket to wash.  

He would not have forgotten, had he known.

I made cookies today, which must redeem me somewhat.

Off to cuddle with Eva, before she passes out for the night.  

If I haven't forgotten where to find her bedroom.

Stuff

1.  We are all sick.  We have all been sick all week.  So when Eva complained bitterly - and for several hours - of a sore throat, I decided to grab a flashlight and have a gander down her neck.  What I saw actually made me gasp audibly - her tonsils were two freaking BEACH BALLS.  I have never seen anything like it.  I went online shortly afterward and did a search for photos of tonsillitis - the example photos were like grains of sand compared to what was fighting for space in the back of my daughter's head.  Went to doctor.  Eva's doing fine.  Still complaining, but seems to be doing better.

2.  Adele helped me empty the dishwasher silverware holder yesterday.  Piece........by piece..........by.......................piece.   Took us about five hours, but she loved it.  She was one angry little troll when she realized I wasn't about to let help with the plates.   So I distracted her by letting her scoop out the litterbox.

3.   Addie said "bateau" today, as clear as a bell.  Up until now, it's been "baaadaaah".  SO COOL...too cute to hear her say the word properly, in her wee little 14-month-old's voice.  Time for me to start whispering the word "boat" in her ear.  

4.  Had to crack down on Eva tonight about her friends.  She's been crying and reacting badly after playing...never wants the good times to end.  Sorry kid, hate to break it to you, but they end.  So just hurry up with that bye-bye and let's go eat the slop I've poured out of a can for supper.  I tried to head the drama off at the pass today, by having a little chat with her BEFORE we invited her friend over.  She PROMISED that she would react calmly at the end of the playdate, and PROMISED that she would not get upset.  Well, that promise was broken FASTER THAN A BRITNEY SPEARS WEDDING VOW.   Tears, foot-stomping, the works.  We were NOT AMUSED.  Consequence...an immediate time-out, and no friends over on Monday.  We'll try again Tuesday.  Being the boom SUCKS.

5.  Watching the debate with Etienne.  We are both trying to stay awake but losing the battle. 

Actually, LOST the battle.

Good night!!!

p.s.  Kidding about the litterbox part.

Fresh Franglais

Eva:  "Tomorrow is the VRAI FÊTE of Romy.  And she INVENTED me at it."

Mama translation number one:  

"Tomorrow is Romy's birthday.  And she invited me to it."

Mama translation number two:

"Holy crap, next month's trip home for a week with my family - and some full-time English - COULD NOT COME AT A BETTER FREAKING TIME."

Add it all up in therapy

Today, Eva informed me that the kids at school are making fun of her.

I felt an immediate spasm of fear that AFTER ONLY TWO WEEKS IN SCHOOL, MY CHILD HAS ALREADY BEEN TOSSED TO THE LOSER PILE.

I envisioned twelve long years of school stretched out before my little girl...punctuated by unrelenting cruelty and mind-numbing solitude.  She'd grow up completely ignored by her cheery little classmates, with only Coco (her cat) for a best friend.  She'd go on to become a crazy lady, hoarding dozens of cats in her giant litterbox of a home and only going outside to shuffle off to the grocery store for Pop Tarts and TV dinners.  She'd spend her Saturday nights with cigarette after cigarette dangling from her thin dry lips, with multiple sheets of bingo numbers before her, dabbing in a frenzy.  Dabbing...dabbing...dabbing.

With an almost physical effort, I shoved all that aside and tentatively asked, "why are they making fun of you?"

And the horror of it was unimaginable.  

The awfulness.  

The pure brutality and cruelty of it all.

"They make fun of me because...."

PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT

"My thermos is NOT PRETTY".

Wha?

Are you kidding me???

I have an ulcer because YOUR THERMOS IS NOT PRETTY??????

Now, a month ago when I bought Eva's thermos, I chose it because it was a smart little multi-layered stainless steel number...with stainless steel interior (no BPA) and an easy-to-open lid.  It's just the perfect size for a five-year old.  Sucker was the most expensive of its kind at twenty-five bucks, but it's built to last and it's super quality.  

BUT APPARENTLY IT'S NOT PRETTY.

So my question is this.

Do I leave my child to the cats and bingo...

...or do I spring for another Thermos, ONLY PRETTY?

One of those

I remember when I was young and knew everything about parenting.

Of course I mean before I had kids.

I would see THOSE MOMS in stores...dragging whining kids with messy hair, wearing mismatched clothes with food plastered all over, invariably sucking on something, with boogers crusted all over their noses.

I remember thinking, WHEN I AM A MOTHER, I WILL HAVE MORE PRIDE.

What a freaking IDIOT I was.

Yesterday we woke up with colds.  All four of us.  So Etienne and I are spending the last real weekend of the summer wiping noses and dealing with grumpiness.

So today when I bundled the girls into the car to go to dance class, I didn't get that excited about the fact that Adele's face wasn't spotlessly clean.  Or that her tiny little jeans are slightly short (she's between sizes).  Or that Eva's dance leotard (pink) and leggings (burgundy) didn't match her flouncy light blue skirt (she chose her own outfit this morning).  Or that both girls had runny noses that were already irritated and sore from wiping.  

I left Eva at dance class and walked with Adele to the nearby drugstore, to pick up some Puffs tissues with lotion.  They are the creme de la creme of tissues for cold sufferers, and I refuse to go through a cold with anything less.   Addie's nose is bright red and has a small open sore on the nostril, from 12 hours of wiping with cheaper stuff.

On the way, Addie tumbled on the sidewalk and bonked her head, leaving a big red scrape on her forehead.  She cried pretty hard, poor little troll.  I scooped her up, gave her some loving, and we continued on our way.  It was almost her snack time, so I gave her a piece of dried fruit bar to suck on while I jammed her in the cart to search for tissues in the cavernous drugstore.

I reached the cash register and the checkout girl - in her early twenties and beautiful - looked at my child and then at me.  Her distaste was tangible.

I looked at my child.

Addie had sticky, messy hair...a big scrape on her forehead...a big red sore on her bright red nose, which was lightly crusted with dried snot.  Fresh snot oozed down toward her lip, fighting for space with sticky red bits of dried fruit.  There was more red drooly gooeyness all over the front of her jacket and all over her hands.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery from her cold, and she was breathing through her mouth and whining slightly, desperate to be freed from the cart.

It suddenly struck me...I had turned into THAT MOTHER.  

With one of THOSE CHILDREN.

It's not the first time that I've realized my children aren't models of perfection.  I suppose no one's children are...although some certainly seem to be.

But this was the first time that I've ever looked at my child so critically...with the eye of the well-turned-out beautiful twenty-something who was staring at both of us. 

And let me tell you...without a second's hesitation...

I AM DAMNED PROUD.

Brave

I took Eva to get a tooth filled yesterday.

I'm not nuts about her dentist, I must admit.

She has a rather harsh, abrasive style and was once quite rude with Eva...which I felt was inappropriate even though Eva was behaving as though the dentist was going to remove her teeth one by one with a chainsaw and then seal her lips shut with a blowtorch, rather than just LOOK INSIDE HER MOUTH.  

Now, this dentist's policy is that children over the age of five go in alone.  She's been a pediatric dentist for about 20 years...and she says parents these days interfere the second a child squeaks...and that just complicates everything.  

This was Eva's fourth trip.  We had spent the previous evening getting her geared up...you'll get to leave school early...go to a playground...then get a NEW! PINK! PRINCESS! TOOTHBRUSH! - andohyeahgotothedentist.

Eva was ready. 

The two other children in the waiting room were not.  They were about the same age as Eva, and both were SOBBING.  Eva went to them in turn and informed them that WE ARE SIMILAR AGES AND I AM NOT CRYING BECAUSE GOING TO THE DENTIST IS NOTHING TO CRY ABOUT.   IN FACT, I AM SMALLER THAN YOU.  SO STOP CRYING.     

Anyway, her name was called and she marched into that office like she owned it.

Then the screams started.

Not my child.

These were the cries of a child who was already inside with the dentist.  The screams of a boy whose voice was cracking.  A teenager.

Suddenly the door burst open and a boy about 15 years old appeared, waving his arms and pointing to his mouth saying, "picure, picure"...which in French means needle.  The hygienist sort of pulled him back in and closed the door.  The screaming stopped for a moment.

Everyone in the waiting room sort of looked around at one another.

Then I noticed a man sitting beside me, wringing his hands.  

The boy's father.

I said, "it doesn't get easier, does it?"  He nodded - with tears in his eyes - and agreed.

Then the shouting started again.  The door opened a second time, and the boy came out waving his arms. He ran to the man, howling "picure, picure...non non non...picure" in his cracking boy-man voice.  The dad helped him sit next to me,  spent a moment gently talking with the boy to calm him down, and then went inside to talk with the hygienist who was standing by the open door.  

The waiting room was silent, except for the sounds of the boy rocking on the chair, crying loudly and gulping for air.

After a moment, Eva skipped out with a huge grin on her face and a brand new plastic ring on her finger.  I was so proud of her...so brave, my big girlie.

But the person whose bravery really and truly struck me at that moment...was the father of the boy.

A boy who is no longer cute and little, but who still cries and screams when frightened.  Whose behaviour attracts the shocked stares of everyone in the room.  Who still reacts the way my daughter did when she was three...and who may continue to react that way for his entire life.

It struck me just how damned hard this parenting thing can really be.  How you sign up for the ideal...but what you get is a roll of the dice.  And I'm not suggesting that this boy's parents don't love him dearly for everything he is, including the challenges he faces.  Or that he doesn't give them an incredible amount of love in return. 

I'm just saying it's got to be damned hard, sometimes.

When Eva and I left, the man was still inside talking with the hygienist.  His son was slowly starting to calm down...a big sweet-faced kid with tousled hair.  I just felt so badly for the boy...you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and make him feel better. 

I really wish I'd have stayed for a moment to say goodbye...to say to the man that I thought his son had a beautiful face, with lovely sweet eyes.  To somehow let him know I respect how hard it must be at times, to parent a child with special needs.  That it's okay if his kid screams and makes noise.  Hell, he can make a whole lot more if it helps him feel just a little bit better.

But Eva was already tugging my hand to leave.

I walked out the door into the sunshine with my own child.

Vowing to be braver.

Why my next child will be a geranium, part two.

Lately, Eva's listening skills suck.

Well, I shouldn't really say that...they've always kind of sucked. But recently she's had moments when I swear I'm living with Helen Keller. KID.HEARS.NOTHING. And Etienne and I have been getting a bit tired of repeating everything six-thousand times at volume levels ranging from speaking voice to shouting-at-your-drunk-friend-in-a-bar-while-a-cover-band-plays-Highway-to-Hell.

And don't get me started on the attitude. When she finally does hear, she grumbles...complains....whines about how SHE DOES EVERYTHING AROUND THE HOUSE...and WHAT AM I, YOUR MACHINE??? Trust me, we are cracking down.

Anyway.

Etienne had to work late this evening, so I was on my own. I was about to dish up supper.
Addie had been jammed into her highchair and tied down, and the table was set.
All that remained was for Eva to shuffle to the table and assemble herself in front of the trough.

Eva: "Can I put on this tattoo?"

Me: "Not right now, we are going to eat. After."

Silence while I dish up food.

Five seconds go by.
I turn around and see Eva with a sopping wet washcloth, cheerily applying the tattoo.

Eva: " Look! I put on my tattoo!"

Me: "What did I say about putting on the tattoo?"

Eva: "Um..."

Me: "Did you hear me say NOT RIGHT NOW?"

Eva: "Um..."

Me: "DID YOU HEAR ME SAY NOT RIGHT NOW?"

Eva: "Yes"

Me: "You heard me. You heard me say NOT RIGHT NOW"

Eva: "Yes"

SO. I quietly took the wet washcloth...and I scrubbed that blasted tattoo right off her arm (it was still wet so it came off easily).

Eva was FURIOUS. Beyond furious. She spat fire at me and then tore half my face off and spat it out beneath the highchair.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

YOU TOOK IT OFFFFF!!!

YOU TOOK MY TATTOOOOOOO!!!

"YOU! TOOK! MY! LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!!!"

Geez Eva...DRAMA MUCH???

Can't wait for thirteen...and battles over real tattoos.

GOOD TIMES AHEAD.

You'll find me hiding in my nice clean purse.

And a partridge in a pear tree (oink oink)

Cleaned out my purse today.

I love my purse.

It's an exorbitantly expensive leather jobby that Etienne bought me for Christmas one year. The leather is soft as buttah but it's HUGE and sturdy enough to haul an Austen Mini.
Which is pretty much what I had in it, when my disgust finally bubbled over and I attacked that sucker.

(Swallowing my shock and embarrassment)
Here's what I found:

-Two pens (only one of which worked)
-Three Kleenexes (only one of which was clean - I know, I know, GROSS)
-No less than thirty receipts - stashed conveniently in my bulging (with receipts) wallet
-Five stray Cheerios in various stages of crumble
-One metal water bottle, half-full (half empty? Nah, I'm a half-full kinda gal)
-A baggie with a portable container of applesauce...and a wee plastic red spoon (which had fled the baggie and was floating wildly free in my purse)
-A small tube of Dove hand cream (cheap and I like their advertising)
-A small tube of Purell (I'm a little OCD about the bacteria)
-A small bag of disinfectant wipes (Those restaurant highchair trays are DISGUSTING!!!)
-A small digital camera in a carrying case (you never know when the kids'll do something absurdly cute, like blink or breathe)
-A Clarins Colour Quench Lip balm in #15 (the shite drugstore didn't have Biotherm)
-A Burt's Bees Lip balm in papaya (supposedly fewer chemicals but the colour sucks and it tastes like crap)
-Coupons for taxis
-my work ID card on a handy dandy lanyard. Ugliest photo I have ever taken.
-three stray papers with unidentifiable phone numbers on them - oh so handy if I ever want to call...um...someone?
-two small empty plastic Tupperware containers, which held Trail Mix and chocolate chip cookies when I left for work this morning.
-my cel phone (which I can never find because it's always hiding under everything else I've listed thus far)
HEY! I FOUND MY CEL PHONE!!!

I swear it felt like I'd pulled a freaking PIANO out of that bag and left it by the side of the road.

SO much lighter.
SO much cleaner.
SO much less embarrassing when I have to search for something.

It's a good day.

Friends forever...well, for now

I remember the first time a friend let me down.

Her name was Lori, and our parents were friends.
I went to her fifth birthday party - an event I still remember clearly to this day because it was my FIRST! PARTY! EVER! We played pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and ate hot dogs. I remember ordering mine WITH EVERYTHING EXCEPT ONIONS. I remember liking my shoes.

Anyway, Lori and I were friends for ages (well, a year or so) and this girl named Vanessa moved onto the block.
Vanessa was bigger, somehow...she was in the same grade as us but seemed much more mature.
Lori met Vanessa while my family was away for a few weeks...so by the time I got back, they were best friends.
And I was...out.

There were THREE WEEKS OF LIFE...THREE WEEKS OF SHARED HISTORY that I had completely missed.
An eternity of experiences, when you're six.

Suddenly Lori was no longer really interested in me. I'd call (I still remember her childhood phone number) and she'd say that she was going to Vanessa's house. And then she wouldn't invite me.

It broke my heart.
(Although I did a helluva lot better a year later when Vanessa's dad got transferred and they moved to Alberta)

ANYWAY...all this is to say that I know how Eva's best friend Romy felt today.

Eva went out this morning with Romy and her mum...they were gone a few hours and when they came back to our house, I opened the door to find a grinning Eva, a crying Romy, and a rolling-her-eyes-in-empathy-and-amusement Romy's mom.

Apparently, conversation in the car had swung to "best friends" and Eva had chosen that exact moment to drop the bomb that Romy was NO LONGER HER BEST FRIEND. Eva had suddenly replaced Romy with some kid from school.

Romy and Eva have been best friends for half their lives, so you can imagine how poor little Romy took the news.

Personally, I think it was just a little power-trip on Eva's part...she's known Romy forever and they absolutely adore one another.

But for a parent, it was really a bittersweet little moment.

I remember so well how Romy feels. Even though 30-odd years have gone by, I still remember the pain of that betrayal I felt when I was six.
That sort of pain stays with you - it's one of the few things that does, as we grow - and it shapes the way you approach all your friendships after that.

Things seem to be smoothed over now...they're downstairs playing and laughing as though an hour ago, Romy wasn't weeping bitterly for her little broken heart.

But this little incident really struck me.

There's no pain like the betrayal of a friend.
And no one feels pain as keenly as a small child.

I also know that eventually, it'll be my child's turn.

Kindergarten memories

Me: "SO.....what did you do today at school?"

Eva: "Oh...um...nothing"

Me: "You sat there and picked your nose all day long?"

Eva (brightly): "YEAH!"

At least she didn't crap in the tub

Today while supper cooked...(cod au gratin, white/brown steamed rice, steamed baby carrots and zucchini, and spaghetti squash with a sprinkle of brown sugar)...I got down on the floor with Eva.

She had spread out her Polly Pockets all over the place, and I had some time (which is rare around suppertime) so I wanted to play with her.

She humoured me for about 30 seconds before finally sighing heavily and saying, "Can I play alone now, Mama?"

Me: blink blink

DID I HEAR THAT CORRECTLY???
WAS I JUST SUMMARILY DISMISSED BY MY FIVE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER???

Yeah, that's EXACTLY what happened, Mama Bear.

Remember that scene in Braveheart? The one at the end where Mel Gibson is slowly eviscerated and he howls in agony??
That's pretty much how I felt.

Soon afterward, Addie added further fuel to the "my child is rejecting me" fire by staggering out of her bath, stomping naked into the kitchen, and PEEING ALL OVER THE FLOOR AT MY FEET.

Little maggots.

I'm off to nurse my wounds in the tub.
At least for once, Addie had the sense to hold her bodily functions back until she was out of it.
Perhaps she's learning.

Although personally, I suspect she's just expanding her "SCREW YOU, MAMA" repertoire.

Tomorrow, they both get ROCKS for breakfast.

Isn't she lovely

In a spasm of femininity, I went with Eva to get a pedicure today.

My feet had reached the point where I was embarrassed to show them in public. My old polish job looked like it had been done at the CNIB and then run through a cheese grater. And I had about three inches of callous on the back of my heels. So I kind of felt badly for the pedicurist, who managed to mask her disgust behind a beautiful facade of politeness.

I took Eva with me, thinking it'd be fun for her to get her toenails done, too (not the full treatment, just the polish job). Be ye not so stupid in future - her threshold for quiet, well-behaved waiting is about 40 minutes. By the time we left after an hour and a quarter, she was practically gnawing on her own leg to escape. But I digress.

We both chose our colours and had at it. She - surprisingly - went subtle...some sort of cotton candy-esque pink polish which was remarkably appropriate for a five-year-old. I was rather shocked...apparently being at school has had some impact on her taste in polish colour, which up until now has pretty much been limited to I'm a Slut Red and Screw me Crimson.

They propped Eva up on a bed with pillows behind her head, telling her all the while that she was a beautiful princess. She was SO EXCITED and reacted the way she always does - by talking non-stop. The poor pedicurist could barely keep up. I sat back and laughed and took pictures.



The best part was coming home...Etienne oohed and aahed when we came in with our perfect, lovely clean toes with their spotlessly shiny polish.

Little Addie came over to meet me...I was talking with Etienne.
SO I didn't even notice as she - intrigued by the purple polish on her mama's feet - TOOK HER FINGERNAIL AND SCRATCHED A THICK WHITE LINE IN THE DRY BUT STILL-SOFT POLISH ON MY BIG TOE.

AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's ALWAYS that way. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, there's always something not quite right about my appearance. You know? I'm the one who unwittingly goes out with toothpaste dribbles down the front of my black top. Or baby snot on my left shoulder. Or a fossilized Cheerio stuck to my ass.

I've come to accept and even embrace it.
I was just not meant to be a sweet, delicate model of perfect femininity, no matter how hard I try.

But I'm dealing with it. At least the nails on my left foot are beautiful.

Anyway, off to scrape my legs.
Might go swimming tomorrow.

Must look nice.

My husband comes home tonight

The title says it all.

I am happy and relieved.

One thing to add...last night I was reading a blog that mentioned how the younger Spears daughter (the one who recently popped a kid at 17) sent a baby gift to the older Palin daughter (the one who will soon pop a kid at 17)...the blogger said something to the effect that upon learning of the Spears' family's endorsement, McCain was last seen shoving a grenade into his mouth. The last bit made me giggle and Eva asked why.

I said, "oh it's just the United States presidential election campaign".

She slapped her head and sighed dramatically, then said, "Oh man, not again. THEY TALK ABOUT THAT THING ALL THE TIME"

Child of two journalists.

THAT'S MY GIRL.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks

My husband is in Louisiana.

I was standing outside Eva's school when he called to tell me that he had been asked to go to New Orleans to cover Hurricane Gustav.  I was with about 20 other parents, waiting for our children to come out after their first full day of kindergarten.   All of us were standing there chatting...pretending (at least in my case) to be shiny, upstanding,  and responsible.

Well, I nicely smashed that facade into a million little pieces by saying a swear word.  LOUDLY.  Prompting twenty sets of eyes to shoot rapidly and accusingly in my direction.  BAD MOMMY.  

I have to admit, I was really scared this time.  I mean, I LOVE THE GUY.  I don't want him driving into a city while everyone else is driving out.  I don't want him in a place where, three years ago after a similar hurricane, people were shooting each other in the street over bags of ice.  I don't want him in a place where winds are strong enough to flip cars and KNOCK DOWN A TEN-STORY CHIMNEY RIGHT NEXT TO HIM DURING HIS LIVE HIT ON SUNDAY MORNING AND I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW RELIEVED I AM THAT THE FALLING BRICKS MISSED HIM AND I REALLY WISH I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THAT PART.  Yikes. 

The other thing is that we have two small children.  And with my shift...which starts at 4:30 a.m....you can imagine the logistics of organizing the two dropoffs.

GOD BLESS THE INLAWS, is all I can say to that.  We are staying at their place and they're handling the morning feeding/washing/clothing/tossing-out-the-car-door-at-the-respective-places-of-learning stuff.  It's been just fantastic staying at their place.

Well, fantastic except for one thing.

Eva is sleeping with me.

Now, I know I have waxed poetic about napping with my girlie.

I LOVE napping with my girlie.

Sleeping with her all night, however, is a DIFFERENT STORY.

She snores.

She mumbles.

She sweats like William Shatner running the New York Marathon.

And she plasters herself to you.  No matter how much you push her away, within minutes she's wrapped around you again.

But by far her worst habit...a habit that has made me NUTS ever since she was a baby...she searches constantly for bumps on your exposed skin.  And once she finds a bump, she picks it.

And picks it.  And picks it.  

That doesn't sound so bad.  But just imagine...

All night long.

Tiny fingers skittering over your arms and your face.

Searching, searching, searching...then picking.

Picking.

PICKING.

I love napping with my child.

Sleeping with her at night, however, is worse than jamming flaming bamboo under your fingernails and using a jackhammer to shove them in nice and tight.

At least it likely won't be long...Gustav turned out to be much less nasty than his sister Katrina.

Hopefully Etienne will be back by the weekend.

Let me tell you...for so many, many reasons...I CAN'T FREAKING WAIT.

Fly, little butterfly

My big girl officially started school yesterday.

Eva handled it with her usual aplomb.  She even let us take a few pictures - an operation I would normally compare to chopping off my own appendages with a rusted butter knife.  All we're doing is trying to get a record of her life, and we get treated like we're the paparazzi and she's Britney Spears on her way to another breakdown.

Anyway, yesterday morning she clearly felt she had matured because while I was getting ready (making a half-assed attempt to look presentable to the other parents) she came into the bathroom and leaned against the door jamb.

Eva:  "So...whatcha doing?"

Me:  "Oh, getting ready.  Doing my makeup"

Eva:  (casually)  "So...um...do you think maybe it's kinda important for me to have some this morning?"

Yeah, right.

As if I'll send you off on your first day of kindergarten looking like a tramp.  (note - the "I'm-a-Slut-Red" toenail polish Eva is currently wearing occurred in a moment of maternal weakness).

You know, I don't remember my first day.  I do remember watching a kid eat a bottle of Elmer's glue and then vomiting grey all over his artwork (in some cities, that's considered performance art).  I also remember really loving my teacher, Mrs. Peterson.  But beyond that, my memories of kindergarten are fairly hazy.  

But going back with Eva was SO COOL!

It was so interesting watching her manoeuvre her way through the first-morning stuff.  We trouped into the gym and she had to raise her hand when her name was called...then follow her new teacher to her new classroom.  She had to draw a picture of her summer vacation...she drew a tent and a giant warship with cannons (I remember her going camping with her dad, but I don't quite recall a battle at sea.)

Another interesting part for me was looking around and considering all the potential of these fresh-faced little trolls.  Which kid will be Eva's best friend?  Which kid will torture her by making fun of her name?  Which kid will be the snob?  The athlete?  The clown?  The inappropriate dresser?  (note to self - remove Eva's toenail polish asap)

It almost overwhelms me, thinking about what role my child will take on.  School opens up so many possibilities...so much joy, success, laughter...and yes, occasionally, tears and heartbreak. 

But the first day is over.  

My girl marched up those steps with that piano-sized backpack, smiling and confident as though she had been doing it all her life.  

Fly, my beautiful little butterfly.  We are so very proud of you.  

Trust me...you'll like it.

Okay, I know you're going to laugh at me for making my own granola.
Trust me on this one.
It's worth it.

HOMEMADE GRANOLA (from my friend Laure)

• 3 parts rolled oats
• 1 part sesame seeds
• 1 part sunflower seeds
• 1 part chopped almonds
• 1 part chopped walnuts
• 1/2 part wheat germ
• 1 part coconut

• 1 part raisins, craisins, chopped dried apricots, etc.

For every 10 parts of dry ingredients (NOT including fruit) add 1/2 cup vegetable oil and 1/2 cup honey. Stir until granola is moistened.
Spread on cookie sheets, not more than 1.5 inches thick.
Roast at 250F (120C)...stirring occasionally, until crunchy and brown. It takes about 1/2 hour, maybe more in total.

Cool, then stir in dried fruit.
Store in an airtight jar and use within a week or two.

This is so darned good with yogurt or with milk...some blueberries...we go through it like crazy.

p.s. We replaced the !%@?$&! sump pump and cleaned out the mould. GRRRRRRR.

Naps and monsters

This weekend was the last weekend before Eva starts school.  It was just super - filled with playgrounds, swimming pools, farm-fresh corn and sweet tomatoes.

But the best part, by far happened Saturday afternoon.

We put Adele down for her regular afternoon nap and of course, she went down like a champion.  Eva's not much of a napper now...at five, she's getting a bit beyond needing one.  But this was Saturday afternoon...she had gone to bed late on Friday night...and her grumpy side was rearing its ugly head and BITING OUR FACES OFF just a little too often.

So I convinced her to come lie down with me.

The day was unbelievably hot and humid so she was covered in her customary layer of sweat and sunscreen, just stinking of summer.  We curled up between the cool sheets (400 threadcount Egyptian, on sale at Winners), cuddled up close, and it took only about 30 seconds for her to begin breathing deeply.  

Now, naps with my beautiful little girl have always been one of my life's greatest pleasures.  I always say, "okay, Eva...I think it's time for you and me to take a little walk"  She knows what I mean and may occasionally protest a bit, but she always winds up trotting off to the bedroom.  

I'm telling you, nothing can compare to lying down in the middle of summer, cuddled up with your child, with a slight breeze moving the curtains and the gentle noise of the streets humming in the background. Eva didn't sleep long, but it was long enough to take me back to when she was a baby and we started our weekend nap tradition.  I know these are stolen moments now...that my little girl is getting bigger and very soon she won't nap at all.  So Saturday's little nap just topped me up and made my spirit overflow.  

Speaking of overflowing...(note abrupt change of topic here)

...our basement pump and dehumidifier have failed us.

And failed us in SPECTACULAR fashion.

The pump is located in a corner in the basement where we never go, behind a low section of wall we never really see.  We store some old boxes and suitcases there and have pretty much left it alone for about a year.

Well, we shouldn't have.

This summer has been like monsoon season in Bangladesh.  It has rained at least every second day...and not just slight rains.  It has rained enough that one might consider building a freaking ark.  

We were so, so stupid not to check that corner at least once in the past few weeks.  Because today, when I went downstairs and found a light sheen of water on the basement floor surrounding that corner, I began moving suitcases and boxes.

IT WAS LIKE SOMEONE HAD JAMMED A GIANT STICK OF DYNAMITE DOWN OSCAR THE GROUCH'S THROAT.  AND lit the fuse...AND left his greasy green furry remains spattered all over the bottom of the wall.  I would post a photo if the camera lens hadn't shattered at the sight of it all.  OH THE HORROR.  OH THE HORROR.  OH THE HORROR.

 I just went to the hardware store and bought the most toxic mould-killer I could find (if you know me and bacteria, you'll understand my hysteria) and I am about to go down and do battle.  

I'm a prairie girl.  I'm not used to humidity like this.  I'm not used to mean green bacteria and spores spawning in my home.  If I had a hazmat suit, I'd put it on.  IT'S THAT DISGUSTING.  

If I never post again, you'll know that I lost the fight.

ACK

Wish me luck.  

Assuming pleasure means PINK

Eva and I went shopping for back to school clothes today.

I pulled out an adorable little khaki-coloured dress.  

Me:  "What do you think of this one?"

Eva:  "No, no, no.  Not that one.  I need a dress with MORE PLEASURE"

Uh...right.

Daddy doing double duty

I have to leave for a two day retreat to prep for relaunch of the show.
It'll be fun, but leaving my little family is so darned hard!

Hopefully my colleagues aren't offended when I crawl under the table, sweeping up their crumbs. Or when I helpfully cut their meat into pea-sized pieces. Or when I incessantly repeat my mealtime mantra, SIT ON YOUR BUM AND FACE YOUR FOOD. YES, YOU HAVE TO EAT THE GREEN ONES. I SAID SIT ON YOUR BUM AND FACE YOUR FOOD. YOUR DESSERT IS RIDING ON THIS. YOU DROP THAT ON THE FLOOR AND I SWEAR YOU WILL NEVER GET ANOTHER MEAL IN THIS HOUSE AS LONG AS WE BOTH SHALL LIVE. FOR THE LAST TIME, SIT ON YOUR BUM AND FACE YOUR FOOD. YOU'RE KILLING ME, EVA. KILLING ME DEAD.

What am I going to DO during my meals, for the next two days???
Have adult conversations and quietly enjoy the food?
SAY WHA???

I miss them desperately, already.

Good morning, sweet maggots

Because of my job, I leave the house at around 4 in the morning while everyone else is slumbering silently.  Well, almost silently; Eva snores like a jumbo jet landing on the lawn next door.

Before I head out, I generally slip into the girls' room for a quick goodbye (unless I don't have time because I'm searching frantically for taxi money).   I've always had a sort of superstition about leaving without giving them kisses.  It's as though I think that my goodbye kisses will somehow protect them.  Forget those annoying seatbelts, kid, MAMA'S KISS WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.  Go ahead and jump in the car with that stranger who offers you a Kit Kat...MAMA'S KISS WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.  Dumb, I know, but when faced with the overwhelming stress of sending your little butterflies off into the big bad world, you hold onto any talisman you can find to keep the zillions of daily dangers at bay.

Anyway, I slip in and go to kiss them...Eva snoring gently, Addie in her usual position on her stomach with her hands down by her sides.  They're so beautiful when they sleep...so sweet and soft, and for a brief shining moment, NOT MAKING A MESS.

Now, here is another example of how different my trolls are.  With Eva, I could tie my kiss to a cinderblock and drop it on her head from three feet up, and she wouldn't wake up.  With Adele, I could stand across the street and THINK about kissing her, and she'd wake up.  This morning, she stirred in her crib when I kissed my hand and brushed her head with the tips of my fingers...but she went back to sleep.  Eva, of course, didn't MOVE.

That little moment kept me warm inside for much of the morning.

Violent change of topic - there's a spider THE SIZE OF MY HEAD living in our compost bin.  I swear, that ugly mother builds her web out of TWO-BY-FOURS across the mouth of that bin every single freaking day.   Today I smashed through it with a squishy bulb of fennel and some celery that had miraculously turned to green rope while hiding in the back of my produce drawer.  Hoping she'll finally get the message and GET THE HELL OUT OF MY COMPOST BIN.  Hate those things with a passion normally reserved for flying during thunderstorms and picking soggy turds out of the tub with my fingers.

On that tidy note, I'm off to make supper.  

Ruining my child's future, one duotang at a time

So yesterday I went to buy Eva's school supplies.  I must admit that I stood there blinking momentarily at the cash register, wondering if my poor French skills were to blame for the fact that the total amount due seemed to be MORE THAN THE COST OF OUR HOME. But no, I wasn't lost in translation...we really did need a second mortgage to pay for all this stuff.  No clue how my parents did it with four of us.  Not only that, but finding everything on the list is like searching for the freaking holy grail.  In this case, the grail was a SINGLE YELLOW DUOTANG. 

The handy-dandy school supplies list said she needed - among other things - FOUR duotangs of differing colours...one red, one blue, one green, and one yellow.  The first three were easy enough to find but I swear, that yellow one aged me five years.  I wandered the aisles with my overflowing cart, envisioning what might happen if I sent her to school with one red, one blue, one green, and one ORANGE duotang. 

I could just picture it.   Kids would make fun of her.  She'd be confused and feel bullied.  She'd begin to hate school and would agonize over that moment every day when she had to face that blasted ORANGE duotang.  She'd quit school in fourth grade and become an agoraphobic bum, living in our basement eating chips and flipping aimlessly through the channels.  We'd have to pay for her therapy and cable bills, and would never be able to afford retirement (although now that I think about it, after paying for school supplies, we'll never be able to afford retirement anyway).   OH WHERE ARE YOU YELLOW DUOTANG???  Finally found one (ONE!) hiding under a stack of construction paper pads.  I practically pumped my fist in the air in victory.

Got up early today...started my new gig upstairs in radio!  

Now I know you're thinking that "early" means 5 or something.  NO, no, no, grasshopper....five o'clock is for wusses and babies.  My alarm now goes off at 3:45 am...and let me tell you...3:45 is DAMNED EARLY. 

At that hour, I have to take a taxi to work.  Of course, it was only AFTER I had dialled the number that it struck me: I HAVE NO CASH.  Hoping to find a misguided and forgotten twenty dollar bill, I opened my wallet only to be attacked by moths and tumbleweeds.   This prompted a spectacular round of swearing (silently, mustn't wake the slumbering family) as I tore on tiptoe through the house searching for change.  Raided my husband's wallet, finding enough money to get me about to the end of the block.  Finally I remembered my secret lost-change-found-in-pockets stash down in the laundry room.  And there was enough.  The gods of early-morning radio were indeed smiling on me.

As for tomorrow, not sure what the hell I'll use to pay the driver because everything else we had went to pay for EVA'S BLASTED SCHOOL SUPPLIES.  

One last note...Addie's rash has disappeared.  It was indeed a vaccination reaction.  It's too bad, really...I was starting to like my baby polka-dotted.  It added visual interest.  But SO glad she's better!

Spots and marshmallows

About ten days ago, Adder had her one-year shots.

Today, she broke out in a spectacular lacy pink pattern all over her body.  And it is indeed spectacular.  Started a bit on her face...really light this morning.  Part of me figured it was just a minor skin rash because she's teething and is drooling her body weight every half hour.  Also my view on childhood illness is...NO FEVER, NO STAY HOME.  By the time we picked her up at daycare in the afternoon, there was still no fever but her entire body was spotted pink.

I'm pretty sure that it's a reaction to the MMR shot.   I read a bit on the internet about MMR reactions, so I'm fairly certain that's what it is.  I must admit, it's a total pain sorting through all the anti-vax crap.  Some scary stories out there and while I KNOW they're written by the ill-informed, it's hard to ignore sometimes when your child is clearly having some sort of reaction.

Anyway, we're keeping an eye on her.  

Eva, meanwhile, is farting fire.  Last night she and her papa went camping at Orford and had a blast.  Addie and I were on our own and I couldn't believe how QUIET the house was.  Unless Eva is sleeping, our house knows no more than 2.3 seconds of consecutive silence at a time.  So let me tell you, getting a call this morning that started, "HI MOMMY!!!" pretty much MADE MY DAY.    

She described her day but the MAIN EVENT...the EVENT that she COULDN'T STOP TALKING ABOUT...she ate seven marshmallows!!!!   SEVEN!!!!  She said it like it was SO MUCH.   Personally I think seven shows remarkable restraint.  Seven is a marshmallow appetizer for me, particularly when my ass is parked in a lawnchair in front of a campfire.  Seven.  Pfffft. Grasshopper.

Tomorrow - unless her rash explodes - Adder will go to the g'rents in Sainte Julie.  Eva is staying at her aunt Isabelle's in Orford...and Etienne and I are actually taking time for OURSELVES.  Chillin like villains and then going for a lovely dinner at a sweet little bistro in Outremont.  

Can't wait.

Randomness

Eva came with me on the bus this morning and we walked hand-in-hand through the Village, on our way to work.
Going through the Village is always fodder for interesting coversations: "Gee, people on this street sure like rainbows!"..."Why are the two naked men on that poster soaping each other in the shower?"..."Why is that man dressed up like a woman?" That sort of thing.

1. Today in the Village we wandered along and came across a rumpled woman with wild hair and even wilder eyes. She'd clearly been out all night, and shrieked when she saw us.

Woman: "HEY! Make sure you don't forget who you are!"
Me: "Okay...don't worry, I won't"
Woman: "I'm sure you won't. You know, you should try INVISIBILITY."
Me: "Maybe I will"
Woman: "I'm sure you will. Soon you won't have a CHOICE"

This sort of interaction always throws me a little. I mean, I know she's a crazy lady whom life has kicked in the head once too many times. But admittedly, there's a teeny weeny piece of me that kind of wonders, WHAT DO YOU KNOW, LADY? I know that's crazy. But if I suddenly disappear, you'll know who called it.


2. Arriving at the cafeteria at work, Eva said, "why are they renovating? It was so beautiful before". Must remember to make appointment to GET EVA'S EYES CHECKED.


3. Sore back tooth. Radiating up to my eye socket. This is not good. Should perhaps also make appointment with dentist...it's been shockingly long since I last saw one. I worry they'll just look inside and say, "ALL THESE SUCKERS GOTTA COME OUT" and fire up the chainsaw. Perhaps I should deal with this before I have to start enunciating for a living again, instead of just waving my arms and throwing things at people.

That is all.
As you were.