Well color me overdressed, was my first thought when I walked into the 'garage party' that my parents neighbors were hosting. Dressed in grey tweed pants with a subdued pattern of blue plaid, a black sweater adorned with a silver and blue necklace (to pick up on the blue in the pants), silver ballet flats and a white three quarter lenght dressy jacket with oversized silver buttons, my hair straightened and glossed and pulled back into a sleek ponty tail, I might have guessed that I would be slightly overdressed for a 'garage' party, but really I don't have a very wide selection of loose fitting clothes to choose from, other than pyjamas.
The pyjamas might have been a better choice, I thought with dismay, noting the overabundance of grey sweat pants, lumberjackets and Timberland boots. As it turns out, garage parties are pretty informal.
I was a little out of my element convesation wise as well. The conversation pretty much centered all around what kind of fishing they do, the kinds of fish they catch, the weights of said fish, which lakes are good for fishing at various points in the year. Out of kindness, perhaps, someone asked me what type of fishing I was into. I answered that I had never been fishing, per se. That seemed to be a bit of a conversation killer. Stunned silence. I might as well have just told them that I was an escaped mental patient. In fact, I think I now know how escaped mental patients must feel. I mean, a little understanding would go a long way. I restrained myself from saying that I philosophically don't really like the whole idea of killing things for sport. And also- fish?? Ew. Seriously.
And of course, there was much ado about Ladies Night. Some factions of the population are boycotting the event, based on the totally controversial upon change of venue. And not only that, but apparently thier much loved band "The Chicken Heads" were not booked this year, and this had lead to many ripplings of discontent.
Anyways, I am planning on attending Ladies Night, so this will be interesting to see how it plays out. There are concerns about the turnout this year.
And then there I was, drinking my Chardonnay while they were all passing around a bottle of Yager, which I politely declined to drink.
Anyways, I survived the night. My first 'garage party.' I was completely unscathed, although the next day I did have to take a fistful of Tylenol #1, Gravol and Advil to get through the day. But. Still.
But the point is, I have never considered myself to be a snobby person. But now I may have to consider that fact.
Oh, and as for Alex's diarrhea, not to keep you all in suspense, but things do seem to be improving a bit. We have been giving him Lacteeze, so it does help somewhat, although not completely, and that is a concern with Easter around the corner.
But that is all for today.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
It's really pathetic to say this, but the most exciting thing that I have in my life right now is that Alex has diarrhea. It doesn't sound very interesting but let me tell you, if you have a baby and he has diarrhea for several weeks in a row, it will rock your world to it's very core, and suddenly something you've barely paid any attention to before- your kids bowels, becomes an all out obsession. I have food diaries, soy milk, soy crackers, soy cheese, four different kinds of diaper cream, doctors appointments, stool specimens on the kitchen counter, a poop log; and something else to add to my list of 'nevers'- never let your toddler who suffers from chronic diarrhea wear your shoes while having bare bum time.
I don't know. When I put it like that, it kind of just seems like common sense. In retrospect, I probably should have seen that coming. Anyways. I had to go out this morning and buy some new shoes. I have been in grocery stores and drug stores alike, slightly sheepishly, but also somewhat desperately asking the employees if they carry a product called "Butt Paste".
It actually really works. The paste, I mean. For diaper rash.
You can buy it at Shoppers Drug Mart if you need to know. Save you some embarrassment. The people look at you like you're some kind of pervert. Their like "this isn't that kind of a store, lady. I think there's a place on Idylwild", wink wink, nudge, nudge.
Anyways, so the long awaited doctors appointment has come and gone. I put so much faith in this doctors appointment. I was like "probably they'll just test him for allergies and then we'll know what's going on," but then, as it turns out, there are no easy answers when it comes to diarrhea. The doctors advice: two things. First of all, a slightly abridged version of "watch and wait" and then "Just try to play detective."
Oh- Kay, I sort of thought that was when YOU would come in, but okey-dokey.
I'm not opposed to 'watch and wait' as a general philosophy, and it might be OK if we were dealing with, say, a bunion, but 10 plus watery poops every day is not really like that. You know, you kind of want to get it cleared away. Although, I suppose a person with a bunion would say the same thing, too.
Actually I think I might have a bunion. I'll have to talk to the doctor about that someday, too. But anyways.
I guess, and I mean, whatever. Like the kids healthy and whatever it is I'm sure it will pass, but then you always sort of think, like what if this is something more sinister than a simple food allergy?? Well, not to be all dramatic or anything. I'm sure he's fine.
And something else to add to my list of 'nevers'- never leave a shoeful of diarrhea in a room unattended with a dog while you're washing your babies ass. I don't really want to get into the whole thing- but honestly- I have never been the kind of person who would ever want to say, kick a dog in the teeth, but really, I could have. I would have.
God it was so disgusting. I was having a conversation with a coworker the other day and we were saying how it's hard to know when to call it quits, kid wise. I was like "Well, I think if you've ever walked into a room, stepped in puke, wiped it off on your other pant leg and then continued with the rest of your day, that's a good sign that you're pretty much done." Cuz I've been there. I've stepped in puke and poop and pee and once, even a dead mouse.
And once upon a time I probably would have scoured and bleached and totally freaked. But now it's like "Oh god. Puke again?? I'm too tired. I'll deal with it later."
And you know what else I'm finding out?? Milk is in like literally everything. It's like the people that marketed milk have infiltrated every single food domain- except for maybe meat and vegetables. And its not like you can feed your baby a big old steak with a raw carrot for lunch, right? so you're pretty much screwed. I mean, at first you're like "Okay, so we just don't feed him milk, right?" Simple enough. But then next thing you know you're reading the label on everything--cracker boxes, cookie boxes, his favorite oatmeal, pasta,--- and discarding pretty much everything. I mean, I have never thought that being lactose intolerant could be so much work. The bunion people are so lucky.
Anyways. The other day we had to go to a track meet for Gage. We spent like an hour looking for a parking space to watch him run for about eleven seconds. We circled the parking lot- nada. Circle again. Nada. Soon we were looking at the handicapped parking, looking at each other wjith loathing in our eyes, thinking about it. We were like "those damn disabled people are so lucky. They catch all the breaks." And so then my husband started to nose in and I was like "Seriously??" Because to me, parking in a disabled parking space is right up there with like Al Kaida. I know there's a problem with that sentence with verb agreement, but I simply mean to say that I really hate it. But then Geoff made a good point. He was like "How many disabled people do you really think are going to show up at a track meet??"
I was like well, touche, but still...
Anyways, we ended up parking like about four miles away, just so you know, so don't start bombarding me with hate mail.
That is all for tonights edition.
I will let you know how the poop situation progresses. I am sure you are all on the edge of your seats.
I don't know. When I put it like that, it kind of just seems like common sense. In retrospect, I probably should have seen that coming. Anyways. I had to go out this morning and buy some new shoes. I have been in grocery stores and drug stores alike, slightly sheepishly, but also somewhat desperately asking the employees if they carry a product called "Butt Paste".
It actually really works. The paste, I mean. For diaper rash.
You can buy it at Shoppers Drug Mart if you need to know. Save you some embarrassment. The people look at you like you're some kind of pervert. Their like "this isn't that kind of a store, lady. I think there's a place on Idylwild", wink wink, nudge, nudge.
Anyways, so the long awaited doctors appointment has come and gone. I put so much faith in this doctors appointment. I was like "probably they'll just test him for allergies and then we'll know what's going on," but then, as it turns out, there are no easy answers when it comes to diarrhea. The doctors advice: two things. First of all, a slightly abridged version of "watch and wait" and then "Just try to play detective."
Oh- Kay, I sort of thought that was when YOU would come in, but okey-dokey.
I'm not opposed to 'watch and wait' as a general philosophy, and it might be OK if we were dealing with, say, a bunion, but 10 plus watery poops every day is not really like that. You know, you kind of want to get it cleared away. Although, I suppose a person with a bunion would say the same thing, too.
Actually I think I might have a bunion. I'll have to talk to the doctor about that someday, too. But anyways.
I guess, and I mean, whatever. Like the kids healthy and whatever it is I'm sure it will pass, but then you always sort of think, like what if this is something more sinister than a simple food allergy?? Well, not to be all dramatic or anything. I'm sure he's fine.
And something else to add to my list of 'nevers'- never leave a shoeful of diarrhea in a room unattended with a dog while you're washing your babies ass. I don't really want to get into the whole thing- but honestly- I have never been the kind of person who would ever want to say, kick a dog in the teeth, but really, I could have. I would have.
God it was so disgusting. I was having a conversation with a coworker the other day and we were saying how it's hard to know when to call it quits, kid wise. I was like "Well, I think if you've ever walked into a room, stepped in puke, wiped it off on your other pant leg and then continued with the rest of your day, that's a good sign that you're pretty much done." Cuz I've been there. I've stepped in puke and poop and pee and once, even a dead mouse.
And once upon a time I probably would have scoured and bleached and totally freaked. But now it's like "Oh god. Puke again?? I'm too tired. I'll deal with it later."
And you know what else I'm finding out?? Milk is in like literally everything. It's like the people that marketed milk have infiltrated every single food domain- except for maybe meat and vegetables. And its not like you can feed your baby a big old steak with a raw carrot for lunch, right? so you're pretty much screwed. I mean, at first you're like "Okay, so we just don't feed him milk, right?" Simple enough. But then next thing you know you're reading the label on everything--cracker boxes, cookie boxes, his favorite oatmeal, pasta,--- and discarding pretty much everything. I mean, I have never thought that being lactose intolerant could be so much work. The bunion people are so lucky.
Anyways. The other day we had to go to a track meet for Gage. We spent like an hour looking for a parking space to watch him run for about eleven seconds. We circled the parking lot- nada. Circle again. Nada. Soon we were looking at the handicapped parking, looking at each other wjith loathing in our eyes, thinking about it. We were like "those damn disabled people are so lucky. They catch all the breaks." And so then my husband started to nose in and I was like "Seriously??" Because to me, parking in a disabled parking space is right up there with like Al Kaida. I know there's a problem with that sentence with verb agreement, but I simply mean to say that I really hate it. But then Geoff made a good point. He was like "How many disabled people do you really think are going to show up at a track meet??"
I was like well, touche, but still...
Anyways, we ended up parking like about four miles away, just so you know, so don't start bombarding me with hate mail.
That is all for tonights edition.
I will let you know how the poop situation progresses. I am sure you are all on the edge of your seats.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Lessons learned.
The other day we had meat balls for supper.
This is a mistake, a very dreadful mistake, if you have a twelve year old boy in the house.
I think I must have heard the word "balls" at least seventy to one hundred times in that short span of twenty minutes that encompassed our meal that evening.
"I'm never making meatballs again!" I told my husband after wards as I scraped said balls into the garbage. The kids did not eat them. Just used every opportunity to use the word 'balls' in a salacious way.
And by 'kids' I mean Geoff and Gage.
Of course, the highlight of the evening was when Gage found a hair in his meatball. I was going to quote him, but well, you can imagine the kind of comments followed that.
So you live and learn. Never serve meatballs to a twelve year old.
Or a forty two year old, apparently.
So this has led me to reflect on other things I've learned. The hard way.
Never let your three year old pack her own bags for a camping trip. I thought, well, what could go wrong?? Throw in a few pairs of pants and a couple of shirts... we'll only be gone for a few days and in any event we can make do with what we've got. Here's what I ended up with when I opened her luggage to change her into her swim gear: three dolls, a make believe toaster, several changes of clothes for the dolls, blankets for the dolls, a velvet Christmas dress (perfect for the beach!), and seven pairs of Hello Kitty panties.
That actually worked out OK in the long term (but in the short term- not so much- she had to wear the clothes on her back the entire time) because now she knows how to pack better. She'll ask "how long are we going to be gone for" and I'll tell her "two days" and then she'll say "So I need two pairs of pyjamas, two pairs of shorts and two shirts, right?" So she thinks it out. But still I double check.
Lesson three. Never tell your husband "don't worry about my birthday" Here's what I meant: don't do anything crazy elaborate for my birthday. Here's what I got: literally NOTHING for my birthday. Not even a card or a freaking breakfast in bed, not even a piece of toast or a half baked birthday cake. Nada. And then when you complain he gets all defensive like "Well, you're the one who told me not to get you anything." Lesson learned. "Don't do anything crazy elaborate for my birthday" can simply go unsaid. I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry in any event.
Lesson 4. When your four year old starts crying when getting off the tire swing and says her stomach hurts really bad, do not pick them up and let them bury their head in your chest. My first instinct was to pick her up and comfort her. What I ended up with: a chest full of warm, chunky vomit, in the hot August sun. With no bathrooms anywhere in sight. Ew.
Lesson 5. Never trust a man named Sneaky Pete. This is a lesson that I've learned vicariously through a coworker. Long story short: litigation. Harassment charges.
Lesson 6. Never let your three year old do your fingernails or toenails. How bad could she botch it, I thought? The answer: Pretty bad. Ditto for you hair.
And your make up.
Lesson 7. Never leave your eighteen month old in a room alone with a box of Kleenex. Ditto for diaper rash ointment. That stuff actually does stain clothing and fabric, by the way.
Lesson 8. Never assume that your cat and the tomcat down the way are "just friends". There are no "just friends" when it comes to cats, apparently. You will end up with a storage room full of kittens and feline placental blood on your wedding dress you were storing back there. And then your dog will eat a kitten. And then you will have to keep a kitten. And then that kitten will run away. And then you will have to spend all your spare time looking for said kitten and making posters for it.
Anyways, that is all for now.
Hopefully this will help you avoid some of the pitfalls that I have encountered.
Peace out.
This is a mistake, a very dreadful mistake, if you have a twelve year old boy in the house.
I think I must have heard the word "balls" at least seventy to one hundred times in that short span of twenty minutes that encompassed our meal that evening.
"I'm never making meatballs again!" I told my husband after wards as I scraped said balls into the garbage. The kids did not eat them. Just used every opportunity to use the word 'balls' in a salacious way.
And by 'kids' I mean Geoff and Gage.
Of course, the highlight of the evening was when Gage found a hair in his meatball. I was going to quote him, but well, you can imagine the kind of comments followed that.
So you live and learn. Never serve meatballs to a twelve year old.
Or a forty two year old, apparently.
So this has led me to reflect on other things I've learned. The hard way.
Never let your three year old pack her own bags for a camping trip. I thought, well, what could go wrong?? Throw in a few pairs of pants and a couple of shirts... we'll only be gone for a few days and in any event we can make do with what we've got. Here's what I ended up with when I opened her luggage to change her into her swim gear: three dolls, a make believe toaster, several changes of clothes for the dolls, blankets for the dolls, a velvet Christmas dress (perfect for the beach!), and seven pairs of Hello Kitty panties.
That actually worked out OK in the long term (but in the short term- not so much- she had to wear the clothes on her back the entire time) because now she knows how to pack better. She'll ask "how long are we going to be gone for" and I'll tell her "two days" and then she'll say "So I need two pairs of pyjamas, two pairs of shorts and two shirts, right?" So she thinks it out. But still I double check.
Lesson three. Never tell your husband "don't worry about my birthday" Here's what I meant: don't do anything crazy elaborate for my birthday. Here's what I got: literally NOTHING for my birthday. Not even a card or a freaking breakfast in bed, not even a piece of toast or a half baked birthday cake. Nada. And then when you complain he gets all defensive like "Well, you're the one who told me not to get you anything." Lesson learned. "Don't do anything crazy elaborate for my birthday" can simply go unsaid. I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry in any event.
Lesson 4. When your four year old starts crying when getting off the tire swing and says her stomach hurts really bad, do not pick them up and let them bury their head in your chest. My first instinct was to pick her up and comfort her. What I ended up with: a chest full of warm, chunky vomit, in the hot August sun. With no bathrooms anywhere in sight. Ew.
Lesson 5. Never trust a man named Sneaky Pete. This is a lesson that I've learned vicariously through a coworker. Long story short: litigation. Harassment charges.
Lesson 6. Never let your three year old do your fingernails or toenails. How bad could she botch it, I thought? The answer: Pretty bad. Ditto for you hair.
And your make up.
Lesson 7. Never leave your eighteen month old in a room alone with a box of Kleenex. Ditto for diaper rash ointment. That stuff actually does stain clothing and fabric, by the way.
Lesson 8. Never assume that your cat and the tomcat down the way are "just friends". There are no "just friends" when it comes to cats, apparently. You will end up with a storage room full of kittens and feline placental blood on your wedding dress you were storing back there. And then your dog will eat a kitten. And then you will have to keep a kitten. And then that kitten will run away. And then you will have to spend all your spare time looking for said kitten and making posters for it.
Anyways, that is all for now.
Hopefully this will help you avoid some of the pitfalls that I have encountered.
Peace out.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Hooked on a Feeling
Back from vacation and learning to deal.
Being at home is slightly different from being at a resort. For example: Biggest dilemna while you're on vacay: What should I drink next?? Sounds trivial, I know, but this actually takes a lot of time and effort to make a decision on. Often requiring consultation with other resort members. "What's in your drink?" "Oh, no, I don't want that. I'm pineappled out."(probably the only time you'll ever use 'pineapple' as a verb. Unless you're one of those people that likes to tell long drawn out sports stories using verbs no ones ever heard of before. For example: And then the guy pineappled the ball over my head, so I torked my body backwards, shredded my shoulder. It's like: O-K, first of all--I have no idea what you're talking about, I have no idea what pineappling the ball involves per se, nor torking or shredding, and second of all-I really don't care.)
Anyways.
Biggest dilemma at home: whether to pay the power bill or the water bill. Can I live without water? Or light?? Probably going to say light-- I mean, I can always use candles. And then the house will smell like apple as well, so win win. OK so things aren't quite that bad, but still. These are real problems, not like 'well, should go to the beach now, or have breakfast first, or just make smoothies for breakfast and have them at the beach??"
The biggest thrill in Mexico, watching your children play in the surf, shrieking in delight.
The biggest thrill at home: We got a new bounce dryer bar free trial offer.
Bedtime in Mexico: having Alex fall asleep in my arms sitting out on the deck, being lulled gently to sleep by the sound of the ocean in the not too far distance.
Bedtime at home: High pitched screaming, bribery attempts, bloody noses and a pig head on a stick, followed by Percocet for mom and a "Fuck you" to dad as he looks hopefully at me as I crash into bed.
OK that may be an exaggeration as well.
There is actually no pig head on a stick. Its not on a stick. The stick is broken, and like everything else in the house, awaiting repair from my husband. So it's more just perched by the door.
But you get the point.
So the point is that I'm hooked. I have spent nearly all my time since I've been home looking at vacation destinations for next year.
The question that people want to know: would I plan to bring the kids again??
Bringing the kids is either the most wonderful thing I've ever done, or the most idiotic, depending on your take on things. I'm really proud of the fact that my baby has his first stamp on his passport already. Although, certainly, I will admit: it wasn't always easy. Flashbacks of him writhing on my lap on the airplane, every meal I ever abandoned mid meal due to shrieking, whining, throwing of cutlery, or my personal favorite "I have to go to the bathroom"- never, ever when you're in the hotel in close proximity to a toilet does she have to go. It's only when you're finally settled down to a nice dinner and the bathroom is a half mile jaunt away that she suddenly has to go and go real bad.
In fact, the very first thing I said when I sat down in the lounge in our resort was "I'm not very anxious to do that again"-- referring to the two days of travel we had just survived, which encompassed two flights, seven hours of flight time and approximately ten hours in airports, all the while dragging three kids, five pieces of luggage, and three carry ons.
But the first time I took Payton to see the ocean and I stood before it, squeezing her hand and carrying Alex on my hip, it brought tears to my eyes to be able to share with my kids such wonder and beauty. And I knew then and there that I would travel again with them time and time again. To see Paytons cheeks take on a sun kissed glow as the days passed by, to see her giggling in the sun, to watch Alex play in the sand, to see Gage... well, eat cheeseburgers, frankly, was all I ever saw him do, less poetic I guess, but still. Good to see him enjoy himself. Whatever that entails.
Anyways.
Gotta go. The real world is calling me.
And FYI- the Bounce dryer bar is working out really, really well!! At first I wasn't happy about it, because I'm quite accustomed to using Gain because I really like the smell of it. But as it turns out, meausuring it and pouring it out into the chamber dealy was more laborious than I ever realized, because now laundry seems WAY easier without that step!! And it still smells pretty good.
So. That's good.
Being at home is slightly different from being at a resort. For example: Biggest dilemna while you're on vacay: What should I drink next?? Sounds trivial, I know, but this actually takes a lot of time and effort to make a decision on. Often requiring consultation with other resort members. "What's in your drink?" "Oh, no, I don't want that. I'm pineappled out."(probably the only time you'll ever use 'pineapple' as a verb. Unless you're one of those people that likes to tell long drawn out sports stories using verbs no ones ever heard of before. For example: And then the guy pineappled the ball over my head, so I torked my body backwards, shredded my shoulder. It's like: O-K, first of all--I have no idea what you're talking about, I have no idea what pineappling the ball involves per se, nor torking or shredding, and second of all-I really don't care.)
Anyways.
Biggest dilemma at home: whether to pay the power bill or the water bill. Can I live without water? Or light?? Probably going to say light-- I mean, I can always use candles. And then the house will smell like apple as well, so win win. OK so things aren't quite that bad, but still. These are real problems, not like 'well, should go to the beach now, or have breakfast first, or just make smoothies for breakfast and have them at the beach??"
The biggest thrill in Mexico, watching your children play in the surf, shrieking in delight.
The biggest thrill at home: We got a new bounce dryer bar free trial offer.
Bedtime in Mexico: having Alex fall asleep in my arms sitting out on the deck, being lulled gently to sleep by the sound of the ocean in the not too far distance.
Bedtime at home: High pitched screaming, bribery attempts, bloody noses and a pig head on a stick, followed by Percocet for mom and a "Fuck you" to dad as he looks hopefully at me as I crash into bed.
OK that may be an exaggeration as well.
There is actually no pig head on a stick. Its not on a stick. The stick is broken, and like everything else in the house, awaiting repair from my husband. So it's more just perched by the door.
But you get the point.
So the point is that I'm hooked. I have spent nearly all my time since I've been home looking at vacation destinations for next year.
The question that people want to know: would I plan to bring the kids again??
Bringing the kids is either the most wonderful thing I've ever done, or the most idiotic, depending on your take on things. I'm really proud of the fact that my baby has his first stamp on his passport already. Although, certainly, I will admit: it wasn't always easy. Flashbacks of him writhing on my lap on the airplane, every meal I ever abandoned mid meal due to shrieking, whining, throwing of cutlery, or my personal favorite "I have to go to the bathroom"- never, ever when you're in the hotel in close proximity to a toilet does she have to go. It's only when you're finally settled down to a nice dinner and the bathroom is a half mile jaunt away that she suddenly has to go and go real bad.
In fact, the very first thing I said when I sat down in the lounge in our resort was "I'm not very anxious to do that again"-- referring to the two days of travel we had just survived, which encompassed two flights, seven hours of flight time and approximately ten hours in airports, all the while dragging three kids, five pieces of luggage, and three carry ons.
But the first time I took Payton to see the ocean and I stood before it, squeezing her hand and carrying Alex on my hip, it brought tears to my eyes to be able to share with my kids such wonder and beauty. And I knew then and there that I would travel again with them time and time again. To see Paytons cheeks take on a sun kissed glow as the days passed by, to see her giggling in the sun, to watch Alex play in the sand, to see Gage... well, eat cheeseburgers, frankly, was all I ever saw him do, less poetic I guess, but still. Good to see him enjoy himself. Whatever that entails.
Anyways.
Gotta go. The real world is calling me.
And FYI- the Bounce dryer bar is working out really, really well!! At first I wasn't happy about it, because I'm quite accustomed to using Gain because I really like the smell of it. But as it turns out, meausuring it and pouring it out into the chamber dealy was more laborious than I ever realized, because now laundry seems WAY easier without that step!! And it still smells pretty good.
So. That's good.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Feeling hot hot hot
just a quick update from mexico, sorry no capital letters lo, i can't quite figure out all of the symbols on this keyboard. the flight here was good with some ups and downs of course, starting with some downs, in particular, delays due to fog. we arrived at the airport at nine thirty with plenty of time to spare before our eleven fifty flight at nine thirty am, slowly the flight was pushed back to twelve fifteen, twelve thirty, twelve fifty, one ten, etc. we ended up boarding at about two pm with three kids who were already exhausted from spending nearly the whole day in the airport. the flight to toronto went well, alex travelled like a trooper with not a single whimper or fuss, slept great and watched tv. payton had a bit of a hard time with her ears but kept it together. leaving toronto was pretty stressful as we realized at check in that we were short a bag and geoff was left behind to deal with that, we were all quite panicked as we arrived at the airport late as it was and were in a hurry to get through security. i took the kids through security and waited an xiously for geoff to arrive. they were announcing that the plane was ready to board when he finally came to the gate, and honestly i don't think i have ever been so happy to see him in my life.
the flight was a bit harder on alex, a bit of fussing here and there, but not too bad. lots of kids on that flight, and the flight attendant even went through the safety spiel in a modified version which was like dr. seuss style. getting through customs in mexico was rough, the kids were tired, it was hot, we were carrying so much stuff, long line ups, etc.
but it was worth it to arrive here and be greeted at the doors with complimentary champagne, even sparkling cider for the kids. our rooms are beautiful with amazing views. it is twenty nine every day, although it always windy here. the kids are having an amazing time. i am slightly burned but not bad, considering. i played in the ocean with the kids. we've been mini golfing and water sliding and lots more. i took alex to daycare for the first time today but was paged--they give you pagers when you sign your kids in--- shortly after to come and get him, so that didn't work out well. he is adjusting well to the vacation life, waking up at six am demading to go outside. the food is great and i think we will all gain a good ten pounds at least this week.
but i need to be going now, geoff is waiting for me outside.
will see you all soon!!!
love from quantana roo...
the flight was a bit harder on alex, a bit of fussing here and there, but not too bad. lots of kids on that flight, and the flight attendant even went through the safety spiel in a modified version which was like dr. seuss style. getting through customs in mexico was rough, the kids were tired, it was hot, we were carrying so much stuff, long line ups, etc.
but it was worth it to arrive here and be greeted at the doors with complimentary champagne, even sparkling cider for the kids. our rooms are beautiful with amazing views. it is twenty nine every day, although it always windy here. the kids are having an amazing time. i am slightly burned but not bad, considering. i played in the ocean with the kids. we've been mini golfing and water sliding and lots more. i took alex to daycare for the first time today but was paged--they give you pagers when you sign your kids in--- shortly after to come and get him, so that didn't work out well. he is adjusting well to the vacation life, waking up at six am demading to go outside. the food is great and i think we will all gain a good ten pounds at least this week.
but i need to be going now, geoff is waiting for me outside.
will see you all soon!!!
love from quantana roo...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I found my keys.
First of all, I should tell you, I lost them. Which might not have been so bad, if it weren't for the second time this week. The first time I lost them the office staff was in such an uproar that I didn't have the heart to tell them that I had lost them again.
I mean, for a set a missing set of keys, there was a lot of drama in the office. I might have well told them that my children had been abducted by a terrorist cell and gotten the same response.
"I can't find my keys," I mentioned to the receptionist, more annoyed than anything.
"You can't find your keys?" "Well, where are they?" "When did you have them last?" "What do they look like?" Everyone was hurling questions at me. I felt like I was being interrogated. Next thing I knew everyone was looking for my keys. Even the doctors.
"I'm sure they'll turn up," I tried to tell them. But every few minutes someone else would come into my office and ask"did you find them yet?", all stressed out like.
No, I would answer.
"Well, don't worry, we'll find them," they would say. "We're all gonna keep on looking."
And then it occurred to me that I had lent my keys to another nurse, who wasn't there that day, and was, in fact, only ever there on Thursdays. "It's Janice,!(say her name is Janice, I won't use her real name on this blog, because of libel)" I said. "She has them! I'll just get them from her on Thursday."
And I thought that would be the end of that.
But oh, no. Couldn't be that easy. The doctor calls me into his office. "I have Janice's direct line in here somewhere," he says, looking through a bunch of papers. "You should phone her right away." Now never mind that she has this big wig job where she works for the head of infectious disease or something like that.
"Well, I would certainly hate to bother her," I began.
"No. It's not bothering her. You need those keys." He gives me the number. I slink off with the number weighing heavily in my hand.
"Did you call?" the receptionist asks me about ten minutes later.
"Nah," I reply. "I figure I'll just wait a little while. See if they turn up around here."
"Well, I'll call," she replies, indignant.
She leaves a threatening message. "We know you have Randines keys and we want them back."
And then, about an hour later, I found the keys.
"Could you please tell Janice to disregard your last message," I said sheepishly. "I had the keys all along."
So then imagine my dismay when a mere few days later I find my keys missing from their usual locale once again.
This time, I tell myself, I tell no one. No one. I'll initiate a solo covert operation to retrieve my keys. Which turns out to be a bit tricky. I'm shuffling through things in the records room, trying to appear non chalant. "Hmm. I never really looked at this basket full of paper clips before," I say, as I empty the contents. "I mean, it's good to know where to find the paper clips, if your ever in a pinch, right?"
And then when I have to use the washroom (our bathrooms are kept locked), I have to try to sneak a key from someone else on the sly. Asking for keys would create talk. Speculation. Gossip. "I think Randine lost her keys again," they would say. "She had to borrow mine to go the bathroom." "Ya," the other receptionist would chime in. "I saw her rifling through a bunch of stuff at the reception desk." "How could she lose them again? I mean, once I could see. But twice??" they would ponder. "I think she drinks," they would say, based on what, I don't know, but people talk, you know. "Big time," the other receptionists would all nod in agreement. "Big time."
And then I accidentally let it slip to my boss. My boss of all people!! "Can you open the vaccine room for me?" I asked her, because she was standing near the door, keys in hand, dangling them in front me like that. "I think mine may be kind of lost," I say when she gives me a 'and where are your keys young lady? kind of look.
She looks alarmed. "You lost your keys?" "What do you mean?"
"OH, they're not lost, really." I fumbled. "They're just... not... anywhere where I can see them ...at the moment." She looked skeptical.
"But they're somewhere," I conclude enthusiastically. "I mean, they've got to be, right?"
She still looked skeptical.
So when I saw those keys in a jumble full of autoclave supplies, let me tell you, I was pretty happy.
Anyways. Other than that, lately quite a few people that I know have had common colds. And I'm not sure if it's because I'm a nurse or what, but lately these said people have felt compelled to give me graphic and detailed descriptions of their cough, mucous, phlegm, other bodily fluids.
I can always tell that I'm in for it when it starts out "It started with..."
I brace myself, knowing that I'm going to get the blow by blow. "It started with a tickle in my throat, for about a day or two. And then it started to feel more like scratchy. And then my nose was all plugged up, and I tried taking eccinachea," they would say- to which I would think- ecchinacea?? I wouldn't bother with that herbal junk. Go for the good stuff-- Advil Cold and Sinus--.- "and I tried some tea with lemon, but it wasn't going away, although it did help I think to get things draining, because then my nose started running, which is annoying, because it's running a LOT, but at least it's draining, you know."
"Ya," I would say, disinterested like. Somehow they would take this as wild enthusiasm and continue on. And on and on. And meanwhile all I'm thinking about is "Where the hell did I put those keys?"
Anyways, long story short-- if you have a cold-- simply telling me that you have a cold is good enough. I do not need to know the precice amount or quality of snot that is coming out of your nose.
That is all for now.
Have a good day.
Thanks for reading.
First of all, I should tell you, I lost them. Which might not have been so bad, if it weren't for the second time this week. The first time I lost them the office staff was in such an uproar that I didn't have the heart to tell them that I had lost them again.
I mean, for a set a missing set of keys, there was a lot of drama in the office. I might have well told them that my children had been abducted by a terrorist cell and gotten the same response.
"I can't find my keys," I mentioned to the receptionist, more annoyed than anything.
"You can't find your keys?" "Well, where are they?" "When did you have them last?" "What do they look like?" Everyone was hurling questions at me. I felt like I was being interrogated. Next thing I knew everyone was looking for my keys. Even the doctors.
"I'm sure they'll turn up," I tried to tell them. But every few minutes someone else would come into my office and ask"did you find them yet?", all stressed out like.
No, I would answer.
"Well, don't worry, we'll find them," they would say. "We're all gonna keep on looking."
And then it occurred to me that I had lent my keys to another nurse, who wasn't there that day, and was, in fact, only ever there on Thursdays. "It's Janice,!(say her name is Janice, I won't use her real name on this blog, because of libel)" I said. "She has them! I'll just get them from her on Thursday."
And I thought that would be the end of that.
But oh, no. Couldn't be that easy. The doctor calls me into his office. "I have Janice's direct line in here somewhere," he says, looking through a bunch of papers. "You should phone her right away." Now never mind that she has this big wig job where she works for the head of infectious disease or something like that.
"Well, I would certainly hate to bother her," I began.
"No. It's not bothering her. You need those keys." He gives me the number. I slink off with the number weighing heavily in my hand.
"Did you call?" the receptionist asks me about ten minutes later.
"Nah," I reply. "I figure I'll just wait a little while. See if they turn up around here."
"Well, I'll call," she replies, indignant.
She leaves a threatening message. "We know you have Randines keys and we want them back."
And then, about an hour later, I found the keys.
"Could you please tell Janice to disregard your last message," I said sheepishly. "I had the keys all along."
So then imagine my dismay when a mere few days later I find my keys missing from their usual locale once again.
This time, I tell myself, I tell no one. No one. I'll initiate a solo covert operation to retrieve my keys. Which turns out to be a bit tricky. I'm shuffling through things in the records room, trying to appear non chalant. "Hmm. I never really looked at this basket full of paper clips before," I say, as I empty the contents. "I mean, it's good to know where to find the paper clips, if your ever in a pinch, right?"
And then when I have to use the washroom (our bathrooms are kept locked), I have to try to sneak a key from someone else on the sly. Asking for keys would create talk. Speculation. Gossip. "I think Randine lost her keys again," they would say. "She had to borrow mine to go the bathroom." "Ya," the other receptionist would chime in. "I saw her rifling through a bunch of stuff at the reception desk." "How could she lose them again? I mean, once I could see. But twice??" they would ponder. "I think she drinks," they would say, based on what, I don't know, but people talk, you know. "Big time," the other receptionists would all nod in agreement. "Big time."
And then I accidentally let it slip to my boss. My boss of all people!! "Can you open the vaccine room for me?" I asked her, because she was standing near the door, keys in hand, dangling them in front me like that. "I think mine may be kind of lost," I say when she gives me a 'and where are your keys young lady? kind of look.
She looks alarmed. "You lost your keys?" "What do you mean?"
"OH, they're not lost, really." I fumbled. "They're just... not... anywhere where I can see them ...at the moment." She looked skeptical.
"But they're somewhere," I conclude enthusiastically. "I mean, they've got to be, right?"
She still looked skeptical.
So when I saw those keys in a jumble full of autoclave supplies, let me tell you, I was pretty happy.
Anyways. Other than that, lately quite a few people that I know have had common colds. And I'm not sure if it's because I'm a nurse or what, but lately these said people have felt compelled to give me graphic and detailed descriptions of their cough, mucous, phlegm, other bodily fluids.
I can always tell that I'm in for it when it starts out "It started with..."
I brace myself, knowing that I'm going to get the blow by blow. "It started with a tickle in my throat, for about a day or two. And then it started to feel more like scratchy. And then my nose was all plugged up, and I tried taking eccinachea," they would say- to which I would think- ecchinacea?? I wouldn't bother with that herbal junk. Go for the good stuff-- Advil Cold and Sinus--.- "and I tried some tea with lemon, but it wasn't going away, although it did help I think to get things draining, because then my nose started running, which is annoying, because it's running a LOT, but at least it's draining, you know."
"Ya," I would say, disinterested like. Somehow they would take this as wild enthusiasm and continue on. And on and on. And meanwhile all I'm thinking about is "Where the hell did I put those keys?"
Anyways, long story short-- if you have a cold-- simply telling me that you have a cold is good enough. I do not need to know the precice amount or quality of snot that is coming out of your nose.
That is all for now.
Have a good day.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Preparing for Take Off
One week til Mexico.
It's like a mantra I keep on repeating. And as D day draws nearer, I grow increasingly excited to go, but now the nervousness that was once a slight seedling is now an invasive and poisonous ivy that is creeping through me, overtaking more and more of me.
It's the flight.
Once we get to Mexico I know it will be great. But getting there is going to be interesting to say the least. Alex, at one and a half, doesn't deal well with confined spaces. He likes to climb things, to be free to explore. He hates being held onto. Whenever I pick him up he writhes his little body to get away from me, like I'm sort of a pedophile, all the while screaming "Nooo" and "DOW!!" alternately, the two words in his vocabulary that comprise approximately 80% of his conversations. I cannot imagine a three to four hour flight, plus all the pre boarding stuff as well.
And that's not even mentioning the other two kids.
So today I came to work intent on searching the web for advice and formulating a plan. Hopefully, I keyed the words "tips for travelling with infant" into Google and waited for something to pop out that hadn't occurred to me before that would magically solve everything.
With dismay, I read the disappointing results.
Tip Number 1: Buy an extra seat for your baby. Too late for that, first of all. Secondly, fine if you have the extra six hundred dollars to do that, but if you don't... well... then what??
Tip Number 2: Make sure your car seat is equipped to fly on the plane... moot point.
Tip Number 3: Book a night flight. Too late for that as well. And I'm not sure about the feasibility about that anyway. So you fly all night long, and then have to be awake all day when you arrive at your destination??
Tip Number 4: Get to the airport early. No kidding. I mean, they might as well just say "Pack a suit case."
And so on and so forth.
Useless information. Bloody useless.
The only thing that I found helpful at all was the final tip that I read, after I had almost given up. The final tip that was added, it almost seemed, as an after thought. Like the author had run out of things to say so added in a peice of advice that seems trite on the surface.
Tip Number 10: Enjoy the ride.
And there it was: the magic words that I needed to hear, or in this case, read: enjoy the ride! As it turns out, I don't need to prepare myself physically- believe me you, I plan on packing so many gold fish crackers and cheese strings that...
that... well there'll be a lot of them, suffice it to say.
I needed to prepare myself psychologically.
I mean, bottom line, this is a milestone in my children's lives, and I shouldn't approach it with trepidation. These are memories in the making, blood, sweat and tears included, although truly, I hope it doesn't come down to blood.
I flashed back to Payton and Alex's first flight, which was to Calgary. Payton was so excited at take off, she was squealing and giggling so loudly. My first instinct was to shush her, hoping that she wasn't being a bother to other passengers. I scanned the passengers furtively, awaiting their disproving glares. But then I noticed that most of them had turned to look at her, their faces not scowling but smiling. A small ripple of laughter went through the cabin as they appreciated her enthusiasm. Many of the people around me where eager to talk to me and the children. Payton made friends with a row of pretty adolescent girls seated across from us who were charmed by her giggly chatter and also her lavish use of accessories. I smiled to myself. This is it, I thought then and I think now, looking back on it. This is what makes my heart happy. Watching your children shake with laughter, seeing the delight and wonder in them, the absolute unrestrained happiness. And the pride that I felt for them at that moment. These were my kids, my beautiful kids. Payton sitting by the window, back lit by the light of the sun.
I think sometimes I underestimate them.
They are children, but they are not a burden.
Back at work, things are going well, at least reasonably so. I regret to say that Cucumber Breath has given her notice and taken up a new job elsewhere. Truthfully, the only regret I felt was when they asked me to contribute to her farewell gift. I was like "well how much is everyone else putting in?" "Five dollars," the receptionist told me.
I put in three.
Partly because it's what I happened to have on me at the time, and partly because I wasn't totally sad to see her go, or even at all sad, in light of the comments she made to me about my lunch which I took offense to (read: Some people have the nerve, July/2009 for background info.)
Anyways, as it turned it most everyone else ended up putting in ten, so I felt pretty stingy by the end of the day.
But I won't lose any sleep over it.
It's like a mantra I keep on repeating. And as D day draws nearer, I grow increasingly excited to go, but now the nervousness that was once a slight seedling is now an invasive and poisonous ivy that is creeping through me, overtaking more and more of me.
It's the flight.
Once we get to Mexico I know it will be great. But getting there is going to be interesting to say the least. Alex, at one and a half, doesn't deal well with confined spaces. He likes to climb things, to be free to explore. He hates being held onto. Whenever I pick him up he writhes his little body to get away from me, like I'm sort of a pedophile, all the while screaming "Nooo" and "DOW!!" alternately, the two words in his vocabulary that comprise approximately 80% of his conversations. I cannot imagine a three to four hour flight, plus all the pre boarding stuff as well.
And that's not even mentioning the other two kids.
So today I came to work intent on searching the web for advice and formulating a plan. Hopefully, I keyed the words "tips for travelling with infant" into Google and waited for something to pop out that hadn't occurred to me before that would magically solve everything.
With dismay, I read the disappointing results.
Tip Number 1: Buy an extra seat for your baby. Too late for that, first of all. Secondly, fine if you have the extra six hundred dollars to do that, but if you don't... well... then what??
Tip Number 2: Make sure your car seat is equipped to fly on the plane... moot point.
Tip Number 3: Book a night flight. Too late for that as well. And I'm not sure about the feasibility about that anyway. So you fly all night long, and then have to be awake all day when you arrive at your destination??
Tip Number 4: Get to the airport early. No kidding. I mean, they might as well just say "Pack a suit case."
And so on and so forth.
Useless information. Bloody useless.
The only thing that I found helpful at all was the final tip that I read, after I had almost given up. The final tip that was added, it almost seemed, as an after thought. Like the author had run out of things to say so added in a peice of advice that seems trite on the surface.
Tip Number 10: Enjoy the ride.
And there it was: the magic words that I needed to hear, or in this case, read: enjoy the ride! As it turns out, I don't need to prepare myself physically- believe me you, I plan on packing so many gold fish crackers and cheese strings that...
that... well there'll be a lot of them, suffice it to say.
I needed to prepare myself psychologically.
I mean, bottom line, this is a milestone in my children's lives, and I shouldn't approach it with trepidation. These are memories in the making, blood, sweat and tears included, although truly, I hope it doesn't come down to blood.
I flashed back to Payton and Alex's first flight, which was to Calgary. Payton was so excited at take off, she was squealing and giggling so loudly. My first instinct was to shush her, hoping that she wasn't being a bother to other passengers. I scanned the passengers furtively, awaiting their disproving glares. But then I noticed that most of them had turned to look at her, their faces not scowling but smiling. A small ripple of laughter went through the cabin as they appreciated her enthusiasm. Many of the people around me where eager to talk to me and the children. Payton made friends with a row of pretty adolescent girls seated across from us who were charmed by her giggly chatter and also her lavish use of accessories. I smiled to myself. This is it, I thought then and I think now, looking back on it. This is what makes my heart happy. Watching your children shake with laughter, seeing the delight and wonder in them, the absolute unrestrained happiness. And the pride that I felt for them at that moment. These were my kids, my beautiful kids. Payton sitting by the window, back lit by the light of the sun.
I think sometimes I underestimate them.
They are children, but they are not a burden.
Back at work, things are going well, at least reasonably so. I regret to say that Cucumber Breath has given her notice and taken up a new job elsewhere. Truthfully, the only regret I felt was when they asked me to contribute to her farewell gift. I was like "well how much is everyone else putting in?" "Five dollars," the receptionist told me.
I put in three.
Partly because it's what I happened to have on me at the time, and partly because I wasn't totally sad to see her go, or even at all sad, in light of the comments she made to me about my lunch which I took offense to (read: Some people have the nerve, July/2009 for background info.)
Anyways, as it turned it most everyone else ended up putting in ten, so I felt pretty stingy by the end of the day.
But I won't lose any sleep over it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)