Marital Strain

You just know with a title like that it’s going to be a juicy post.  On Modern Family – do you watch Modern Family?  It’s very funny. -  the other night, Claire was looking through the Tupperware and wondering how or why the containers and lids get separated.  Phil replied, built-up resentment, financial issues, met a younger lid.  Heh.

In our house, the chief source of marital strain comes from a little electronic item known as a clock radio.  My husband brought this clock radio to our marriage.  It is probably about twenty five years old; they don’t make things like they used to, do they?  Anyway, this clock resides on his side of our king sized bed.  Every morning at 4:58 my alarm goes off, and I stumble around the bed to turn it off and set it to my husband’s alarm.  Frequently my husband voices his displeasure at the fact that he did not get back to sleep after my alarm went off.   

After years of this, yesterday my husband finally announced that he cannot take it anymore.  We need to get separate alarm clocks.  For marital harmony I agreed.  Also I was getting tired of stumbling around the expanse of our bed at 4:58.  We had the following conversation:

Me: I’m going to Costco today.

Husband: Do you want to pick up a clock radio?

Me: Oh my god.  OH MY GOD.  You want me to go to the electronics department?  In Costco?

Husband: (sighs deeply) Fine.

Me: (thinking, I’ll show him) Fine.

If there is something I find more overwhelming than shopping at Costco, it is walking through an electronics department.  But nonetheless, that is where I found myself, yesterday morning, pushing a gigantically heavy Costco cart full of groceries.  As I wandered through aisle after aisle, looking in vain for a clock radio, I started to lose hope.  I started to feel as though I was lost in some kind of electronics vortex.  The minutes ticked by and I started to feel despairingly like I was wasting so much time.  I still had to get home, unpack the gigantic volume of groceries from the car, and walk the dog prior to picking Jake up at the school at 11:35.  I started to feel extreme resentment towards my husband, Costco, and clock radios in general.  I wondered if maybe they don’t make clock radios anymore.  I was reminded of the scene in Borat, where the most coveted luxury item in the village is Borat’s clock radio, and when he leaves for America the village criminal whispers “Say goodbye to your clock radio”.  I started to think that it would have been easier, although not, maybe, from an ethical standpoint, to break into my neighbour’s house and steal her clock radio.  She’s a senior.  Surely she would have one. 

Finally I saw a small man in the signature red Costco vest and managed to ask him, somewhat anxiously, if he had a clock radio.  He led me to the only model they carried, an eighty-dollar one that had a docking station for an iPod.  I don’t have an iPod.  Crestfallen, I left with only my groceries, calling my husband to tell him of this travesty.  And by calling him, I mean I informed him that I had been in the Costco electronic department under extreme duress, and I had undergone severe mental strain and trauma for nothing.  NOTHING.

Last night when my husband came home from work, he was carrying a clock radio, purchased on the way home.  We are now a two clock radio household.  Marital harmony resumes.

And...we're back.

Wow, was I just on vacation?  I have that weird, not-unfamiliar feeling that I was in a completely alternate universe many months ago, although we’ve been home for only a few days.  It’s funny how one day a person can spend hours in a complete state of relaxation, eating sublime food, walking on a beach, and reading the O list and recommendations on how to “live your best life”, and then the next day finds that same person in a state of agitation, baking and frosting eight dozen sugar cookies in varying spooky shapes, with a shirt covered in flour and a harried expression.  And getting extremely irritable should anyone attempt to sample one of the cookies that is not in the designated sampling container.

The weather has taken a definite turn for the wintry: snow on the ground yesterday, flakes in the air today, grey sky and cold, cold wind.  My current fervent hope is that it will warm up for Halloween.  Not that I am the parent on Trick or Treat duty – in fact my children have requested that I stay home to hand out candy to our (presumably, if history is any indication) few Trick or Treaters.  But milder weather would be much appreciated prior to Sunday. 

A few days ago I was relaxing in a beautiful place next to the Pacific Ocean, and right now my kids are sneaking up on me wearing vampire teeth screaming “BOO!  I’m a vampire!  Did I scare you?”, and putting together puzzles between such fearsome episodes, the television is on, and I just saw the following headline: Charlie Sheen found naked, incoherent with escort in NYC hotel room.  Surreal.  Also surreal is the fact that I don’t see that headline every single day.  I mean, is that really news?

To add to it, yesterday I heard the song Love is a Battlefield at 5:15 am and it stayed with me all day.  All day I was bursting out with “We are young!  Heartache to heartache we stand!”  ALL DAY.  That tune also followed me into the night, when I woke up in a cold sweat at three in the morning after a nightmare which involved – of all things – running out of draw tickets for the upcoming Scholastic Book Fair.  Which just goes to show, not for the first time, that I am kind of lame.

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On a serious note: someone I know is currently going through a terrible time with her very young daughter, who has a frightening, rare, and very difficult to treat illness.  This family is going through hell; I cannot even begin to imagine.  Please, if you are the praying type, send out some prayers and thoughts for them.  And if you're reading this, know that people care about you.

Not Typical

With regards to my last post, my insane amount of early morning domestic accomplishments is definitely not typical.  Clearly I was experiencing some sort of crazy nervous energy burst and my only outlet was baking a cake at 7:30 in the morning; not something that occurs regularly. 

Also not typical was the beautiful trip to Tofino, BC that I just got back from.  Tofino is pretty much the polar opposite of where I live, so it was truly an escape.  Other than the occasional overnight trip, I've never travelled without the boys, and so I was unprepared for the excess of time in the day.  It was surreal.  No one asked me for anything, no one needed anything from me.  Usually when we travel I do laundry, wash dishes, make snacks and meals, read stories and supervise bathtime.  So it felt very strange - pleasantly strange - to have to do...nothing. 

I slept a lot, walked on the beach,

hung out on the chilly, chilly beach (humidity and my hair are not friends),

warmed up and read a lot (yes, that is O Magazine, DON'T JUDGE ME),

and got all dressed up and went for fancy dinners.

Those fancy, delicious dinners are making tonight's menu seem pretty sad.

Waking up this morning to the boys climbing into our bed, talking about how much fun they had with their grandparents made the whole trip that much sweeter.

Conversation at the Breakfast Table

Jake: Is today the day that Grandma is coming for a sleepover?

Me: No, that's tomorrow.

Both boys, in unison: Awwwwww!

Me: Remember, Mom and Dad are going on Thursday, we'll be gone all day Friday, then we are coming back on Saturday.

Mark: Can you come back on Sunday instead?

So apparently they are going to be just fine.

I got home from yoga practice at 6:55 this morning, and since that time, in addition to my usual morning routine (shower, breakfasts, get the kids ready, school drop-off) I have also accomplished the following:

Baked a cake.
Cleaned the kitchen.
Cleaned the bathroom.
Done a load of laundry.
Scheduled doctor's appointment for Jake.
Freaked out.
Panicked.
Called husband and left terse message regarding doctor's appointment for Jake.
Bought and put away groceries.
Washed fruit and put away in Tupperware containers for easy snacking.
Tidied up basement playroom where, apparently, a toy bomb exploded.

It's only 10:15 a.m.

With regards to the latter job, last night the boys came upstairs from playing a loud and raucous game in the basement.  Jake informed me that they were playing a game entitled "Thomas' Big Day".  "But Mom", he said, "His big day wasn't his birthday or anything.  It was the day his engine exploded!"  I see.  That explains the state of the playroom.

So now it's time to get things packed and, judging from the start of this day, continue on frantically performing semi-unnecessary domestic chores.  Enjoy your week, everyone!

Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling this way...

My in-laws were here for a visit this weekend, and they brought with them fresh-picked apples and Concord grapes, and for someone like me who lives in a place in which fresh, local fruit is limited to crabapples and Saskatoon berries, this gift was most gratefully received.  I’m mowing through the produce at an unbelievable rate.  They also, kindly, brought me a female scarecrow for the front yard, to complement the three male ones, and my husband set it up in front of the window, where it looks very cute.  Unfortunately, it keeps startling me every time I walk past the window and see a large figure in my peripheral vision.  It’s like having my very own non-threatening peeping Tom. 

I go through my closet a couple times a year and make up bags for donation.  One place I – obviously, it would seem – never go through is my bottom dresser drawer.  That drawer seems to be devoted to non-every-day-use lingerie type items, sleepwear, and the like.  Yesterday I went to look for a pair of tights, and found nine pairs of gigantic maternity pantyhose.  Nine pairs!  Since I was a jeans-clad stay-at-home mom throughout my pregnancy with Jake, that means that those are from my first pregnancy, seven years ago.  I have had gigantic maternity pantyhose taking up a large amount of drawer space for the past seven years. 

The reason I was even looking for a pair of tights is that I am getting together my real dress up clothes – not just my good jeans – because I am going on a little vacation!  My husband’s birthday is coming up and it’s a milestone one, so we are heading on a three-day-two-night vacation.  Here’s my confession: I have never left the boys for more than 24 hours, so I’m feeling a little bit anxious.  I know.  I know. 

My parents are moving into our house for the duration and I hasten to add that my mother is VERY competent.  She knows the kids’ routines and their schedules and their school doors and their food preferences and even the names of their friends.  She could certainly handle them for more than this short vacation, but despite this I seem to be a mass of nerves.  I’m flitting around the house, frantically cleaning things and preparing food because my mom has only been cooking for DECADES.  She might not be able to handle spaghetti.  Clearly, I’m crazy.

The only foreseeable issue is that my dog will become even more spoiled.  I swear, my mother spoils my dog almost as much as she spoils the boys.  When I told her about the vet appointment that found Barkley on the road to obesity, she indignantly came up with excuses ranging from “The vet’s scale must be WRONG” to “Maybe Barkley’s just big-boned.”  Yes, and maybe he’s getting his period and is retaining water.  So the only issue in going away is that the dog’s diet may be derailed for a couple of days, which is not much of an issue.

I think I know a little something about people throwing words around.

Yesterday was one of those very good days when everything was going well, the weather was gorgeous, and I was in one of those moods in which I get unreasonably excited about such things as the grocery store having asparagus and strawberries on sale, not to mention those Roasted Tomato and Basil Triscuits, which are the be-all and end-all of crackers, in my opinion.  All other crackers can just GO HOME. 

The rest of the week has been pretty glum, however, and today it’s snowing.  To cheer myself up, I watched this SNL skit, which is one of the funniest ever, about two people continually accidentally offending each other (thanks Allison for posting this).  

I really try to be open-minded about people.  If a guy is rude in Superstore, I try to think that maybe his boss yelled at him or his wife is mad at him.  If someone cuts me off in traffic and then gives me the finger, I think, well, maybe his girlfriend just left him for someone better endowed who could actually satisfy her sexually.  You know, Zen thoughts like that.  For example, someone who was erroneously included on an email distribution list for our school’s Staff Appreciation committee sent a fairly mean email to the people on the list, rather than just simply asking to be taken off the distribution.  I thought, well, maybe that person was just having a really bad day, and receiving seven emails about Thanksgiving and Halloween treats just pushed her over the edge.  (I also snickered a bit about that person’s misspelling of the word “ditto”, which was not so nice on my part.)

But sometimes people are just assholes.  That SNL skit brought to mind a woman I met who – no matter what anyone said in casual conversation – would be completely affronted by everything.  If you mentioned children throwing rocks in the playground, she would huffily say that there was nothing wrong with it.  If you mentioned picking up laundry detergent at Wal-Mart, she would have something to say about your choice of shopping centre. 

A year or so ago, some guy snuck into the Calgary Zoo after hours and scaled a fence surrounding the Siberian tiger enclosure.  He was attacked, of course, and mauled.  I can’t remember if alcohol was a factor, but I certainly hope it was since I would hate to think someone would attempt such a thing sober.  Anyway, there was a discussion about this event by the moms on the playground, and this woman got terribly offended.  Apparently the guy was a friend of hers, and, as she said, he lost his ARM and now he can’t work anymore.  Which is terribly tragic but come on.  The guy scaled a fence in the Siberian tiger enclosure at 1:00 in the morning.  There are now signs all around the zoo warning people NOT to try to enter any of the animal enclosures, just in case anyone else is thinking that may be a fun and reasonable way to spend a weekday evening. 

So, if you’re feeling a bit glum, like me, go ahead and watch this SNL skit, have a laugh, and remember, it’s Friday!

I guess they were deprived, after all.

One of the things I love about having my own little family is the ability to make traditions.  It’s like when one becomes a parent, one has the magical power to carry on family traditions, or not, so when we had to cancel our Thanksgiving trip this weekend due to illness – which was fortunately short-lived – I thought, opportunity knocks.

In direct contrast to seemingly everyone else on this continent, a turkey dinner, to me, is not an amazing and exciting feast, one to be anticipated and to impel the wearing of elastic waisted pants.  A turkey dinner, to me, is a dinner in which I eat dinner rolls and vegetables.  Even in the days in which I did eat meat, I never enjoyed turkey, and the sight of a turkey, cooked or raw, could turn my stomach.  It’s just so…graphic.  I do not particularly enjoy mashed potatoes or cranberry sauce, stuffing is repellent to me, and I do not like pie, any kind of pie, but especially pumpkin.  So while I understand that the vast majority of the population looks forward to a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, I most certainly do not.

So when we opted to stay home for Thanksgiving, I put together a Sunday dinner that consisted of the following: freshly baked European peasant bread, salad with goat cheese, dried cranberries, pine nuts, and balsamic oil and vinegar, and butternut squash bisque.  I also prepared pork chops for the guys.  The dinner was delicious, I thought, and happily festive, what with the squash and the cranberries.  My husband even went so far as to say that the soup was the greatest soup he had ever had, although I took that with a small grain of salt as he had just finished golfing, strangely, 24 holes, and was ravenously hungry.

Despite that, my husband really missed his turkey dinner.  We discussed traditions, and he is of the camp that the boys should be able to have a turkey dinner for certain holidays, Thanksgiving being one of them, even if we do not go to someone else’s house for it, as we would have this weekend.  So, yesterday we went out for dinner, and he ordered the Thanksgiving special.

It’s hard sometimes to merge family traditions when you get married, but it’s especially hard to just ignore family traditions.  As far as I’m concerned, I could never be involved in another turkey dinner for the rest of my natural life, and I would be happy.  My husband and the boys feel differently.

Our conclusion?  My husband can make his own turkey dinner.  I’ll make the soup. 

Maybe for our next Thanksgiving dinner, we can have duck!  Just kidding.  Ew.

No matter what, you probably did not consume sour milk.

It’s been a strange week.  If you were to run an ultraviolet light over our house, doubtless there would be an offensive amount of germs and viruses squirming on the surfaces.  I myself came down with a weird 24 hour virus characterized by a high fever and narcolepsy.  After sleeping a lot I felt better.  Then Jake was up in the night vomiting.  There’s nothing quite like the night time vomit.  It puts you on edge the whole night, just waiting for the next episode.  The slightest cough or movement jolts you out of bed.  Then there’s the cleanup.  You strip the bed, you change the pajamas, you wipe down the bathroom, but since it’s the middle of the night and you are a zombie, and also you are comforting a very upset vomiting person, you tend to miss a lot of things that come to view in the harsh morning light.  Ew.  So I have been spending the day in an exhausted cleaning haze, except when I actually lay down on the bed I was remaking and fell asleep.  I woke up with Mark holding a Lego masterpiece right up to my face, talking about it in great deal.  I think he actually thought I was awake the whole time and was too amazed by his Lego skills to answer.

It was a pretty good Lego sculpture, after all.

Because of the vomiting, we decided to cancel our Thanksgiving trip which makes me a bit sad – I was looking forward to fresh grapes and apples – but also a bit relieved because frankly, I am just too tired to spend eighteen hours in the car this weekend.  I’m also a little confused, because I have no idea what to do for Thanksgiving dinner.  I mean, I’m not about to make a turkey or a pie.  But will the kids feel deprived?  Will my husband be deprived?  Should we just go out for dinner?  The pressure is on.  I did buy a butternut squash yesterday.  Maybe I could festively make some soup?

As I write this, Jake asked if we COULD have turkey, even if we are not going to Grandma’s for dinner.  Maybe, he said, we could go catch one.  Mark then joined the conversation by asking if turkeys available at grocery stores are already dead, or do you have to kill them yourselves?  I’m guessing soup might be a disappointment for them.

Further in the chronicles of Things I Would Rather Not Have Happened this week, I attempted, at my husband’s urging, to Keep Up My Strength by eating while sick.  One morning I poured skim milk on my cereal and started eating.  It tasted terrible.  “Everything tastes terrible when you’re sick” my husband admonished, “You just have to eat it and Keep Up Your Strength.”  So I did.  I felt kind of gross, and later I was mixing muffin batter and opened the skim milk.  Although the best before date was days away, it was completely sour.  I consumed sour milk for breakfast while sick. 

It’s been quite the week, but it’s Friday, it’s the long weekend, and with any luck we are all on the mend.  Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  I am thankful to have you all in my life.

Frankie says RELAX.

I have an article up at Yummy Mummy Club all about picky eating.  You should read it just for the title - it's all Super Hits of the 80's.  Also there are some very cute pictures of my kids when they were small.  If you can, comments on the YMC site would be much appreciated.  Hey, if you can't, comment over here!  I'd love to hear from you and commiserate about your picky eater.  Or even hear jealously about your non-picky eater, whatever.  xox

Finally Scaredy Squirrel decides that nothing horrible is happening in the unknown today.

My neighbourhood is, for some reason, a squirrel graveyard these days.  I take my dog for a walk and there are squirrel carcasses in varying stages of decomposition everywhere.  It is quite disconcerting.  Also disconcerting is the fact that dead squirrels are to my dog what giant bags of potato chips are to me: not part of my regular diet, certainly, but irresistible when within a two-foot radius.

Disturbingly, my current favourite children’s book is Scaredy Squirrel, and when I saw a fresh squirrel corpse today I thought, calmly, that maybe it was just Scaredy playing dead.

All the dead squirrels made me a little nervous to rake the leaves.  I kept scanning the yard nervously, but thankfully my yard was corpse-free.



Unfortunately, I can't guarantee that the leaves were free of dog urine, but some things are better left unthought.

I read a post by the Bloggess about that episode on Little House on the Prairie where Ma is all alone and has some weird infected gangrenous cut on her leg and then she reads in the Bible something to the effect that if a limb is bothering you then you should cut it off, and so she attempts to do JUST THAT.  Perhaps a less literal interpretation would be in order here.  But it reminded me of another disturbing Little House episode wherein some random girl gets raped, and is subsquently pregnant, and everyone blames her for her loose morals and her grandfather says ominously "You reap what you sow."  Then Albert wants to marry her to, I don't know, SAVE her, but in one of those odd Little House happy endings, before they get married she falls off a ladder and dies.  Intense!  Does anyone else remember that?  It doesn't seem like particularly family friendly programming to me.

And what does that have to do with dead squirrels?  Nothing at all.