I always expect the worst. It's just one of my flaws. Things could be going great and then all of a sudden I stop, hold my breath and think about how great things are going now, but in a short time things will get bad again.
and it always does.
It's my bad luck.
If you really think about it though, something bad is going to happen anyway to all of us at some point. Otherwise we would all be riding around on unicorns that fart out rainbows all day long. So really I guess expecting the worst is kind of silly.
but I always do. Because good always turns into bad. It's my experience in anything and everything and I hate feeling that way, but I always do, and as hard as I try, the feelings of dread always creep in.
Today was the first time I really realized this to be a problem.
Mason has been asking for "spray shoes" for a while now. A little boy in his old daycare had these shoes and Mason was just over the moon for them. The idea of them is actually pretty cool:
We were shoe shopping last week and I was so close to buying these shoes because they were $10 off. The problem is, these are $70 shoes. Shoes that my son would have worn out in a week, but I almost bought them because he made that sad little puppy face, followed by the hissy fit face, and it almost had me, but we settled for the $20 Lightning McQueens instead.
Last night we stopped by the shoe store to see if the shoes were still on sale, we were there anyway so I thought I would just check to see, mostly because I am indecisive and I really wanted to make him happy, but again I walked away, the shoes were no longer on sale, and again I thought about how rough he is on his footwear.
Then today at lunch a co-worker and I went to Value Village (a huge chain thrift store). As we walked by the shoe aisle, I started to think about those shoes. I chuckled to myself as I thought how funny it would be for those shoes to be there. Then as quickly as the thought came to my mind, I glanced over and there they were. I am not even shitting you. The EXACT same shoes in Mason's size. A little worn, but really not bad at all, with a price tag of $3.99.
and as I made my way out of the store like a bandit. I was like the Ikea lady in that commercial. I was giggling, couldn't believe my luck - and then it hit me. Something bad is going to happen. I was expecting it. Wondering how it would emerge. Car accident? Wild deer? Getting fired? Getting yelled at by my boss until I cry? Losing money? Getting punched in the crotch? It's very tiring to not know how life is going to creep up and kick you in the behind.
and I worry about it too much.
because nothing bad happened.
Except not getting glue with my fake moustache. That was pretty bad because now I don't know how to apply said moustache without glue.
PS - here is the reaction when I gave Mason the shoes. Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but it'll do.
PPS - once Mason learned said shoes actually didn't fly he was even less impressed.
August 29, 2003 (We had gone for our second ultrasound and they were suposed to tell us if we were having a boy or a girl. The technician was a terrible bitch and she gave us a picture of what looked like "The Great Gazoo" only with no elbows. I was convinced my baby had no arms. So I was quiet the whole ride home and when I walked in the door I went in my bed and started bawling. R. Came in and tried to convince me our baby had arms, but I just too stubborn...)
I showed my little brother the horrible picture on msn and he fixed it for me so I could see it better and said that the technician probably had ugly kids and she was jealous of how cute mine is...awww he's such a little sweetie. So I guess now I've come to terms with the picture. I still think it's scary looking and it ruined my whole day yesterday thinking about it and I almost killed everybody in my house when I left dinner unattended on the stove and it caught on FIRE and burnt up the cupboards...but that's all in the past now. My goal now is to get another ultrasound so I don't go on thinking my baby is going to look like this! I really don't know how to go about doing this, but I think it may involve some "crying wolf" any suggestions?
(I'm totally dying over here about the cupboards part! I said it like it was NOTHING. I friggin burnt the cupboards!!!)
As I was cooking dinner tonight on my mini single-serve George Foreman, the most depressing kitchen machine ever invented, I found myself caught up in watching the fat drip from the little machine.
I watched the fat droplets one by one drip onto the blue flower Ikea plate (as I lost the George Foreman fat catcher - what are those things called anyway). I thought about the poor little cow that was now dripping onto the plate, the diet all my co-workers are on right now (look at me eating healthy-ish bitches!)and the way the fat pooled and then dripped off together.
After a few minutes I realized I was content. I was happy watching fat drop onto a plate. There was no thoughts of my terrible life, no thoughts of my mom's car being stolen this morning, no thoughts of burglars or house fires, no thoughts of cancer. It was just - content.
...and I know I will be okay.
Eventually.
It's not just fat dripping onto a Swedish kid's plate that are soothing. There are things like watching your son play at the park and hearing his laughs, good friends, ice cream (ice cream always makes things better - unless you are lactose intolerant), watching 31 Christmas falls in 35 seconds on Amercia's Funniest Home Videos and autumn afternoons in the park.
One day I am going to look back on all of this and be able to say yeah it was shitty for a really long time, and there were many set-backs, but I am content now. It was a long battle but I made it.
Eventually.
When bad things stop happening like burglars and fires and cancer and the cancellations of my favourite TV shows. One day things are just bound to go my way again, this is just another one of those bumps in the road.
PS - cooking steak on George Foreman's single person grill is a bad idea - unless you like to eat leather.
I lead a pretty mundane life. For example, my Saturday night consisted of shopping for crab food. Herman's other food bottle fell behind the dresser, and since the dresser is somehow wedged between the cabinet and the wall, I could not reach the food so a shopping trip was in order. Which is always okay with me. So we went to Wal-mart, only to find that all the hermit crab accessories were on clearance. Which kind of made me sad. I mean, hermit crabs are living creatures, why would they be clearing out the essential things these crabs need to survive? Not only that, what if other stores soon follow suit and Herman is left food and water sponge-less.
As you can see, Saturday night had not much excitement. In fact, not many of my Saturday nights are spent out. After I got home with my crab food, the rest of the night consisted of playing solitaire on Pogo.com, eating Oriental Mr. Noodles out of a Styrofoam cup *gasp* and looking forward to a "hot apple pie" bubble bath, which never really happened because I got side tracked when I tried to burn a DVD of Mason's baby videos and it had like five billion errors. I can only dream that one day I can find someone to enjoy eating Mr. Noodles and playing solitaire with, that would be pretty awesome. We could totally be the boring nerd couple, but we would be so happy just playing solitaire and eating Mr. Noodles.
*ahem* As I was saying, my boring life, is apparently not very cool to some people. I'm okay with that though because I have someone backing me up. Mason thinks I am cooler than...well a really cool person (??). In fact, he kind of worships me by offering me houses built of Popsicle sticks and necklaces made of macaroni on a weekly basis.
Not only that, but he totally tells people I'm cool. Just the other day Mason's teacher asked him what my name was, to which he replied:
"My mom's name is Nikki, but you can call her cool"
I think it's gone to my head because I've made him repeat the story to everyone we see. The last time I told him to tell the story he told me to stop asking him and he wouldn't say it! Maybe I'm not as cool as I thought? :/
We all have to deal with unpleasant situations. The moments that stress us out for a little while, make us bite our nails off, pull out hair or eat like a monster (if that's how you deal with that sort of thing). When your moment comes, you get the task done with sweaty palms and nervous giggles, and then it's over and you wonder what you were so worried about. That has to be the best feeling in the world. Closure.
For me, some of the most unpleasant situations I can remember is speech time. I remember my grade 6 speech had me completely frazzled. I had no idea what to talk about. I was (and still am) horribly shy and kind of the weirdo (only like not Screech weird). So the speech was the next day and I didn't have a word written down on my 3x5 cue card - not. a. word. So I cried, and my mom decided that she was going to help.
So she went and got our newest issue of Time magazine. Why we were subscribers of Time magazine, I will never know. All I know is that we had every single issue of that magazine littering our bathroom (I know....) and I don't think a single soul read the thing. It's not even like we were just subscribed for a year to get the fundraising kids selling magazines off our porch, we had that magazine every single year.
Mom went to work feverishly, writing my 6 minute speech on none other than David Koresh. So while everybody else wrote about bubblegum and fairies and sports, I stood in front of that class for 6 minutes and spoke about a criminal who killed 74 people, all so recently (or at least within that Time magazine issue time span). It didn't go very well. Not only did I not write a word of it, but neither did my mom, turns out she copied the article from the magazine (thanks mom!), changing the sentences ever so slightly so not to seem so plagiarized.
I think my grade 7 speech was about running shoes. Seemed like a safer subject.
So if you haven't guessed, I have been dealing with my own personal unpleasant situation as of late. Mason just started kindergarten for those who are just joining in on this crazy adventure. With a new school, comes having to explain that he doesn't have a father, which is never an easy task to do. I figured I had some time before they started talking about families before my little 5-year-old raised his hands and started talking about his dead father and how heaven has good food. I really wanted to save this poor teacher the awkward situation of having to hear the shocking news from the mouth of a 5 year old who has no trouble blurting it out anywhere at any time, and also with a comment on the food situation up in heaven. It can be a little awkward, especially in front of a group of 5 year olds.
I tried to tell the teacher (whom my son lovingly refers to by her last name only (sans Mrs) which I adore) when I met her the first time, but I chickened out completely. Not an easy thing to bring up when you're talking about school stuff.
Then I thought about writing a note and leaving it in his message bag for the teacher, but I remembered what happened the last time I broke that kind of news in a note and it didn't really work for me.
Mason had been in daycare for a couple months, we had put him in daycare while R. was sick. We were having a hard time coping with the nurses, PSWs and all the appointments at the cancer clinic without daycare, not to mention things were not the greatest at the house when it came to entertaining a 1 year old, and even though I didn't agree at first, it seemed like the right thing to do in the end.
The night after R. had died things became a whirlwind. Normally I would have kept Mason home with me, but there was so much to do, funeral arrangements, flowers, clothes to be buried in, stuff I never even thought of before he had died. I meant to tell the daycare teachers when I dropped him off, but I was having a hard time talking to people without bursting into tears, which I hate doing (obviously) so I wrote on Mason's sign in sheet that his father had died the night before under "Special Information" and left. Of course they called when they saw what I had wrote and I burst into tears over the phone, but it saved the awkwardness of crying in front of 10 babies and 3 teachers who I really hadn't known that long.
So writing a note just seemed a little too impersonal this time. I'm not at any risk of bursting into tears anymore, I think I'm past that stage (finally). So my plan was to tell her at the parent/teacher BBQ.
I was a nervous wreck all day long. Thinking of how I would bring up such a sensitive subject. I looked around the BBQ but couldn't find her, which made me even more nervous because if she wasn't there I would either have to write the dreaded note or set-up an interview, and fast because I just know my little blabbermouth wouldn't be able to keep that juicy tidbit of info in for long.
When we finally did see her, she greeted us with small chat. I chickened out. Again. I couldn't say it! So I decided to turn around and go in for another round. I found her again and brought up something stupid, I can't even remember now, I think it was a fact about the school or something. I almost chickened out again. In fact, she had her back turned and was walking away....and then I had a Ralphie moment.
You know, in A Christmas Story when he goes to see Santa at the department store and chickens out and can't ask for what he really wants (Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle) so he ends up agreeing to a football. When Santa's elf pushes him down the slide he crawls back up and asks for what he really wants....and that was me. I climbed back up that slide and dropped the bomb on the poor old teacher.
"Umm...I just wanted you to know that his dad died.....uhhh, you know just so you're prepared if he happens to mention that because he does and it can be awkward sometimes because he is very blunt about it but don't worry he's okay with it...."
and she looked shocked. I don't know what she thought before I told her that. I mean she must know what kids in her class are single-parent kids. I'm the only one that signs the forms. The cheques for the book orders are in my name only. I've been there 3 times, by myself. That had to of meant something.
So it did end up being a little awkward, especially when she wanted to talk about it a little more by asking if it was hard and how old he was when his dad died, and I kept my answers cold and professional, because that is how I deal with it. If I start getting mushy and soft then there would be tears, but if I just state matter-of-factly what happened, it's all okay. I guess that is just how I deal.
Maybe Mason deals with it by attributing good food to heaven. I've just become numb and that's what works for us, although it can get a little awkward at times.
Lately when Mason is angry with me he will give me that "mean eyebrow" look and taunt me with "yeah, well you're not the best cooker". Like that is the most important thing in the world to him, whoever can cook better is his favourite person.
Of course when I make him happy he tells me "Mom, you are the best cooker", which I know is a lie because I have a hard time making Kraft Dinner that doesn't taste like dead animal carcass. Not that I've ever tasted carcass...wait maybe I have, haven't we all when we eat like hamburger and stuff? Blahhhh okay moving on...
Remember that movie Mermaids? The one with Cher and Winona Ryder.
That movie has always been one of my favourites. I don't know why, it wasn't really all that great, but I guess I could just always relate to that movie in a way. Not saying my mom was a slut or Cher (oh I wish...), I just remember watching that movie and being able to relate on many levels. Oh how my teenage mind worked sometimes...ugh!
There is a scene in that movie where Charlotte (Winona Ryder) was going out fishing with a guy that she liked and she was making sandwiches to take with her. While she had her back turned, her mother came along and cut the sandwiches into stars with cookie cutters. For some reason that always stuck with me, probably because I hate crust on bread.
So when Mason demanded asked me nicely to make a cheese sandwich in his lunch to make up for the disgusting applesauce I sent yesterday, I had to oblige. Not only did I make him his beloved cheese sandwiches, I even cut them up into little stars on my grandma's old and faded kitty cutting board (you know, to add a little more nostalgia), because I love him, a lot. So I'm pretty much sure this makes me the best cooker. So there!
I sent three e-mails today with the subject line of "beavers". I thought about changing it, my dirty mind screaming at me to just change it and change it now. I couldn't think of another thing to call it so it remained beavers, because that is what I was inquiring about. Beavers, as in "boy scouts" or girl guides if you are a girl.
I don't know where I got this idea from, just suddenly I decided last week that Mason should be a beaver. Not only because it makes me giggle like a school girl to say that, but also the awesome MacGyver skills that he can come home and teach me since I totally flunked out of girl scouts.
I'm not even kidding. I joined kind of late, I forget how old I was, but I joined the group at the "pathfinder" age (probably around 13 or 14?). I was kind of the bad apple of the group. All the other girls were well-behaved and "tame" and I was a bit of the wild one. Maybe I was just comfortable because my aunt was the leader or maybe I was just a little rebellious because I didn't give a shit about horseback riding or rope tying (although now I think those skills may have been useful a few times).
I remember one time we had to play "Pictionary" and I was unfortunate enough to pull the word babysitter. I did what I do best and I drew a person sitting on a baby, and even though there were some laughs, there were also a few "stern" looks from the leaders. Then there was the time we went camping and horseback riding. I hate camping. I hate other girls. I hate horses. Then someone suggested that another girl, Kayla, had crusty undies and I didn't know what that meant really so I thought they were referring to bread somehow so I started calling her moldy bread and she cried....and I wasn't welcome back at horseback camp again. The good news is I haven't called anyone moldy bread ever again.
Hopefully nobody in Mason's group has moldy undies. That would suck if he got kicked out like I did. We would be failures at scouts, which would pretty much make us useless when it comes to tying rope and horseback riding and making fire or bird houses. Which really wouldn't be good if we ever had to use those skills.
June 9, 2003 (After being pregnant for about a month, I started thinking that maybe it wasn't so cool to be immature anymore): It just dawned on me that I can't be silly anymore. I have to be a responsible woman now...I'm all grown up. How sad. I would love to talk about my favorite junk food or how fun cartoons are right now but I won't. I just want to go to a prom or go out and stay out all night with my friends and get in trouble by my mom the next day when I finally come home or sleep over at a friend's house on a school night...or have a crush on somebody...or be obsessed with my boyfriend...these things are all over for me *sniff*
There something absolutely magical about the fair. You can go in there feeling totally down and once you are among all the laughing kids, the twinkling lights and the smoking carnival workers(eww) your worries just drift away.
I am almost ashamed to admit that we went to the fair five times this week, but if you've been to the Western Fair, you know that you just can't see everything in one day (unless you are Superman or you don't have a five year old to drag around with you). Plus, I kind of developed a little crush on the farm animals, especially the baby cow that licked Mason's face. He was such a charming little cow and he didn't even smell that bad.
The week of the fair is always exciting for us. Not only is it a sign that fall is just around the corner (fall is my almost-favourite season!) but it also gives me leverage in arguments with M. If he doesn't clean up his toys, I tell him we won't go to the fair and he goes and tidies up, and then some because he absolutely loves the fair. I don't use that all the time, only in extreme circumstances (like when the Hot Wheels are on the floor. Step on those buggers, try it, they HURT!! If you are nodding along right now, I feel your pain. I stepped on a Cadillac today. It hurt. A lot.
One year R. and I went to the fair every single day. We just lived down the street and we led pretty boring lives (pre-Mason) so we would walk over every night. I think he went for the smell of all the food but for me it was always the lights...and the games. I'm a sucker for the midway games. The worst part about it, I am absolutely terrible at the games! I can't win anything...ever! This year I got lucky and won Mason a monkey at a water squirting game. By the end of Saturday night when I knew I wouldn't be returning I just handed the nice game operator 10 tickets and said "just give me a prize" and Mason got a pretty nice stuffed dog. Maybe I will just try that again, but there is just something about actually winning that makes it much more exciting. Well except when you beat a bunch of kids, then you just look like a big jerk. Which is how I won the monkey, but the feeling I had when I won was so indescribable. Those kids are still young, they'll get over it.
R. was lucky enough to see Mason go to the fair one year. Even though he was only 8 months old and didn't go on any rides, just seeing him in awe of all the lights and sounds, it is an incredible thing. I am lucky to get to see the same reaction four years later, only now the excitement is more verbal and there is a lot more jumping and waving and pant peeing (yeah, I have to talk to him about that). I wonder how long before he won't want to take his mom with him to the fair, or how long before he goes on those big rides that scare the heck outta me all by himself. Hopefully when I'm an old lady he will take me to the fair in my old person wheelchair and dry my pants for me under the hand dryer in the bathroom. Payback's a bitch, right?
I have never really been a fan of ducks. I absolutely despised Donald Duck for all the rotten things he did to Mickey. Scrooge McDuck was a miserable prick too. Maybe that has something to do with it, the ducks usually end up as the bad guy or just fugly and gross. I mean feathers? Ew! My son is allergic to feathers, probably from his mother's hatred of ducks.
There was a time long ago when I actually liked ducks. My niece had a pet duck and when she brought it home it was a cute little fuzzy thing...all yellow and ducky. I loved that duck, until it got older and it crapped everytime it quacked. Then there was the time that I babysat it and it attacked me and bit me like five times in one day because the thing was insane. I know, I babysat a duck. I didn't say I was sane all the time.
And although I hate ducks, I love animals. I love to save animals from certain death, even if they are little mice with no fur, because I love animals, and yes that includes ducks if they are in need of help, but otherwise I don't love them because they stink and they are creepy. Oh except for snakes, I don't like snakes, or scorpions, scorpions should all die like right now, except for the band Scorpions because "Rock You Like a Hurricane" was a pretty kickass song back in the day, so they are excused from sudden death, scorpion insects however are not.
So what I was getting at is that I used to like to feed ducks because I felt like I was saving their creepy little beings by feeding them. I liked how they would come to me and fight eachother like a bunch of UFC fighters to get a morsel of my bread crusts that I don't eat. Then the geese would come and it would be a big giant riot of feathered creatures fighting for my food, but to me I was saving them all by offering the bread that I did not want (because I don't like bread anyway).
10. I’ve heard that feeding ducks bread is bad. What should I feed them? DUC does not recommend feeding ducks. It increases the chances of negative human/wildlife encounters, reduces the ducks’ foraging instincts and can make them dependent on people for food.
Which was news to me because I always thought the main reason for not feeding ducks bread was that their stomachs would burst because the bread would make them all bloaty and stuff.
Last night I met a gang of ducks who were not friendly at all. I think their gang was called "Beaks" and if they had bandanas they would have been orange becuase it would have matched their beaks. They don't have bandanas though because they don't have pants to go into a store and buy bandanas - or cash, they don't have cash, they would have to put it on their bills! Haha, get it? Their bills? It's so much funnier in my head!
So this gang of ducks definitely ruled the park. They were like all up in these old ladies faces getting their old hamburger buns and eating them like, well like a pack of rabid smelly ducks. We were watching them, and the ladies shared their buns with M. to throw in to the duck gang, you know, to prove we were worthy of their presence, and then this happened....
(I shall warn you, you may want to turn down your speakers as my screaming is just disturbing - very disturbing).
The friggin ducks wanted more bread so they flew all up in my face and tried to eat me!! They are SO aggressive!! They were flying out like those monkeys in the Wizard of Oz jumping out of the window!
So then people laughed at me, but like I was totally scared and just trying to be brave, but those ducks are in-freaking-sane. Stop feeding them. Let them eat their own poop and tree bark for all I care. Ducks are jerks.
Patrick Swayze died yesterday *gasp* (okay pretend you didn't know that, fact is I'm a little behind on my shit this week so give me a break!).
Patrick Swayze was 57 years old. He was born in Texas. He was a manly ballerina. He was a recovering alcoholic, and then he died of cancer.Patrick Swayze, god of all dancing that is dirty, gone way too soon. Which really got me to thinking.
This is just another sign of me getting old, all the stars of the 80's are dropping like flies. Michael Jackson, Bea Arthur, and now Patrick Swayze. Which just tells me that I am getting old. Well that and saying things like "When I was young we wore bicycle shorts with fluorescent stripes down the side even when we weren't biking", or those random grey eyebrows that keep popping up in the same spot, or washing out Ziploc baggies to use over again (it's a sickness I tell ya) and being annoyed by the girlish screams of teenagers when they see that "Edward" guy on the TV.
Back when I was young, the only cool Edward was Edward Furlong (or Edward Scissorhands if you were in to that sort of thing). You know that guy from Terminator 2 who hadn't quite reached puberty yet so his voice was all squeaky but cuuuute *swoon*. He was a dream boat back in my day. He was on the cover of every teen magazine out there, and I had to buy them all. It was a small fortune, but well worth it because those magazines doubled as wallpaper for my room, much to the dismay of my mother. He was everywhere. He even released an album in Japan that I just had to have, but never did manage to get a hold of, you know before the Internet and all. But enough about Edwards, back to Patrick.
So I really want to share with you all my first Patrick Swayze memory. I was 7 years old. My uncle took me and my cousin to see Dirty Dancing, my very first movie theatre experience. I'm not so sure it was the best choice for a kid's first movie, in fact it took me until a couple years ago to really realize what was going on in that movie (don't laugh!).
I remember being in awe of every dirty dance that was up on that big screen, and although I never had a crush on Patrick Swayze like I did on Edward Furlong, or Charlie Sheen for that matter (don't laugh), I remember just being in awe of what I was seeing. The dancing, the music, the "nobody puts Baby in the corner" (even though I kind of thought Baby was a bit of a dog). My uncle told everybody that I just stared at the screen the entire time, never once looking away. I just stared and ate popcorn (which is a pretty awesome talent to eat while not even looking, I could have been eating cockroaches for all I know).
So although I didn't plaster him on my wall, or have a life-sized poster of him wearing white spandex (ooohhh Axl Rose!), Patrick Swayze was a pretty awesome guy with a fascinating life and will definitely be missed by people all around the world. Especially the people who wash out Ziploc baggies and wore bicycle shorts.
May 8, 2003 (Topic: I. AM. PREGNANT - I don't remember being this happy at the time, I guess it was exciting. I'm sure the "holy shit" feelings set in shortly after I wrote this post):
I can't believe it!! I can't wipe the smile off my face either. This is so great. I went to the grocery store and I felt like telling the clerk I was pregnant *LOL* I'm off for the weekend though to Rus' brother's house. I hope we have fun. I don't really feel like going much since I've been pretty tired and mellow lately but oh well. I won't be doing the partying I thought I would be but it should still be much fun :)
My mom was here all week to help me make it through the transition of daycare to Kindergarten. She drove all the way here in her 1993 Jeep that drives like a tank, sounds and all. Having mom around had it's good moments, but we all know there are two things that our mothers are really good at: 1) Baking 2) Nagging. Even though she was a great help, the nagging never ended and it really made me start to wonder if I really am lonely, because I really can't stand other people sometimes (love you mom!).
Some of said nags included: -"You need to clean out your fridge more often. I found carrots in there that resembled grub worms" In my defense, I did not know the carrots were in there, and grub worms are kind of cute sometimes. I guess that's not really a defense, but yeah cleaning of the fridge is not on my high list of priorities until it gets rank
-[While driving] "You need to cut people off at four way stops if they are not paying attention" [Me protesting] "YOU ARE A BAD DRIVER THEN"
-"You need to find a boyfriend. You are crabby so you need one. Not to mention your son needs a role model" For the record, I think I am a pretty awesome role model! My kid has learned a lot from me...good and bad - and no mom, I am not a lesbian
-"You are running out of everything! Why don't you buy more" because when there is one more person in the house things tend to get used up faster.
-"You have to go to bed earlier"
-"You have to teach him to punch kids in the face when kids are bugging him"
...to name a few.
On Friday we went to the Western Fair, Momma Naggy Pants came along, but left early because she's too old for fairs and forgot her sweater or something like that. I always love going to the fair, not so much for the crowds, the over-pricing of everything and the throw up, but more for the sights and sounds.
When I was pregnant we went to the fair every single day because I had to have fair food, the greasier and cheesier the better. I remember I had a doctor's appointment the following week where I would be weighed, but I didn't care, I ate like a horse that whole entire week. I was really nervous when my appointment came along, thinking I would have gained 20 pounds, and it turned out I lost weight. Go figure! After that, I was pretty much convinced that fair food isn't all that bad for you, well I guess it is...but the walking helps you to burn off those corn dogs. The fair is heaven like that you know. Although I don't know if living off that food would be the greatest. Like in that movie "Supersize Me" when the guy got all fat and unhealthy from eating McDonalds everyday.
Speaking of McDonalds, you'll never guess who we met at the fair? THE Ronald McDonald!!! He was adorable (in a creepy sort of way) and totally flirted with me! He was all like "Hi Mason, is this your big sister" and then I blushed and laughed like a hyena. Which also made me think, would it be so bad to date Ronald McDonald?
I would totally change his name to Ron....Ron McDonald, just to cool him up a bit. I mean, he's a little creepy looking and may or may not be a pedophile or Adolf Hitler in disguise but he's totally rich and imagine you could be all like "Ron, could you go grab me one of those Big Mac meals?" and it would be FREE at any hour. Not to mention, he can wear a bright yellow jumper like it's nobody's business...and he loves ME (so back off ladies, he's mine!).
Now because this post was actually suposed to be two posts but I wanted to make them one and now I'm realizing it is getting ridiculously long, here is a recap of what we did at the fair!
Mason got an $8 wedgie!
Saw some cows eating decorations. They were awesome.
Posed with a sheep (?) who had a really cool perm!
Went high above the fair, and resisted the urge to throw things at people down below
...and because I couldn't stay away from that chocolate-covered bacon, we went back the next day!
Saw the tiniest goat...EVER!
Saw the chocolate-covered bacon pre-chocolate (OMG I'm kidding!!)
Apparently to a 5-year-old, the coolest thing is getting your picture taken with a donkey's ass. He was so excited that he actually let me take these pictures and I didn't have to bribe him at all!
Jumped in a blow up spiderman castle for hours. The guy running the ride reminded me of Super Mario. It was like a Spiderman/Super Mario cross-over all up in there!
Awww what a cutie (even if he is a little bit mean). I think this is confirmation that I should probably never stop reproducing...like even when I'm 60. There could be an army of cute 2 year olds ruling the planet.
If somebody ever says this to you, you need to seriously make out with them or run away and marry them right away, I mean unless they are your brother or uncle or something because that would be both creepy and illegal (no offence?).
This has to be the best compliment anyone could ever give you. More than "your hair is pretty" or "you smell nice", although those do rank pretty high on the compliment scale as well.
Don't ever change is a way of saying "I like you for being you, please don't change that". Such a special compliment. I love it.
It is also good because if nobody has said that to you before, then maybe you need to change something. Like maybe you are a bitch or you smell bad or your hair isn't pretty.
Today I learned that my once 8 pound baby now weighs 60 pounds and that he did, in fact, not miss his six month shot as I was told by the crabby receptionist on the phone. He can snap his fingers and almost tie his own shoes. I also learned that he has no problem going off with a group of strangers, looking back only once to wave goodbye.
In a way it was so surreal. There was a time when I had my first day of grade two as a brand new student at this very same school. Also a time when my sister started this school, in the exact same classroom.
and even though he seemed pretty apprehensive about it all for a moment...
his good friend helped him through and he made it to that line-up of children.
Where he proceeded to tell everybody all about his Monkey friend, what he had for snack and pulled out everything in his spaceman knapsack in front of a group of chuckling parents and teachers.
Problems that I played over and over in my mind for that day never happened, in fact, it was all very serene.
and then the line up started to walk away.
and he was gone to learn about popsicle sticks and macaroni necklaces.
When he was completely out of sight, I walked into the office to ask for a copy of the paperwork that I had once received, now lost in the abyss of paperwork in my office somewhere. I only assume it got thrown away or became some work of art.
Leave it to me to lose such information. Rules. Snack ideas. Important info. In fact, I believe if children came with instruction manuals, mine would have been lost within the first week. Because I like drama I guess?
Paperwork could not be found. I was escorted into his classroom, and he looked horrified. Leave it to me to cause a scene on his very first day. Paperwork was found and I left my baby at a school I went to for 5 years. The very school I have the fondest memories of and had to leave far too soon. And I walked home on the same path I walked so many times when I was just a few years older than him.
Today he learned about respect and the gym and they made a picture of themselves, his was of him falling down a ladder. I am almost certain that no other child drew themselves falling down a ladder. I wonder what that means?
I would like to blame it on lack of sleep and too much energy - a dangerous combination in a 5-year-old because complete meltdown is close to follow.
That is what happened on Friday.
Awakened an hour earlier than usual, followed by a trip to the office where he coloured pictures and stamped "copy" all over them. When I saw some people, who also arrived an hour earlier than usual, were getting annoyed by his constant chatter, I settled him down with a Disney movie on an old iPod I had in my car. Thankfully I had it with me that day (note to self: put a Disney movie on iPhone in case of emergency).
Then when it was time, I took him to his new daycare for the visit that they so highly recommended. I knew it was a waste of time, Mason is very laid back when it comes to things like that, as long as there are new stimulations for him, he's cool with it. It's once he gets comfortable and used to things, that's when the problems begin.
So I dropped him off and made myself busy for a half an hour (see: biggest waste of half an hour in my entire life) and picked him up. When he found out we were going back to his old daycare for his last day, he had a complete meltdown. Again, I didn't expect this, nor was I prepared. It then became a standoff where he would not get out of the car. So right there in the parking lot I pulled him out, all the while he held his booster seat firmly on his bottom.
I don't know if you've ever experienced such a thing, I really don't recommend it. Albeit, looking back now, it must have been an amusing sight for someone, watching a mother pull her 50-something pound child from the backseat of her soccer mom car, all the while he holds his seat on his butt, as if that's going to help keep him out of daycare.
After I finally removed the seat from his rear end, I somehow managed to wrangle him into the doors of the daycare, which is where it all ended, after some teachers came to help. What a way to say goodbye!
I usually go for the distraction method: Oh look a Disney movie, look over there, look at this piece of gum stuck to the floor. That method: FAIL. In fact, I should probably never try that again because it never works at moments like this.
Some of these teachers have been taking care of him since he was a good, non-tantrum throwing one year old. They told him the surprises they had for him that day, and promised him ice cream and a picnic, which to me was pretty heavy artilary to be dealing with him, but after a while, and a visit to see a former teacher's fish tank, he was calm. The nice one asked if I was okay, I must have looked like a loonatic with messy hair, on the verge of tears - and then I sped away as I was now late for work - again.
It's the times like these that affect my day. I think back, could I have done something different - probably yes. I think of how crappy his day must be, as mine usually is from feeling guilty.
Then when I go back at the end of the day, there he is, as happy as can be. Laughing, running, playing with his friends.
and it's all okay.
I never expect it to be, but it always just is.
-
Then we said goodbye to a chapter closed.
With promises of visits, but I have a feeling that will never be possible.
In time it will be forgotten.
People change. Some die. It just happens.
There will be regrets, and what ifs and memories.
People will say 'get over it' and that it was just a daycare, but to me it was help that was there when I needed it the most. People who were there for me during the worst time in my life. Caring for the person I care about the most every single day. Teaching him when I could not. Loving him for his personality and accepting flowers from him every single morning, even if they were weeds.
and we will miss them.
but I won't miss the pound and a half of sand that came home in his shoes everyday.
May 6, 2003 (R. and I had a huge fight in front of his mother about his dog at her house. It was huge to the point he told me he wanted me out of the house but when I went to leave he stopped me. I guess we were both huge drama queens so when we bumped heads it was major. I just thought this part was pretty funny about Ri. and his girlfriend...I can't believe I felt that way!):
All of a sudden I feel like I've grown up overnight and this is my kick out the door into adulthood. I can't be a kid anymore. I can't act like an immature person because I'm a woman now. Ri. came over with what appeared to be his girlfriend and she looks younger than me...that bothers me. I don't want to sit at dinner and have her at the table. Me not being the young, cute girlfriend anymore...no, now I'm the big fat old girlfriend nag who whines about the dog in front of the mother in law. I don't like her. I don't like that she gets the attention I used to get when R. and I started dating. I hate that he doesn't even want to kiss me anymore...it's me doing all the kissing. When did that happen? I went from a girl who hated affection from men and now I crave it more than anything in the world. You know, it's not entirely his fault. It's me. All along I've been telling people how much it's not my fault but it is. I need attention or I turn into a spiteful old hag. He's got to know this but I don't know how to tell him. He does have his downfalls but I make them worse. I bring out the worse in him when I get in one of my moods. I need a job. I need money. I need to be beautiful again. I'm in need right now and I hate when I'm down like this. I need to be happy again...that's all. It will all be better then I just want to be happy...again.
Normally I wouldn't care too much about this sort of thing (yeah right, see: neurotic mother) but today two people referred to my child in some sort of feminine form. The first one was a mother who was trying to take a picture of her kid and Mason kept getting in the way so I told him to move out of the way and she replied "oh, she's okay there". Then another mother a little while later commented that she "liked her shorts".
Do you think maybe I dress him a little too girly? Do you think I need to toughen him up a bit? Maybe get him one of those fancy "mom" tattos with a heart and an anchor? I mean he is going into elementary school in 2 days (not that I'm counting or anything..) and kids can be pretty mean...
We have the plagueswine flu a common cold, complete with boogers, sinus pain and a sore throat to top off the germy awesomeness. Everytime I get sick, I try to pinpoint who the germ-spreading culprit is, not that it eases the symptoms, but it is somewhat comforting to me to know whose germs have turned my nasal cavity into a fountain of snot.
Most often it is a daycare kid, but this time I think the snot culprit is the cashier at Silvercity. I went to see The Final Destination on Sunday, paid a ridiculous amount of money to see a movie in 3D...but that is besides the point. The cashier was very obviously sick, complete with a scratchy voice and major snot fountain and trademark red nostrils. She wiped her hand on her nose and passed me my movie ticket. I took it by the very tip of the corner and Purell'd the hell out of my hands. Unfortunately I got a little frisky and couldn't help but make out with a picture of Bradley Cooper on a magazine. I can only assume that snot bag lady made out with the same magazine, because here I am four days later, a snot-producing zombie, for lack of better description.
Stay-At-Home Parents, I promise I didn't forget this post was for you. I did not intend to go into so much snot detail, but I need you to know that I feel crappy. You know, so you guys will feel sympathy for me. If you really want to know how I feel, I am willin to send you a picture of Bradley Cooper that I made out with and mail it to you. All you have to do is make out with the picture too and you can be germ-tastic just like me! What's that? You'll think about it? What a good friend you are!
As I sit here, typing this with one hand on my now germ-infested keyboard, my Vicks inhaler shoved in my left nostril and sucking on a Extra Strength Halls, something came to mind. We have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and unless Mason and I get rid of these germs quick, we will be MASKED. Have you been masked before? It's terrible! I mean, you already have a hard enough time breathing when you have a cold, and then they slap a 7-layer paper mask on your face and it's like slowly smothering your face. Not to mention they are never on schedule so you usually sit there for an hour with a stupid mask on your face, breathing in your own germs. Not only that, but when you are wearing a mask, the other patients waiting look at you like you have leprosy or the plague. Nobody wants to sit near you, people STARE atyou like you are Hannibal Lecter and you need to wear that mask to prevent yourself from eating their liver on a slice of toast. I know the importance of it, I KNOW, afterall I am trained as one of the doctor's receptionists that we all love to hate. I would much rather stay home if I'm sick than have to wear that mask.
Last time Mason had a doctor appointment he was quietly playing on the floor and he "cleared his throat". Nurse Ratched was out there right away, giving me stink eye and a lecture on having to wear a mask. He definitely was not sick, I had brought him in for a swollen finger, but she wouldn't have any of it, and for the next 45 minutes I alone fought King Kong himself, all the while holding a paper mask over his disease-infested face. The doctor checked him out, and he was perfectly healthy. This incident just adds to my mask annoyance.
As I was saying, we are riddled with germs in this house and I felt like being a nice person and missing work in order to not spread booger disease (oustanding citizen, I tell ya!). I only wish the Silvercity had done the same thing. Besides, I think daycare would have had a problem with me dropping off my junior booger fountain, so we stayed home.
Let me tell you, I have not had a day off in ages, and I was EXCITED. I thought of all the stuff I needed to do around the house, including an afternoon nap, toenail paintings (carnival pink would be nice!)and Mount Dirty Clothes was about to erupt so that could have used some attention.
What I didn't factor in was Mason. I forgot that kids have to eat three meals a day, imagine that! I also forgot that they want to be entertained constantly, even when they are booger fountains. Let's not forget the fact that THEY MAKE MESSES ALL DAY LONG.
Stay-At-Home Parents, I don't think the world gives you enough respect. Your job is HARD. Cleaning up after kids, cooking meals, errands, paying bills, answering telemarketing calls from vacuum companies - this is all hard work! There have been many times when I have been at work, having a really crappy day, and I think of how much I wish I could have been a Stay-At-Home Parentbecause I would rather be sitting in front of the TV eating bon-bons (what are bon-bons anyway?) and catching up on the latest Maury Povich episode, but it's not like that at all.
Mason kept me on my toes all day long, and I didn't even get a chance to have my afternoon nap. Cooking, cleaning, errands, entertaining, educating, making sure everybody leaves the house wearing pants - all very hard, and important tasks. Now imagine having to do them with no sick days. So stay-at-homers, hats off to you because after my sick day yesterday, I definitely could use a vacation day!
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I would totally change his name to Ron....Ron McDonald, just to cool him up a bit. I mean, he's a little creepy looking and 
Posed with a sheep (?) who had a really cool perm!
