April 22, 2011
My 200th entry!
When I started this I had no idea I'd have so much to say!
Okay, maybe that's not all that true, but still. . . .200 entries.
Last night Keith, Em, Stephen and I saw Rio.
Some laughs, but overall, I was disappointed.
Kids will love it, absolutely.
The evil bird is definitely evil.
Stereotypes abound regarding anyone who isn't lily white as criminal.
Even harsh facial features.
Still. . . .
We didn't pay for it, spent time with 2/3 of our children, so as far as I'm concerned it was a good night.
In addition, I spent time with the other 1/3 of our children.
Meredyth and I made a coffee date and even managed to keep it.
A feat for both of us as usually, something comes up for one of us.
But not this time.
We had a lovely time together for an hour before she had to go to work.
I had my Starbucks grande mild.
She had her KFC crunchy chicken something with fries.
I may have nibbled a couple of fries.
But that was all.
Definitely something I will be doing again, regularly.
And then an odd thing happened.
A Thursday.
Suppertime.
I had the car.
Another odd thing.
Usually I am dropped off where ever I have to go and Stephen has the car.
And, there was no reason to rush home for supper because someone had to go somewhere, or be picked up, or there was something I had to do, or somewhere I had to be, or work that had to be started because someone was waiting for it today.
Celebrate the odd things.
So I just wandered around the mall.
Ran into people.
Sat down with my coffee and had a conversation with someone who hadn't come looking for me to help them with a paper, answer a question about an exam, or deal with life crises.
For a brief period, I felt almost normal.
At the same time, there was still the niggling feeling in the back of my brain, the invisible hook between me and home gently tugging at me, suggesting that at this time of day, during this day of the week, I really should be home, setting the table and ladling out the homemade beef barely soup I prepared that morning and allowed to simmer all day long in the crock pot.
Eventually, I had to give in to the gentle tugging.
About 45 minutes.
I thought, given the unusual circumstances, the unanticipated unscheduled time, I thought I did very well.
Thinking that Stephen and the kids would be wondering where I was.
How come I was taking so long.
What I was up to.
I went back to the car and immediately called home.
Stephen answered.
And didn't seem the least bit concerned about where I was or what I was doing.
Come home when you're ready. Everything is fine here.
Leaving me to conclude that the invisible hook is a figment of my imagination.
I need to get out more.
A lot more.
Easter weekend.
Good Friday and Easter Monday, along with Remembrance Day and Boxing Day are the four days a year when nothing is open, no one needs anything and I don't have to be anywhere or do anything I choose not to do.
Another odd thing.
I don't have to go to work, I don't feel obligated to go to work.
Nothing is open so I don't have to do anything responsible, like grocery shopping, bill paying.
If there was any dirty laundry, I could hang it out, should I choose to.
I could do yoga all day if I wanted.
I love these days.
I wish there were more.
Sunday is a different story.
Family dinner.
Although, I think that this one will be a bit more peaceful.
We are providing the venue, a salad, some other veggies. . . .
Everyone else is bringing something. . .food, good conversation, family well being. . .
Who couldn't enjoy that?
I'm looking forward to a nice, relaxing long weekend.
Only four honours theses to read.
Two piles of papers to mark.
Two stacks of exams.
And yet, not feeling worried about it.
Just looking forward to the sunshine, the peace, the quiet, and the opportunity to do what I want to do. . .
. . .and not what I have to do.
Title Lyric: Do What You Want by OK GO
Friday, April 22, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Through these sleepless nights. . . .
April 20, 2011
This afternoon, I did the unthinkable.
I left work around 1.30.
The honours thesis was hand delivered to the second reader.
My duties as second reader on another thesis were completed.
I may be a second reader for yet another thesis, however, I haven't seen it yet so I'm assuming I'm not.
With nothing I needed to do in my office I came home.
I can mark anywhere.
And do I ever have marking.
Being away from the office means I don't have to stare at the huge pile.
Just the smaller pile.
The one that deluded me into thinking I can get all of this done on time.
Alas, marking hasn't been that forthcoming.
When I walked through the door to the loving welcome of my gleefully excited puppies, put down all my bags and sundry items, and basked in that canine love, I realized I was utterly, unquestionably, without a doubt exhausted.
In spite of two nights of rigorous yoga.
Extensive reading and editing.
Dealing with the usual traumas that have come to signify the reality of my everyday life.
Exhausted.
Oh, and last evening was a bit of a shit show in terms of sleeping.
I couldn't sleep.
Things on my mind weren't gracefully melting into the back of my consciousness.
And Stephen's snoring was more than obnoxious.
A LOT more than. . . .
Perhaps I only notice Stephen's snoring when I can't sleep because my brain is full to overflowing with things that won't leave me alone.
Ergo blaming it on Stephen's snoring is just more convenient.
Not withstanding the reasons for my bout of sleeplessness, I still had to contend with the snoring from hell.
As usual, I started with a gentle poke to the shoulder, asking him to roll over onto his stomach.
No response.
As usual.
I did that a couple more times and then resorted to something a little more aggressive.
A definitely less-than-gentle-I-am-not-f***ing-around shove.
THAT got me a response.
Although not the one I intended.
Stephen, roll over.
NO!
I was a bit surprised by his vehemence, however, surprise did not negate my intense, burning desire for a bedroom that didn't sound like the inside of a factory.
And one NO! isn't nearly enough to deter me from my quest.
Neither did several more NOs!
Leaving me no course than to take more aggressive measures.
Like shoves.
Which resulted in a very, very strange occurrence.
A spiel of gibberish I can neither replicate here, nor am I certain I would want to.
Weird, though.
Very weird.
Weirder than when he speaks Ukrainian at me.
Which happens more often than it should, given that I can't understand a word he's saying to me.
When I asked him this afternoon what the gibberish meant, he said all he could remember was that he was dreaming of being on the Great Wall of China.
Pushed off the Great Wall of China next time he keeps me up with his noxious snoring.
And this wasn't the first Stephen-weird incident of the day.
Earlier in the evening, he was driving me to my Tuesday yoga class.
Dogs in the back of the car because immediately after dropping me off, he was taking them to the farm for a run.
One they most desperately needed.
We had just turned from Wetmore to Kimble when a crabby Stephen. . .
. . .crabby because the dogs were so excited they were barking at anything as we drove down the street. . .blowing leaves, pedestrians, other dogs, things we couldn't even see I suspect. . .
meaning that Stephen's nerves were shattered before we were in the car for five minutes.
In a state of shattered nerves, Stephen asked me to reach into the glove box and retrieve his sunglasses.
Something I would have been happy to do had they not already been on his face.
Snugly nestled on the bridge of his nose.
Already providing ample relief from the blinding close to six pm sunshine.
I needed a laugh.
I really did.
An honest to goodness deep down in the belly laugh. . .ones where you're gasping for air.
And you have to take them when they come along.
Cause your never sure when the next one will make an appearance.
And what the hell is 4 20 anyway???
And how come my son is so excited about it?
Title Lyric: Sleepless Nights by Norah Jones
This afternoon, I did the unthinkable.
I left work around 1.30.
The honours thesis was hand delivered to the second reader.
My duties as second reader on another thesis were completed.
I may be a second reader for yet another thesis, however, I haven't seen it yet so I'm assuming I'm not.
With nothing I needed to do in my office I came home.
I can mark anywhere.
And do I ever have marking.
Being away from the office means I don't have to stare at the huge pile.
Just the smaller pile.
The one that deluded me into thinking I can get all of this done on time.
Alas, marking hasn't been that forthcoming.
When I walked through the door to the loving welcome of my gleefully excited puppies, put down all my bags and sundry items, and basked in that canine love, I realized I was utterly, unquestionably, without a doubt exhausted.
In spite of two nights of rigorous yoga.
Extensive reading and editing.
Dealing with the usual traumas that have come to signify the reality of my everyday life.
Exhausted.
Oh, and last evening was a bit of a shit show in terms of sleeping.
I couldn't sleep.
Things on my mind weren't gracefully melting into the back of my consciousness.
And Stephen's snoring was more than obnoxious.
A LOT more than. . . .
Perhaps I only notice Stephen's snoring when I can't sleep because my brain is full to overflowing with things that won't leave me alone.
Ergo blaming it on Stephen's snoring is just more convenient.
Not withstanding the reasons for my bout of sleeplessness, I still had to contend with the snoring from hell.
As usual, I started with a gentle poke to the shoulder, asking him to roll over onto his stomach.
No response.
As usual.
I did that a couple more times and then resorted to something a little more aggressive.
A definitely less-than-gentle-I-am-not-f***ing-around shove.
THAT got me a response.
Although not the one I intended.
Stephen, roll over.
NO!
I was a bit surprised by his vehemence, however, surprise did not negate my intense, burning desire for a bedroom that didn't sound like the inside of a factory.
And one NO! isn't nearly enough to deter me from my quest.
Neither did several more NOs!
Leaving me no course than to take more aggressive measures.
Like shoves.
Which resulted in a very, very strange occurrence.
A spiel of gibberish I can neither replicate here, nor am I certain I would want to.
Weird, though.
Very weird.
Weirder than when he speaks Ukrainian at me.
Which happens more often than it should, given that I can't understand a word he's saying to me.
When I asked him this afternoon what the gibberish meant, he said all he could remember was that he was dreaming of being on the Great Wall of China.
Pushed off the Great Wall of China next time he keeps me up with his noxious snoring.
And this wasn't the first Stephen-weird incident of the day.
Earlier in the evening, he was driving me to my Tuesday yoga class.
Dogs in the back of the car because immediately after dropping me off, he was taking them to the farm for a run.
One they most desperately needed.
We had just turned from Wetmore to Kimble when a crabby Stephen. . .
. . .crabby because the dogs were so excited they were barking at anything as we drove down the street. . .blowing leaves, pedestrians, other dogs, things we couldn't even see I suspect. . .
meaning that Stephen's nerves were shattered before we were in the car for five minutes.
In a state of shattered nerves, Stephen asked me to reach into the glove box and retrieve his sunglasses.
Something I would have been happy to do had they not already been on his face.
Snugly nestled on the bridge of his nose.
Already providing ample relief from the blinding close to six pm sunshine.
I needed a laugh.
I really did.
An honest to goodness deep down in the belly laugh. . .ones where you're gasping for air.
And you have to take them when they come along.
Cause your never sure when the next one will make an appearance.
And what the hell is 4 20 anyway???
And how come my son is so excited about it?
Title Lyric: Sleepless Nights by Norah Jones
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
My first car was an old rust bucket. . .
April 19, 2011
I'd wish for the end of this term to come at the speed of sound, however, the beginning of May brings Intersession.
Which may or may not be any more relaxing that what I'm experiencing right now.
Weeks of getting up at 5.00 am to get Emily up to be on time for school at 8.15 am, to read paper drafts, theses drafts, develop exams, in addition to book launches, birthday parties -- surprise or otherwise, family dinners, has left me more tired than almost any other time in my life.
At least that what it feels like right now.
I am certain there are times when all the kids were sick at the same time, and I was teaching full time while working on the final draft of my dissertation that I was tired.
I just don't remember them right now because they aren't as present as the tired I'm experiencing right now.
Not that I haven't tried to find some time for myself before collapsing into bed at 9.00 pm.
Stephen and I started a yoga class yesterday.
5.15 to 6.45 pm, above a bike store.
My Tuesday yoga class is coming to an end next week, thus leaving me yoga-less unless I found another class.
So I did.
And made Stephen come with me.
Because if anyone needs yoga, it's Stephen.
And anyone who thinks that yoga isn't a full workout, doesn't make you sweat and stretch your muscles to the point where you feel something is going to snap, you haven't tried yoga.
You should.
There is, really, no downside to yoga.
Except. . .
For some reason, yoga releases things in me that should not be released in mixed company.
Or any company for that matter, but doing it in front of family doesn't count.
Farting.
Yoga makes me fart.
Instead of focusing on poses, where my feet should or shouldn't be and if I have my shoulders underneath me. . .
I am clenching my gluteus maximus together with an intensity that would impress my yoga teacher if she knew what I was doing.
I wasn't so lucky tonight.
We tried a new pose.
One where we lie on our side, roll over onto our backs and stretch our legs up against the wall.
In the process of rolling and stretching I farted.
Not a gentle "pooooofffff" kind of fart.
But an obnoxiously loud ppppppppppplllllllllllllppppprrrrrrrrrrttttttpppppppppppttttttttttttrrrrrlllllllllllrrrrrrrrtttttttt
kind of fart.
In a room with acoustics that would make the Met Opera House jealous.
No one acknowledged that they heard it.
But unless they were deaf, had cotton shoved into every orifice of their ears and could feel no vibrations whatsoever in any part of their body, they heard it.
Loud and clear.
And I just laid on the floor, feet against the wall, face redder than the shirt I was wearing pretending it wasn't me who just released a cloud of potentially lethal methane into the serene yoga atmosphere.
Figures.
When you need a dog, there are none to be found.
Em had a big day yesterday.
She got her first car.
Not that she has a licence to operate this car, but that isn't the issue right now.
She has a car.
Given to her by my brother, who purchased a new-to-him vehicle.
The car, in 2000, was my mother's.
My brother and his wife bought it when it was clear my mother's driving days had come to an end.
This is the same car Em used to sit in, driven by my mother, Em in the front seat wearing my mother's cats eyes sunglasses.
With my mother reminding her not to fall asleep.
She'd always fall asleep.
And now, it's her car.
Time goes by far, far too quickly.
A fact I am reminded of each and every day I look at my children.
I've never seen Em so happy or ecstatic.
Ever.
Except maybe when she's been away from Reilley for an extended period of time.
The car?
A 2000 Hyundai Elantra.
It's even the color in the picture.
It does need some work.
Okay, more than a little work.
But, the benefit of not being able to drive it right now is that she'll have the time to work and save money for the repairs.
And I'll have time to get used to Em having a car.
That'll take a lot of time.
My first car was a 1983 Toyota Tercel.
The red one.
I still miss that car.
The giving of the car hasn't happened without some discontent.
Mer-discontent.
Of course.
I expected nothing less.
Mer who forgets that grandma spent the equivalent of a luxury car on her when she lived in Ontario.
Enough said.
Title Lyric: My First Car by Jason Blaine
I'd wish for the end of this term to come at the speed of sound, however, the beginning of May brings Intersession.
Which may or may not be any more relaxing that what I'm experiencing right now.
Weeks of getting up at 5.00 am to get Emily up to be on time for school at 8.15 am, to read paper drafts, theses drafts, develop exams, in addition to book launches, birthday parties -- surprise or otherwise, family dinners, has left me more tired than almost any other time in my life.
At least that what it feels like right now.
I am certain there are times when all the kids were sick at the same time, and I was teaching full time while working on the final draft of my dissertation that I was tired.
I just don't remember them right now because they aren't as present as the tired I'm experiencing right now.
Not that I haven't tried to find some time for myself before collapsing into bed at 9.00 pm.
Stephen and I started a yoga class yesterday.
5.15 to 6.45 pm, above a bike store.
My Tuesday yoga class is coming to an end next week, thus leaving me yoga-less unless I found another class.
So I did.
And made Stephen come with me.
Because if anyone needs yoga, it's Stephen.
And anyone who thinks that yoga isn't a full workout, doesn't make you sweat and stretch your muscles to the point where you feel something is going to snap, you haven't tried yoga.
You should.
There is, really, no downside to yoga.
Except. . .
For some reason, yoga releases things in me that should not be released in mixed company.
Or any company for that matter, but doing it in front of family doesn't count.
Farting.
Yoga makes me fart.
Instead of focusing on poses, where my feet should or shouldn't be and if I have my shoulders underneath me. . .
I am clenching my gluteus maximus together with an intensity that would impress my yoga teacher if she knew what I was doing.
I wasn't so lucky tonight.
We tried a new pose.
One where we lie on our side, roll over onto our backs and stretch our legs up against the wall.
In the process of rolling and stretching I farted.
Not a gentle "pooooofffff" kind of fart.
But an obnoxiously loud ppppppppppplllllllllllllppppprrrrrrrrrrttttttpppppppppppttttttttttttrrrrrlllllllllllrrrrrrrrtttttttt
kind of fart.
In a room with acoustics that would make the Met Opera House jealous.
No one acknowledged that they heard it.
But unless they were deaf, had cotton shoved into every orifice of their ears and could feel no vibrations whatsoever in any part of their body, they heard it.
Loud and clear.
And I just laid on the floor, feet against the wall, face redder than the shirt I was wearing pretending it wasn't me who just released a cloud of potentially lethal methane into the serene yoga atmosphere.
Figures.
When you need a dog, there are none to be found.
Em had a big day yesterday.
She got her first car.
Not that she has a licence to operate this car, but that isn't the issue right now.
She has a car.
Given to her by my brother, who purchased a new-to-him vehicle.
The car, in 2000, was my mother's.
My brother and his wife bought it when it was clear my mother's driving days had come to an end.
This is the same car Em used to sit in, driven by my mother, Em in the front seat wearing my mother's cats eyes sunglasses.
With my mother reminding her not to fall asleep.
She'd always fall asleep.
And now, it's her car.
Time goes by far, far too quickly.
A fact I am reminded of each and every day I look at my children.
I've never seen Em so happy or ecstatic.
Ever.
Except maybe when she's been away from Reilley for an extended period of time.
The car?
A 2000 Hyundai Elantra.
It's even the color in the picture.
It does need some work.
Okay, more than a little work.
But, the benefit of not being able to drive it right now is that she'll have the time to work and save money for the repairs.
And I'll have time to get used to Em having a car.
That'll take a lot of time.
My first car was a 1983 Toyota Tercel.
The red one.
I still miss that car.
The giving of the car hasn't happened without some discontent.
Mer-discontent.
Of course.
I expected nothing less.
Mer who forgets that grandma spent the equivalent of a luxury car on her when she lived in Ontario.
Enough said.
Title Lyric: My First Car by Jason Blaine
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Inky, blinky, electronics. . .better living through electronics. . .gotta lotta electronics. . .
April 17, 2011
Dad's birthday dinner was very nice.
Not that there weren't issues.
It's my family.
Issues are as expected as inappropriate quips and Em asking for dessert.
But they were not the result of Dad.
Meredyth.
The source of malcontent.
Luckily, she was at the opposite end of the table from me.
She was not herself.
Or she was.
In which case I am more scared and more concerned than ever.
My brother bought Dad an Acer laptop for his birthday.
He asked me if I would purchase a router.
Sure, I said.
What's a router?
Look up technologically challenged in the dictionary, and you'll see my picture.
Keith often has to say things like,
MUM! Step away from the remote!
Or, MUM! You don't have to touch the X-Box. Just tell me what you're trying to do!
So telling me to just go into Rogers and ask them what they would recommend was a bit of a gamble.
Definitely moving me out of my comfort zone.
But, I did go in, knowing to some extent what the experience was going to be like before even starting.
Stephen and Mer in tow.
Because neither was willing to just wait in the car.
I approach three young men, all wearing the uniform of a Roger's employee, all looking suitably bored as there were no customers demanding that they at least look as if they're thrilled to be working a minimum wage job serving people who no nothing about electronics, cable or the internet.
Pretty much sums me up.
I asked for a router.
At first they looked at me like I was nuts.
Who doesn't know what a router is?
Then they suggested I upgrade his modem for a nominal monthly fee.
No thanks.
I have enough bills to pay.
And I am certain that Dad wouldn't be thrilled to know I made additions to his monthly bill for his birthday present.
They suggested Future Shop.
I cringed.
Never have I ever gone into Future Shop and purchased anything without some sort of problem.
Which usually manifests itself AFTER I get what I bought home.
But it seemed as if Future Shop was the route I was going to have to take.
Thankfully, my brother prepared me for this potential step in the process.
You may have to go to Future Shop or The Source.
As we were leaving Rogers, I heard one of the three males with whom I had been conversing, lazing in their seats, "working", mumble,
I would have just upgraded the modem.
I stopped.
Turned around.
Looked him square in the eye and said,
Me, too. But it isn't me. And it isn't you. It's my Dad. And I'm not adding anything to his bill for his birthday. Doesn't seem very nice, does it?
And walked out.
Thankfully, the Future Shop employee who helped us. . . .
. . .an experience made much nice as he had a lovely Scottish accent. . . .
knew what I was looking for.
And even where they were located.
Good thing because I had NO idea where to even begin.
I actually despise going into electronic stores.
As soon as I walk in I feel as if I've entered an alternative universe.
Plus they're SO loud.
TVs on different channels, music booming from unseen places, some middle aged man playing an electric guitar hooked up to a computer. . .
Plus,
I never know where to look for what I am supposed to be getting.
Coupled with the fact that I never know what I am actually getting.
Keith asked for an ipod dock one Christmas, and I was convinced it was some sort of gag to make me look like more of an arse in The Source than I do most of the other times I've had to go in there.
Em was with me and assured me that such a thing existed.
Otherwise, I would have never even asked.
Digital tape recorders?
I think not.
I want an actual tape in an actual machine.
Call me old fashioned, but I am having a hard enough time with my fancy normal tape recorder, let alone something that doesn't need a tape.
My brother asks me if I've connected Netflix to Keith's X-Box 360.
No, I reply.
It's so easy! he says.
I ask Keith.
Well, you'll need this cord and this plug in and this wire and this doodad, and this has to be added to the X-box and it'll cost about $100.00.
Easy.
Sure.
I'll just buy a new dvd player thank you very much.
Fate must have smiled upon me because I was actually able to get the router without any difficulty.
Mainly because I made it very clear that I was there not of my own volition, but because I had been asked to, and then explained the circumstances under which I found myself purchasing a router.
I don't care if he needed to know or not.
I needed him to know.
Culpability.
I wish to avoid it.
Because, in typical Dawne fashion, we left all of this to the last minute, I had to go to Dollarama for gift bags.
I don't mind Dollarama.
Because I usually don't go on Saturday.
And I always go for specific things.
Just because something only costs a dollar doesn't mean it should be purchased for a dollar.
Case in point:
Stephen once bought underwear at the Dollarama.
Don't ask me why.
He still hasn't told me.
And I'm not sure I want to know.
No bag, no tags, nothing.
Just picked it from a pile.
I made him throw it out.
Call me an underwear snob.
I don't care.
Like peanut butter and cheez whiz, somethings shouldn't be compromised.
I anticipated a quick in and out, gift bags in hand before I had to pick up my mother.
Anticipation is a nasty bitch.
The place was FULL.
Packed.
People lined up in the aisles.
Of course, because we were in a hurry, there was a woman two people ahead of us with a pile of stuff.
One item in particular struck me as kind of odd, but who am I to judge?
Fake black hair attached to comb-like thingies, whose purpose I ascertained must be to affix said fake hair to someone's head.
One of the combs was broken.
The woman purchasing this item wanted to know if she could get a discount.
The cashier said,
We don't give discounts.
The woman then proceeded to ask the cashier behind her.
Apparently thinking the first cashier was lying to her.
The second cashier looked at this woman wanting to purchase the fake hair affixed to the broken combs and said plainly, bluntly, without any pretense,
We don't do discounts. This is a dollar store. Buy them or leave them.
I liked it.
Clear. Concise. To the point.
And she wasn't rude.
But she wasn't fooling around when the store was packed, people were lining up in the aisles and there is one woman who wants to purchase fake hair?
She bought them.
What I wanted to know was what middle aged woman with short hair was going to do with two combs holding fake black hair.
That seemed to me to be the more interesting question.
After the trauma of Rogers and the Future Shop, the irritation of the Dollarama, I needed the comfort of the real world.
Okay, my real world.
I had one more purchase to make for my dad's birthday.
A book.
Jean Auel's The Land of Painted Caves.
Meaning I had to go to Chapters.
Which restored me.
I no longer felt unbalanced.
It wasn't so much being in Chapters per se, as being surrounded by books.
A restorative on so many levels.
Some of which involve the bathroom and the impact being around books has on my bodily functions.
I'll save that one for later.
Picking up Mum from the nursing home was its own set of trauma.
She likes going out.
But she does not like the change in her routine.
The entire time we're gone she worries about what time we'll get back.
Thinking that if we aren't there by the time the meds are dispensed, they will withhold her medication.
We arrive and she wants to know if she needs to wear her winter coat.
Mum's winter coat is two sizes to big for her, but she wanted it that way in case she needed to put on extra layers underneath.
Getting her into the car with this coat on is a huge challenge, because she can't tell if she's actually on the seat, as the coat is so padded it prevents her from knowing where her parts are.
Sitting in the car is also a challenge.
The coat is so big that once we do manage to get her in there, and secure the seat belt around all of her coat, the coat actually surrounds her head like a nun's wimple.
Her head sits more where her shoulders should be.
So, I made an executive decision and decided we would leave the coat in the closet.
A decision that spurned her to remark she needed a new spring coat.
Which caused me to reply that was no problem, and I would take her to Penningtons to get one.
Because I am no schlepping back and forth between the store and the nursing home a hundred times to ensure she get the right coat that's the right size and the right color.
Been there before.
Not willing to go again.
Of course, the second we get her outside the wind gusts and she gives me a look that says,
I should have worn my coat.
Once in the car, I put on the seat warmer, Stephen turned the heat to 3 and off we went.
From the back seat, I could see sweat forming on Stephen's upper lip from the blasting heat in the front of the car.
And Mum announces that she's just starting to warm up.
This is the woman who, just below her thermostat in her room, has a sign that says,
Meaning, winter, summer, spring or fall, her thermometer is at it's highest setting.
30 degrees Celcius.
Some nights I come out there ten pounds lighter than when I went in.
And we wonder about the causes of global warming.
Title Lyric: I Do Better Electronics by Sad Little Stars
Dad's birthday dinner was very nice.
Not that there weren't issues.
It's my family.
Issues are as expected as inappropriate quips and Em asking for dessert.
But they were not the result of Dad.
Meredyth.
The source of malcontent.
Luckily, she was at the opposite end of the table from me.
She was not herself.
Or she was.
In which case I am more scared and more concerned than ever.
My brother bought Dad an Acer laptop for his birthday.
He asked me if I would purchase a router.
Sure, I said.
What's a router?
Look up technologically challenged in the dictionary, and you'll see my picture.
Keith often has to say things like,
MUM! Step away from the remote!
Or, MUM! You don't have to touch the X-Box. Just tell me what you're trying to do!
So telling me to just go into Rogers and ask them what they would recommend was a bit of a gamble.
Definitely moving me out of my comfort zone.
But, I did go in, knowing to some extent what the experience was going to be like before even starting.
Stephen and Mer in tow.
Because neither was willing to just wait in the car.
I approach three young men, all wearing the uniform of a Roger's employee, all looking suitably bored as there were no customers demanding that they at least look as if they're thrilled to be working a minimum wage job serving people who no nothing about electronics, cable or the internet.
Pretty much sums me up.
I asked for a router.
At first they looked at me like I was nuts.
Who doesn't know what a router is?
Then they suggested I upgrade his modem for a nominal monthly fee.
No thanks.
I have enough bills to pay.
And I am certain that Dad wouldn't be thrilled to know I made additions to his monthly bill for his birthday present.
They suggested Future Shop.
I cringed.
Never have I ever gone into Future Shop and purchased anything without some sort of problem.
Which usually manifests itself AFTER I get what I bought home.
But it seemed as if Future Shop was the route I was going to have to take.
Thankfully, my brother prepared me for this potential step in the process.
You may have to go to Future Shop or The Source.
As we were leaving Rogers, I heard one of the three males with whom I had been conversing, lazing in their seats, "working", mumble,
I would have just upgraded the modem.
I stopped.
Turned around.
Looked him square in the eye and said,
Me, too. But it isn't me. And it isn't you. It's my Dad. And I'm not adding anything to his bill for his birthday. Doesn't seem very nice, does it?
And walked out.
Thankfully, the Future Shop employee who helped us. . . .
. . .an experience made much nice as he had a lovely Scottish accent. . . .
knew what I was looking for.
And even where they were located.
Good thing because I had NO idea where to even begin.
I actually despise going into electronic stores.
As soon as I walk in I feel as if I've entered an alternative universe.
Plus they're SO loud.
TVs on different channels, music booming from unseen places, some middle aged man playing an electric guitar hooked up to a computer. . .
Plus,
I never know where to look for what I am supposed to be getting.
Coupled with the fact that I never know what I am actually getting.
Keith asked for an ipod dock one Christmas, and I was convinced it was some sort of gag to make me look like more of an arse in The Source than I do most of the other times I've had to go in there.
Em was with me and assured me that such a thing existed.
Otherwise, I would have never even asked.
Digital tape recorders?
I think not.
I want an actual tape in an actual machine.
Call me old fashioned, but I am having a hard enough time with my fancy normal tape recorder, let alone something that doesn't need a tape.
My brother asks me if I've connected Netflix to Keith's X-Box 360.
No, I reply.
It's so easy! he says.
I ask Keith.
Well, you'll need this cord and this plug in and this wire and this doodad, and this has to be added to the X-box and it'll cost about $100.00.
Easy.
Sure.
I'll just buy a new dvd player thank you very much.
Fate must have smiled upon me because I was actually able to get the router without any difficulty.
Mainly because I made it very clear that I was there not of my own volition, but because I had been asked to, and then explained the circumstances under which I found myself purchasing a router.
I don't care if he needed to know or not.
I needed him to know.
Culpability.
I wish to avoid it.
Because, in typical Dawne fashion, we left all of this to the last minute, I had to go to Dollarama for gift bags.
I don't mind Dollarama.
Because I usually don't go on Saturday.
And I always go for specific things.
Just because something only costs a dollar doesn't mean it should be purchased for a dollar.
Case in point:
Stephen once bought underwear at the Dollarama.
Don't ask me why.
He still hasn't told me.
And I'm not sure I want to know.
No bag, no tags, nothing.
Just picked it from a pile.
I made him throw it out.
Call me an underwear snob.
I don't care.
Like peanut butter and cheez whiz, somethings shouldn't be compromised.
I anticipated a quick in and out, gift bags in hand before I had to pick up my mother.
Anticipation is a nasty bitch.
The place was FULL.
Packed.
People lined up in the aisles.
Of course, because we were in a hurry, there was a woman two people ahead of us with a pile of stuff.
One item in particular struck me as kind of odd, but who am I to judge?
Fake black hair attached to comb-like thingies, whose purpose I ascertained must be to affix said fake hair to someone's head.
One of the combs was broken.
The woman purchasing this item wanted to know if she could get a discount.
The cashier said,
We don't give discounts.
The woman then proceeded to ask the cashier behind her.
Apparently thinking the first cashier was lying to her.
The second cashier looked at this woman wanting to purchase the fake hair affixed to the broken combs and said plainly, bluntly, without any pretense,
We don't do discounts. This is a dollar store. Buy them or leave them.
I liked it.
Clear. Concise. To the point.
And she wasn't rude.
But she wasn't fooling around when the store was packed, people were lining up in the aisles and there is one woman who wants to purchase fake hair?
She bought them.
What I wanted to know was what middle aged woman with short hair was going to do with two combs holding fake black hair.
That seemed to me to be the more interesting question.
After the trauma of Rogers and the Future Shop, the irritation of the Dollarama, I needed the comfort of the real world.
Okay, my real world.
I had one more purchase to make for my dad's birthday.
A book.
Jean Auel's The Land of Painted Caves.
Meaning I had to go to Chapters.
Which restored me.
I no longer felt unbalanced.
It wasn't so much being in Chapters per se, as being surrounded by books.
A restorative on so many levels.
Some of which involve the bathroom and the impact being around books has on my bodily functions.
I'll save that one for later.
Picking up Mum from the nursing home was its own set of trauma.
She likes going out.
But she does not like the change in her routine.
The entire time we're gone she worries about what time we'll get back.
Thinking that if we aren't there by the time the meds are dispensed, they will withhold her medication.
We arrive and she wants to know if she needs to wear her winter coat.
Mum's winter coat is two sizes to big for her, but she wanted it that way in case she needed to put on extra layers underneath.
Getting her into the car with this coat on is a huge challenge, because she can't tell if she's actually on the seat, as the coat is so padded it prevents her from knowing where her parts are.
Sitting in the car is also a challenge.
The coat is so big that once we do manage to get her in there, and secure the seat belt around all of her coat, the coat actually surrounds her head like a nun's wimple.
Her head sits more where her shoulders should be.
So, I made an executive decision and decided we would leave the coat in the closet.
A decision that spurned her to remark she needed a new spring coat.
Which caused me to reply that was no problem, and I would take her to Penningtons to get one.
Because I am no schlepping back and forth between the store and the nursing home a hundred times to ensure she get the right coat that's the right size and the right color.
Been there before.
Not willing to go again.
Of course, the second we get her outside the wind gusts and she gives me a look that says,
I should have worn my coat.
Once in the car, I put on the seat warmer, Stephen turned the heat to 3 and off we went.
From the back seat, I could see sweat forming on Stephen's upper lip from the blasting heat in the front of the car.
And Mum announces that she's just starting to warm up.
This is the woman who, just below her thermostat in her room, has a sign that says,
DO NOT ADJUST JANET'S THERMOSTAT!
SHE IS ALWAYS COLD!
Meaning, winter, summer, spring or fall, her thermometer is at it's highest setting.
30 degrees Celcius.
Some nights I come out there ten pounds lighter than when I went in.
And we wonder about the causes of global warming.
Title Lyric: I Do Better Electronics by Sad Little Stars
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Check the rack. What went out, is coming back.
April 16, 2011
Another week ending with my thinking WHAT A WEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Every night, in bed by 9.00 pm.
And getting there barely awake enough to put on my pjs.
Now that classes are over, and papers are in, with exams being the only thing left. . .
. . .outside of an honours thesis. . . .
I am HOPING that things will settle down.
That peace and quiet will reign.
And I will be able to sit in my office and not have to ignore the pounding on the door after I've told people I wouldn't be in because I had a meeting.
It ended early.
Pound away.
I'm not answering.
The kids had a doctor's appointment yesterday.
And since neither one of them yet possess a drivers licence, I had to go with them.
While we were there, I got a prescription refilled.
For some reason, my family doctor had recently changed his refill policy.
Instead of just calling in and asking for a refill, as I have done since I can't remember when, I now have to make an appointment and actually go in.
So I did.
And while the doctor was looking at my file, she happened to notice that I had not had a pap test since 2008.
Sh**!
I had to make a follow up appointment for a pap test.
A refill for my eczema-ridding antihistamine ends up with me getting a pap test.
I.
Feel.
So.
Lucky.
Nothing makes your day better than knowing that in six weeks you'll be spread eagle on a doctor's table, feet in stirrups, with the doctor shoving a stainless steel-should-be-nice-and-warm-but-is-inevitably-way-too-hot-speculum-up-your-hoo-hoo-twist-it-like-a-corkscrew-to-open-the-entrance-enough-to-shove-an-extra-long-Q-Tip-in-there-to-retrieve-a-specimen.
All while the doctor tells you to just "relax."
Really looking forward to that.
I asked if there was a male equivalent to the pap test.
No, she replied.
Of course not.
Then I asked when Em should get her first pap test.
Imagine the horror on Em's face.
Not until she becomes sexually active. If she's sexually active, she needs one. If not, she doesn't.
Imagine the horror on my face as I awaited Em's response to the question, "Are you sexually active?"
I believed I knew the answer.
But teenage rearing has done nothing if reinforce my belief in the idea that you never really know what's going on, and thus need to be prepared for the inevitable surprises.
But there were no surprises.
Thankfully.
Right now, I'm pretty much out of my patience and tolerance reserves.
And my ability to remain calm.
As we were in Oromocto, it seemed only apropos that I stop into Frenchy's for a little visit.
See what new goods were in stock.
Frenchy's is a gently used clothing store.
I love it!
Since losing this weight, I've found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The clothes I have are too big.
I don't want to buy new clothes because they won't fit in the next two months.
Frenchy's provides the perfect solution.
Pants for $3.95
Shirts for $2.50.
I don't have to run around naked, and I don't have to spend a fortune on clothes I won't need for very long.
Everyone is happy.
I came home with two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater, yoga pants, and a button down shirt and t-shirt for Stephen, slippers for Em and a Gucci bag (I think. . .but it doesn't really matter because it looks nice) for me, all for $37.00.
So easy to please am I.
So easy.
Tonight we are getting together for dinner at Montana's to celebrate my fathers 71st birthday.
Family dinners out in public.
Me with enough experience to know what could potentially happen.
However, my cousin and her husband are joining us.
YEAH!!!!!
Not only will we get to spend some time with them, their presence may prevent my father from doing the things he does when it's just us.
Like complain.
A lot.
About everything.
Stephen and I will pick up Mum.
Em is working and will walk over when she's finished.
Keith is working and will not be able to attend.
Mer got the night off as soon as she heard a free meal at a restaurant was in the cards.
Easy to predict, our Mer.
Easy to predict.
Keith has finished his second year of university.
Classes over.
Papers handed in.
Nothing remaining but two exams, neither until close to the end of April.
Translation: a young man who was, up until a couple of days ago, so busy he barely had time to sleep now finds himself with more time than he knows what to do with.
Currently he is celebrating his freedom.
Experience tells me, however, that the novelty of this new found freedom will wear off pretty quickly.
I need to be prepared for the inevitable "I'm bored."
No worries.
Stephen has developed a list of things that need to be done around the house and yard.
And I have all sorts of things he could do in my office.
He'll do them.
Or beg for extra hours at work.
Either way, I won't have to hear he's bored.
Because that may cause me to react uncontrollably and do something I may not regret later.
Title Lyric: Vintage Clothes by Paul McCartney
Another week ending with my thinking WHAT A WEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Every night, in bed by 9.00 pm.
And getting there barely awake enough to put on my pjs.
Now that classes are over, and papers are in, with exams being the only thing left. . .
. . .outside of an honours thesis. . . .
I am HOPING that things will settle down.
That peace and quiet will reign.
And I will be able to sit in my office and not have to ignore the pounding on the door after I've told people I wouldn't be in because I had a meeting.
It ended early.
Pound away.
I'm not answering.
The kids had a doctor's appointment yesterday.
And since neither one of them yet possess a drivers licence, I had to go with them.
While we were there, I got a prescription refilled.
For some reason, my family doctor had recently changed his refill policy.
Instead of just calling in and asking for a refill, as I have done since I can't remember when, I now have to make an appointment and actually go in.
So I did.
And while the doctor was looking at my file, she happened to notice that I had not had a pap test since 2008.
Sh**!
I had to make a follow up appointment for a pap test.
A refill for my eczema-ridding antihistamine ends up with me getting a pap test.
I.
Feel.
So.
Lucky.
Nothing makes your day better than knowing that in six weeks you'll be spread eagle on a doctor's table, feet in stirrups, with the doctor shoving a stainless steel-should-be-nice-and-warm-but-is-inevitably-way-too-hot-speculum-up-your-hoo-hoo-twist-it-like-a-corkscrew-to-open-the-entrance-enough-to-shove-an-extra-long-Q-Tip-in-there-to-retrieve-a-specimen.
All while the doctor tells you to just "relax."
Really looking forward to that.
I asked if there was a male equivalent to the pap test.
No, she replied.
Of course not.
Then I asked when Em should get her first pap test.
Imagine the horror on Em's face.
Not until she becomes sexually active. If she's sexually active, she needs one. If not, she doesn't.
Imagine the horror on my face as I awaited Em's response to the question, "Are you sexually active?"
I believed I knew the answer.
But teenage rearing has done nothing if reinforce my belief in the idea that you never really know what's going on, and thus need to be prepared for the inevitable surprises.
But there were no surprises.
Thankfully.
Right now, I'm pretty much out of my patience and tolerance reserves.
And my ability to remain calm.
As we were in Oromocto, it seemed only apropos that I stop into Frenchy's for a little visit.
See what new goods were in stock.
Frenchy's is a gently used clothing store.
I love it!
Since losing this weight, I've found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The clothes I have are too big.
I don't want to buy new clothes because they won't fit in the next two months.
Frenchy's provides the perfect solution.
Pants for $3.95
Shirts for $2.50.
I don't have to run around naked, and I don't have to spend a fortune on clothes I won't need for very long.
Everyone is happy.
I came home with two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater, yoga pants, and a button down shirt and t-shirt for Stephen, slippers for Em and a Gucci bag (I think. . .but it doesn't really matter because it looks nice) for me, all for $37.00.
So easy to please am I.
So easy.
Tonight we are getting together for dinner at Montana's to celebrate my fathers 71st birthday.
Family dinners out in public.
Me with enough experience to know what could potentially happen.
However, my cousin and her husband are joining us.
YEAH!!!!!
Not only will we get to spend some time with them, their presence may prevent my father from doing the things he does when it's just us.
Like complain.
A lot.
About everything.
Stephen and I will pick up Mum.
Em is working and will walk over when she's finished.
Keith is working and will not be able to attend.
Mer got the night off as soon as she heard a free meal at a restaurant was in the cards.
Easy to predict, our Mer.
Easy to predict.
Keith has finished his second year of university.
Classes over.
Papers handed in.
Nothing remaining but two exams, neither until close to the end of April.
Translation: a young man who was, up until a couple of days ago, so busy he barely had time to sleep now finds himself with more time than he knows what to do with.
Currently he is celebrating his freedom.
Experience tells me, however, that the novelty of this new found freedom will wear off pretty quickly.
I need to be prepared for the inevitable "I'm bored."
No worries.
Stephen has developed a list of things that need to be done around the house and yard.
And I have all sorts of things he could do in my office.
He'll do them.
Or beg for extra hours at work.
Either way, I won't have to hear he's bored.
Because that may cause me to react uncontrollably and do something I may not regret later.
Title Lyric: Vintage Clothes by Paul McCartney
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
It was committed discreetly. . . .
April 13, 2011
Nightmares of repeating the last week of classes over and over and over again.
Not that I'm work free.
Let's not lose complete control of ourselves.
All it really means is that I'm no longer teaching as of 5.20 today.
Exams, papers, theses all have to be read and graded.
Honours defense at the end of April.
Conference paper to write. . .once I get the data analyzed.
So no.
Not work free.
Nothing irritates me more than people who remark,
"Oh, it must be so nice to have your summers off."
Probably.
I wouldn't know.
I'm teaching Intersession. Two classes. One in the morning, 9.00-11.20 and the other in the afternoon, 1.00-4.00.
For almost the entire month of May.
Three weeks vacation.
That's what I get.
Unless it is in his best interest that I do so.
Planning and executing this party without him knowing took energies I hadn't planned for.
Going downtown on a weekday, with the kids, something I rarely if ever do, and then covering up when he asks me why I was downtown.
Agonizing.
And, to be frank, I am a good liar.
But that doesn't mean I like doing it.
At least not all the time.
That morning I was up at 6.00 am.
Kids had to be present and accounted for at a staff meeting, so I worked in my office while they did whatever they do at staff meetings and Stephen was blissfully oblivious, at home, sleeping, snoring, happily visiting the Land of Nod.
After the staff meeting the errands began.
Dollar Store for decorations.
Em wanted to essentially buy every decoration they had, including an odd assortment of party favours like plastic jewelry and hats.
We settled for balloons and streamers.
Next, the liquor store.
Boxes of wine were purchased.
I don't know wine very well.
That's more Stephen's department.
But I couldn't very well ask him, now could I?
So I went to the wine section, got four boxes of wine, two white, two red, and hoped for the best.
Then, downtown for the cake.
When I saw it, I almost fainted.
It was HUGE.
Remember, I am spatially challenged.
So when the bakery employee showed me how big the cake was, I didn't necessarily understand what she was saying.
I just smiled and nodded and paid.
At the bakery, I was confronted, again, with the repercussions of being spatially challenged.
They didn't actually have a box big enough for it, so while we waited for them to fashion one out of box lids, bakery customers kept coming over to comment on the cake,
"I hope someone loves me that much when I turn 50!"
"He must really love cake. Or he has a lot of friends. Or both!"
"OH MY GAWD! What a beautiful cake!"
It was so big, and so heavy, I had to go back to the car and move it closer to the bakery as Em and Keith carried it out.
I thought I'd just put it in the Staff fridge, down the hall from where the party was being held.
The cake was wider than the fridge.
All I could think of was to beg and plead with the cafeteria staff to house this monolith until that evening.
They were most gracious about putting the cake in their walk in fridge.
Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done.
Really.
By this time, it was 2.00 pm and I was exhausted.
And there was still a party to attend.
Home we went.
And I had a nap.
I had to.
Otherwise I would have been face down in Black Forest Cake that evening.
Which would have been interesting but not necessarily appropriate.
I asked Stephen to get me up for 4.00, so I could get ready for our dinner date.
That was the plan.
Out for dinner.
Some subterfuge to get him on campus.
And then the commencement of the partying.
But he didn't get me up until 4.30.
I was ready very quickly.
Hence, not looking as good as perhaps I could have.
Because of the let's-find-a-place-for-dinner-schomozzle Friday evening, I didn't want to take any chances that we wouldn't be finished on time, so we left earlier than we usually would to go for dinner.
Meaning we were at the restaurant by 5.00 pm.
I felt like my parents.
But early hour aside, it was very good.
We treated ourselves to a beer.
Fredericton has this absolutely fabulous microbrewery, Picaroons: http://www.picaroons.ca/index.asp
Their Irish Red ale is divine! (http://www.picaroons.ca/products_red.asp)
And I had me some.
Stephen had one of their lighter ales.
The name escapes me.
Stephen has the pistachio encrusted salmon.
I had the New York strip loin, rare.
Stephen even tried a piece of my steak.
The man who likes his beef to taste like shoe leather.
I think I may have converted him to the gloriousness that is the rare steak.
Hallelujah!
Dinner was over and done with by 6.00 pm.
We weren't to get to the party before 7.00 pm.
So we did what any couple, out on a Saturday night would do if they had some time on their hands.
We went for a walk.
But I hadn't brought shoes for walking, so that lasted only 30 minutes.
And then I did the only other thing I could think of at that moment.
Drove around Fredericton, looking at our favourite houses.
Meanwhile, I am trying to drive while getting all sorts of texts and phone calls from the kids about what was going on at the party.
April 1st Fredericton passed a new bylaw that it is illegal to drive and be on your cell phone at the same time.
Normally, I would have just passed the phone to Stephen and asked him to relay the conversation.
Not this time.
A multitasker I am, but, not necessarily when I'm driving.
I know some women can put on make up and drive.
Not me.
One, I don't wear makeup.
Two, if I tried applying it while driving, I'd look like Bozo the Clown when I got to where ever I was going.
I had informed Stephen, during dinner, that I had left some papers in my office and needed to go to campus to get them.
THAT is certainly nothing out of the ordinary, as I am always leaving things here and having to come and get them.
My office is on the 4th floor.
The party was on the 3rd.
No problem.
I said I had to pee.
We don't have a bathroom on the 4th floor, so we had to stop on the 3rd.
Then, I said we should check out the Rotunda to see if there was anything leftover from my book launch, in the same room, the day before.
He walked in.
And then. . . .
SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is his face upon entering the Rotunda in Brian Mulroney Hall.
Stephen, me and a good friend of ours. I'm the one in the red. And remember, I've lost 65 pounds. Imagine what I looked like before.
I don't know what I was doing here. Gazing longingly into my love's eyes?????
Em was drafted to serve as Head Cake Cutter. Isn't that cake gorgeous! And it tasted as good as it looked. I know. Atonement for cake eating was Monday morning at SFL.
The other question, of course, is where is Miss Meredyth?
Title Lyric: Surprises by Billy Joel
IT IS THE LAST DAY OF CLASSES
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I never thought it would happen.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nightmares of repeating the last week of classes over and over and over again.
Not that I'm work free.
Let's not lose complete control of ourselves.
All it really means is that I'm no longer teaching as of 5.20 today.
Exams, papers, theses all have to be read and graded.
Honours defense at the end of April.
Conference paper to write. . .once I get the data analyzed.
So no.
Not work free.
Nothing irritates me more than people who remark,
"Oh, it must be so nice to have your summers off."
Probably.
I wouldn't know.
I'm teaching Intersession. Two classes. One in the morning, 9.00-11.20 and the other in the afternoon, 1.00-4.00.
For almost the entire month of May.
Three weeks vacation.
That's what I get.
And of that I may take one week.
A couple of day trips here and there.
Otherwise, its me and my office everyday over the summer.
But if you find someone who gets the entire summer off, let me know.
I'd like to meet them.
I don't normally keep things from Stephen.
Unless it is in his best interest that I do so.
Planning and executing this party without him knowing took energies I hadn't planned for.
Didn't know I had, even.
Sneaking around while he's in his night class putting together invitations, hoping he doesn't finish early and inadvertently walk in while I am in the midst of licking envelopes.
Sneaking around while he's in his night class putting together invitations, hoping he doesn't finish early and inadvertently walk in while I am in the midst of licking envelopes.
Covering up for the two invitations that came back because they possessed the wrong address.
From the address book maintained by Stephen.
Agonizing.
And, to be frank, I am a good liar.
But that doesn't mean I like doing it.
At least not all the time.
The Day of Stephen's Surprise Party
That morning I was up at 6.00 am.
Kids had to be present and accounted for at a staff meeting, so I worked in my office while they did whatever they do at staff meetings and Stephen was blissfully oblivious, at home, sleeping, snoring, happily visiting the Land of Nod.
After the staff meeting the errands began.
Dollar Store for decorations.
Em wanted to essentially buy every decoration they had, including an odd assortment of party favours like plastic jewelry and hats.
We settled for balloons and streamers.
Next, the liquor store.
Boxes of wine were purchased.
I don't know wine very well.
That's more Stephen's department.
But I couldn't very well ask him, now could I?
So I went to the wine section, got four boxes of wine, two white, two red, and hoped for the best.
Then, downtown for the cake.
When I saw it, I almost fainted.
It was HUGE.
Remember, I am spatially challenged.
So when the bakery employee showed me how big the cake was, I didn't necessarily understand what she was saying.
I just smiled and nodded and paid.
At the bakery, I was confronted, again, with the repercussions of being spatially challenged.
They didn't actually have a box big enough for it, so while we waited for them to fashion one out of box lids, bakery customers kept coming over to comment on the cake,
"I hope someone loves me that much when I turn 50!"
"He must really love cake. Or he has a lot of friends. Or both!"
"OH MY GAWD! What a beautiful cake!"
It was so big, and so heavy, I had to go back to the car and move it closer to the bakery as Em and Keith carried it out.
I thought I'd just put it in the Staff fridge, down the hall from where the party was being held.
The cake was wider than the fridge.
All I could think of was to beg and plead with the cafeteria staff to house this monolith until that evening.
They were most gracious about putting the cake in their walk in fridge.
Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done.
Really.
By this time, it was 2.00 pm and I was exhausted.
And there was still a party to attend.
Home we went.
And I had a nap.
I had to.
Otherwise I would have been face down in Black Forest Cake that evening.
Which would have been interesting but not necessarily appropriate.
I asked Stephen to get me up for 4.00, so I could get ready for our dinner date.
That was the plan.
Out for dinner.
Some subterfuge to get him on campus.
And then the commencement of the partying.
But he didn't get me up until 4.30.
I was ready very quickly.
Hence, not looking as good as perhaps I could have.
Because of the let's-find-a-place-for-dinner-schomozzle Friday evening, I didn't want to take any chances that we wouldn't be finished on time, so we left earlier than we usually would to go for dinner.
Meaning we were at the restaurant by 5.00 pm.
I felt like my parents.
But early hour aside, it was very good.
We treated ourselves to a beer.
Fredericton has this absolutely fabulous microbrewery, Picaroons: http://www.picaroons.ca/index.asp
Their Irish Red ale is divine! (http://www.picaroons.ca/products_red.asp)
And I had me some.
Stephen had one of their lighter ales.
The name escapes me.
Stephen has the pistachio encrusted salmon.
I had the New York strip loin, rare.
Stephen even tried a piece of my steak.
The man who likes his beef to taste like shoe leather.
I think I may have converted him to the gloriousness that is the rare steak.
Hallelujah!
Dinner was over and done with by 6.00 pm.
We weren't to get to the party before 7.00 pm.
So we did what any couple, out on a Saturday night would do if they had some time on their hands.
We went for a walk.
But I hadn't brought shoes for walking, so that lasted only 30 minutes.
And then I did the only other thing I could think of at that moment.
Drove around Fredericton, looking at our favourite houses.
Meanwhile, I am trying to drive while getting all sorts of texts and phone calls from the kids about what was going on at the party.
April 1st Fredericton passed a new bylaw that it is illegal to drive and be on your cell phone at the same time.
Normally, I would have just passed the phone to Stephen and asked him to relay the conversation.
Not this time.
A multitasker I am, but, not necessarily when I'm driving.
I know some women can put on make up and drive.
Not me.
One, I don't wear makeup.
Two, if I tried applying it while driving, I'd look like Bozo the Clown when I got to where ever I was going.
I had informed Stephen, during dinner, that I had left some papers in my office and needed to go to campus to get them.
THAT is certainly nothing out of the ordinary, as I am always leaving things here and having to come and get them.
My office is on the 4th floor.
The party was on the 3rd.
No problem.
I said I had to pee.
We don't have a bathroom on the 4th floor, so we had to stop on the 3rd.
Then, I said we should check out the Rotunda to see if there was anything leftover from my book launch, in the same room, the day before.
He walked in.
And then. . . .
SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is his face upon entering the Rotunda in Brian Mulroney Hall.
Stephen, me and a good friend of ours. I'm the one in the red. And remember, I've lost 65 pounds. Imagine what I looked like before.
I don't know what I was doing here. Gazing longingly into my love's eyes?????
Stephen blowing out the candles on his massive cake. The young man in the green is my son, Keith. The beautiful young woman in the left hand corner, with the glasses is my daughter, Emily.
Em was drafted to serve as Head Cake Cutter. Isn't that cake gorgeous! And it tasted as good as it looked. I know. Atonement for cake eating was Monday morning at SFL.
The other question, of course, is where is Miss Meredyth?
She was there.
But in true Mer style she arrived after all the work was done.
We'll tackle that tomorrow.
Title Lyric: Surprises by Billy Joel
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I see no reason for being late. . .
April 12, 2011
WHAT A WEEKEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To say that I'm exhausted is an understatement of epic proportions.
Keeping secrets is tiring work!
Friday was my book launch.
It went very well. . .as well as these things ever go.
Stephen was able to get Mum there, in spite of Mer's efforts to delay him as much as possible with her various wants and needs.
At one point, Stephen actually had to abandon her, leave her at her apartment while he picked up Mum.
Everything is about Mer and the world will bend to her will whether it wants to or not.
At least as far as she's concerned.
So, imagine my chagrin when she called me to say she had "dashed" into her apartment to change her clothes and when she came out, Stephen was gone.
Why that child didn't think to just put on a decent outfit prior to going to the movies is something I've yet to ask her.
I'm not sure I want the answer, to tell you the truth.
Years of experience with Mer had provided enough empirical evidence for me to discern on my own what events had occured.
Stephen picked her up from the mall at 2.00.
Their only mission was to get my mother.
BUT. . . .
GST cheques had come in and Mer needed hers cashed.
No problem.
Except that she doesn't have her bank card.
Or any other id for that matter.
Because she lost her wallet.
Again.
Not having such necessities has never hindered Mer.
She manages, somehow, to make do.
Mostly because of her brother, I suspect.
Of course, because she only had a GST cheque valued at under $65.00, and such things as, oh, let's say, FOOD, are optional, she did what any responsible young person would do when they only have a little bit of money.
She went to the liquor store.
Not one liquor store, but two.
Because the first one didn't have what she wanted.
Then there was something about a convenience store, but I may just be inserting that from another incident.
Or I just don't want to remember.
Stephen is looking at his watch.
The clock in the car.
Feeling time ticking away.
Moving like sand through an hourglass.
Towards my fury if Mum isn't at my booklaunch.
And Stephen knows that my mother has been ready since the day before.
And she watches the clock like a hawk.
So, when Mer asked if she could just stop by her place "for a minute to change" and then she was still in there after 15 minutes, he snapped.
Left her there.
Stephen is a great guy.
Mer sometimes takes advantage of his good nature.
None of this would have happened if I had of been in the car.
Maybe that's the lesson.
Which would work if I could just figure out a way to clone myself.
So, shortly after she called to inform me she had been left at her apartment, Stephen called me from the nursing home to share how come he had left her at her apartment.
Picture me in my office, trying to remain calm before my book launch, editing Keith's paper about Tennyson's Ulysses, trying to remain calm before my book launch, and Mer calls and then Stephen calls and then I am not longer working hard to remain calm before my book launch.
I may have snapped, "I DON'T NEED THIS RIGHT NOW!!!!"
After we're off the phone, I start yoga breathing because Keith is beside me telling me to calm down, there's no reason to get upset.
All I knew is that it was 3.15 pm and there was no Mum, no Stephen, no Mer and I wasn't certain I had the intestinal fortitude to NOT throttle her when she eventually showed up.
Everything turned out fine.
Stephen, Mum and Mer arrived.
I was very happy my parents could be there.
So much of what I do is unknown to them, so to have them present, to see that I actually do accomplish things is important.
For them and for me.
I said my little spiel.
But not before my father took it upon himself to proofread the few points I had put to paper, and point out to Keith my errors.
Keith, being the little diplomat, and having already witnessed one Mummy meltdown, responded that I wasn't actually going to say everything on the page.
My brother was there, which was VERY nice because he was able to assist with the parentals.
And believe me when I say assistance is required.
The lesson here: never have a book launch when Emily has to work and is unable to assist with the picking up of Mum.
By 4.45 pm it was all over.
Stephen was taking Mum back to the nursing home and dropping Mer and Keith somewhere.
I was directing student to take what was left of the raw veggie platters for their own consumption.
Afterwards, I was with my brother in my office, just sitting.
Talking.
And he gave me a you-just-published-your-first-book-gift.
A Kobo E-Reader!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With 100 free books!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the capacity to store 1000 books!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ironically, this was just days after Stephen started on his mission to rid my side of the room of its tottering and teetering piles of books.
I LOVE my e-reader.
So please, feel free to send me books.
If you can do such a thing.
I'm not technologically advanced enough to know if this is even possible.
When Stephen finally got back to the office, he was exhausted.
I was exhausted.
And it was very clear in my position that dinner would not be forthcoming from my efforts.
But from my wallet.
Thus, we went to pick Em up from work, as there was no school on Friday and began the Fredericton-Friday-night-dinner-hunt.
Swiss Chalet had an hour, minimum, wait for a table.
Lunar Rogue said 15 minutes.
After 30 we left.
On our way back uptown, I suggested Yassous and if that didn't work, there was a Subway in the same plaza and we'd be eating there.
Just as we arrived at Yassous, a table became available.
YEAH!
I love Greek food, and, in spite of how Mer behaved when she worked there, everyone was very nice to us.
Saturday morning, all three kids had to be at a staff meeting for 8 am.
Meaning I had to be up at 6 am to ensure Em was ready to walk out the door for 7.50 am.
And even two hours is usually not enough.
So we were cutting it close.
While they were at their staff meeting, I was in my office, marking assignments that should have been marked ages ago.
Em called at 11.30 saying they were finished and the next stage of the day began.
Getting the necessities for Stephen's SURPRISE party.
Keeping this party a secret had taken over my life.
I decided that Stephen only turns 50 once.
At least theoretically.
And this was something that should be celebrated.
Feted.
Partied about.
So, during our drive back from Montreal during the March Break, when it looked as though I was sleepin soundly in the passenger seat, I was actually planning and plotting about how to pull off a surprise party.
Because I had only ever done it once before.
When my brother turned 30.
And no offence to my brother, but that was a while ago.
The party will have to wait until the next entry.
We are in to the last two days of classes.
I was at work yesterday, meeting with students until 6.30 pm.
Up this morning at 5.00 am to mark assignments.
Blogging throughout this month may be a challenge.
And I may not have much sanity left by the end of it.
Not that I have much now.
Just sayin' it before you do.
Title Lyric: No Reason for Being Late by Jason Boland and the Stragglers
WHAT A WEEKEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To say that I'm exhausted is an understatement of epic proportions.
Keeping secrets is tiring work!
Friday was my book launch.
It went very well. . .as well as these things ever go.
Stephen was able to get Mum there, in spite of Mer's efforts to delay him as much as possible with her various wants and needs.
At one point, Stephen actually had to abandon her, leave her at her apartment while he picked up Mum.
Everything is about Mer and the world will bend to her will whether it wants to or not.
At least as far as she's concerned.
So, imagine my chagrin when she called me to say she had "dashed" into her apartment to change her clothes and when she came out, Stephen was gone.
Why that child didn't think to just put on a decent outfit prior to going to the movies is something I've yet to ask her.
I'm not sure I want the answer, to tell you the truth.
Years of experience with Mer had provided enough empirical evidence for me to discern on my own what events had occured.
Stephen picked her up from the mall at 2.00.
Their only mission was to get my mother.
BUT. . . .
GST cheques had come in and Mer needed hers cashed.
No problem.
Except that she doesn't have her bank card.
Or any other id for that matter.
Because she lost her wallet.
Again.
Not having such necessities has never hindered Mer.
She manages, somehow, to make do.
Mostly because of her brother, I suspect.
Of course, because she only had a GST cheque valued at under $65.00, and such things as, oh, let's say, FOOD, are optional, she did what any responsible young person would do when they only have a little bit of money.
She went to the liquor store.
Not one liquor store, but two.
Because the first one didn't have what she wanted.
Then there was something about a convenience store, but I may just be inserting that from another incident.
Or I just don't want to remember.
Stephen is looking at his watch.
The clock in the car.
Feeling time ticking away.
Moving like sand through an hourglass.
Towards my fury if Mum isn't at my booklaunch.
And Stephen knows that my mother has been ready since the day before.
And she watches the clock like a hawk.
So, when Mer asked if she could just stop by her place "for a minute to change" and then she was still in there after 15 minutes, he snapped.
Left her there.
Stephen is a great guy.
Mer sometimes takes advantage of his good nature.
None of this would have happened if I had of been in the car.
Maybe that's the lesson.
Which would work if I could just figure out a way to clone myself.
So, shortly after she called to inform me she had been left at her apartment, Stephen called me from the nursing home to share how come he had left her at her apartment.
Picture me in my office, trying to remain calm before my book launch, editing Keith's paper about Tennyson's Ulysses, trying to remain calm before my book launch, and Mer calls and then Stephen calls and then I am not longer working hard to remain calm before my book launch.
I may have snapped, "I DON'T NEED THIS RIGHT NOW!!!!"
After we're off the phone, I start yoga breathing because Keith is beside me telling me to calm down, there's no reason to get upset.
All I knew is that it was 3.15 pm and there was no Mum, no Stephen, no Mer and I wasn't certain I had the intestinal fortitude to NOT throttle her when she eventually showed up.
Everything turned out fine.
Stephen, Mum and Mer arrived.
I was very happy my parents could be there.
So much of what I do is unknown to them, so to have them present, to see that I actually do accomplish things is important.
For them and for me.
I said my little spiel.
But not before my father took it upon himself to proofread the few points I had put to paper, and point out to Keith my errors.
Keith, being the little diplomat, and having already witnessed one Mummy meltdown, responded that I wasn't actually going to say everything on the page.
My brother was there, which was VERY nice because he was able to assist with the parentals.
And believe me when I say assistance is required.
The lesson here: never have a book launch when Emily has to work and is unable to assist with the picking up of Mum.
By 4.45 pm it was all over.
Stephen was taking Mum back to the nursing home and dropping Mer and Keith somewhere.
I was directing student to take what was left of the raw veggie platters for their own consumption.
Afterwards, I was with my brother in my office, just sitting.
Talking.
And he gave me a you-just-published-your-first-book-gift.
A Kobo E-Reader!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With 100 free books!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the capacity to store 1000 books!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ironically, this was just days after Stephen started on his mission to rid my side of the room of its tottering and teetering piles of books.
I LOVE my e-reader.
So please, feel free to send me books.
If you can do such a thing.
I'm not technologically advanced enough to know if this is even possible.
When Stephen finally got back to the office, he was exhausted.
I was exhausted.
And it was very clear in my position that dinner would not be forthcoming from my efforts.
But from my wallet.
Thus, we went to pick Em up from work, as there was no school on Friday and began the Fredericton-Friday-night-dinner-hunt.
Swiss Chalet had an hour, minimum, wait for a table.
Lunar Rogue said 15 minutes.
After 30 we left.
On our way back uptown, I suggested Yassous and if that didn't work, there was a Subway in the same plaza and we'd be eating there.
Just as we arrived at Yassous, a table became available.
YEAH!
I love Greek food, and, in spite of how Mer behaved when she worked there, everyone was very nice to us.
Saturday morning, all three kids had to be at a staff meeting for 8 am.
Meaning I had to be up at 6 am to ensure Em was ready to walk out the door for 7.50 am.
And even two hours is usually not enough.
So we were cutting it close.
While they were at their staff meeting, I was in my office, marking assignments that should have been marked ages ago.
Em called at 11.30 saying they were finished and the next stage of the day began.
Getting the necessities for Stephen's SURPRISE party.
Keeping this party a secret had taken over my life.
I decided that Stephen only turns 50 once.
At least theoretically.
And this was something that should be celebrated.
Feted.
Partied about.
So, during our drive back from Montreal during the March Break, when it looked as though I was sleepin soundly in the passenger seat, I was actually planning and plotting about how to pull off a surprise party.
Because I had only ever done it once before.
When my brother turned 30.
And no offence to my brother, but that was a while ago.
The party will have to wait until the next entry.
We are in to the last two days of classes.
I was at work yesterday, meeting with students until 6.30 pm.
Up this morning at 5.00 am to mark assignments.
Blogging throughout this month may be a challenge.
And I may not have much sanity left by the end of it.
Not that I have much now.
Just sayin' it before you do.
Title Lyric: No Reason for Being Late by Jason Boland and the Stragglers
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