Category Archives: I’m turning into Howard Hughes

T-9 to the Big K

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I have been fielding the following two questions of late: 1) Aren’t you SAD that your BABY is starting kindergarten?, and 2) Can you BELIEVE your BABY is in kindergarten?

Now first, I am not sad that Jake is starting kindergarten. In fact, I’m a bit worried that I’m not sad that Jake is starting kindergarten. I’m emotional about everything, so I don’t understand why I’m not more emotional about this. I was more emotional about a salesgirl telling me recently that grey washes me out; my drawers full of cozy grey sweaters are making me feel suddenly pallid and nostalgic. What is wrong with me? Am I broken? I wonder if I’m repressing something and that I’m going to end up one of those mothers curled up in the corner by the sandtable on the first day of school, sobbing. I HOPE not. In fact, my general feeling about school starting in one week Thursday is squee! The kids are going back to school! I’m going to miss them, certainly, the house is going to feel empty, but I am really looking forward to getting back into the routine.

One thing I’m also really looking forward to? Solo grocery shopping. I’m getting kind of tired of herding them through the aisles, remonstrating with them not to run and then scolding them for running and, inevitably, knocking into one of the more grumpy and elderly members of our community who will subsequently make a sour remark about my ill-behaved hooligans. The other day the boys spent an afternoon at my mother’s and I took the opportunity to go to Superstore. I felt so glamourous, like I was this fabulous woman of the world, strolling through the cereal aisle and blocking out the shrieking of children being pushed in carts by haggard looking mothers.

One thing I’m not looking forward to? The inevitable onslaught of illnesses. Hoo boy, just thinking about all the squeamy germs just made me shudder like the Howard Hughes I am. Also, I am not looking forward to the certain exhaustion and subsequent crabbiness of children going back to school.

And yes, it is hard to believe that Jake is going to kindergarten. Frankly, it’s hard to believe the summer is over, so YES, time flies, the cat’s in the cradle, pages are flying off the cartoon calendar, etc., etc. Mostly I feel excited and happy, but I’ll keep you posted if I find myself weeping, in the fetal position, snuggling with one of his newborn sleepers. It could happen.

Bitch, we’re coming for you.

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Mark has largely recovered from his recent mysterious illness, but, in an incredible twist of misfortune, my husband is now ill. Let us all take a moment of silence on receiving that information. Not only that, but Jake – who was fine when I dropped him at school this morning – was runny nosed and headachy and exceedingly irritable when I picked him up a mere 150 minutes later. I can almost see the mystery illness pointing its slimy, germy fingers at me. “Bitch, we’re coming for you.” I am tired although I’m trying to convince myself that I’m tired simply because of all the sick people in my house keeping me awake at night.

Speaking of visualizing the mystery illness, I had a very disturbing conversation with friends who told me that a) seatbelts on airplanes have very high levels of fecal matter on their buckles, and b) headrests on airplane seats squeam them out because of the possibility of lice transfers. The next time I fly I am going to have to explain away the plastic bubble that I will have encased myself in. That, and the disinfectant that I will be using to clean all touchable surfaces.

Also? That commercial for automatic liquid soap dispensers that shows all the viruses and germs on the pump of a regular liquid soap dispenser should be outlawed. That is information I did not need, nor did I need to see it so clearly.

In other, non-freakishly-germ-phobic news, I volunteered in Mark’s class today, which I love. “Mark’s mom is here!” one of his classmates exclaimed upon seeing me. I almost corrected him with my actual name, which is MarkandJake’s mom. But I do love going to the kindergarten; the kids are so cute and enthusiastic, and I know the day will come when Mark will not happily tolerate my blowing him kisses and waving to him while he rotates through various class centres. I was helping to make bird houses out of milk containers, and in a fascinating turn of safety violation events, I sliced first one finger, then another, on the scissors while cutting out perching holes. Kids, be careful with the scissors, she says whilst holding her dripping finger and darting for the medical supplies.

So my sore fingers and my overwhelming tiredness are not being helped by the current weather conditions: a festive spring snowstorm. It is, as I write this, snowing sideways. Well, we need the moisture, as my cheery elderly neighbour says. The upside to this is that perhaps, just perhaps, soccer will be cancelled tomorrow night. Which will be fortunate if I succumb to mystery illness. Which I’m not going to. But just in case.

Statement Retraction: Groundhog Day

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It pains me to do this, but I feel I must retract my statement with regards to Groundhog Day. Don’t get me wrong: I am aware that there will be more snow and frosty temperatures, but the past few days have been absolutely beautiful – puddles and brown grass appearing where previously there were piles of dirty snow, the sun shining, and the sky a postcard Alberta blue. Yesterday the boys and I took the dog for a walk, all three of us wearing only down vests and shirtsleeves, and our new rubber boots. It really felt spring-ish, and yes, I know, I know, it’s deceptive, but still: I’m sorry, Balzac Billy. I’m sorry for laughing at you and disbelieving you and making fun of the fact that you are just some guy dressed up as a groundhog. Could you please not see your shadow every year? Thank you.

So it’s been a glorious weekend, despite the fact of absent husband. As an aside, I was in Wal-Mart yesterday and ran into a friend’s husband and mentioned that Rob was in Vancouver. “I’m living the single girl life!” I said cheerily, and he raised his eyebrows. What? So I’m in Wal-Mart at 10:00 a.m. with a cart full of Mini-Wheats, children’s Tylenol, and Kleenex, with two kids jonesing for McDonald’s yogurt parfaits. Isn’t that what all the single girls are doing these days? But I’m especially happy because – and I’m superstitious just writing this, so I’m knocking wood – no one has been vomiting.

There has been a stomach flu going around, I discovered the day after our sick day. I was waiting for the kindergarten to be let out, chatting with another mom, who was telling me a prolonged story about the vomiting going on in her house, and she casually mentioned that her youngest son – a classmate and friend of Mark’s, who was in class that day – was throwing up only the day before. The day before! I probably looked like a caricature of a crazy person – or maybe I am a crazy person – as my eyes widened with this knowledge that the VIRUS WAS AMONG US. Once the class let out I accosted Mark and slathered him with hand sanitizer. I would have ripped off his clothes and burned them if I could have figured out a way to do it without it being weird.

I really, really want to be one of those people who are all casual about illnesses, all kids-get-sick-and-barf-no-big-deal, but I am not. I am still somewhat scarred from the first time Mark ever got sick: it was the rotavirus. He was 19 months old, and Jake was four weeks old and colicky. And Mark, along with my husband, contracted the rotavirus. Once we got through that, only three months later Mark – and my husband – contracted a virus akin to Norwalk. Jake was still colicky. Mark threw up for a week, and didn’t eat for ten days. For those of you who also have skinny kids, you know what it is to see your toddler’s ribs and toothpick legs after an illness. I was practically deranged from a lack of sleep and worry. The upside of all this is that I was so stressed out that I didn’t eat and ended up losing the remainder of my pregnancy weight, which is to say there is always a silver lining.

I have gotten a lot better about my germ paranoia, with the boys being older and sturdier, and with me being a more confident and rested parent. But I’m still overjoyed that we had such a lovely weekend, and that we seem to have missed this particular virus. Hoo boy. I better go knock wood again.

Happy Festivus!

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This is not really a ranting type of blog. I’m not so much a ranting girl. But it’s Festivus! Grievances must be aired.

I have a major grievance against people who send their contagious kids to school, or allow their contagious kids to be in confined public spaces with other non-sick children. Especially the week before Christmas. Even when Santa is visiting the pre-kindergarten class. Especially when the contagions are of the vomiting variety. Jake is feeling much better – heartbreakingly skinny, but better – but now Mark is unwell. Today I had two things to accomplish: I needed to take the dog to the groomer’s and I needed to buy groceries. It’s minus 20 and I didn’t think that taking out one recovering child and one potentially vomiting child was a particularly good idea, so I accomplished both tasks before my husband left for work. Which meant I went out while still in my sweaty yoga clothes. And I didn’t have makeup on. This might not be a big deal to all you “I couldn’t be bothered with makeup” girls, but I apply a nice fresh coat of lip gloss prior to walking my dog, so going to the grocery store makeup-less and sweaty is actually a big deal for me. Blah, blah, vanity, blah, blah, I know. So here is the chain of events: a still-contagious child is brought to the pre-kindergarten Santa visit, and I end up in the grocery store with no makeup. No good can come of that.

I read a magazine article about a woman who spends thousands of dollars a year buying Christmas gifts for 150 people. I don’t have a grievance against that, per se, but at the end of the article the woman says that Christmas Day is a great time to get ideas for the next year’s gifts, because people are always talking about what they wanted and didn’t get. Really? Who are those people? I have a grievance against those people. Someone gave you a gift and it wasn’t what you wanted? It’s a gift, you asshole. A gift. You want something else, go out on Boxing Day and buy it.

Hey, it’s kind of fun, this ranting thing! Too bad it’s not Festivus every day.

Other grievances which just irritate me so much I don’t even want to spend my mental energy on them include the words Gosselin and Balloon Boy, people who don’t have children but have very strong opinions on how children should be raised, people who have road rage in parking lots, and elderly people who really should not be driving who are driving gigantic vehicles which almost run over you when you are walking with your four-year-old in the Co-Op parking lot. Although, my mother-in-law tells this hilarious story about an elderly lady who drove through her beauty parlor window – no one was hurt, but the ladies sitting under those big hair dryers were pretty shaken up. Evidently the woman meant to put her car in reverse, although it seems like that would have been just as disastrous, an elderly woman speeding in reverse through the parking lot.

Happy Festivus, everyone! Feel free to air your grievances!

Peace, man

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I heard on the radio this morning that the public at large is now supposed to avoid shaking hands due to the H1N1 virus. Instead, the piece stated, people should do a fist bump, or perhaps an elbow slap, which I, quite frankly, find very amusing. I can just picture business people in an important client meeting, fist bumping each other like a roomful of Howie Mandells. Are you planning a wedding this season? Having a receiving line? Don’t forget to elbow slap your guests. Nothing says “Thanks for coming, Grandma” like an elbow slap. Perhaps we should just give up touching other people all together, and simply salute each other? Or maybe exchange a peace sign. It will be just like the sixties, but without the promiscuity and hallucinogens.

It’s no secret I’m a bit of a germ-phobe. Doorknobs gross me out, public drinking fountains disgust me, and I actually shuddered while watching two people swig from the same water bottle on a TV show. This latter made my husband gently suggest that maybe I should relax lest I turn into a crazy person. What do you mean turn into? I think that line has already been crossed. If my life had a soundtrack, the opening chords to “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” would begin to swell.

Anyway, despite this little quirk of mine, I am also a hand shaker. AND a hugger. In fact, if I haven’t seen you for a while, I will probably give you a huge hug upon meeting again. And if our meeting again takes place during a gathering where I have had a glass of wine, I might just give you a big kiss on your cheek in addition. If I’m coughing and hacking and running a fever, I won’t. In fact, if I’m coughing and hacking and running a fever, I’m probably still in my house. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me, but I think the majority of the population will likely not shake hands/ hug/ kiss if they are down with the flu.

I am actually very appreciative of all the media coverage of the H1N1 pandemic for one reason: handwashing awareness at schools. I clearly recall that soap was seldom available in my high school washrooms, and when it was available, it was a rock hard revolting sliver on the side of the sink. However, some of this media coverage is starting to look like it was created by people who are crazier than I am. No handshakes? No hugs? Maybe we should all just roll around in a germ-free bubble until March.