Holidays

Ah, holidays. Nine blissful days that I don’t have to get up at 2am. Nine days that I don’t have to hear about murders, fires, people leaving their kids/pets/guns in their cars. Nine days that I don’t have to come up with yet another way to talk about this godforsaken heatwave we’re in. As I am typing this, it is almost 8:30 pm on a Saturday. My entire week off stretches before me. I’m half-cut on my third drink of the day. The first was a white wine spritzer, the second was this godawful malibu-infested orange juice concoction at the restaurant we had dinner at, and the third is another wine spritzer. Which, incidentally, are much better made with tonic than 7-Up or Sprite. Allows the taste of the wine to come through a bit better. Although in this case, maybe that’s not such a great thing. The wine in question was brought home by my husband from one of his working dinners. It wasn’t consumed at the table, so they screwed the caps back on and let him bring it home. Which is bad enough.

It then sat in his car for 3 days before he remember it was there. So at least I know it’s cooked all the way through. Yum! Tastes like another! Seriously though, with a liberal amount of tonic, they’re not bad. Better every glass I have. Tee hee.

So, the vay-cay. Or the stay-cay, as the case may be. We’re hardly wandering too far afield. Loading up the 4Runner, the utility trailer, and hauling ass 3 hours away to a dent in the road known as Hedley. No, it wasn’t named after the band. I think the band may have been named after it. I could also be full of shit. It’s been known to happen. So in Hedley is the RV park we’ll call home for 4 days. We’re tenting it, my sister and her family have a tent trailer, which hey, is still camping. My parents, however, are mooring a 34 foot motorhome in their slot. Seriously. It has a microwave and air conditioning. You may as well hook a boutique hotel to your trailer hitch and hit the road. But whatever. If it keeps the old man from whining too much, it’s a winner in my book.

So. Six adults, 3 kids, and quite possibly, a dog. My parents for four. whole. days. Should be fun. I’ve already been to the liquor store. Hopefully Hedley or the bigger dent in the road, Princeton, has one too, because I may run out. You never know. Just like scoping out the nearest Starbucks in an urban environment, one must always be aware of the nearest licker depots when one is camping with family. In my parents’ city, I can tell you to the beer can where every liquor supplier is. I’m a fucking alkie GPS, is what I am. But, necessity is the mother of invention.

So, what will we do for these four days? Eat, and drink. And drink some more. Lay in the river. Maybe visit a lake. Dad and his “sons” will golf. We Men. We Golf. Because of the longest running heatwave/dry spell in near-on recorded history, there is a campfire ban up. You even light a match in the wilderness, those forest service workers are on you like a fat kid on a smartie. They do not fuck around. Come to think of it, the last time I left home, I ended up in the vicinity of a nasty little wildfire that led to the evacuation of 11,000 people. We had to switch campsites because ANOTHER fire has closed the provincial park we were going to camp in. Turns out the BC Forest Service is using the park as a staging area to fight the nearby fre. Wait a minute … hot, sweaty firefighters in need of some hero worship … could be worth a day trip …

In Defense of Kate

Admittedly, I have not watched a lot of “Jon & Kate Plus 8.” I do, however, watch “What Not To Wear” on TLC. And as anyone who watches any show on TLC knows, you can pretty much follow them all through the promos they run. In any given hour of WNTW, I get caught up on Jon & Kate, American Choppers, Little People Big World, Say Yes To The Dress, and Miami/LA Ink. And who could miss the increasing tabloid obsession with the Gosselins? I freely confess that I watched the season premier of “J&K+8″ along with zillions of other people, and have kept on watching as their relationship deteriorated, on screen and off. Now they’re apparently done with each other, the show is up in the air, and Kate Gosselin is being eviscerated in the media. Because of course, it’s all her fault.

Most of what I’ve heard from people who don’t “watch” the show but still seem to have an opinion, and from the screaming tabloid headlines that take great pains to show Kate Gosselin in the most unflattering light possible, is that she drove him away with her shrewish ways. She’s a control freak. She treats him like a child. She’s contemptuous of him. She slept with her security guard. And the hits just keep on coming.

While I can’t claim to have any inside knowledge of their relationship, I know a thing or two about being a type-A, surprise-adverse, schedule-obsessed, working wife and mother in the year 2009. I have also been able to get a pretty good handle on poor, beaten-down, hen-pecked Jon’s personality. Why? Because he strikes me as being an extreme version of my own laid back, indecisive, oftentimes-scatterbrained husband. Who I love dearly, don’t get me wrong. His personality traits are a good foil to mine.

So, let’s run down the circumstances here. This woman has eight children. EIGHT. CHILDREN.

EIGHT.

So she has eight children, a camera crew following them around, and a husband who – essentially – isn’t good for much in the way of help, support, or any kind of meaningful partnership. She has to do it pretty much on her own. I have one child. ONE. And on some days, I can barely remember my own name, much less the groceries, laundry, lunches, soccer practice, feeding the cat, going to work,  blahblahblah. Do I become a military general at times? You bet your ass I do. Do I treat my husband like an infant, worthy only of contempt and frustration? Not out loud, but let’s just say if some of the movies in my head had a Hollywood premier, I wouldn’t let him on the red carpet. Do I become a bossy bitch when I don’t get my way? Um … yep. So sue me. The only difference between me and Kate Gosselin is that I don’t have to do it all on TV.

Call me naive, but when the promo came out hinting at a “big announcement” on their last show, I was really hoping they were going to announce an indefinite hiatus for “J&K+8″ so they could work on their relationship. Alas, it’s not to be. I feel awful for Kate, who will now still have to do everything for those children and, for a few days a week, be forced to sleep away from her own house so Jon can have some playtime. Jon, however, I have no sympathy for. I think he’s an immature ass who has no impulse control and makes spectacularly bad decisions about his personal life. Even with eight kids, Kate is better off without him.

The hair on my chinny chin chin

The interloper. The stand-out. The one little black stalk on an otherwise vast expanse of fuzzy, light, downy, girlie hair. What the hell are you doing here? I’m not even 40 yet. I pluck you out, but every couple of weeks you’re back. Like a membership to one of those mail-order places, you get something whether you want it or not. And you keep paying, because you don’t know what else to do.

So what are you a harbinger of, little hair? Early menopause? Hormone problems? I see a long future stretched out in front of me, constantly on the watch for those signs of aging no one wants to see. The wiry grey hairs on my head soon show up sprouting out of my ears. Greying hair on my eyebrows also starts showing up in my lady garden. The stark realization that my double chin has nothing to do with weight gain and everything to do with sagging skin. My once creamy smooth hands turning spotted and wrinkled. Groaning every time I  get out of a sitting position – something I tease my parents about. Realizing that my monthly cycle, normally like clockwork, has started breaking down – a watch that may have been wound one too many times. In a few very short years the admiring glances from men on the street will be for my daughter, not for me. How am I supposed to handle that?

40 may be the new 20, but someone forgot to tell my hormones. And my joints. And my eyesight. That someone needs to tell the little black hair on my chin to bugger off for a few more years. I’m not done being young yet.

A Letter To Zack

Hey furface,

I wish I could make you better. I wish you really did have nine lives. I’m sure even in your confused, tired, medication-fogged brain, you know things aren’t good. You sleep all the time, you barely eat, and you can’t even manage to get up the energy to be around your people, which used to give you so much joy.

It was only three short years ago when you became part of our family. I remember going to the shelter - just  some woman’s home – and picking out you and your brother. You were part of a writhing mass of kittens, jumping and scurrying around. There were three that looked like you, and three that looked like Zipper. The other options were orange and white kitties – and I’d had an orange cat before – and some long hairs that weren’t an option due to you-know-who’s objection to “all that shedding.” So I picked one of each. You each got little zip-tie collars around your necks with your new last name on them, and we had to wait two weeks – which felt like a year – before we brought you home. You joined our family to replace another furbaby who lost a battle with a coyote. What a great choice I made.

Within 48 hours you both were so sick, we didn’t think you would make it. We literally nursed you back to health, and then your little personality became clear. You were the calm, loving one. Always content to sit on the nearest lap. But you sure were a funny cat. A little off balance, with a croaky, barely audible  meow.  You got the most attention with your soft, uniquely coloured coat and your tranquil attitude.

But your health has never been good. Nasty, oozing rashes appeared around your neck, and you were diagnosed with a food allergy. No more pet store food for you – oh, no, only the expensive, hypoallergenic stuff from then on. You’ve always been on the thin side, probably because your bully of a brother managed to muscle you away from the food dish every morning. That’s when we first realized something was wrong. We separated you two to eat, and noticed you weren’t eating much. Then the seizures started.

Now you’re likely in the last days of your life. A terminal virus called FIP is doing it its worst. The vet keeps telling us some cats live long, relatively uncomplicated lives with FIP, but in my heart I know that’s not you. I’ve always kind of known you weren’t long for this life. And even though it’s been a short time – you’re not even out of your 20’s in people-speak – I think you’ve had a good stay on this planet. You’ve been loved like a child, given good food, cold water, comfy places to sleep, and the occasional ball to bat around.

I wish you could tell me when enough is enough. But you can’t, so I can only go with my gut. But I promise, it won’t last much longer. I already know what Zack heaven looks like – all the kibble you want, a vast field of burgundy microfleece to sleep on, and pain-free peace.

You will be missed.

The Five Things I F*cking Hate About Going On Vacation

OK, I know I should just shut up already. I’m going somewhere hot and sunny where drinks are served in coconut shells with little colourful umbrellas and the biggest decisions I’ll have to make are a) to lounge by the pool or the beach, b) which bar to visit and in what order, and c) what restaurant to stuff myself silly at each evening. But seriously, leaving the continent for a week is a great big gigantic pain in my ass. And I’ll tell you why, you unsympathetic so-n-so’s.

1. I hate flying. I used to love it when I was a kid, but that was before I realized that planes can crash. And not only CAN they crash, they DO crash. Not with alarming frequency, but still. I hate the air in planes, I hate the food on board, and I hate being shoehorned into those tiny seats. I always insist on the window so the only person I have to sardine with is my husband. And I don’t even like getting that close to him. I mean really, can they not provide a bit more personal space without charging an arm, leg, and firstborn for it?

2. I hate the airport. I hate getting to the airport, I hate being in the airport. Airport staff are some of the most rude, unfriendly, uncaring people I’ve ever encountered. And that’s on a good day. At least there won’t be snow. YVR tends to go into operational panic mode at the first sign of frost. To make matters worse, we are flying with Scare Canada, where their motto is “We’re not happy until you’re not happy!”

3. I hate packing. I never know what to wear. This time I started packing way early, which was a big mistake. I’ve been rethinking every outfit since then. I actually tore my suitcase apart two days ago and re-tried on everything – and only changed one ensemble. And I’m re-rethinking that one even now (the top I have on today is nice … how would it look with that skirt … hmm ..) I have so far resisted the gravitational pull to Winners to find that perfect tank top-blouse-dress-pair of shoes. I have more clothes than the average supermodel. I don’t need any more. Considering that for 95% of this vacation I will be in a bathing suit, my suitcase is awfully full. Speaking of the bathing suit …

4. I hate wearing bathing suits. I bought two for this trip, and no matter which way I look at it – and I’ve looked at it every which way, from every angle, sucking in what I can – I’m never happy with the way I look. Luckily a few of the women going with us on this trip are also not Twiggy wannabes, so I’m not saddled with that self-imposed competition along with everything else. Of course, the food orgy I’ve been on for the past two weeks hasn’t heped matters. Oh, for the days when a risque bathing suit was one that stopped at the calves instead of at the ankles. But I have to say, with my big floppy black hat and oversized sunglasses, I do look pretty Euro-trashy-chic – from the neck up.

5. I hate, hate, hate leaving my daughter. The resort chosen for this trip – by a friend of my husband’s, who’s getting married – is adults-only, so no K. Which, quite frankly, is fine with me. We’re going to Mexico with my family for Christmas, so it’s not like she never gets to go anywhere. And she’ll have a great time with my parents for the week, where she gets to sleep in late, eat whatever she wants, and dictate the schedule for the day. Kinda sounds like its own all-inclusive resort, doesn’t it? I’ll call it “Grandyland.” But with both me and B out of the country – off the continent, really – and in a third world country this time, I can’t help being anxious. I’ve done everything I can to ensure she’ll be fine. Our wills are done, everyone is aware of our wishes and I spent a thoroughly morbid hour last week writing a letter for my sister detailing down to the last biller the things she’d have to take care if if we … you know. My husband would tell me to stop worrying about something I can’t control. But I CAN control it. By not going.

If you spend one more minute growing up, little missy, you’re grounded!

So, two things happened at around the same time this week that pointed out the obvious – my kid is growing up.

1. She used the word “party” as a verb. As in, “I’ll be partying over here.” Um, WTF? I don’t think I’ve ever said that to her. I know her father has never said that to her. Which means one of the juvenile delinquents the lovely young people she goes to school with said it, and she thought it was cool enough to say herself. Yah, you won’t be “partying” anywhere anytime soon if I have anything to say about it. How ’bout “partying” for your 30th birthday? That sounds soon enough for me.

2. She slept over for the first time without a relative. I honesly was not expecting this one. She’d been anxious about Girl Guide camp for a couple of weeks, even though I told her she didn’t have to sleep over if she didn’t want to. But on the way there on Saturday, she declared “Mommy, I think I’m going to sleep over, and it’s going to be a lot of fun!” And that was it. She never looked back. I spent the night chronically watching my cellphone – making sure the ringer was on, making sure it was on, etc. But she did awesome. Yesterday the leaders told me she was an absolute delight. This is the girl who just 2 weeks ago slept at her cousins’ place for the first time. She’s been spending lots of time with my mother, but was too nervous to sleep at my sister’s house until now.

So that’s it, then. She’ll be moving out this summer, getting a job, getting married, having kids. At least that’s what it feels like. How can the time go so quickly when it comes to her, yet I feel like I haven’t aged at all? I don’t feel fundamentally different – or older – than I did in my mid 20’s. And I’m a little older than that now. Just a little. Not much, mind you, but a tad. A smidge.

From the office of the Prime Minister of Canada

March 20, 2009

 

Fr: The Right Honourable Stephen Harper

Prime Minister

Government of Canada

 

To: President Barack Obama

Government of the United States of America

 

President Obama

 

Please let me extend my heartfelt thanks for your recent trip to my fair country. I have to say it was quite a thrill to be your first state visit. Even though it was only a few hours, it was enough to get me bragging rights on the international stage. I may have called a few people to crow show off share the good news, just in case you hear something. That Gordon Brown can be quite a gossip.

 

And don’t worry, I’m not hurt that you wouldn’t give me a tour of Air Force One. I understand the security concerns. But just so you know – I have been cleared by our security agency here in Canada. They don’t consider me too much of a risk, so maybe next time.

 

I have to say I was surprised to see how easily you got along with the real head of the country, Governor General Michaele Jean. I’ve spent the better part of the past few years trying to get the cow frigid old bag former journalist to open up, to no avail. And just a tip for the next time you come back – don’t pat her on the ass. She hates that.

 

It was also a refreshing change to see people happy and cheering on Parliament Hill. The crowds that normally gather when I’m around are a bit more angry ready to slit my throat reserved. Your media entourage was also impressive. They seem to really like and respect you. I’d like to foster that kind of relationship with the media here in Canada, in the context of my “keep a lid on everything and freeze out the media at all costs” policy. Any suggestions you might have in that area would be greatly appreciated. I’d also like the name of your personal trainer. And your tailor.

 

Please know that anytime you’d like to come back, you’re welcome. There’s nothing like hosting the most popular man in the world to add a few points onto the old poll numbers. And no, I don’t mind if you call me Steve. It sound better from you than it does from Danny Williams.

 

Respectfully,

Steve Harper

Thanks to Nej for germinating this idea

March 16, 2009

8:11 am

To: All Seasons

Fr: God

Season Change

 

Hey guys!

Just a reminder that we’re changing seasons on Friday. You know the drill.

 

8:12am

To: God

Fr: Fall

Auto Out-Of-Office Reply

 

To whoever just emailed me, cut it out.

I’m off for the next few months.

I am in the Bahamas and have no access to email.

 

8:15am

To: God, All Seasons

Fr: Spring

Re: Season Change

 

Yay! I’m so glad to be back. Wintering in Mexico is nice, but all those tourists – yuck!

Anyway, all my stuff is in cardboard boxes, ready to move into the office.

Winter, let me know when you can get your things out. I know you aren’t officially off until Friday, but I could move in early. J

 

8:17am

To: God, All Seasons

Fr: Summer

Re: re: Season Change

 

Welcome back, Spring. Although I feel I should point out that you weren’t in too much of a hurry to leave last year, so it’s not very fair to pressure Winter to leave before he’s ready. J

 

8:20am

To: God, All Seasons

Fr: Spring

Re: re: re: Season Change

 

I know you mean well, Summer, but may I point out that I vacated the office exactly two minutes before the change in ’08. I’d hardly call that “late,” would you? J

Anyway, I have lots to get going on here, so any help would be greatly appreciated. Winter seems to have overstepped his bounds in a few areas, and I have one heck of a mess to clean up.

 

10:45am

To: Winter

Fr: God

REMINDER – Season Change

 

Winter, not sure if you got my last email. The season change is this Friday. We need to know you’ll be ready to go. Spring’s chomping at the bit to get in there.

 

12:27pm

To: Winter

Fr: God

PLEASE REPLY ASAP

 

Winter, I still haven’t heard back from you. Will you be ready to leave on Friday or not?????

 

March 20, 2009

To: All Seasons

Fr: God

Season Change – DELAY

 

Sorry everyone, it appears I was a bit too hasty in the “Season Change” memo from earlier this week. I just dug up an interdepartmental memo from the Groundhog Division we got at the beginning of February. Thanks for pointing it out, Winter. Anyway, it appears Winter gets to hang around a while longer. Sorry for the confusion.

Nature or Nurture?

My sister has been visiting for the past few days with her two girls. We got into a discussion last night about how much parenting influences personality.

I told her I used to believe that nurture has more of an impact than nature until I had my own kid. K’s personality hasn’t fundamentally changed since the day she checked out of the Womb At The Inn. She’s always been extremely patient, easygoing, non-confrontational, non-aggressive. Pretty much an angel child. Except for a bout of “colic” at around 2 months which I now think was actually my fault for listening to all those “experts” and not to her, she’s been a wonderfully easy kid to raise. I think her personality was coded into her the minute that little swimmer met up with its soulmate somewhere in the Love Canal – ie my fallopian tube. Apparently her father was much the same – and still is. Which bodes well for the future. Knock on wood.

My sister, on the other hand, thinks environment has way more to do with it. Some surprising revelations actually. It appears C blames much of her current personality glitches on my mother for “spoiling” her as a child. She also told me she hated my father with an all-consuming passion from as early as she could remember. Not entirely unexpected, actually, considering he was an asshole for much of our formative years. Also not unexpected considering they’re exactly the same and constantly butted heads.  She agrees with me that mom was soft on her to compensate for my dad being such a jerk. Luckily their relationship has improved over the years – dad has mellowed out and so has she.

She also insists her oldest went from being a “perfect” baby to an out-and-out terror at about 18 months, and hasn’t changed back. I don’t remember it quite that way, but she’s not my kid, so who can say? Her youngest is also a really good kid, but definitely has her moments. And I watch as my sister treats her youngest with far more affection than her oldest. I know she knows she’s doing it, but can’t help herself. You have to wonder how that’s going to affect them both as they grow up.

Rando-licious

Feeling fat today. I know fat isn’t an emotion, but there you go. This all goes back to getting on the scale last Friday. I figured I could handle seeing some weight gain since Christmas. Apparently I couldn’t. It’s not much – and not even enough to see, really. Some of it could be due to the lovely and talented Aunt Flo who showed up last night. Or the fact I’m still working out like a maniac and adding muscle. Or maybe the pig-out sessions I keep engaging in every weekend. That must stop, because in 10 short weeks I must squeeze myself into a bathing suit to frolic in the sun and sand of the Dominican Republic. Fat and frolic don’t go together in my book.

Finished Breaking Dawn last night, and I’m glad I’m done with that series for now. The story was obviously good enough to hold my interest through four books, but the writing really was sub-standard and the Bella character annoyed me to no end. Plus the fact she left out all the good sex. I know the books are for 16 year olds so I can understand why. That doesn’t make me any happier.

I’m now in charge of organizing the Spring Carnival at my daughter’s elementary school. Not sure what exactly I was thinking. At the PAC meeting Tuesday night most of my suggestions were gently overruled by the sitting president. That’s fine, but seriously, if you’re just going to covertly run the thing yourself, why give me the job? Whatever – I’m sure it’ll work out fine. I plan on doing lots of delegating.

Hubby is away – again – as of tomorrow, this time for almost 10 days. A combination of me working a human being’s hours at work, my MIL sleeping over for 2 days, and my sister coming for a few days has us covered off. I lost it a little big with B when I found out all the travelling he’d have to do this spring. It’s getting harder for me to deal with, because even though HE’S the one travelling, I’M the one that ends up juggling things around to ensure someone’s actually at home at 3am when I go to work. Unfortunately leaving a 7 year old home alone is illegal. I can’t see why – she knows how to open the fridge and turn on the TV. What else do you need to know, really?