Monthly Archives: September 2012

Party like it’s 1979

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It is, suddenly, fall.  My Manitoba maple tree has yellowed overnight, it seems, football has taken over Sundays, and the mornings are very crisp and chilly.  Although I cheerfully discuss with the children all the wonderful things to look forward to in every season, during the fall I very much mourn the end of summer.  This summer in Calgary has been one for the record books, I think, it has been really unusually sunny and warm.  It’s been perfect.  

Fall, to me, is the chilly, windy precursor to a long, long winter.  I like colourful leaves, apples, and back-to-school as much as the next person, but I long for that summer warmth.  Perhaps if I lived in a different climate, I would feel differently.  But this summer has been great, and this weekend was sunny and warm.  I am especially thankful for this beautiful weekend, not just because it is one more weekend to wear my summer clothes and sandals, but also because yesterday was Jake’s birthday party!  And I will say this: the party was a huge success.  We walked the kids over to the playground – sidestepping a dead squirrel on the sidewalk – where they made up their own game pretending to be various Pokemon characters, which carried over into our backyard.  Cupcakes, chips, and water guns filled the rest of the time, and all the little guests seemed very happy.  Wet and dirty, but happy.  One boy very gratifyingly told me that my cupcakes are the highlight of our birthday parties.  “They’re just so amazing!” he enthused.  Aw. 

All in all, a great time with minimal effort on my part.  I have never been good at organizing party games or activities, and so the fact that they largely entertained themselves was pretty fantastic.  Jake had a great day and his actual birthday is not for another week!  We should have a pretty good case of birthday fatigue on our hands by the time next weekend rolls around.

Jake himself has attained minor celebrity at school for being the kid who got barfed on, which I find simultaneously hilarious and revolting.  “What was it like?” a boy asked him, to which Jake worldly answered “You don’t want to know!  It was horrible!”  He later told me he is getting weary of talking about it.  It’s the price of fame, I guess.

Cupcakes, shopping, and Junior Mints

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I am pleased to report the happy news that there have been zero barfing incidents since the first day of school.  Although, writing that, I just broke out into a cold sweat thinking that I just jinxed everything and now my children will be up all night barfing.  Cue the Stevie Wonder riffs.

I really, really hope this doesn’t come to pass, and not just for the obvious reasons: tomorrow is Jake’s birthday party!  After the insanity of Mark’s last birthday party, I privately vowed to never host another birthday party as long as I live, but Jake very sweetly only wanted to invite five of his neighbourhood friends – whose mothers I am all friends with – to go play at the playground and then eat cupcakes.  I felt I could really get behind that idea!  And so that is exactly what we are going to do, and the weather is going to cooperate as well, it seems.  At this very moment I have cupcakes in the oven – these cupcakes, if you’re interested – with the promise of making extra peppermint frosting just for the birthday boy.  I’m also wearing my brand new apron:

Isn’t it adorable?  It has cupcakes on it and I’m MAKING CUPCAKES!  I’m going to feature it in an upcoming “Nicole’s Favourite Things” post, but strangely, like kale chips and 70s soft rock, I am the only one in my house who does not revile this sweet apron.  What is wrong with everyone I live with?  I put it on last night to show the kids, who stared at me, making “Uhhhhhhh” noises until Mark said “Mom?  It’s kind of lame.”  I showed my husband, who wasn’t shy about sharing his unfavourable opinion.  But what does he know?  He also said “I thought when you said you had a new apron, it was, you know, the kind that is black and lacy…”  It’s not a French maid outfit, husband.  I’m using it for actual baking, not “baking”.

That was the strangest euphemism for sex ever, no?

Anyway, so cupcakes are on the to-do list today, as well as putting together loot bags.  I went out yesterday specifically to buy loot bag treats, a replacement shirt for the one that was barfed on, and shoes for Mark.  I’m kicking myself a little because – I don’t mean to brag, here, people – I am the most organized person I know.  Yet I fell down on this one.  I bought indoor school shoes for the boys weeks ago, but since they were in sandals all summer, I failed to notice that Mark’s regular outdoor runners were a size too small until the first day of school.  ORGANIZATIONAL FAILURE.  He could barely walk in them, poor giant-flippered child.  So I thought I would just pick up a pair while running all my other errands.

And let me tell you, by the end of the day I was so frustrated and crabby that I was ready to burn the whole mall down.  I went to every single store that sold shoes and I purchased the only pair of boys’ runners in Mark’s size.  THE ONLY PAIR.  I have written many times about my frustration over the lack of selection for boys’ wear, but that really took the cake.  I ended up paying an exhorbitant price for a simple pair of running shoes which will likely be outgrown in six months, although thankfully they can be passed down to Jake as well.  BUT STILL.  Then I attempted to find party favours that were not embossed with Tinkerbell or Barbie, but again, this was futile.  I ended up going to the dollar store where I found not only Star Wars-themed Pez dispensers, but also Angry Birds-themed napkins and bags, and gigantic packages of candy, including Junior Mints!  I hope I don’t eat all the Junior Mints before I get them into the loot bags.  Who doesn’t like a Junior Mint?  They are so refreshing!

So the first week back at school has been full of excitement, hasn’t it?  There are a few other things going on around here that are amping things up a little, such as an in-law visit and preparing for the first school council meeting.  Suffice it to say I’m looking forward to my Friday night cocktails/wine/any alcohol at all.  How early is too early for a drink, really? 

Back in business, baby.

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“I’m back in business” Mark said the night before school started.  You know how sometimes, just sometimes, you get a feeling about what your child will be when he grows up?  I feel quite sure that Mark is going to be an engineer.  If you know any engineers, or if you are an engineer yourself, then you know that there is a certain “engineer personality type” and Mark fits that type exactly. 

It’s funny, isn’t it, how people like to speculate what children’s lives will be like when they are adults.  It’s amusing.  A kid plays with blocks, and we think “architect”, or they play with cars and they think “mechanic”.  Personally, I thought I was going to grow up to be a concert pianist, which is funny, considering I became an economist.  When Jake was a baby, my husband turned to me and said “I think Jake’s going to grow up to be an investment banker.  Because he’s kind of a dick.”  That makes me smile every time.  Jake is kind of a dick, but in a good way. 

I know I’m supposed to say that I just want my kids to be happy, and of course I do, but I kind of feel like nurturing the attitude that it’s easier to be happy when pursuing a career with good financial returns.   

The kids were very excited to go back to school.  The first day was kind of chaotic, what with confusion about last minute out-of-area enrollments, ensuing large class sizes, and the specter of another class being formed to take the pressure off of said large classes.  Things will settle down later this week, but for right now things are all up in the air.  I’m feeling fairly calm about it, with the attitude that things are going to work out fine.

I was less calm yesterday after school when I went to pick the boys up.  I shielded my eyes against the sun, looking for them.  Yes, there was Jake’s bright orange hat, and yes, that’s Jake, but what is he wearing?  He had a different shirt on.  When asked, he told me cheerfully that a classmate had barfed all over the back of his shirt, and that shirt was wrapped up in a plastic bag, in his backpack.  OH. 

You know when you hear the word “barf” and you get that feeling like “maybe I should strip the child down and burn all his clothes right there in the playground”?  I had that feeling.  I kind of froze, then started asking leading questions about where he was sitting and how much contact had he had with the barfer, and how often he had washed his hands.  I asked the questions carefully, trying not to seem crazy, and then I vigorously rubbed hand sanitizer into his and Mark’s hands, and my own.  I thought about the shirt, and I thought that I had probably got my money’s worth from it, as I dropped it in the garbage.  Of course, this led to sadness later – “I loved that shirt!” – but yet, I could not fathom washing someone else’s kid’s barf.

There was also an unpleasant story from the boys about the children finding a dead cat in the field at recess time, which became more dramatic when it was discovered that the dead cat belonged to a friend.  There were other dramatic events, which I won’t relate here, but suffice it to say it was a very exciting first day of school.  I’m looking forward to less excitement, and hopefully less barf, for the second day.

First you tell me that your dog ran away, then you tell me that it took three days

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I’m happy to tell you all that I made it out of the Regina airport!  I know you were wondering.  Well, I had a fantastic visit with my grandma – I’m so glad I went – and I also saw my beloved aunts and cousins as well.  It was, all in all, a perfect visit! 

I didn’t even cry or get lost.  Well, truth to be told, I almost cried a couple of times, but I didn’t, so I consider that a win.  The two hour drive from the airport to my grandma’s house started out quite promisingly, with the exception that I had forgotten to bring anything to listen to and so I had my choice of two music stations and AM talk radio.  In the four hour round trip, I heard Dirty Deeds by AC/DC no fewer than three times, and Dancing in the Dark, Living on a Prayer, and Love Bites twice each. 

I did become a little unnerved after the sun set, driving in the pitch black, along a very bumpy highway on which several skunks had apparently JUST been run over.  I started worrying that I too would hit a skunk and would have to arrive at my grandmas with a stink bomb of a car.  This did not come to pass, fortunately, although at one point in the dark drive I thought it was raining and put on my windshield wipers only to discover that what I thought were raindrops were actually bugs.  Bugs.  Smeared all over my windshield.  While driving in the dark on a two lane highway with semis whooshing by me in the other lane.  I was a little stiff from all the white knuckling, but the trip back to the airport, in the daylight, was much more pleasant.  I could appreciate the big dome-like sky opening up all around me, with the seemingly endless prairie stretching out in all directions, studded with hay bales and pump jacks, the dust from the combines rising like a fog. 

The only other issue I had was when I was back in Regina.  I drove to the airport, then drove past it in order to find a gas station to fill up the rental car.  I drove, and drove, and no gas stations could be found.  I started to get nervous that I would drive too far and not be able to make it back to the airport – I’ve gotten lost under similar circumstances – and so I decided to turn around and head back.  I thought that just paying the ridiculous fee for the rental company to fill the tank would be better than me circling the streets of Regina forever, missing my flight.  But then when I turned, I saw a sign for a Husky station!  Score!  I drove up there, and then stopped, puzzled.  Maybe there was no gas?  Maybe it was just a convenience store and they’d forgotten to take down the sign?

But no, there was a tiny gas pump, hidden by the car getting gas.  Double score!  I perkily went into the convenience store to prepay – as the sign suggested – and the attendant suggested I just go ahead and fill up, and pay later.  Now – and here comes the embarrassing part – recalling that I am a person who does not know how to flip the hood on the vehicle that I have been driving for almost nine years, and that I am a person whose coping mechanism when something goes wrong with the car, even if “going wrong” means “need more washer fluid”, is to burst into tears, I sat in the car for a solid five minutes unable to figure out how to open the gas cap.  Finally, the attendant, probably thinking that I am a complete moron, came out to help.  It turned out that I just needed to press the gas cap to open it.  Oops!  I went to go fuel up but the pump was not automatic.  I stood at the car for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes, trying to figure out WHY the gas wasn’t going into the car.  The attendant spoke to me over the loudspeaker but I couldn’t understand what was said.  Finally the woman who was filling her car came over to me and said “Listen sweetheart, you need to push down this lever, like this” then proceeded to carefully watch me fill the tank, possibly concerned I would start spraying gasoline everywhere then light a cigarette, a la Zoolander.  When I finished and thanked her for her help, she made sure I knew how to close the gas cap – which I DO – and then very slowly and clearly gave me very specific directions on how to get back to the airport.  Thanks, strange lady!  Tears averted!

I should add at this point that I’m really good at math and I can lift heavy things all by myself, so I’m not a total feminist failure.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, my flight somehow missing a violent electrical storm that had shut down the airport for a short period, of which I was blissfully unaware, although my husband was waiting for me in a state of extreme stress.  I also discovered that I grossly overestimate my own importance, since I came home to two happy children, a clean house, and BEDS THAT HAD BEEN MADE, INCLUDING PILLOW SHAMS ON PILLOWS, AND DECORATIVE PILLOWS ON THE BED.  My word, that was almost as good as an unloaded dishwasher.