Happy Halloween

Arrrrgh, mateys. If ye are sailing the high seas, be sure to guard ye treasure. There's pirates about!



And if the pirates don't get you, the dinosaurs will.



I was volunteering for the Pre-Kindergarten Halloween party today, and if I was the sort of person to drink during the day, I probably would have a shot. Or two. It wasn't that bad. But if you put a class of 21 costumed and wired 4-year-olds in a setting where the activities are "decorate your own cookie", "pin the nose on the Jack-o-Lantern", "bowling for witches", and the sedate, but somewhat tear-inspiring "Halloween Bingo", well, let's just say an adult-only beverage would have been nice. However. I do not drink during the day (exception is when I am on vacation at my in-laws) so I will be counting down until bedtime.

Too much news

I need to stop watching the news.

I’m sure there are a lot of interesting things going on in the world, I’m sure there are a lot of important stories to be following, but the only thing I know about is the H1N1 vaccine. Vaccination clinics opened here on Monday, and it’s been a non-stop media frenzy since then. I made the mistake of attempting to go to the post office on Monday to mail my mother-in-law’s birthday gift (Her actual birthday occurred two days earlier; I am a bad daughter-in-law. Also, we gave her socks. Socks! She requested them but still. Bad daughter-in-law.). The post office is located beside the vaccination clinic for my quadrant of the city. There were probably a thousand people lined up OUTSIDE waiting for their shot. I couldn’t even get into the parking lot. Flu shot be damned! I must get this package mailed! I’m losing points as we speak!

Anyway, the media surrounding this flu reminds me a little of Michael Jackson’s death. Like, there were other things happening when he died, but that was pretty much the only thing on the news. Even now, I will hear the occasional “New information in Michael Jackson’s suspicious death!” and I will have to dive for the remote to turn off the television. Not that there was not incredibly important information involved – for example, I did not know his child was named Blanket. How did I live before receiving that information? – but really. Really. Do we need 24 hour coverage of the death of a crazed former child star turned (allegedly) pedophile who gave the world the awesome song Billie Jean? No. We do not. Also we do not need any information with the words “Jon and Kate”. I have never seen that show but the mere word “Gosselin” releases in me the same impulse to dive for the remote.

Back to the flu shot. I find it very difficult to deal with all this information in the media. It feels like fear mongering on all sides. A bioethicist was on the news saying that everyone has a moral duty to get vaccinated, to avoid spreading the virus to high risk groups. Hmm. Then you have only to google “flu vaccination safety” to get two million results, most of them scary, some of them written by crackpots. Hmm. So what’s a mom to do?

My first instinct was to not vaccinate the kids, but vaccinate myself. Any mother who has had to care for sick kids while being sick herself can understand that. The kids have to get two doses, which seems a bit scary, the vaccine was made very quickly, which seems a bit scary, and anyway I have the luxury of being at home with them – if they get sick, I can keep them at home for as long as needed, no big deal.

No big deal except the case of the healthy Toronto boy who suddenly died of the virus. Died! My heart goes out to their family; losing one of my children is the worst thing I can imagine. If one of them died and there was something I could have done to prevent it, I would not be able to live with myself.

I was trying to think about this rationally. The percentage of deaths is small; the likelihood is small, but what if? As I walked the dog I thought about it. I stepped off the curb and a car suddenly sped around the corner, and the driver slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting me. How strange to be thinking about death from the flu and almost get hit by a car!

I just want to do the right thing for my kids. But what is that?

Jake's Jack-o-Lantern is named Chachi!

This is, I believe, directly correlated with the event of my brother and his girlfriend (very kindly) babysitting on Friday night, so that my husband and I could go out to dinner to celebrate his birthday. “I’m so excited!” I said to my yoga teacher Friday morning, “We have a date! We only have about five dates a year.” She smiled at me, somewhat sympathetically. Now that I think about it, five might be a slight over-estimate. Anyway, we had a lovely dinner and the boys enjoyed their uncle and aunt and now we have a Jack-o-Lantern named Chachi.

It snowed big, fat flakes Saturday morning so my plans to take the boys to a local market were quashed – I have a thing about not driving in snowstorms unless it is really necessary – so instead we decided to carve our pumpkins. Here’s me and the boys digging out the innards:



Okay, so it’s just me digging out the innards. Here are the finished products:



Chachi is the one on the left.

Later we made snowmen and I really should have taken a picture, as some sort of avant-garde photographic portrait. We decorated the snowman with random items in our backyard, and after I went inside to warm up I saw Mr. Snowman meeting his maker, as it were. Fortunately the boys were not urinating on him, no; instead they were merely kicking him down and laughing hysterically, a somewhat disturbing scenario. Soon all that was left was a pile of snow, a plastic fireman’s hat, and two water guns.

Peace, man

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.

Happy Birthday Dear Husband

Tomorrow is my husband’s birthday! The boys are giving him a box of golf balls and I am giving him two golf shirts. I’m also baking a chocolate layer cake. This is exactly the same gift and cake combination as last year, and quite possibly the year before that. I can see myself many years in the future, wearing my old-lady slacks and fancy beaded sweater, my support hose and my bright pink feathery lipstick, presenting my husband with two golf shirts, a box of golf balls, and a chocolate layer cake.

Sometimes I think of us when we are old and in a lot of ways, things will not be much different. I will still want to eat dinner at 4:45 and go to bed at 9. My husband, in the tradition of old men everywhere, already swears at the local meteorologist. “That Schulz is a (something something) idiot. Just give me the (something something) forecast already, and stop with the (something something) jokes.”

Speaking of forecasts, I saw an older couple in a garden center who showed me a glimpse of my future. The lady had an armful of boxed bulbs, which the man was eying suspiciously. “I don’t know where you think you’re going to plant them”, he said. “But they’re so pretty!” she replied. “Do you think I’m going to dig up more lawn?” he asked somewhat grumpily. The lady – and although she was a complete stranger, I admire her greatly – smiled sweetly and did the old-lady equivalent of eyelash batting. He sighed. “All right. All right. Just get them. I guess we’ll make room.”

If you substituted perennials for bulbs, and “I’m going to dig” with “you’re going to dig”, you would have the exact conversation my husband and I have every spring! And possibly the exact conversation we will have for the next forty springs! One of these days he’s going to come home and wonder where the lawn went.

All of which is to say I’m looking forward to celebrating many more birthdays with my wonderful husband. Happy birthday, sweetheart!

Life with boys

Jake (coming in from the backyard): Guess what Mom? Guess what? Me and Mark are making little baby snowmans! Little tiny baby snowmans! They’re so cute!

Me: Aw, that’s nice, Jake. Can I see them?

Jake: No.

Me: Why not, honey?

Jake: Because I smushed them down! I smushed them with my boots!


Later,

Mark: Mom, we were making baby snowmen. I made a good one and it melted!

Me: It melted?

Mark: Yeah! Because I peed on it.

Drive Slow, Homie

When Mark was two and Jake was seven months, I received “Late Registration” by Kanye West for my birthday, and although I mostly listen to a radio station best described as “oldies” – the kind that advertises for Grey Power Insurance and the benefits of getting your prostate checked – I really enjoy hip hop. I especially loved that album and I listened to it all the time in the car, with the kids. And – you can probably see where this is going – I didn’t at the time realize that the kids might be actually absorbing the information that was being presented in the music. I didn’t realize it until Mark – did I mention he was two? – informed me that he didn’t have no money, so he couldn’t get no ho’s. Nothing says you’re a good mother like having a two year old misogynist on your hands. Later, he told his grandmother that he wanted a prenup. At that point I put the album away, only to listen to it when the kids were not in the car.

In the past two days, there were over six hundred car accidents in the city! Six hundred! What could be going on, you may ask? What indeed but ten centimeters of snow. Apparently in this lovely city only one hour from the Rocky Mountains, in the Canadian prairies, snow is a new and novel concept. One that causes people to be in a perpetual bad mood and drive like lobotomized maniacs. As my yoga teacher said, “Snow is like death. We all know it’s coming, but for some reason when it arrives we are all still surprised and sad.” Yes, exactly.

So what does all this have to do with my wildly inappropriate musical choices? It’s my public service announcement for the day: DRIVE SLOW, HOMIE. Although you really do not need to “put your hazard lights on when you see them ho’s”. Really.

The Spirit of Thanksgiving

“It’s amazing,” a friend said at school pick-up, “You can buy a goat for $100!” She was talking about the World Vision catalogue, where you can purchase livestock and building and school supplies for people in developing countries, as Christmas gifts. Nothing makes me feel more like a very spoiled North American than looking at the World Vision catalogue. It makes me revolted with myself. Cost-wise, my yoga mat is on par with a community latrine. My new winter coat and boots are equivalent to “Essential Health and Nutrition in Kenya and Ghana – for 100 children”. For the same amount that I spent on Lululemon tops alone in the past year, I could buy an ox and plough.

I was thinking about that after dropping the kids at school, how very fortunate and privileged we are, to have food and water and schools at our disposal, not to mention all the extras. As I pulled into our alley, I saw a man rummaging through the neighbours’ recycling bins, looking for refundable items and loading them into his beater of a car. I watched him for a few minutes. He was extremely conscientious, tidying up as he went along. He looked clean, and also sober. I thought for a minute about the mounds of bottles in our garage. I walked over to him with a case of empty wine bottles. He accepted with gratitude, introduced himself, and told me that this is what he does “for a living”. I said I had many more bottles and juice containers if he would like to come and get them. After giving him the bottles, I phoned my husband to let him know he didn’t need to make the trip to the bottle depot.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” he exclaimed. “You let some guy going through the recycling into our garage with you? He knows you’re home alone? What if something happened, when would someone have figured out you were missing?”

Huh. Not for one second did it occur to me that I may be putting myself in a compromising position by inviting a strange man who was rummaging in the alley into our garage. At no point did I feel vulnerable. Still. Violent crimes do occur, and after all, it has been less than a year since a man tried to break into our house – with me in it, alone with the children – deterred only by my growling, barking dog.

I still think I was right. I still feel that man was harmless, trying to scratch out a living in an honest – albeit not quite socially acceptable - manner. However. The thought is still there, the “what if?” thought. What if?

And so on Thanksgiving weekend I am thankful, as always, for every blessing in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving!

So after my pity party on Thursday, I really did sulk and drink wine and the next morning the travel advisories were lifted and we decided to make the trip! It was a great trip, the only snag being that Jake left a stegasaurus in the Tim Horton's at Sicamous, and when we went there on the way home it was, of course, gone. Prior to this information, Jake was incredibly agitated - would it be there? Would someone have taken it? - but he seemed to get a great deal of closure on the discovery that it was gone forever.

Missing stegasauruses notwithstanding, the weekend was a success. My mother-in-law made a ham and a turkey, and carnivorous Jake was in his glory. Mark and his dad kept busy with their drivers and an old bucket of golf balls, and me? I pretty much ate my body weight in Macintosh apples and Concord grapes. A very successful weekend.
That's me with a giant mouthful of grapes.


I have much to be thankful for this weekend and always, and I have a much more thoughtful post coming to that effect, but for now I'm drowning in laundry and the unpacking process. Happy Thanksgiving!

Boo

Tomorrow morning we planned to get up early and drive to the Okanagan for the Thanksgiving weekend. I love the Okanagan. I love its beauty, its climate, and most of all, its food. If I lived there, I would be a very smug locavore. Since we planned this trip, months ago, I have been thinking of eating Concord grapes straight off the vine at my in-laws, and fresh Macintosh apples. I have actually been thinking about it for months. Grapes and apples.

I spent the entire day preparing for the drive: laundry, groceries, packing, baking snacks and making sandwiches. The whole day. But then a cold front came in with lots of snow and ice and - travel not recommended in the mountains. Boo. We had to cancel the trip.

The boys took the news remarkably well. But I'm disappointed. I think I'm going to go drink some wine and sulk a bit.

First Snowfall

This morning I woke up to sweet peas that looked like this:

Snow!

Mark was the happiest person in the city. He couldn’t believe his luck. That kid loves the winter. It wasn’t long before he was outside shoveling off the deck,

and then eating the snow (check out my poor hostas).

Jake was soon persuaded to come out and eat a bit of snow too.

I’m pretty sure the dog did not pee on it.

It’s so trite to say that young children can teach you so much, but it’s really true. I will admit that my first reaction to snow is not pure, unadulterated joy, but after watching Mark frolic outside I smiled and simply put on a really warm sweater, without complaining. There is this great line in the book “How Yoga Works” after the main character is imprisoned. She says “I will make the inside of the jail the outside of the jail”, meaning that, although incarcerated, she was going to still live her life well, and her inner being had nothing to do with external constraints. I would love to be like that. So I’m greeting the snow not with gloom but with thoughts of happiness and opportunity – at least I’m trying to. After all, there’s something magical about the first snowfall, isn’t there? Even if it is only October 4.

Happy October! Take a walk over to Yummy Mummy - I have an article about food, picky eaters, and my not-so-secret crush on Vince Vaughn.