Shadow Fallout

I might have traumatized my children.
This morning, Lex woke up and peered out the window- futively, tentatively-and asked "Shadows out there?"
No, I told him. No Shadow.
"I cared Shadow," he replied, his voice a mere whisper.
(which means he's scared of Shadow. Not that he cares for Shadow. Just for clarification.)
I reassured him and thought that the incident was over.
But then when I got home from work, Geoff asked me who Shadow is.
"Oh. Just a dog," I replied.
"Well, all the way to daycare Alex kept asking if Shadow went bye-bye."
"Hmm. How very odd," I replied, not really wanting to get into it with Geoff.

But honestly, it seemed innocent at the time.
And, I'll tell you something else. Shadow isn't even a Rottweiler.
He's a Golden Retriever.
Sometimes on this blog I lie. Well not lie. Just stretch the truth a little. I play up certain elements of the story and down play other elements. Just to make it more interesting.
I mean, can I say that I was threatening him with a Golden Retriever?
It just doesn't sound that threatening.
Also to say that my kids were terrified of a Golden Retriever kind of makes them sound like pansies.
So the Golden Retriever became a Rottweiler.
But so far as I'm concerned, all big dogs are Rottweilers.
If it can take off my left arm- it's a Rottweiler.
If it can take off my right arm, for that matter. Either arm. Any limb. It's a Rottweiler.
Anyways. I think they might be traumatized.
Who knew that telling them that they might be attacked by animals if they don't go to sleep could backfire on a person like that.
Something else to add to my list of lessons learned.

At the Book Store

I think I might kind of know what it feels like to be a literary agent.
I spent about an hour in a book store reading the first line on the jacket of about forty books to arrive at one that I would spend my precious, hard earned cash on. I didn't even bother to look at the jacket of Sylvia Brown's latest hardcover.
Fuck you, Sylvia Brown. Tormenting me with your "New York Times Bestseller!" sticker. I just don't see how...
Well, nevermind. I'm getting bitter.
But honestly, all these books these days. Do they all have to be YA paranormal?? I am a woman, and I want to read about women. Not about girls who may be vampires or have fallen in love with a vampire (although- OK, Twilight was a good book- but enough already.) They just don't make them like they used to. That lovely book about that young girl who goes to the prom.
Carrie, I think it was.
Those were the good old days. Before teenagers had crazy supernatural powers.

The book I chose: Life Without Summer, a debut novel by Lynne Griffin. I was hooked after reading the first sentence on the back jacket of the book: "Tessa Gray's life changes forever when she loses her four-year-old daughter, Abby, in a hit and run car accident outside her preschool."
Inexplicably, I am drawn towards this premise.
You would think that I might be less inclined towards it, given that I have a five year old daughter myself. But I think that this is actually what makes it compelling.
It almost happened to me once.
A simple thing. A simple chore. A routine day. And yet.
I drove Payty to dance on a Saturday, parked in the busy parking lot. I got to work unfastening baby Lex from his car seat. Payton, tutu clad, ran out from between the parked cars to rush to the studio, it being freezing cold outside.
At exactly that same moment, a car came barreling around the corner.
I heard the screeching of the brakes, saw Payton standing there, helpless. It was in slow motion but at the same time, it seemed to happen to fast for me to respond. I stood there, heart hammering. The car stopped more centimeters shy of my Paytons chest.
In that moment, I wondered "what if..."
I pictured a scene: Payton on the ground, her pink tutu splayed around her. My cries of hysteria, cradling her head on my lap, even as the blood pooled beneath it. Hearing the approach of sirens.

I wonder, sometimes what my life would be now if, say, the driver of that car happened to be changing a CD when he turned that corner? Would I be married still? Could Geoff forgive me? Could I really ask him that?
Could I forgive myself?
It haunted me so. I thought about writing about it. But in the end I just couldn't go there.
Too dark.

There's a place underneath my deck that's dark. There are boards that cover it, but in places, the boards are coming loose. Sometimes, inadvertently, I catch a glimpse of what's underneath there. A tangle of weeds and cobwebs. Earth. I don't know what else. I can only speculate about it, but I try not to- are there things that scratch and scurry?
I think of it sometimes as a metaphor for the dark underbelly of all things.
We catch a glimpse of it sometimes.
I guess some people get more than a glimpse.

Anyways. I will read the book and let you know.
Sorry if this post is gruesome or disturbing. I don't really choose what I write about. It's more like it chooses me.

Tales from the Trailer

The trailer looked nice.
That was the problem.
It would have better if it had looked spooky, or ugly or dirty. Because then I would have known better. I'm not like those people you see in the movies who happen upon a creepy looking, dilapated building on some isolated stretch of rural farm land and sweep away cobwebs with a smile and a nod and say "I'll take it!"
Nosiree. That's not me.
So when an abandoned trailer on the property was offered to me as a place to stay this past weekend at our family reunion, my first thought was 'there's no way in hell.'
Actually, those were my first words as well. I mean, not to be rude, but really.

But then I saw the trailer.
It looked nice. Really nice. It didn't look abandoned at all. It was clean, and bright and modern and very spacious, with three bedroom and two bathrooms.
I can stay here, I thought. No problem, I thought.
But then. Oh, but then.
I set up the air mattress in the master bedroom, which my kids mistakenly took for a blow up jumping attraction at a carnival.
I tried to lay down myself (lead by example, the parenting books say), only to have my head jumped on after being declared a horsey, which led to more jumping.
Alex was off the bed, on the bed, off again and now jumping on his grandmothers head who was sleeping a few feet away.
I tried to ignore him, to which he responded with an increasingly urgent shout "I need you. I NEED YOU."
I tried to threaten him with everything I could think of, but I had limited options. Time out. But then he called my bluff.
"Do you want a time out?"
"OK," he replied.
Shit. Outsmarted by a two year old.
Where would I put him for time out? What could I do?
Back to square one.
Finally, desperately, I threatened him with 'Shadow', the Rottweiler he had been afraid of earlier.
"Shhh. Quiet. Shadows out there. Don't let him hear us or he'll come in here and get us."
"Shadow?" he asked in a soft voice.
"Shadow. He's really bad and mean. Just go to sleep so he won't get us."
It was a really low point, parenting wise, to be threatening my kids with Rottweiler attacks, but it did work. Finally, the kids were silent.
I tried to fall asleep, but couldn't. The air mattress was losing air fast. The kids were crowding me out. The room was hot. There were dogs baying in the background (Shadow??)
I crept out into the living room, realizing too late that there was no for me to run, to turn.
The other two bedrooms were occupied.
The living room was barren of furniture, offering up only an unyielding floor. I had invested all of my blankets and pillows in the air mattress, which was a sinking ship by now.
Reluctantly, I laid on the floor, propping my head on a sweater. I imagined all kinds of scurrying sounds.
At least, I think it was my imagination.

Anyways, I was happy to see daybreak.
"Never Again," my sister in law and I vowed to each other when we met up in the kitchen, both of us with bloodshot eyes and frazzled hair.
Anyways. At least our husbands got a good rest.
That's the main thing.

Coming Home

Geoff and I returned home quite late on Friday night from an obligatory highly anticipated family reunion, which is another story in itself, but I am court ordered not to discuss any of the incidents, at least until the investigation is concluded, and possibly til they go to trial.
OK so it wasn't that bad.

But anyways.
We got home at ten, our children sleepy and smelling like Off!. I carried Alex in the back door with his head resting on my shoulder. The low lighting of the kitchen greeted me. I felt immediately a sense of relief and something else- comfort, security. I surveyed my kitchen- tidy but not clean (never clean), but still appealing-- much more appealing, in fact, than when I had left it mere hours before. Maybe it was just the wine talking. But still- there seemed something so charming about the buttery yellow on the walls. The cappuccino dining table, adorned with the bright blue ceramic bowl we bought in Mexico which currently contained three overripe bananas and some stray Monopoly money. Our black cat perched on top of the fridge, eyes half opened and half closed, green crescents reflecting back at us. Our little dog at our heels, the weight of our baby our baby on my hip, my husband at my side. There seemed something perfect about that moment in time. There are lots of things and lots of times that aren't perfect, but in that moment, there was something that was.

Tomorrow is back to work for me. Holidays over. But considering that I've spent much of my time thus far uttering sentences like:
"No shut up words"
"No hate words"
"No hitting to mom. Mommy ouchy now."
"No throwing at mom."
"No climbing on the table"
"Did you wipe your bum?"
I think I'm ready to go back.

Have a good night.

Right/Left Confused.

They asked for water today! (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read my last post- and if you don't want to read the whole thing, just skip to the last paragraph.) A victory! I took them to the park and they played outside until they were really thirsty. When they came home, they asked for water! And they drank it without throwing it at my head even one time (which by the way, they have terrible aim, so it never actually hit my head)! So that was a good day.

I wasn't supposed to be at the park at all. I was supposed to be getting new tires on my van. That's what I was supposed to do on my holidays. Not relax on the beach. Not go to the spa. Not get a manicure. Get new tires. Don't get me wrong, I want the tires, I need the tires--the way things are going right now I'm virtually driving on the ground. I just didn't exactly want to spend the day at Can Am Rubber. But still, this morning found me asking Geoff how to get to the tire store.
"Just take Circle, turn on Faithful."
I won't bother to say which one is me, which one is Geoff. I think you'll figure it out soon enough.
"Right or left?"
"You can only turn left. So left."
"Is that left from the passenger seat, or left from the driver seat?"
"It's left either way."
Now he's getting annoyed.
For no reason.
I just want to know where the fuck I'm going.
"And when you say left- am I facing frontwards or backwards?"
"I really don't see why you would be driving backwards."
"I probably won't, but I want to clarify anyways. You just never know."
"If you're facing backwards, then it would be right, although I really don't see..."
"Is that my right or your right? Because you know how there's that thing that if you're facing someone your right is actually their left and their left is actually your right."
He just looks at me, contemplating something.
But honestly. The whole right/left thing still confuses me.
The only thing I remember from nursing school is "Tri to be right" because the tricuspid valve is on the right chamber of the heart. But how that's going to help me get to the tire store, I don't know.
Geoff sighs. He sighs a lot. Sometimes it seems like he finds me exasperating to live with.
I don't get it.
Finally, he says "You know what. I should probably just take your van in myself."
BOOYA. I win! Again.
Except, kind of I lose, cuz he's at the tire store drinking coffee and reading Golf Digest while they change the tires and I'm at the park with the kids, trying to dehydrate them into drinking water, during which time I picked up an extra kid, had a diaper emergency, had to go home and back carrying Alex, who for some reason is refusing to walk (maybe it's the dehydration, or more probably, the very heavily soiled diaper he's sporting), while pushing a bike, which he refused to abandon or ride.
But still. I got the tires, and the kids drank the water. So win win.
Good night.

Happy Holidays.

I am on holidays from work, which I was totally looking forward to. And yet, here I am, the midway point of my week off and feeling something less than wild enthusiasm. Why this should be the case, I have no idea. But then I thought about it. And maybe I do have an idea.

The first thing is that my day starts like this:
"Mom, Alex is awake and he pooped," Payton announces as she trudges into my room at 7:00 with said poopy baby trailing behind her, diaper sodden and clamoring to get into bed with me.
"What's for breakfast?" she asks while I'm in the middle of changing said diaper. I reply, distracted, "I don't know yet sweetie." "Can you make pancakes?"
"I think Alex puked in the night," she informs me, all in the same transaction. We've gone from poop to pancakes to puke in less than two minutes.
Am I still sleeping??
"What?" I grumble, stalking off to the bedroom to check out the puke situation.
Well now I'm awake.
No puke, but still I had to dig through all of the bedding to check it out.
"What are we going to do today?" Payton asks, following me as I traipse into the kitchen, baby on hip, to make coffee. "Can we go to the Fun Factoy? Or the water park? Or mini golfing?"
"We'll see," I reply.

And honestly, you would think that I had never NEVER spent a moment of time with those kids in their lives. They clamor for my attention, all of it. I try to sit on the couch to drink my coffee. Immediately, Payton is on my lap. Her brother is right behind her, trying with some frustration to push Payton off of me "MY MOMMY" Then I have both of them on me. They're both trying to push the other off, both insisting that I'm their mommy and their mommy only. During the struggle, the coffee spills.
I get up to try to clean it up. Of course, the kids are right behind me.
Alex falls, starts crying. I pick him up, soothe him with a half hearted tousle to the head, while trying to clean up the coffee, which the dog has started to lap up. I try to hold her at bay with my right leg, while standing on my left leg, balancing the baby (still crying) and trying to mop.
It's 7:20 am.
And I'm already exhausted.
And my third child hasn't even woken up yet.
Fuck me.

Anyways. It's still good to get the time off. But it's hardly a day at the beach. In point of fact, even a day at the beach is no day at the beach. You have to get the kids sunscreened and bugsprayed and get Alex's Swimmers on him and go into the water with them and blow up their floaties and then they're crying because someone got sand in their eyes. And then one kid pees on the other kids towel and there's hysteria and then your beach neighbors pack up and move away with disgusted looks on thier faces.
True story.
Oh well.
It can only get better, I guess.
Right??

Unrelated matter. This week I stopped buying juice. Between the three kids they drink about two litres of juice a day, which has been costing me about twenty dollars a week. Not to mention that my kids have been getting their cavities filled at the same rate as...
there is no good simile for that. For some reason I want to say something about Keanu Reeves but I just can't make it work, as in "at the rate as Keanu Reeves making bad movies" but then, he hasn't made that many movies lately, has he??
Sorry. I'm all over the place.
But the point is I've stopped buying juice. We have water and we have milk, and the way I see it, that's a lot more than what three quarters of the worlds population has, so that should be good enough. The kids seem less enthusiastic about it. And also, possibly, slightly dehydrated. Between the three of them they've probably drank about eight ounces of water in the last two days.
Is that really bad??
OK. I just looked on Wikepedia and it is.
But hopefully they'll get used to it?? Alex seems to be taking it better. He brings me his juice cup, I fill it with water, he takes a sip, then chucks it at my head.
So that's progress.
I mean. At least he got that sip, right??

Sorry for the lack of blogging of late, but I was away at the lake to celebrate Canada Day, which involved booze and fireworks. How that pays homage to our dear, dear country I am not entirely clear, but it was fun nonetheless. The highlight of the weekend was when I saw Jon Gosselin on the beach. At least I'm pretty sure that it was him. It was an Asian guy with a diamond earring, so I think it's pretty clear cut. And I just have to say: that guy is a straight up A-hole. Talk about conceited. He refused to even acknowledge me when I called his name. Finally I approached him and asked for his autograph, but he outright refused, saying that he didn't know what the f**k I was talking about. And he didn't even have his kids with him! Well he did have two kids with him but they weren't the ones that I saw on the show, so I don't really know where they came from. Maybe he has other kids out there somewhere. I don't know. Anyways. The whole experience was very insulting.

Anyways. In lieu of a post I am going to post song lyrics from my favorite song by MC (which is Miley Cyrus in case you don't know, although how you could not know that is beyond me.) Anyways, this song always picks me up when the chips are down, writing wise, which is pretty much always in my case. I see it, in my minds eye, as that song that plays in the background if my life were to be made into a TV movie (which it probably wouldn't, cuz it would probably suck, but) when it shows various sequences of me, tired and forlorn and sitting in front of the computer at night writing doggedly, sometimes furiously and sometimes slowly, towards an end that I am completely unsure about.

I can almost see it, that dream I'm dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head, saying "you'll never reach it"
Every step I'm taking, every move I make, feels lost with no direction
My faith is shaking
But I gotta keep trying, gotta keep my head held high.
There's always gonna be another mountain.
I'm always gonna wanna make it move.
Always gonna be an uphill battle.
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose.
Ain't about how fast I get there. Ain't about what's on the other side.
It's the climb.
The struggles I'm facing. The chances I'm taking.
Sometimes might knock me down. But no I'm not breaking.
I may not know it, but these are the moments I'm gonna remember most, yeah.
Just gotta keep going.
And I, I got to be strong. Just keep pushing on.

Anyways, that is all for now.
Good night.