Vacation Countdown: 16 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, Pookie suffered through the pain and trauma of a root canal.
His second.
He takes this rather personally, because, like all of us, he works hard to keep his teeth clean.
Why he keeps needing fillings and root canals, then, is a bit of a mystery to him.
While normally the calmest, mellowist person within our small family, Keith does experience much anxiety and white knuckling about going to the dentist.
So much so that our dentist, Dr. Joy Graham, www.drjoygraham.com felt it important to give him a prescription for three Atavan, which he took about 45 minutes before his appointment.
Providing Em and I with mucho entertainment as we drove him across the Westmoreland Street bridge towards the dentist office.
A bit loopy, a bit mellow-everything-is-perfectly-fine-what's-there-to-worry-about Pookie was hanging out in the backseat, finding medicated peace in his surroundings.
As it was a two hour procedure, and for whatever reason I get terrible headaches if I have to wait in her nicely-appointed-complete-with-television waiting room, Stephen offered to pick him up.
I have no logical reason for why waiting in her waiting room causes me such awful headaches and exhaustion.
And I would have stayed there with him if, a. he had wanted me there "I'm twenty years old Mum. I'll be fine." and b. Em was at work.
Em had the day off, and while a day off would be thrilling if I could actually get one, Em sees days off as time to spend with Mum.
I was torn.
Of course.
I did accompany Keith into the dentist's office, let them know he was there and asked him repeatedly if he was going to be okay because if he wasn't, or if he just wanted me to, I would stay with him and it wouldn't be any trouble.
To which he replied, again, I am twenty years old Mum. I'll be fine."
I left, reluctantly.
Called Stephen to remind him that Keith needed to be picked up at 2.30, that he wasn't going to be feeling well, so it was important that he be on time.
We have Meredyth Standard Time.
And Stephen Standard Time.
Both of which are virtually impossible to figure out.
But I keep trying.
I like a challenge.
Em behind the wheel, we headed back across the river to whatever madcap plans she had in store for us.
A movie.
Surprise!
I mean, she comes by this passion for films honestly, genetically, so if there is anyone to blame it's me.
She wanted to see The Smurfs.
On a rainy, miserable Wednesday afternoon.
I don't think so.
By the time we got there, two seats were available.
And as we don't pay for tickets, the likelihood that we would be kicked out of the movie was about 100%.
So while I was standing in the Starbuck's line waiting to get coffee, she comes over from the theater to announce that our viewing plans had changed and we would be seeing Cowboys and Aliens.
Fine.
I am easy to please.
And I was kind of interested in seeing it.
A great cast: Daniel Craig, Harrison Ford, Sam Rockwell, Paul Dano. . . .
I was less than thrilled about Olivia Wilde, as from the previews my sense was she wasn't the strongest female lead for such a role.
But nonetheless, we were to see the low tech cowboys battle it out with the high tech aliens.
Em, of course, purchased her customary order of New York Fries.
No problem.
I can handle that.
Until the seats on the other side of me became occupied with six people, of which the two closest to me were chowing down on NYF poutine and hot dogs smothered in ketchup, mustard and corn relish.
And me?
Stuck in the middle between two sets of hot, salty, delicious French fries?
I hauled out from my purse my bag of baby carrots and munched with a vengeance.
Sipped from my coffee.
And pretended that I didn't care about their vinegary, hot, delicious smelling, ketchup dipped fries.
Meaning I used all my powers for concentration and avoidance and missed half the movie.
I guess I'll have to see it again with Keith.
After the movie ended, I called home to assess Keith's physical and mental well being.
Apparently, the drive home was rough.
Resulting in a brand new use for our biodegradable poop bags.
Car sick bags.
As soon as the car started to move, Keith was sick.
A combination of the anxiety, Atavan and who knows what else they used to keep him calm and pain free during the two hour surgery.
Either that or the $340.00 he paid made him ill.
Keeping in mind that the other 80% was covered by my work benefits.
When I called around 3.30 pm, he was sleeping.
With a bucket beside his bed.
As we were taking Keith to the dentist, my cell phone rang.
Knowing that it is illegal to drive and talk on a cell phone in this province, my handy sidekick Emily answered for me.
I already knew who it was.
Two of the three people who call me the most were already in the car with me.
By process of elimination, that could only mean that the person dialing my number was none other than Mer.
I knew she couldn't possibly want any money as she had just been paid the day before.
I was right about both.
But she did want something.
A drive to work.
So after the movie, and getting gas, Em and I agreed to get Mer and take her to work.
Getting the gas was interesting.
If you're at a very busy gas station located at the corner of one of the major intersections of your fair city, and all the pumps are busy except two, which are being avoided by all other drivers like the plague, you should clue into the fact that there must be something different about these pumps, and perhaps you should investigate before trying to gas up your car.
I'm sitting in the front passenger seat waiting for Em to gas up her car when she says, Mum something isn't working right. Can you come here?
But she wasn't as patient sounding as I have written.
Checking the pump, I realized why no one else was using these pumps.
Pay before you pump, pumps.
Willing to give anything a try at least once, Em followed the steps carefully printed on the pump.
Steps that should have resulted in her being able to fill her tank.
But ultimately resulted in her being informed by the little electronic screen that her PIN was wrong.
Which it wasn't.
Incensed, Em decided to move to another, normal pump.
So she did.
And had no trouble getting her $38.00 worth of gas into her car, and paying for it.
She was in a mood, however.
Em doesn't like things that don't work.
And she is easily upset.
So picking up Meredyth, the Queen of Upset, wasn't something I was looking forward to.
Especially when, during my phone call to Mer to let her know we were on our way and to PLEASE be waiting outside for us, she informed me that Keith had her wallet. . . .
. . . .repercussions from their adventures the night before of which I want to know NOTHING. . .
and she was going to have to stop at the house to get it.
Fine.
Pick her up.
Drive her to the house.
Get her wallet.
Take her to work.
No problem.
Right?
First, we have an already moody Em.
Second, when we arrive Mer was not there.
Surprise.
Third, as soon as we pulled in front of Mer's building, the skies opened and a deluge of rain was upon us.
Fourth, I may have engaged in an unfortunate smelling incident in Em's car.
Not because I wanted to.
And with the rain, we couldn't roll down the windows.
Fifth, Mer finally get to the car, in the pouring rain, opens the door, exclaims, WHAT is that f#&^%$&% stink and oh I forgot my work shoes so I have to go back inside and get them just a minute.
We waited.
And waited.
Eventually she returned and we started to our house so Mer could get her wallet.
Sixth, as a result of my unfortunate, unplanned and not-on-purpose fart in Em's car, Mer had the window down.
In a rain storm.
Soaking, in Em's mind, the backseat interior of her car.
She asked Mer to roll the window up.
Mer refused.
And all the rage that was building inside Em suddenly burst forth and she started driving very recklessly.
Insults were hurled back and forth between the front seat Em and the back seat Mer, like tennis players lobbing a tennis ball.
And me?
I asked Em to drive more carefully.
She didn't.
So by the time we drove from Mer's apartment to our house, a less than 5 minute drive, no one was saying anything to anyone.
Except when I informed Em she wasn't driving her car for two days as a consequence of not driving carefully when asked.
And when I told Mer to get into our car so I could drive her to work.
Meaning with a passed our Pookie and an incensed Em, it was a very quiet evening around here Wednesday evening.
Very quiet.
Board games, laughter and hilarity one night.
Angry shut ins and passed out Pookies the next.
And people wonder why I am crazy.
Title Lyric: Reckless Driving by J Dilla
I have no logical reason for why waiting in her waiting room causes me such awful headaches and exhaustion.
And I would have stayed there with him if, a. he had wanted me there "I'm twenty years old Mum. I'll be fine." and b. Em was at work.
Em had the day off, and while a day off would be thrilling if I could actually get one, Em sees days off as time to spend with Mum.
I was torn.
Of course.
I did accompany Keith into the dentist's office, let them know he was there and asked him repeatedly if he was going to be okay because if he wasn't, or if he just wanted me to, I would stay with him and it wouldn't be any trouble.
To which he replied, again, I am twenty years old Mum. I'll be fine."
I left, reluctantly.
Called Stephen to remind him that Keith needed to be picked up at 2.30, that he wasn't going to be feeling well, so it was important that he be on time.
We have Meredyth Standard Time.
And Stephen Standard Time.
Both of which are virtually impossible to figure out.
But I keep trying.
I like a challenge.
Em behind the wheel, we headed back across the river to whatever madcap plans she had in store for us.
A movie.
Surprise!
I mean, she comes by this passion for films honestly, genetically, so if there is anyone to blame it's me.
She wanted to see The Smurfs.
On a rainy, miserable Wednesday afternoon.
I don't think so.
By the time we got there, two seats were available.
And as we don't pay for tickets, the likelihood that we would be kicked out of the movie was about 100%.
So while I was standing in the Starbuck's line waiting to get coffee, she comes over from the theater to announce that our viewing plans had changed and we would be seeing Cowboys and Aliens.
Fine.
I am easy to please.
And I was kind of interested in seeing it.
A great cast: Daniel Craig, Harrison Ford, Sam Rockwell, Paul Dano. . . .
I was less than thrilled about Olivia Wilde, as from the previews my sense was she wasn't the strongest female lead for such a role.
But nonetheless, we were to see the low tech cowboys battle it out with the high tech aliens.
Em, of course, purchased her customary order of New York Fries.
No problem.
I can handle that.
Until the seats on the other side of me became occupied with six people, of which the two closest to me were chowing down on NYF poutine and hot dogs smothered in ketchup, mustard and corn relish.
And me?
Stuck in the middle between two sets of hot, salty, delicious French fries?
I hauled out from my purse my bag of baby carrots and munched with a vengeance.
Sipped from my coffee.
And pretended that I didn't care about their vinegary, hot, delicious smelling, ketchup dipped fries.
Meaning I used all my powers for concentration and avoidance and missed half the movie.
I guess I'll have to see it again with Keith.
After the movie ended, I called home to assess Keith's physical and mental well being.
Apparently, the drive home was rough.
Resulting in a brand new use for our biodegradable poop bags.
Car sick bags.
As soon as the car started to move, Keith was sick.
A combination of the anxiety, Atavan and who knows what else they used to keep him calm and pain free during the two hour surgery.
Either that or the $340.00 he paid made him ill.
Keeping in mind that the other 80% was covered by my work benefits.
When I called around 3.30 pm, he was sleeping.
With a bucket beside his bed.
As we were taking Keith to the dentist, my cell phone rang.
Knowing that it is illegal to drive and talk on a cell phone in this province, my handy sidekick Emily answered for me.
I already knew who it was.
Two of the three people who call me the most were already in the car with me.
By process of elimination, that could only mean that the person dialing my number was none other than Mer.
I knew she couldn't possibly want any money as she had just been paid the day before.
I was right about both.
But she did want something.
A drive to work.
So after the movie, and getting gas, Em and I agreed to get Mer and take her to work.
Getting the gas was interesting.
If you're at a very busy gas station located at the corner of one of the major intersections of your fair city, and all the pumps are busy except two, which are being avoided by all other drivers like the plague, you should clue into the fact that there must be something different about these pumps, and perhaps you should investigate before trying to gas up your car.
I'm sitting in the front passenger seat waiting for Em to gas up her car when she says, Mum something isn't working right. Can you come here?
But she wasn't as patient sounding as I have written.
Checking the pump, I realized why no one else was using these pumps.
Pay before you pump, pumps.
Willing to give anything a try at least once, Em followed the steps carefully printed on the pump.
Steps that should have resulted in her being able to fill her tank.
But ultimately resulted in her being informed by the little electronic screen that her PIN was wrong.
Which it wasn't.
Incensed, Em decided to move to another, normal pump.
So she did.
And had no trouble getting her $38.00 worth of gas into her car, and paying for it.
She was in a mood, however.
Em doesn't like things that don't work.
And she is easily upset.
So picking up Meredyth, the Queen of Upset, wasn't something I was looking forward to.
Especially when, during my phone call to Mer to let her know we were on our way and to PLEASE be waiting outside for us, she informed me that Keith had her wallet. . . .
. . . .repercussions from their adventures the night before of which I want to know NOTHING. . .
and she was going to have to stop at the house to get it.
Fine.
Pick her up.
Drive her to the house.
Get her wallet.
Take her to work.
No problem.
Right?
First, we have an already moody Em.
Second, when we arrive Mer was not there.
Surprise.
Third, as soon as we pulled in front of Mer's building, the skies opened and a deluge of rain was upon us.
Fourth, I may have engaged in an unfortunate smelling incident in Em's car.
Not because I wanted to.
And with the rain, we couldn't roll down the windows.
Fifth, Mer finally get to the car, in the pouring rain, opens the door, exclaims, WHAT is that f#&^%$&% stink and oh I forgot my work shoes so I have to go back inside and get them just a minute.
We waited.
And waited.
Eventually she returned and we started to our house so Mer could get her wallet.
Sixth, as a result of my unfortunate, unplanned and not-on-purpose fart in Em's car, Mer had the window down.
In a rain storm.
Soaking, in Em's mind, the backseat interior of her car.
She asked Mer to roll the window up.
Mer refused.
And all the rage that was building inside Em suddenly burst forth and she started driving very recklessly.
Insults were hurled back and forth between the front seat Em and the back seat Mer, like tennis players lobbing a tennis ball.
And me?
I asked Em to drive more carefully.
She didn't.
So by the time we drove from Mer's apartment to our house, a less than 5 minute drive, no one was saying anything to anyone.
Except when I informed Em she wasn't driving her car for two days as a consequence of not driving carefully when asked.
And when I told Mer to get into our car so I could drive her to work.
Meaning with a passed our Pookie and an incensed Em, it was a very quiet evening around here Wednesday evening.
Very quiet.
Board games, laughter and hilarity one night.
Angry shut ins and passed out Pookies the next.
And people wonder why I am crazy.
Title Lyric: Reckless Driving by J Dilla
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