Making a Spectacle of Sisterhood

This weekend, P decided that we should have a mini holiday so we wound up descending upon my sister for Easter, especially since it coincided (sort of) with my niece’s 11^th birthday. We had originally planned to be in Washington, D.C. over the holidays since we had one free ticket, but as P just started his temp job, between getting leave and purchasing two more tickets, it was sadly out of the question.

My brother-in-law, aka ‘Big Daddy’ as dubbed by our three year old, Lanes, was going to be away for most of the weekend. He had to fly to Tennessee for his grandmother’s 90^th birthday, so we were considered entertainment for my sister and her two girls. Or rather, they wanted Lanes. P and I were optional really.

We left on Thursday night right after P got home from work and we didn’t get to my sister’s house until 10pm. The three of us were on one bed and for much of the night I had Lanes’ left foot jammed into my spleen and her right elbow just above my eye. It was like she was playing some nocturnal version of Twister in her sleep and I was the play mat. Needless to say, I was not amused considering I was having a back ache to boot.

So when ‘Big Daddy’ flew off the next day, I announced to my sister that I was creeping into her bed so that I could get a good night’s sleep. Plus, she would have the added bonus of my company like way back in the day when we stayed up later than we should have chatting or raiding the fridge and watching ‘Falcon Crest’ or some other 80s show while our parents were in a blissfully ignorant slumber.

I was looking forward for some quality time with my sister, but in reality, what happened was that by the time we settled three unruly girls, two loads of laundry, and one vacationing P, we were too pooped to socialize. My sister went off to shower and before she returned I was in a deep sleep. It was wonderful. In a matter of minutes I went beyond dreamland, to the land of pitch black nothingness.

My forty winks came to an abrupt end when I as assailed with what felt like forty whippings. I thought a bunch of menopausal seals where slapping me silly.I was being shaken so violently, my brain was rattling, and I got really scared and disoriented. I had no idea what I was doing in Seattle, why I was in my sister’s bed, and if we were indeed going through the end of the world, as my nieces’ nanny/aunt Anna kept proclaiming.

As a reflex I flailed around and was trying to go get Lanes, P and my nieces to save them (I have a little bit of a hero complex going on—just give me a cape), when I realized I was being jostled because my sister just wanted me to stop snoring. I launched on some tirade on how I really just wanted a good night’s sleep, but when I turned towards the bedside table, I realized the lamp had fallen onto my glasses.

To my horror, my lenses were cracked in half!! They were frameless, so the two sides were literally severed apart. I panicked as I felt highly handicapped without them. After appearing shocked at the sight of my lenses, my sister quickly came up with an elaborate (cockamamie) story that she thought I was choking and she was desperately trying to save my life.

Someone needs to send her to a CPR class. I am no medic, but generally pushing a person violently enough to cause a concussion while simultaneously giving them a heart attack is not the best thing to do when someone is choking. It’s like solving one problem by causing another.

It was a Friday night, and I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go through the weekend, and then the week without my glasses if we couldn’t find a place that would produce new lenses for me within the day on a Saturday. With Lanes starting school and P running around with his new temp job the likelihood of me getting it done before the next weekend was slim to none.

Let me tell you, my sister didn’t hear the end of it. She zipped out of bed and got her computer and did some research on places anywhere in the state of Washington we could go to fix my lenses.  After another hour I was finally asleep, only to be jolted awake again by my sister’s alarm going off at 7am. She of course slept right through it.

I was annoyed to be up so early, especially since Lanes was still asleep, but I decided to make the most of it and did research of my own and got down a few numbers. I had to wait until 10am to make the calls. Time works in slow motion when you’re waiting for it to fly. I was so upset I had nachos for breakfast (any excuse), and then we finally were on the road.

My sister didn’t even dare to offer me fruit and wheat products as usual although she did give my food a sideways glance. She was further chastised by an eavesdropping Lanes, who went up to her and said ‘Aunty M, please don’t put the lamp on Mamma’s glasses ok? That’s not nice.’ She then stroked my arm and told me we can get a new pair at the supermarket.

When I went to the eyeglass repair shop, there was a really sweet older lady with a charming Southern accent who dashed to help me. She gasped when she saw what happened to my glasses and she wanted to know how in the world they came to such a state. I didn’t need much more encouragement to squeal, so I told her the entire story about how my glasses came to look like they incurred the wrath of Khan.

Naturally, this lady thought I had a younger sister. She asked me how old my sister was, and from her tone and the misty eyed look she had, I could tell she expected me to say no older than twelve, and when I said forty-two her eyes just about popped out of her head.

My sister walked in right on cue, and the lady said ‘oh so is this the one? Honey, next time, just let your sister choke ok? I’m going to call the glasses police on you’. I saw the blood drain from my sister’s face. For a fleeting moment, I think she wondered if there was such a thing as the glasses police.

Mostly though, I think it was the mortification that I had been telling this story to yet another person in the greater Washington state area. By that time I had told the story to her uncle-in-law, my parents, the lamppost, her mother-in-law, the neighbor’s dog, the postbox. Anyone. And apparently anything. Long story short, I got my lenses fixed.

I should have known better. When you don’t live near a person for twenty-four years, you tend to forget things. In hindsight, my sister has done much damage to me while sleeping over the years. When we were wee ones (or rather I was a wee one and she was a teen), I thought the lamp in our bedroom moved and I went to wake up my sister for comfort. She took a swing in her sleep and whacked me in the neck.

I had to walk with my head tilted sideways for 24 hours before it came right. No matter how my parents and my friends in school tried to straighten my neck, it wouldn’t budge. And it was painful. Then there was the time when she was visiting Sri Lanka and I ran over to see her and she was in the midst of some nightmare about being chased by a jelly doughnut and I got socked in the eye. I mean who runs from a jelly doughnut? Turn around and take a bite!!

It seems although my sister is the first person I run to whenever I’m in trouble, she is also the first person who gets me into a mess. Before I went to college I stayed with her and her husband in Boston. I was all of seventeen and they were newlyweds. They went around Beantown in a super beat up but endearing hutch back.

This was before I learnt how to drive and one day we were chugging along, enjoying the warm weather when I suddenly felt a lovely breeze. I pointed this out to them saying how refreshing it was but my brother-in-law just said ‘uh huh uh huh’ in a very suspicious way. I turned around and found the flap was wide open!

I screeched for them to stop and close the boot, because I was on the rickety bench known as the back seat and I was in immediate danger of flying out the back (I was thin back in the day). So what do they to do? Park on a hill and both of them run to the post office (after closing the flap).

A few minutes later, I realize I am rolling down the hill in the broken down hutch back because they forgot to put the hand brake up!! I swore so much I could have made a sailor blush. I jumped forward and pulled the hand brake, clinging onto it for dear life, all the while hoping it wouldn’t come loose in my hands. The young couple sauntered over, shrugged away my brush with death and proceeded onwards.

When I did finally take those driving lessons, my sister thought it would be a good idea if I drove to the test site. Although in danger of being late, she insisted I stop by the gas station on the way there. I was not amused, but complied.

There was a large RV in the way and I was driving a beat up old Honda that was wide on the side. I told her that there was no way both vehicles could fit in a small space. My parents were visiting and my father was in the back seat and he made little sniffling noise, which presumed was his way of agreeing with me.

But no, my sister insisted, and the bumper of our car touched the RV. We wasted ten minutes with the irate owner of the RV, and although nothing happened, I had to go to my driving test in a rather frazzled state. My sister said something like ‘what do you know, they both can’t fit in the same space’. I was so angry I was calm.

By some miracle, I passed the driving test with flying colors. When I drove the unsuspecting agent from the DMV to the lot, I found my sister and father standing outside, and my father extended out a box of tissues to me and began telling me it’s ok if I failed and not to cry.

The guy who gave me the test was stunned, and probably wondered why my father thought I couldn’t drive. Before he could change his mind about me passing the test, I told my father and sister off in our mother tongue, shoved them in the Honda, and ran in to give a stellar smile for my first ever driver’s license.

So I guess I better end my memoirs on life with my sister. We are now back in Canada, and she is safely tucked behind an international border. She has been advised not to read this episode of the blog. More adventures from Canada next week…

What About Me?

This week I have been doing a lot of thinking about finally getting myself on track. Of course between juggling my three year old, Lanes, and my ever in a flap spouse, P, I rarely have a moment to ponder an original thought—unless conjuring up innovative threats and incentives counts as using that gray matter I have shoved in between my ears.

I spend my days thinking up of countless means to corral my husband and child into cooperating with me—like to come to the table for dinner, it’s bedtime, don’t touch that, etc. I’m a certified time keeper and rule maker. It was thus up to my subconscious to enlighten me as to one aspect of my life as an immigrant that I have been neglecting.

It’s nothing major, really. Just myself! These past six months I have been so concerned with making sure Lanes is happy and likes her school and that P gets a job, any job. Now that P is settled, at least for the next few months (we hope we don’t have to go back to square one without collecting $200) and Lanes has her little buddies in school, for better or worse, it’s apparently ‘me’ time.

I set out to do the things, or rather start doing the things, that I was supposed to have done within these six months. First off, I finally went to take the Learner’s test as the first step towards getting motorized. P had asked me to read the Learner’s Manual and study hard. He got a copy when he thought he would have to take the written test. Naturally, the book was earmarked and highlighted—P is nothing if not diligent.

He was spared taking the written test thanks to his meticulous habit of saving his old documents. He traded in his old US license and before he knew it, he was on the road. I, on the other hand, had a more recent US license, but it did me no good because I kept it away so carefully, even I can’t find it. So as usual, I have to do things the hard way, all the while being serenaded with the sounds of P ‘tsking’ and sighing at my ineptitude.

Feeling slightly guilty about this, and peeved that once again, P was the teacher’s pet in this school of life I’m in, I opened the book and got ready to study. Instead, I yawned, put the book away and decided it would be fun to take the online test and learn while answering the questions. I convinced myself it would be like playing a computer game, and if my Facebook page is anything to go by, anyone knows that playing games is right up my alley.

So it turns out that is not the best strategy for taking the test. Even though I was scoring 100% on the test at home, there apparently a lot more things to know than what the 25 questions the online test ‘teaches’ you. To start with, the real test has 50 questions, and each answer is worded in such a way that you really have to read each option carefully.

There is also no time limit, something I failed to take advantage of. I was so trigger happy, there were several times when I had selected an answer and confirmed it only to realize if I read option D carefully, I had pressed the wrong answer not because I didn’t know it, because I was in such a hurry. I answered 45 questions in 8 minutes.

When I didn’t make it, the last words P said to me were ringing in my ears ‘take your time and read everything carefully. There is no need to rush’. I left the licensing office with my tail between my legs, flanked by a very irate P and a very excited Lanes, who was mistakenly under the impression we were taking her to the mall to go on a merry go round.

The next day, I had to download the manual since I had ferreted away the study guide P had instructed me to learn. I’m sure I left it in some logical place like the freezer or in the septic tank. It was a rather enlightening experience (studying that is), even though I got distracted and took time off to have a long chat with my friend who was calling from literally the other side of the world. Any old how, long story short, second time was the charm.

I now know how far behind a fire truck I need to be (even using the Metric system) and what a flashing green light means.  I even managed to pass the depth perception test, which I was sure I would have issues with—I have been blaming my lack of depth perception for my numerous falls. Turns out I’m just clumsy I guess.

I also finally went for my blood test. Scared straight after not following instructions for my scan, I actually read the fine print and took cautious steps to ensure I did not eat anything for at least 10 hours as instructed. It was more like 15 hours by the time I took the test because I couldn’t go do it until I had Lanes safely secured in school. Taking her to a blood test while I was sugar deprived seemed like a bad idea all round.

I was about to pass out from hunger while I was waiting for my number to be called. It was getting delayed because an elderly lady ahead of me was insisting that taking coffee with her morning pills did not count as breaking her fast and that they should give her tests because she didn’t want to make another trip.

Meanwhile, I was surrounded by people munching on Skittles and sandwiches and sodas (as it was lunchtime by the time I lumbered into the office). It was torture. Each munch seemed exaggerated and I was dreaming about what I would have for brunch. I was so delirious, I started to see everything in blue when my turn finally came.

Instead of taking the blood already they asked me trick questions like if I could spell my name really quickly. Come on. It took me till the second grade to get that right!! Have you seen more consonants shoved in between double vowels? I was also asked something else but at this point it was all a blur. I just remember the nurse was really nice and the process was fairly painless.

This week or at some point, I really need to actually go into the doctor’s office and figure things out since my scan and blood tests results are probably just gathering enough dust to fuel three generations of dust mites by now. I also need to call a driving school because I feel I must drive around with a professional a couple of times before taking the driving test.

Apparently, BC is big on shoulder checks. Miss one shoulder check and you’re out. No driver’s license for you! I have heard that going with a driving school is good because they teach you all these little things you need to do in order to pass. Also, I feel it’s the socially responsible thing to do. And here’s to hoping we can do the test with an automatic car: )

P was spared all that by virtue of his trade in, so he only knows these things in theory—because as usual he researched and memorized what to do to be the optimum Canadian driver. I refuse to drive him anywhere until I have an official license because the only place I’ll be driving him is straight to crazy. He’d probably hold his breath, cling onto the handle bars and refuse to let Lanes ride with me any old how.

So here’s to hoping I get myself in order this week. I’m glad I finally got the two things that have been hanging over my head over with. Now for the follow through. Although I can technically use my temporary driving permit for one year...hmm. So until next time…

Belly Dancing

This week is a little bit like last week. Lanes (who is now sniffly) started off with a little or no appetite, which is kind of normal for her. Like her dad, P, Lanes uses food for fuel, whereas I live to eat. Except for anything chocolate based, Lanes eats food like she is doing Mamma a big favor. 

The good news for this week is that P got a temporary job, which will last us until September. The bad news is that P was having the runs and neither of us knows how he went into his first day of work like that. I packed Lanes’ Pedialyte and a prayer into his lunch.

He managed to get through the week, and that was a relief. I figured the people in the office would think the temp has a prostrate problem or something if he kept running to use the facilities, but he said he was ok for the most part while he was there.

Lanes was ok enough to go to school, but after enjoying having Daddy’s nonstop attention during her illness she found his leaving for his job to be rather inconvenient. The wonder of being three years old is that she sees no correlation between employment and food and shelter.

She kept claiming she needs to go to work with him, and getting her out the door for preschool was a challenge to say the least. It didn’t help that her little idol in school, Randy, got the same stomach virus (no doubt the two of them meddled in something they were not supposed to), but he got it so badly, he missed the entire week of school.

Lanes was delighted to find him in school today. If it was not a typical rainy day in BC, they probably would have run to each other in slow motion across the garden with the sun in their hair and given each other a big hug. And for P’s over protective sake, only a hug. Any old how, P is feeling a lot better now that he found employment, even though it’s not permanent.

I realized that P’s job hunt is a lot like dating. He spends inordinate amounts of time, trying to make a connection with someone, building up profiles and highlighting all his attractive qualities. He goes on a couple of first dates (interviews) and then they say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, and he continues to look for ‘the one’.

I told P not to worry, that usually how these things go is that when one person wants you, suddenly lots of others do too. So this temp job is not so much like receiving a proposal, but more like, ‘let’s move in and see how this works out’. Let’s hope what they say about buying the cow is not true!!

The job that could have been ‘the one’ had called him for an interview the day Lanes got sick and we were in the ER. So he missed ‘going on the date’ with the job that would be the equivalent of the smooth talking Italian count with the pearly white teeth and flashy car. You know the debonair one that is too reckless to ask you to sign a pre-nup and then you make out with the house in Tuscany when he leaves you for a younger model (pun intended).

In the end, P had no regrets and is trying to remain optimistic that perhaps the temp job folks will like what they see and offer him a proposal in September. We both feel really tired just thinking of the prospect of having to go through the job hunt again then. We just want to feel settled already—you know really anchored in society. However, a six month job is better than no job, and so we decided to live for the moment.

Right now it is my turn to feel under the weather. I seem to have caught the stomach bug from P. At first, I didn’t think his runny stomach had anything to do with Lanes’ virus, but cleaning up after Lanes proved easier since she didn’t budge from the sofa the entire time she was sick.

P, on the other hand, was touching faucets, door knobs, the remote, the water pitcher, his nose, anything and everything. I tried wiping down these things but after doing it twice, I just gave up because I was tired. That turned out to be a big mistake. There is a reason Clorox wipes was invented.

Yesterday, when I needed to stay in the bathroom most of the day, our building had two water cuts, well balanced, one in the morning and one in the evening, since there were two burst pipes on the upper floors. Big surprise. Again, I don’t know how a building that springs so many leaks could have ever been on Fire Watch. If anything, this building would be a good source of water to put out fires in neighboring buildings.

Any old how, I was sitting in the loo swearing at my situation (not having water), when the lights went off and I found myself in absolute and utter darkness, literally and metaphorically speaking. Of course P was glued to his computer when he heard me vaguely squealing in the loo about the sad state of this building. 

Hearing but not listening, he assumed the noise coming out of the bathroom was me whining about him watching Lanes for me while I was indisposed, so he decided he would check on Lanes or else risk incurring my wrath.

What he didn’t bother to tell me, while I was reigning on the throne and delivering my soliloquy about how enduring electricity cuts was the last straw, was that Lanes, in an effort to get me out of the loo, had turned the lights off from the outside.

Ten minutes into my tirade, P finally realized that I was batting on about the lights and that I was sitting there in the dark. He enlightened me to the fact that we did have electricity and that it was Lanes who turned off the lights. Yet, he still did not put them back on for me. 

As I was plotting my revenge, it suddenly dawned on him to put up the switch from outside. That and he wanted me out to take charge of Lanes, who was about to have a meltdown at not being able to use the potty.

I must sign off since I’m feeling queasy and weak from not eating or retaining anything. Unlike P and Lanes, who can easily survive on air and love and busy work, I need my meals, so I’m rather sad at being unable to eat. Toast does not cut it.

P threatened to physically take away a bowl of pasta I was courting and I was told on no uncertain terms am I to complain about belly aches if (or rather when) I ate it. So no belly aching about belly aching.  There is also a doughnut that requires my urgent attention. Here’s to better health and a better blog next week…

Green About the Gills

I’m so sorry about the delay in posting this week’s blog, and out of exhaustion, this episode will be of a more somber nature than usual. We have had a nightmare of a time. Our little three year old, Lanes, woke up on Thursday night and began throwing up. I don’t know how it is possible, but she might have put out more than she weighs.

She stopped temporarily around 1am, when she fell asleep due to overtiredness, but I was so scared she would choke on her vomit if she threw up in her sleep that I stayed up, watching her like an overly possessive mother hawk.

P had had a breakthrough interview in the morning and he was coughing up a storm, so I advised him to catch up on some sleep. Being awake and having the reflexes of a cat, if I do say so myself, helped because Lanes woke up at 4am and hurled and I caught it just in time. Later P would laugh at how I dive with the chuck bucket in like a goalee at even the hint of a cough. Lanes soon fell back asleep but was back at it at 7am.

In Canada, there is a nurse line that one can call any time of the day. The clinic we go to was not open yet so we called in for some advice. It was helpful, but since Lanes was starting to burn up, we gave her the Pedialyte/Gatorade recommended by the nurse and then rushed her to the clinic. Poor Lanes was diagnosed with a stomach virus.

We were told to keep giving her Pedialyte/Gatorade and take her to the ER at the Children’s Hospital if she doesn’t urinate. Meanwhile, P missed his interview. It was a cruel blow to miss out on something we have been waiting so long for, but we were so worried about Lanes that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. At least not yet.

Well, long story short, at 9pm we were rushing to the ER. There were loads of other anxious looking parents with sick children and the waiting time was four to five hours for a doctor. I was amazed at how calm everyone was. The parents were hugging or soothing their children and not one of them complained about the wait. I guess that’s the way things are done here in Canada.

Lanes curled up against P and slept due to fatigue/possible dehydration, which turned out to be merciful since it would have been hard to keep her entertained or soothed for such a long time. While we were waiting, we were mesmerized by a little girl running around the ER, full of beans. She reminded us of a healthy Lanes.

I wound up speaking to her very worn out looking father, and it turns out the little girl had dislocated her shoulder. She was only 2 ½ and she was waiting four hours for someone to pop it in. Her dad said that it’s only a five minute job, but he had been waiting so long for a doctor to help him. He said that he was told he had to come to this particular hospital. Nowhere else in British Columbia could he get help for his daughter. I hope this is not true.

Despair was swelling up in me, tears were pushing up against my eyes, and at that point I felt ready to explode because two nights of not sleeping was literally making me shake with exhaustion, but when I saw how good natured he was about it and how cheerful his daughter was considering her situation, I took a deep breath and decided to suck it up. I even caught myself saying a prayer that his child would be tended to soon. I didn’t know I had it in me.

We finally got to see a doctor around 3am. Lanes was hating the orange flavored Peidalyte they wanted her to consume. If she didn’t drink it, they would have had to put her on an IV, which was something we really wanted to avoid. Since she wasn’t taking it by a straw or straight up from the cup, we were given a syringe to force feed her.

In the end, we told her my father keeps a syringe in his office and drinks his tea from that. So in the middle of the ER, we were making fun of my poor father and sticking several doses of Pedialyte into her before she went in for her check up, and it was just enough for her to escape the drip. We got home at 4am and we were emotionally and physically drained. P and I were also slightly nauseous since we had not eaten dinner.

That was two nights ago and we are still exhausted. Although the throwing up seems to have stopped, the diarrhea and stomach cramps continue. P has been an exceptional father during this time and he was stuck on Lanes like glue. He wouldn’t eat or move from her side, and I was really impressed with him. It was a little bit of a scary time, and we were both glad P could be home for all our sakes.

Lanes, now that she is slightly feeling better, is completely milking it, adoringly saying ‘Daddy, will you play with me?’ and locking him up in her room. She didn’t go to school today, and I was thankful she was having a Daddy fixation because it gave me time to scrub down the apartment.  When I tried to join them, I was told that she is in her office and that I had to come back later. I guess three is a crowd.

I was slightly hurt that I couldn’t join in. It was good to see her coming back to life slowly but surely. It’s been a quiet weekend. No funny comments about Mamma. No laughter. No dancing. No singing. It was terrible. It was like Lanes had gone away for the weekend but left her shadow behind.

Last night she slept through the night for the first time. However, we were still not destined to catch some sleep. P was starting to feel under the weather himself. I was finishing up some stuff in the kitchen and then I heard him calling me in the tone he reserves for a crisis.

I rushed over thinking Lanes had become ill again, but when I saw P standing at the door with the fingers on his right hand outstretched tightly, I knew it was not about Lanes but because there was an uninvited creature in the apartment.  Turns out a bee was trapped in our bedroom.

Since I am the official catcher of all critters, excluding roaches, I was left to figure out how to get rid of a bee, that quite possibly could be agitated due to disorientation. He was also very close to a slumbering Lanes.

The bee wouldn’t leave my bedside table lamp so we had to dangle the lamp outside our window and seal the sides of the window with paper. We had to leave the lamp on while we were sealing the window since the bee was attracted to the light, so I shudder to think what passersby would have thought of us.

They must have wondered what kind of lunatics are shining lights from their apartments. Worse yet, what if the fire department was on one of their routine checks? Maybe they would have rescued us from the bee. After the window was securely sealed, we left the lamp suspended outside our bedroom (with the light turned off by then).

So from 11pm to 7am, anyone coming to and from the apartment complex would have thought we were raving lunatics to sleep with a lamp halfway out our window. Hopefully they would think we were crazy college students. At that point we were so exhausted and psyched out by the encounter with the bee, that we didn’t really care.

So sorry this entry is lacking in it’s usual humor. I’m really pooped. Perhaps that is a bad choice of words considering out situation. P was coughing up a storm, and to add to it his stomach has been running for the past couple of hours. Lanes is still complaining of stomach pains and she is varying from playing to looking pitiful. I hope next week will be way more cheerful…