This week’s episode was supposed to take place in lovely Ottawa or Montreal(I’m assuming having never set foot in either place), but as I finally looked over our travel plans, I realized that Monday and Tuesday would be very busy and it would be impossible for me to upload from there. Long story short, I’d be on a plane, fighting to find a taxi with a dangling four year old, tripping over my own feet, rushing a cranky and dawdling husband, and then hustling to a train.
Having no fancy gizmo du jour, I will be quite unable to type up let alone post a blog. And considering how much the hotel we are staying at is planning on charging us for washing one shirt (before taxes mind you), not even dry cleaning it, I’m assuming I’d be charged for just sitting in front of the computer, nevermind logging on. There's probably even a charge for just asking.
This week has zipped by as we were preparing for our trip. It has just been one of those hot, long, weeks that everything that could make you cranky, will make you cranky. We realized that lots of kids the same age as our little one, Lanes, are doing fun stuff like piano lessons or gymnastic classes or taking courses in medical school or whatever it is preschoolers are doing these days.
My dutiful spouse, P, came home with a book from the community center and we quickly enrolled Lanes for an art class and a swimming class. I was feeling ashamed since it is a bit late in the day, but it’s better late than never, as was in my case. I am petrified of water. My earliest memory is of me screaming and flailing while my mom was trying to bathe me. If I had money, any therapist would consider me a gold mine.
I tried to overcome the fear before I turned 30 and started lessons. It took me one month to break my grip on the stairs of the pool—in the shallow end. My instructor was patient and had a sense of humor, and I regaled him with unnecessary funny stories to divert his attention from the fact that I was almost surgically attached to the metal ladder, and toddlers were breezing past me, pointing in wonder at the woman the size of a baby hippo clinging on for dear life.
I finally broke free and was mastering sinking when I realized after a week of throwing up nonstop that Lanes was on her way, and that was the end of my swimming lessons. All I remember is being ravenous after the class and rushing to get a big burger at the restaurant near the pool—fond memories. Any old how, long story short, considering my fear of water, I thought it best if P took Lanes to the classes, since they require one parent be in the pool.
P flat out refused. I have seen the man swim. Granted, he looked as graceful as a rhino in a tutu, but he floated. With this gene pool, pun somewhat intended, I was really fearful of Lanes’ relationship with water. Adamant that she not turn out like us, I got P to go ahead and schedule her classes and I would try to figure it out from there.
Naturally, I was livid that P was not, in my opinion, stepping up to the plate. He dislikes water, but does not have my innate fear of it. I get paralyzed with fear and it’s all downhill from there—I literally get choked up. I was scared that this might endanger Lanes, especially if I go into panic mode. And then there is the whole other side issue of me in a swimsuit—not the best look for me.
So I spent most of the last twenty four hours scolding P in my head, because he was not there to listen to me rant on account of doing errands. For some reason, my anger made me crave some fast food, which was not readily available to me and this made me even crankier--I think I badgered the meat loaf I was making. After dinner, when I was giving him reason number seventy two why he will hear about this when he is eighty, he finally said that when he was younger, a Tibetan monk told him to beware of water.
Okay, first of all, I have no idea what a Tibetan monk was doing in P’s parents’ living room. Second of all, the other things he told P was that he has the ‘nose of a king’ and he will ‘marry a queen’. So here’s the thing. P’s nostrils are upturned, so much so that not only can you see any bat in the cave, you can also hear its echo. And as for the queen, have we met? I am sarcastic, neurotic, and sleep deprived. The closest I come to royalty is that on many an occasion, I’m a royal pain in the rear.
I told him based on the outcome of the other two predictions, he has nothing much to worry about. Furthermore, he should have just told me this was his concern without letting me go on a one woman rampage about the whole situation. Surely all the muttering and stealth mean looks could not have been good for my health. He said what can he do, men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and that’s why he didn’t explain himself.
Like he is from Mars! As usual, he must have been talking while driving because when I went to Mars to try to figure him out, I realized that he was happily setting up shop in Uranus instead. Typical P behavior. End of the story, I’m hoping that maybe Lanes and I can bond and I can overcome my fear. I have a month to get over it any old how. P will take her to the art class, and by the looks of the plaster magnets they were coloring today, it will be good—for P. Ha!
I must sign off and check my list twice for the trip. The packing and unpacking seems daunting. I hope it is all worthwhile in the end. I shall report back on the two places. Considering P’s penchant for announcing we are moving to places (first moving houses, and then to Canada), I’m half afraid to sleep on the trip in case he says ‘so guess what? We are moving!’. You never know—until you know. More of about our trip to the gorgeous East coast next week…
one of your best blogs!!
ReplyDeleteAA