As my red wine turns to vinegar in the glass

Went to a house party last night.

We were both amused when an acquaintance walked in with her 13 year old daughter.

The girl was wearing a skintight black dress with a slinky belt, high boots, and about an inch of black eyeliner under each eye.

She grunted greetings, stood uncomfortably, and flipped her hair constantly.

She and her skinny, pimpled little boyfriend quickly disappeared downstairs to "watch a movie".

Etienne and I kind of smiled, thinking "how cute" until it struck us both at the same time.

THAT IS OUR DAUGHTER IN SEVEN YEARS.

Lord help us.

2.  Eva, to a man and woman seated together at the same party:  "So...are you guys separated, then?"

3.  Eva:  "I'll never try smoking.  Never.  I will never, ever try smoking." 

(pause)

"Well, except for smoked salmon"

I hope in seven years, when she's dressed like a wee little hooker and prepping for a snog session with her skinny, pimpled boyfriend, that she still feels that way.

Argh...this parenting thing is freaking TERRIFYING.

I melt

Last night I dreamed that Adele was missing.

I don't remember any details beyond that, other than the fact that eventually, police found her and brought her back.

In the dream, I heard her crying as I raced out the door to rejoin her...and in my dream, I fell on a mat on the porch; wailing and so emotionally spent that I could not get up.

Then I woke up.

And so, instead of just standing in the doorway of their room and blowing kisses to each of my sleeping girls as I rushed out to work at 4 this morning, I actually entered the room to kiss them.

There are always two kisses each.  

One for the heart, and one for the head.

And as I give them their kisses, I always mentally say, "Keep living, keep loving".

Always.

Anyway, with the adrenaline from my dream still making me a bit shaky...I went into the bedroom to give them their kisses.    I just needed to touch my girls - to feel the warmth of their baby skin and touch their soft hair for a moment. 

As I bent over to kiss Eva, she whispered quietly in the darkness, "Goodbye, Mama.  I love you."

And I tell you with complete honesty...,if there is no reward beyond that in this journey of mine...

That will have been enough.

At least she didn't crap in the tub part two

Adele farted her way through the nightly bath, sounding less like a toddler and more like a jumbo jet landing in the backyard.

She farted bubbles in the water with enough force to power the freaking Titanic.

So you can understand why we expedited the bathing process, and loaded her into her pyjamas with relative speed.

Farting with reckless abandon - at least on the part of Adder - is generally considered a good sign that something's coming down the pipe.

All was quiet until just before we were about to throw her in her cage - I mean, crib - for the night.

Etienne noticed the smell first...and hauled our girl off for a diaper change.

After a moment:  "Kristy!  Come here!"

I went to Addie's bedroom, expecting a diaper blowout.

What awaited me was much, much more spectacular.

Me:  "It's BLUE"

Etienne:  "It's kind of green, I think"

Me:  "I really think it's blue"

Adele (helpfully): "BOO?"

I swear, it was BLUE.

In fact, I have rarely seen such a lovely, delicate shade of ROBIN'S EGG BLUE.

I remember when I was little and our dogs would eat our mislaid crayons, and for days afterward, our lawn would look positively festive, festooned with a sprinkling of multicoloured waxy confetti.

But at least then, we knew what caused it.

I have no idea what the hell that kid ate, to shoot that alien colour into her diaper.

There has been no blue jello...no blue whales...no recent blueberries or dark grapes.

This is a child who survives on AIR most of the time.

Although I suppose she's 18 months old...and basically a 22-pound Hoover trawling the floor.

The felt from a marker???

Crayons???

Excuse me while I eat the sky.

Vomit comet

Up until Adele, gastro - also known as stomach flu - has pretty much left us alone.  Eva vomits whenever she coughs, but we're used to that - she hugs a saucepan every night instead of a stuffed animal.  She even dumps it, flushes it, and rinses out the saucepan all by herself.  It's all good.  

But Adele upset that apple cart.  And then puked all over it.

This recent bout started around 10 last night.  In a two-hour period, our girl woofed her cookies THREE TIMES.  There was nothing left in her by the last time, but she nonetheless hacked and gagged like a cat tossing up a beach-ball-sized hairball.

We were up three more times in the night...twice for her and once for Eva (potty break).

And this morning I felt fresh as a daisy that had been puked on, stepped on, driven over by a tank, and eaten by a mad cow.  Then turned into cud and eaten again.  Then shat.

I love my children but sometimes they just kick it out of me, you know?

Cupcakes.

I need cupcakes.

And for my wee pooper to get better. 

And sleep.

Mucho sleepo.

Home again, home again

So we're back in our little house, all together now.

It was a super trip.

1.  I got to spend some time with my Grandma.  She's in her nineties and just had two operations for recently-diagnosed breast cancer.  We feasted a couple of times on takeout Chinese food and tea.  So wonderful to see her and have time to relax and chat. 

2.  Great to see my mum and dad!  They are just about the loveliest people you could ever hope to meet, and integrity personified.  I totally won the jackpot when I got to be their kid.  Counting my blessings, you'll find them at the top of the list.  I'm now craving my dad's casseroli.  It's dynamite and transports me directly back to childhood every time I eat it.  MMMMMcasseroli.

3.  Got to see my friends.  Had some fantastic suppers, some wonderful hugs, and plenty of belly laughs.  They are smart, strong, beautiful women, all of them.  I am blessed.

4.  I got to see a cat lose its ears to frostbite.  It was pretty amazing and I found myself a bit emotional once the bits actually fell off.  Bodhi is no intellectual lottery winner, truth be told...he basically tried to commit natural selection a few weeks back when he decided to head out into the Western Canadian Winter to hide under a car for two weeks. 

It was about -800 degrees outside (that's about -400 fahrenheit, Kulio). 

Of course he ignored the fact that the car was three feet from a heated garage with a door that went up and down several times a day, leaving him plenty of opportunity to return inside...and never mind that his loving family called his name for DAYS.

No sir.  Bodhi was holding his ground and HIDING, dammit.  He was going to show that blasted sweet family with the endless supply of food, water, and love WHO IS BOSS.  

Or at least, WHO IS DARWIN.

When they finally found him, they practically had to peel him out of the snow.  His tail was frozen and now juts at an odd angle, and the tips of his ears froze completely. 

When Adele and I arrived home, the ear bits were hanging by bits of skin and I lived in terror (well, okay slightly morbid nervousness) that they would quietly pop off and Addie - who is still basically a 22-pound Dustbuster - would be the first to find them.  SOOO not interested in supplementing her protein levels with a bit of feline.  Fortunately, my sister was on top of the matter and my worries were totally unjustified.  Poor sweet, dumb cat.  Ya gotta love him, now that he's a survivor.  Even if he has only two active neurons to rub together.  

5.  Eva did her class presentation this week.  She compared Eid al-Fitr and Easter to answer the question, "Are holidays in other countries the same as holidays here?"  She did a poster that is the freaking BOMB, and memorized a whole bunch of facts about the two holidays.  

We were pretty proud of her - mostly because of how hard she worked on it.  All by herself, she drew about ten pictures for her poster, cut them out, and glued them onto the cardboard...and then memorized a two-minute presentation which she practiced relentlessly over several days.  She had a little trouble because she kept jumping from "And they killed Him and He rolled away the stone and went up into the sky because He was full of love and the Easter Bunny came". 

Etienne helped her gather facts and arrange them in order...but she put it all together.   Never underestimate a troll.

6.  Addie can say the word "bee" and "tree"...she has also started saying "choo choo" for train, and "I DONE".  The latter is the one that gets the most airtime in her vocabulary, because she uses it constantly whenever we try to feed her or well, get her to do anything at all.  She seems to be showing no ill effects after last week's divebomb into the carpet at my parents'.   I, on the other hand, have aged about five years.

Tomorrow's Friday and that makes me happy.  Looking forward to a few days with my beautiful little family.  Off to bed now.

I DONE.

Addie Lou Retton, or why my hair is going grey

We are at home...the home where I grew up.

There's something so wonderful about coming home...being around your mum and dad, laughing with your younger sister, spending time with beautiful friends you've known too many years to want to remember, eating the foods you loved as a child (my dad's "casseroli")

I love that you can always just roll right back into that familiar warmth...with the people who really know you and yet still seem to like you.

Adele's been having a blast, too...bugging her older cousin Josh and chasing the dog and cats WITHOUT MERCY.

Tonight she scared me, though....more than either of my girls ever has, I think.

It was after supper....and Adder climbed up on the couch and started bouncing.

She loves to climb, and she loves to bounce.

We usually sit beside her and let her jump away, ready to catch her if she bounces herself off the couch. So far, she hasn't - HADN'T - fallen.

Tonight, though, I was across the room.

So when she got up on the couch, I got up and started heading over to spot her.

Suddenly, she bounced the wrong way...and bounced right off the couch.

And I don't mean just bounced off.

Bouncing is hopping. Skipping. Happy skipping.

This was not happy skipping.

Olympic gymnasts don't get air like my 18-month old had tonight.

Mary-Lou Retton, 1984 Olympic gold medal winning vault?
That was bronze-medal shuffleboard at the senior's games compared to what Adele did.

SKI JUMPERS don't get air like my girl.

It was actually pretty darned spectacular.

She just suddenly bounced twice and BACKFLIPPED - and I do mean BACKFLIPPED - herself right off the couch.

And landed right on her head.

I almost fainted.

I truly worried she'd broken her neck.

When I got to her, she just looked up at me, blinking rapidly in surprise.

I was afraid to move her...afraid to touch her, really...but then she started rolling over to get herself up, so I picked her up.

And that was that.

She didn't cry...didn't react at all. She just...got herself up and resumed running...totally oblivious to the fact that her mom had just lost about five years of her life from stress.

And you know what makes me even more stressed?

Knowing that this was NOTHING.

This was just the first of many, many falls where I won't be able to catch her.

All I can do is pick her up when she lands, and let her start running again.

And then gulp down a fistful of blood pressure medication, say a quick little prayer of gratitude...and then yank out every parental-stress related grey hair at the root.

I have a feeling there will be many grey hairs with that little roach's name on them.

Many, many, many.

Sigh of relief, this time.

3.5 out of 4 ain't bad

Eva had her first DICTÉE this week.

Here in Quebec, this is a sort of academic rite of passage.

Basically, it's a short phrase, story, or article that one hears and then copies down.

The goal is to copy it down with perfect spelling and grammar.

Now, if you know French at all, you know this is PRETTY MUCH FREAKING IMPOSSIBLE.

This language is NUTSO.

Oh, it's beautiful to listen to, don't get me wrong.

There's a reason French is considered the language of love.

And there's no hilarity like a swearing Quebecer.

Trust me, they take cursing to new heights.

I wet my pants every time I see my husband hit a golf ball, because the string of curses that follows is so damned eloquent and explosive at the same time.

But this crazy language has exceptions on top of its exceptions.

The grammar is so tough, French writers consult a manual.  CONSTANTLY.

They have dictée COMPETITIONS on the TELEVISION.

ON THE FREAKING TELEVISION.

IN PRIME TIME.

So dictées are a big deal.

This particular dictée was also a big deal because it was her first ever actual RESULT for school work.

Up until now, it's been "yay, Eva! You counted to 10!" or "yay, Eva!  You drew a fish!"

Now, suddenly, she's into the realm of EVALUATION for one's work.

There's no turning back.

She had to write three words (she's only five)

Ski, vélo, and nager.

And she got them all.

She lost a half-mark because she wrote her name in capital letters but that's okay (although little miss Type-A insisted on writing her name in capital AND lower-case letters today for her teacher, to show her that SHE CAN DO IT PERFECTLY SO THERE)

Which, actually, almost makes me more proud than the dictée.

Bravo, Evita!!!

Tu as bien fait, ma belle.