Category Archives: My failing sanity

"Pa Ingalls Was Such a Massive Dickhead"

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Few things, I find, are more offensive and soul-destroying than trying to find parking in the busy Costco lot and then finding some spots, only to discover at the last minute that there are several giant carts stranded in the vacant parking spots, the vacant parking spots that are mere steps from the parking lot cart corral, which is totally devoid of carts.  Quite honestly, it makes me sad for the state of humanity.  Can we not all walk five metres to return our giant Costco carts to the cart corral?  Why?  Why is this an issue?  Are Costco shoppers just completely depleted after their trips and the extra steps are just too much to take?  Does Costco just destroy people’s souls so much that they cannot return their carts to the corral, but instead leave them where they lie and rush home to consume recently purchased extra-large bags of potato chips?

I still managed to return my cart to the corral, although I did feel like my soul was being swallowed when I was in Costco, as usual.  For one thing, I sustained an arm injury while attempting to lift a giant box of San Pellegrino.  The very tender skin of my inner forearm got stuck between two of the boxes, which was very painful and also led to the unfortunate result that I couldn’t actually move one of the boxes, since my arm was painfully stuck.  Moreover, after this debacle, I discovered that Christmas decorations and other assorted Christmas-related items were on display.  On September 7.  As if I didn’t feel like time was fleeting enough.  Not half an hour prior to witnessing this early Christmas display, I had dropped the boys off at school after lunch.  They insisted that they could get to their door by themselves, so I watched as Mark led Jake through the playground, placing his hand so gently on Jake’s shoulder.  And then I cried.  I did not need to see the Christmas display, Costco. 

So I felt a gloom permeate the air as I narrowed my eyes at the Christmas display, but then fortunately remembered the most cheering remark I had heard – possibly the most cheering remark I had heard in my entire life – after my last blog post.  Beck can be credited with what is, most likely, the greatest Little House on the Prairie quote of all time:

“Pa Ingalls was such a massive dickhead.”

I cannot help but feel that she has summarized the entire series quite admirably.  From my friend at Hodgepodge and Strawberries came this fabulous quote about Ma Ingalls:

“His wife was either a laudanum addict or a saint.”

And that is nearly all one needs to know about Little House on the Prairie.  There have been some questions regarding the appropriateness or otherwise of reading these books aloud to small children, and I would say that, despite my sarcasm, they are great reading.  Some things to note that may need editing/ teachable moments/ beforehand preparation:

1) As mentioned before, Pa throws the family into financial ruin by building a fancy house – with glass windows and a stove, my stars! – on credit, to be paid back with the lucrative wheat crop which never materializes.  This right there could be used as a teachable moment given the state of the world’s economy.  Stay in the damn sod dugout, Ingalls family. (On the Banks of Plum Creek)

2) When the Ingalls family moves from Wisconsin to Kansas, they are moving into Indian Territory.  The government is supposed to give them the land that belongs to the Indians, but in the end it doesn’t.  There is a lot of racism, not subtle, in this book.  This could be used as a teachable moment regarding past attitudes towards non-whites in North America.  (Little House on the Prairie)

3) Several older boys plan to beat the new teacher and break up the school, and are supported in this endeavor by their parents, who are bragging to the community that their sons are going to give the teacher a beating of a lifetime.  Previously they beat a teacher so badly that he died of his injuries.  Oh boy!  Manslaughter!  Happily, Mr. Wilder – a gangsta, for sure – provides the new teacher with a bullwhip which he unleashes on those boys.  Revenge, Little House style.  (Farmer Boy)

4) Bored with the quietness of their lives, Pa and his cronies dress up in blackface and put on a show for the whole town.  The townspeople think this is the greatest thing ever.  Much time is spent applauding this showcase of talent.  (Little Town on the Prairie)

5) Laura – who is fifteen and forced to work as a teacher, which she hates, so that her blind sister Mary can attend the College for the Blind – is billeted at a house where the wife is driven insane with hatred for her husband who forced her to move from civilization to some god-forsaken shanty in the middle of the prairie.  This woman pulls a knife on her husband in the middle of the night, threatening to stab everyone in the house right then and there if he doesn’t let her move back to her home.  It’s a little creepy.  (These Happy Golden Years)


Despite all this, the books are definitely worth a read.  Little House in the Big Woods is an especially cozy family book.  After reading it as a child, I kind of wished WE would have a pig slaughter just so my dad could inflate the pig’s bladder and I could play with it like a balloon.  And if six year old me could feel that way, imagine how delightful these stories truly are.  Despite the manslaughter, insanity, racism, and poor economic choices.

Don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuueeee.

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So I’ve been blue, due to a number of factors, the most pressing being disappointment over not being offered a writing contract that I had my heart set on.  I’ve been in mourning about it, wallowing and eating all manner of bad things, and reading my most favourite comfort book, Diary of a Provincial Lady.  That book never fails to cheer me up.  It’s like chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese for the mind.  It is possibly the wittiest book ever written, and contains such gems as:

Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature.  I ask if he has published anything lately.  He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication.  Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.

Right?  Mark said “I’m sorry you’re sad you can’t write for those people.  But you can still write at home!  On your computer!”  True. 

Do you have a comfort book?  I once dated a guy who had a comfort movie.  Whenever he was feeling ill or down, he would watch Rudy.  The thought of it makes me snicker, and not in the kindest way.  Remember the scene – if you ever had the misfortune to watch said film – when all the players brought their jerseys to the coach.  “It’s for Rudy, Coach.” 

It just occurred to me: maybe I’m like Rudy.  I do have a lot of heart.  That’s depressing.

It also occurs to me that perhaps I just need an excuse, at this time of year, to have an emotional breakdown.  Remember last year?  When I had a complete breakdown at the fact that my printer wasn’t working and ended up sobbing, on the phone for hours with the Dell representative who kept speaking in soothing tones and asking if maybe I should get myself a drink of water and not to worry, he was going to to take care of everything?  I’m a mental case.

Not helping matters is the fact that we are all a tiny bit sick.  Nothing full blown, nothing major, but the boys both woke up Friday morning with slight runny noses.  Two things: a) that was fast, normally the first cold of the year occurs within the second week of school, not the second day, and b) five years old is NOT too young for a man-cold.  Jake became completely indignant that he was going to go to school, despite a tiny sniffle and slightly watery eyes.  “I can’t BELIEVE this,” he said, “This is the SECOND TIME I’ve gone to school like this!”  I related this amusing anecdote to my husband but ended up having to explain the concept of the man-cold to him, which was somewhat awkward.  I tried to make the explanation as general as possible.

And how was the first day of school?  It was excellent.  Both boys are, as anticipated, in the same class at school.  The benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the negatives, not the least of which is that I don’t have to be room parent for two separate classrooms and, with any luck, I will only receive ONE copy of all the notices that come home from school.  Also the boys are ecstatic to be together, and their teacher is fabulous, one in a million.

On the way home from dropping the boys at school, I saw a woman with a very small boy, standing on the sidewalk watching a wood chipper at work.  That brought me back, intensely.  I don’t know how many hours I spent watching various large machinery at work, boys in tow.  I don’t know how many times I would take them outside to watch the garbage truck pick up the trash, or watch sidewalk repairs, or to the nearby construction site where a large office building was being built.  “Diggies!  Diggies!  Happy!  Happy!” one-year-old Jake would say from the stroller, clapping his hands.  A gas station in our neighbourhood was demolished, and believe me, I spent days watching the machinery tear down the buildings and dig out the contaminated soil.  It got so that the crew would wave when they saw the three of us walking up the street.  My jeans would be caked with mud from carrying Jake, his muddy rubber boots bumping against my thighs.  I would be tired, so tired, but would stand there with my fascinated boys, daydreaming about other things.  And now we’re in a whole new chapter.

  

“What grade are you guys in?”

Where will we be when the summer’s gone?

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Have I mentioned that it has been – wait for it – unseasonably hot around here?  Honestly, it’s beautiful, and every day I have a sneaking feeling that I have been transported to a different city without my knowledge.  Today it was – wait for it – thirty degrees Celcius which is both highly abnormal and very welcome.  Sadly, the days of capri pants and tank tops are going to come to a screeching halt tomorrow given the forecast of rain and cool temperatures, but that’s okay.  I’m now ready for the kids to go back to school, which is happening Thursay.

The kids are also very ready to go back to school.  Mark has been making up his own math worksheets, and is asking me to put little checkmarks beside each correct answer.  Jake has been creating incredibly complex and difficult to follow stories, and doing home reading of his own accord.  It’s a sign. 

And the talking, my god, the talking.  It’s like someone set the children to “Loud” and “Rambling”.  Part of it is that my husband was not working last week and is now back to work and MY WORD THE CHILDREN MUST FIND AN OUTLET FOR THEIR INCESSANT CONVERSATION.  And by conversation, I mean spouting random facts about Cars 2, bodies of water, and Canadian wild animals, along with non-stop questions about those topics and also complicated explanations for “games” in which I am to pretend I am someone who has a pet river otter, or a pet wolf, and then the “wolf” and “river otter” compete for my attention.  At this point I think my brain has liquified.  But still I participate in these “games”, thinking that wine sounds nice but I can’t have any until Friday and it is only Monday, dammit.

Yesterday I was walking my dog and I ran into a woman who lives in the neighbourhood who I met once, briefly, a few years ago.  She told me that her daughter had graduated high school and her son was a year away from graduation and that she is also now, sadly, widowed, and so she was feeling extremely empty-nested.  Wow.  I was startled by all that information and also felt that maybe I was not appreciating all the time with my children over the past couple of days and that I should get home, pronto, and cherish the moments. 

But I can’t cherish the moments right now because there is SO MUCH NOISE.  Plus right now the kids are arguing about what is more destructive: bombs or fire.  They are getting very emotional and worked up about this apocalyptic argument.  “But fire would burn everything up!”  “But bombs would blow everything up!”  “Fire!”  “Bombs!”  I don’t even know the context of the disagreement, and to be honest, I prefer not to find out.

The magic is GONE

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I realize it was only a few short days ago when I was waxing melancholic about the end of summer, and how much I was going to miss the boys, and while that is still true in theory, the reality is that suddenly the children seem ready to go back to school.  Suddenly I am ready for the children to go back to school.  We have ten days left, and I plan on enjoying all of those days, but for the love of god, I am now ready for the regular school routine.  THE MAGIC IS GONE, people.  This may or may not have anything to do with my children suddenly becoming the world’s neediest children ever.  Mom, look, Mom, Mom, Mom, I drew a picture, Mom, Mom, it’s a picture of a roller coaster, Mom, Mom, Mom, do you like it?  Mom?  Mom?  Do you wish you could GO on that roller coaster?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I have a snack?  Can I have a treat?  Can I have a juice?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I play Starfall?  Can we play Go Fish?  Can we go bike riding?  Right now?  Mom?  Mom?  Are yetis and bigfoots the same exact thing?  I don’t think they are.  Do you think they are?  Mom?

Speaking of back to school, I bought the boys’ school shoes on the weekend.  Back to school shopping isn’t a big deal for me; in general I only really need to purchase shoes and pants with intact knees.  Although it’s August, and it has been an absolutely lovely summer – the best weather we’ve had for years – it is also the season to start thinking about snow pants and winter boots.  I do not like to be too far into September without snow pants and winter boots, just in case.  To that end, I have been browsing Sears online, as they have excellent snow pants and winter boots.  They also supply hours of amusement.  Did you know you can purchase machine washable bathroom carpeting?

Image from Sears.ca

Does the carpet match the (shower) curtains?  Why, yes, it does.

You can also purchase something called a Vibration Platform.

Image from Sears.ca

I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure it’s something great!

While browsing the fitness section, I discovered this:

Image from Sears.ca

I think this means the apocalypse is upon us.

Incredibly, there is an entire subsection in the women’s clothing section devoted to tunics.  Tunics, it seems, deserve a category all to themselves.  Thinking about this, it seems self-evident: a tunic, after all, is more than just a shirt.  It’s not a dress.  It’s nothing but a…tunic.  Still, does it or does it not seem amusing that there are so many tunics available for sale that they comprise an entire clothing category?

Speaking of Sears, my friend at Hodgepodge and Strawberries wrote about the Sears Wish Book.  If it seems early to be thinking about snow pants and winter boots, then it seems REALLY early to be thinking about Christmas, but her post filled me with nostalgia and happiness only obtainable through the Wish Book.  Sno-cone machines!  Gifts under $10!  Pajamas with matching slippers! 

I just wish I had a Wish Book.  Failing that, check out these images from the Wish Book published the year I was born:

This guy is bringing sexy back.  I think he grew that moustache specifically to tickle the ladies, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
Never underestimate the fashion influence that was Little House on the Prairie. 
The caption alone on this makes me feel a little insecure in my womanhood.  Sophisticated nightdressing?  I’m writing this wearing yellow pajamas with pink flowers on them.  I think I need some sophisticated nightdressing.  I think it would make me irresistable, in the sophisticated bedroom.  Perhaps I would also need a satin-like bedcover to go with the nylon nightdresses, in which case I had better do some shopping!

Melancholy thoughts about back to school and the transformative power of a new pair of panties.

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Two years ago, when Mark was starting kindergarten, I wrote this.  One year ago, when Jake was starting kindergarten, I wrote this.  I find the differences in the pieces to be very amusing – in the first one I’m all “Buy some new panties!  Drink some wine!” while the second one is “My baby birds are leaving the nest!  Wah!”  Maybe I need to buy some new panties and drink some wine because I’m feeling a tad melancholy about the imminent end of summer.  Sixteen days until school!  Sixteen days until, with the exception of the lunch hour, the boys are gone all day long. 

It’s not like I’m not looking forward to a little space and the idea of buying groceries without two children in tow, asking to buy cupcakes and asking to push the cart and then accidentally running into things with the cart and then picking up the scattered items off the filthy grocery store floor and then sticking their heads in the garbage cans to ascertain how stinky the garbage cans are and then having a prolonged conversation with the somewhat slow-witted carryout guy about whether a centaur can be properly referred to as a man-horse.  I’m also not wishing to stop time or that I had my babies back or that I had another baby – HEAVEN FORBID.  But I’m just going to miss the boys.  That’s all.  I’m going to miss them and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I had a hair appointment today and I was struck, as I always am, by how dull my life must appear to the average young woman.  The sweet, eighteen year old shampoo girl always chats with me and asks me many questions about my life, and I can’t help but feel that my answers must fill her with chills about aging.  Don’t get me wrong – I love small talk, I am the QUEEN of small talk, but I found myself thinking with nostalgia about the previous shampoo girl who was terribly shy and barely spoke to me.  What did you do this weekend, she asked, what’s up for the rest of the day, what are you doing for the rest of the summer?  She seemed somewhat nonplussed by my boring answers and went back to applying conditioner.

It’s not that I find my life dull to live, but I do think it must seem quite dull to the sweet and perky shampoo girl, who usually regales me with information as to the best clubs to go to for dancing and the best time to go – not before 10 pm.  Dancing?  Today is the 34th anniversary of Elvis’ death and I have had Kentucky Rain stuck in my head all day long.  Dancing and clubbing do not seem particularly relevant.  Related: I found out today that Anne Bancroft played Mrs. Robinson at the age of 36!  THIRTY SIX!  I am thirty six!  Also related: the shampoo girl asked what my natural hair colour was and when I answered grey she smiled and said “I mean, what was it BEFORE grey?”  Um, I’m not sure?  It’s been grey for a really long time.  Sigh.  The baby birds are leaving the nest and I’m the same age as Mrs. Robinson.  I am definitely going to need some new panties and wine.

Moose versus Caribou: The Untold Story

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Yesterday was what I will call a trying day.  My choice of activity for the gloomy day was not great: I decided to take the boys to the mall to buy four – FOUR – birthday gifts, and while there we stopped by the pet store to look at the various rodents for sale.  Much discussion ensued regarding hamsters, gerbils, and guinea pigs and the sort of pets that the boys would buy when they were grown up and could make their own decisions regarding pets, without the opinion of their mother who is firmly of the belief that ONE DOG IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.  Mark was extremely tired and when Mark is extremely tired, his behaviour exhibits a certain clinginess not usually seen.  I’m not exactly complaining – it’s not like the house was full of tantrums or tears or fights – but having someone within a two foot radius of me all day long is tiring.  Also tiring is answering the constant stream of questions, such as “If you were a waterfall, what waterfall would you be?  Would you be Takakkaw Falls or Bow Falls?” or “What hooved animal is your favourite?” or “What body of water do you like best?  Do you like lakes?  Or oceans?”  I strive to be an involved parent but really.  By the end of the day I felt like screaming “SHUT UP!  JUST STOP TALKING!  I DON’T KNOW IF I PREFER GRIZZLY BEARS TO BLACK BEARS!  I THINK HAMSTERS ARE EQUALLY AS CUTE AS GUINEA PIGS!”  But, despite my own exhaustion, I did not.  I did not because I know that this is the way Mark reacts when he is exhausted, and I also did not drink any alcohol, and because of those two things I think that maybe I deserve some sort of prize. 

Why were we both so tired, you may ask?  It’s because Mark had yet another of his middle-of-the-night two hour coughing fits.  It’s gotten to the point where it’s hard for me to remember what life was like before the cough.  But I’m optimistic that at some point in the near future, there may be an after the cough, since I have excellent news: I have found a doctor to replace my retiring doctor, we had an appointment today, and he has prescribed an inhaler for Mark!  This is momentous indeed.  It’s like I won the lottery.  I feel incredibly fortunate in a right-place-right-time sort of way, and also a tenacious keep-calling-until-someone-answers sort of way. 

So today, in contrast to yesterday, has been a glorious day.  We decided to take the train downtown to see my husband at his office building, which brings me to this: public transit is a funny thing.  The children think that the train is the greatest mode of transportation ever invented.  I, on the other hand, spent the train ride a) wondering just how many viruses were living on the rails and seats, and b) being amused at the conversation between the two young men who were discussing the comic book convention that they had recently attended, and their own ideas for future comic books. 

Well, it’s Friday.  I’m happily partaking in some Cabernet while my husband watches a television show on golf techniques and my children play what is possibly the loudest game ever, involving Hot Wheels cars and lots of cheerful screaming.  Just another Friday night.

Oh, HAI.

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Where, you may be wondering, have I been?  Or perhaps you were not wondering that at all.  In any case, I’m just back from a sunny vacation during which the following momentous events occurred: Jake went from a reluctant, life-jacket wearing child to one who jumped into the pool and swam across it without the assistance of floatation devices, I ate four tomatoes a day fresh from my mother-in-law’s garden, the boys and I spent many hours honing our engineering skills with respect to sand sculptures, and I got, awkwardly enough, approached by my sister-in-law’s swinging single male neighbour.  Sugar daddy!  Oh wait.  I think I already have one of those.

So it was a great vacation, and I even have a suntan.  I am also completely sapped from the drive home.  It is surprisingly energy consuming to sit in the passenger seat and hand out snacks for eight hours.  It is also energy consuming to listen with sympathy and interest to the various conversations coming at me from three different directions.  From Mark came incessant questions about the exact number of minutes until we would arrive at our destination, along with a near-constant commentary on the nature and names of the various bodies of water we were passing.  Jake alternated between playing and snacking quietly in his seat, and becoming filled with Hulk-like rage over sitting in his seat for hours.  My husband, in the tradition of the last thirteen years of our road trips together, and perhaps for even longer than that, released an irate barrage of curses on three types of drivers: the elderly, those driving motorhomes and/or trailers, and people from the prairies who drive twenty kilometers an hour below the speed limit on curvy roads, but insanely fast on straightaways and passing lanes so that passing was impossible.  God help us all if a driver happened to belong to all three catogories.  It is happy that he doesn’t have voodoo dolls; if he did, drivers all along the TransCanada would suddenly have their eyes popping out of their heads or suffer instant heart failure. 

So what did I miss while I was away?  Tell me everything. xo