Parental Pause

Thanks so much everyone for your positive feedback on my weekly blogs about my rantings, ravings and cravings. I’m a few days late posting this week as my parental units had finally landed. As I type this, they are being jet propelled across the border in my sister’s mammoth sized minivan. I can just visualize my father holding onto the hand bars and my mom holding her handbag on her lap with one hand and shielding her flawlessly coiffed hair with the other. The mini diva has passed out on the sofa, P is back to doing job research and thus I have a moment of peace.

One more thing to scratch of the list this week. My PR card arrived…on my favorite aging Canadian rocker’s birthday (Nov 5), which of course I immediately took as a sign (those of you who knew me at seventeen know what I’m talking about—I remain convinced that he will fall from the sky, into my lap and immediately propose to me).

P just tsk tsked and ignored me when I pointed this out. Hmm. I told him about my fan-atic adoration of said musician when we first met, but he thinks should anything fall from the sky, I’m more likely to be struck by airline toilet discharges than aging rock stars. I still live in hope. Ok, I digress…back to the cards.

The odd thing is that we are still waiting for P’s and Lanes’ PR cards. One would think that P would get his before ours, if anything. Our social insurance cards came on the same day, so we thought that’s the way it would be. P’s theory is that it’s because his and Lanes’ full names are so long. We hope they arrive before Thanksgiving in the US so we can visit my nutty sister and her family, especially since our parents will be there.

So, since last I blogged, we had our first parent observation at Lanes’ school. I was supposed to observe Lanes, but the happening four year olds I mentioned earlier (you know the ones that have boyfriends and girlfriends, quelle horreur) surrounded me and wanted to know what I was doing in school. Note the use of French--I am Canadianizing myself:)

The girl who held Lanes’ hand during the fieldtrip came and asked me why I didn’t bring my handbag and then insisted on knowing Lanes’ father’s name. A couple of others came and told me their names and how old they were before being pried away by the principal. Fortunately, none thought to ask how old I was. Lanes and the other three year olds were doing their own thing. I noticed our mini diva was cleaning up after herself and being rather peaceful. If only she thought our living room was school…

Turns out Mystic Pizza Hair had the same time slot as us and we actually chatted on the way out. She has officially been moved to the ‘Parents I Like’ list, which is a list I’d refer to as exclusive, rather than short. I’m a big fan of euphemisms. Sounds better that way: )

Apparently the list of ‘Parents I Don’t Know’ is rather large since lots of grandparents drop off/pick up kids and we don’t always bump into each other. I noticed a little boy in Lanes’ class that we sat next to in Church last week. I had no idea he was her classmate then, never seen his mom before (or have I?).

I decided to be sociable and speak to him and his mom in Church next time. The ‘Cookie Cutter’ list has been narrowed down to two. I guess smiling and everyday pleasantries might cause them to short circuit or something.

Speaking of malfunctions, we are having technical difficulties in our apartment. Thank goodness maintenance is quick and friendly. Last Sunday I heard a plop plop noise, only to find that water was leaking from our ceiling—straight onto the arm of our new couch from the store that rhymes with the plural of ‘rear’. The layout of all the apartments is the same, so there was no kitchen or (shudder) bathroom above where the leak was coming from so we were baffled.

In fact, so was the maintenance man. Daunted by the prospect of having to cut the ceiling to figure out the source of the leak, he suggested we move the couch back and then see if it will leak again that night. I said, how about we wait out the night but not move the couch back? Last thing I need when my old folks arrive is a soggy sofa. They’d look like an ad for Depends after standing up from the wet furniture.

Luckily, it has not leaked—yet. We still have no idea how this happened. The maintenance guy said something about humidity and heat levels inside countering the cold outside, but I really don’t think there is any excuse for a ceiling to leak, especially in an area where there is no alleged water source.

He was explaining that we kept our apartment too hot—as if we sit around with our fifty heat lamps all day.  If ever there was a source of hot air, it was that guy, because our apartment is centrally heated!! We have no control of the temperature and thus no way to make it hotter!!

I was just glad everything was ok for my parents visit, but my mom guessed that we had a mold problem, something I was desperately trying to conceal. Can’t hide anything from that one. Seriously. When I worked with my father, and he got into predicaments, such as cutting his finger on rusted metal (which he did often, I have no idea how or why), she would show up just at that moment and that poor man would get a tetanus shot before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’. I have no idea who Jack Robinson is.

So the parents had a great time. My father relaxed and my mother embarked on a ‘Bones’ watching marathon. She is absolutely addicted to that show. On the day she arrived here, instead of being tired, she watched back to back episodes of ‘Bones’ on the internet. Kept her in one place for hours!! Then I had to record the latest episode on Thursday night, which we had to watch twice. If only the producers of the show knew their biggest fan was a geriatric Sri Lankan lady who looks like a Maharani.

One night she fell asleep on the couch, woke up suddenly and asked for the computer to look up the ratings of the latest season. She was worried they had dropped since this season was in her opinion not as good as the previous ones. My mom also looks up bios on cast members and other trivia on the show. Amazing. I just can’t believe it. She says it’s a very educational show. Hmm.

Lanes was really super good when they were here—no Olaf needed. Every morning she would ask if they were still around and then jump into bed with them. The silence in our apartment is deafening now that they have left (there was lots of chitter chatter with them around). Lanes got into a mood and also got the sniffles. We had a lot of problem getting her to sleep since she couldn’t breathe.

We still haven’t figured out what it is we are allergic to. I guess that’s something for a future episode: )