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.