She Did It

This week I have been thrown up on, my ideas were thrown out, and just before the towel was thrown in by me, I made a big step. This is a glimpse of our week in BC.  Monday was a pro-D day for my four year old, Lanes. That means she gets to stay home and I get to entertain her all day.

For folks who are unfamiliar with Pro-D day, it stands for Professional Development , and it means the teachers use the day to well, develop professionally. Again, I’m not to be quoted on this. I only retain 35% of the information I am given on any given topic and this is the gist of what I was told back in the day when I was scratching my ears and grumblingly asking what the holiday was for.

Another mom from Lanes’ preschool brought her two girls over and we had a good old fashioned play date. I always enjoy hanging out with ‘adults’. Lanes and her friends entertained themselves for the most part so we were free to have a proper conversation that was not interrupted with comments like ‘mamma there is big bug in the toy box’ or ‘something fell in the toilet’ followed by a sly smile.

The next few days were not so hot for us, literally and metaphorically speaking.  On Tuesday night when I was losing the dinner battle with a petulant four year old, something kept telling me that Lanes was going to have a stomach bug. I brushed away that persistent voice like I was shooing away a fly, since it never bodes well. That voice had also made an appearance two weeks ago when she got her UTI.

Sure enough, as I was in the midst of the breakfast battle the following day, I stepped out of the kitchen to find Lanes in a very peculiar perpendicular pose on the sofa. I quickly straightened her out since she has just chugged her milk. A second later, she yakked it all over our carpet, and less importantly, my legs.

Since I had my ‘premonition’, my face registered no surprise, which was good, since Lanes immediately looked to me for facial cues.  A quick comfort and clean up job later, she was sighing happily when she heard me call the school to say she is not coming.

Soon, her eyes started to look glazed and she wanted to nap, which is most unlike her. In general, she is always on the go. I often wonder if she is never hungry because she swallowed the Energizer bunny. Then again, I guess all four year olds are like that and it seems like a lot of action since I’m more of a stationary kind of gal. I’m simply sedentary.

I stayed by her side the entire time, chuck bucket in hand, staring intently at her and sending good vibes. Luckily, after a bout of the runs, by evening she was jumping around and wrapping her father, P, around her little finger as usual. It seems she has also enveloped him with some germs. P has caught the bug and is still holding onto the virus, but not any of his food.

In the middle of all this madness, I was trying to scour through my e-mails because the author from the seminar I went to last week said he would offer some students a consultation and help them publish on Amazon.  He guaranteed his partner and he could make us best sellers.

I tried to fill in the application, but couldn’t concentrate because Lanes was on a high after her recovery and P was on an all time low, grumbling  about his now serious relationship with our toilet. Plus, I was exhausted.

Needless to say, I never heard back from him, even though I was one of the few folks who had stuff ready to publish. I was really down in the dumps about that. To make it worse, I got a survey from my graduate school, which I was happily filling in, and when it came to the part where there were options to fill in what one did for a living, ‘Supreme Controller and Lassoer of Preschooler and Spouse’ did not come up as an option.

If I was feeling rejected and dejected about not being out there in the workforce before, I was really doused in drudgery at this point. It seemed like all my classmates were doing better and brighter things, and my day revolved around preschool and stuffing chicken in the oven. I was in the mood for a real pity party, and was further disheartened to realize there was no one to invite to it.

Then I got mad. Really mad. I decided, I love to write. It makes me happy. I want to do it. If staying at home driving Lanes crazy has thought me anything, it’s that I want to love what I do when I am free to start working again. And if one person doesn’t call me back, it’s not the end of the world.

It turned out to be a good thing because I really needed the anger to propel me off the couch and into action.  I might not have all the bells and whistles and pony tricks and potions it takes to market on Amazon, but I can sure upload something onto Kindle. 

I just had to breakthrough my fear of starting the publishing process. Technology, like equilibrium and common sense, is not a good friend of mine. But I really had to stop waiting around. Good things don’t happen to those who wait. It happens to people who take the first step. Correction, those who look before taking the first step.

I have wasted too much time hoping for publishers and aging Canadian rock stars to fall from the sky and straight into my arms. Now that the rock star is cancelled, I had to be proactive. I would just take one of the many pieces I have shelved and publish it on Kindle. It doesn’t matter if only four people will buy it and only forty five people I know will know about it. I had to do it for me.

So on Friday, when Lanes was in school, I threw caution to the wind and decided dinner and the laundry can wait. I put my hair up, furrowed my brows, and got busy trying to upload a book to Amazon.  Long before Candoodling was born, I wrote a closed blog about my pregnancy. It’s funny but informative because it also discusses the growth of the baby, like when the baby got fingerprints or could hear sounds in the womb.

Plus, I thought it was unique  because it was from the baby's point of view. A very cheeky baby at that. The only thing that would make reading it more fun, would be to read it while eating warm chocolate chip cookies and milk. Add some pickles & soy sauce to that if you are pregnant.

After waiting all night on Friday while the book was in review with Amazon, I was over the moon when I saw it on ‘the shelf’. I immediately told everyone I know on Facebook. That is the end of my marketing as I have no idea how these things go (and again I was sad to miss out on the opportunity from the seminar). I need a fairy Godmother.

Right now I’m feeling really relieved to finally put something out, even if it is self published. It’s a small step for normal people, but a giant leap for a mom like me (details of the Kindle book are on the right hand side of this blog. It’s called “Blogs from the Belly: Pregnancy From Baby’s Point of View”). Sometimes, when Lanes lets me, I look lovingly at my page on Amazon.

Any old how this book was my test run, and now I’m all ready and eager to brush the cobwebs off some of my other works, edit the life into it, and put it out there!  So thank you Canadoodling fans who follow me every week and give me encouragement. It is because of you that I am trying to live my dream! I might never make a living from it, but it is what I want the most.

Well, I also want to sing at sold out concerts and star in a show, but that’s never going to happen since I have the voice of a bull frog stuck in a well and I’m not sure what wide screen settings TVs have these days can support me. I’m assuming high def is also not a friend of mine either. With that I must sign off. Lanes is about to jump on P’s stomach and that might not end up well for either of them considering his current state. More rollicking times from BC next week…

Well Then

I actually had a productive week! No, I didn’t get my elusive BC driver’s license, I have not found a job or saved a whale, but I actually did stuff that was important to me and me alone.  Everything I did had absolutely nothing to do with my four year old, Lanes, or my conundrum bound spouse P. I can hear the choir sing now.

While I spend my days micromanaging my family and wasting my time with the dishes and watching TV when everyone is asleep, my diligent better half tries to cram in as much efficacy as he can into every second of his day. Granted, his timing might be off, like when he tries to do online banking five minutes after we are supposed to be at a dinner party, but still—not a moment (of his) is wasted.

Before I knew what hit me, P had signed me up for a ‘writing’ class. Everything was signed, sealed, and the receipt was delivered to me in August, but in my endearing fashion, I thought I’ll pay attention to it as the time comes and I promptly kept the receipt in a very important sensible place. So safe, it was never to be found again.

It is probably behind the TV or in a lamppost on the street, but knowing me, this time P didn’t even bother to exhale and exclaim, he just printed out a new form for me and about three hours before my class, I finally learnt that I was going to a three hour lecture on how to write and publish a book in forty days.

On the way there it started to snow heavily and our windscreen was getting foggy. I decided we needed to head back home because there was no way I was letting P and Lanes go around half of Burnaby in slippery conditions with little or no visibility.  In his go forward and may the force be with you way, P got to the location and stopped short of nudging me out and promised to be back close to 10pm.

In the end, I was glad I went. The good news is that it was nice to be in a room full of adults. The fact that we shared the same long winded dream was an added bonus. The bad news is apparently one can’t make money on publishing books alone. I kind of sensed this, but was clinging on to the blind hope that it was possible. Anything to avoid 9 to 5 jobs again.

It seems one has to write book, actually get it published, and then it’s all about doing talks and having seminars and marketing, marketing, marketing.  If I ever want to publish this blog, I’ll have to dream up teddy bears in Canadoodling t-shirts or something. Maybe some maple syrup with my mug on it—might be effective for dieters. And public speaking--does that mean I have to comb my hair?

So as heart breaking as the news was, it was nice to have three hours pass by on a topic that I was interested in. I also really enjoyed the classroom vibe—I really enjoyed grad school and it took me back to those days, two dress sizes and ten years ago.

In other course related news, I’m happy to announce that P’s latest round of classes has come to an end.  Lanes’ ones continue. I had another manic episode at her swim class. I have made peace with P’s impractical notions about getting in the pool and I have also gained some momentum dealing with my paralyzing fear of water.

Now that I realize that the water will never come over my shoulder, I’m sort of ok with it. Having to deal with the women’s changing room is more of a distraction for me. So I guess the anal/finicky part of my brain trumps the cowardly part. I continue to dread wading through wet hairy floors, naked ladies, and uber public showers.

Today I even relaxed in the water because half of Lanes’ class didn’t show up.  The other child was clinging onto her mom for dear life and my bundle of joy was eager to play, but a little scared at same time. Her teeth kept chattering and her instructor and I couldn’t figure out if she was cold or petrified, but for once she did as she was asked to.

After trying out a couple of things, we played a little in the pool. Lanes found a ball and was delighted and I realized that I can do the Kozachok (the Russian dance where men squat and kick each leg—I hope I got the name right) very well under water. It’s amazing what buoyancy can do for you.

Keeping busy, we managed to miss one of my nutty sister’s calls. My elder niece and sibling wanted to know if I went for my riding class. As usual, listening but not hearing, when I told them about my writing class, they were having a discussion amongst themselves, to which I was not a party to, but for some reason they felt that I should be wasting my time on the line to be a part of.

I kept trying to tell them it was writing, not riding, and I don’t think the BC SPCA would take kindly to me getting on top of a pony, but they were too busy enthusiastically discussing what type of horse would be perfect for me. Knowing it was pointless getting a word in edge wise, I just left them on speaker phone.

My niece was very excited, thinking that since I have not succeeded in getting motorized yet, I could just get a horse and ride up to Lanes’ school for the pick up/drop off to spare me sliding down the hill in the winter. Yes, I guess the horse would live on my balcony.

Considering we kind of live on a mountain, not really a hill, the last thing I need is to get home one day and hear my sister and her elder daughter singing quite out of tune ‘she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes, singing aye aye yippe yippe aye’.

I have the grace of a camel in leotards. It’s more likely I’ll be singing ‘oie oie it hit me in the eye, oie oie, cramping in my thighs’. No way I’ll be riding anything, especially up or down a mountain. An avid animal lover, I refuse to even entertain the notion, you know, besides the practical issues of it like where one parks a horse or throws it's poop.

At this point of the conversation, my sister and niece were in fits of laughter and they immediately proceeded to discuss useful things like the solar plexus and dishwasher detergent and I was left again to be included in a conversation I was excluded from. Sigh.

I must sign off and put our coats away. P and I now have strikingly similar black jackets and I’m petrified he will wear my one to his temp job in his mad dash out the door in the morning. This might or might not help him with his chances of being made permanent.

Two weeks ago, P claimed that his tan winter jacket needed to be put to pasture and when we were visiting my sister last week, he spent the entire weekend searching for ‘the one’.  We went shopping with my elder niece, because shopping is our special aunt/niece time.  P tried every single coat in the greater Seattle area.

I think he probably put in less time trying to figure out if I was the one! Of course he wanted me to look at every single item he selected. One of the contenders looked really nice. Formfitting, but so attractive, my niece and I were half thinking we wouldn’t mind one for ourselves. Suddenly, the penny dropped and I checked out the buttons and label. P was in a ladies’ coat! This was the highlight of my niece’s day.

On that note, with an embarrassed but not to be outdone, P insisting it was in the men’s section, we took off to do practical things like find Lanes’ some undergarments.  We figured we’d catch up with P and his cross dressing coats in a bit. By that time I was so exhausted, we walked into another store and I promptly forgot what my mission was.

My niece announces at the top of her lungs ‘underwear! You’re here to buy underwear!’ I nearly died as I heard some folks stifling their laughter. I mean she could have said it was for Lanes. Last thing I needed was strangers getting a mental image of me looking for parachute sized bloomers.

On that bright note, I must sign off. More fun for BC next week and for friends and family south of the border—Happy Thanksgiving…

I Storm Cloud

Several clouds of doubt have been floating overhead here in Burnaby.  This week we had to expect the unexpected.  I had to deal with an unanticipated hospital visit, an unplanned trip and unpredicted complications stemming from a well thought of present. Let’s just say it was the gift that keeps on giving—migraines.

My diligent spouse, P, ever concerned about being the best he can be, martyrs his sanity by taking night classes from time to time in order to keep his degrees current.  There is generally a lot of ado and grumbling before and after each class and on Monday, he had his final exam. Talk about pressure building up.

The entire weekend he floated around like a silent storm, crunching numbers and emitting varying exclamations of joy and defeat (it is something in accounting that I will never understand).  Lanes and I tried to humor him in between chapters, and when he was not having it, we just countered with our own cold front.

Like a race car team, we planned to assume our positions and have P fed and prepped and ready to take on the exam come Monday afternoon. I was planning on getting Lanes to hug and kiss him and wish him good luck and send him on his merry way. This did not come to pass, because on this fateful afternoon, Lanes had fallen terribly ill.

By late afternoon, she was hunched over saying her belly was aching. An hour later her eyes were wonky and she said she couldn't even walk or sit. Long story short, as soon as P got home from his temp job, he took us to the clinic but couldn’t stay because of his test. I was relieved for the ride because otherwise I would have had to lug a droopy four year old three blocks to take two buses to get to the clinic. 

A little more than two hours later (it was easy to keep time since Lanes got spasms of pain every ten minutes), we saw a doctor. Meanwhile, my lack of knowledge in the medical field combined with my over active imagination had me playing out all kinds of terrible diagnoses. I couldn't have felt more alone in that moment if I tried. I even wished I had my nutty sister by my side, even though had she been with me, she would have been telling the doctor what to prescribe.

Turns out Lanes had a urine infection and she needed antibiotics immediately. Luckily, there was a pharmacy a few doors down and my little pudding followed me like a trooper, slowly but surely in the cold rain to get her medicine. One cab ride later, we arrived to a dark and lonely apartment just past her bedtime. I was left to figure out how to get Lanes to take her most unappetizing looking drug.

You only have one shot to sell an idea to a kid. I firmly believe moms will always do well in marketing. Kids are a discerning audience. You have one chance to sell an idea, and if your pitch is not perfect, they are not buying, no matter what. 

I was exhausted and emotionally drained, not to mention soaked and frozen, so I had no idea how to convince Lanes that her antibiotic was delicious. The poor girl was in so much pain, she just downed the chalky syrup. Thank goodness for small mercies. Within seconds, the impish spark returned to her big eyes and all was well.

The next day we both stayed in and while she was right as, well, rain, it took me about two days to get over the exhaustion. Just in time for P to announce that we should indeed go to Seattle for Memorial Day weekend. My nutty sister and her family were delighted because they were on holiday as well, and apparently they think of us as an entertainment package.

Yeah I’m a regular barrel of laughs.  So we arrived there in the middle of the night on Thursday and my sister surprised me with an I-pod as a birthday/Christmas present. She had felt very sad for me after Lanes’ episode and she knew I was really bummed out when I found that I had lost my archaic i-pod type device.

I had a tiny 2 inch square generic unit, made in China, that I was rather attached to because it had all my music and some pictures of baby Lanes in it. It was sturdy and hardy and my faithful companion whenever I was doing the school run. Of course it fell out of the closet and I was reunited with it just this week. I think I told my sister that?

I was delighted, but seeing as I was tired, all that technology seemed daunting to me. Between my tech guru brother-in-law and my 11-year-old niece, I was sorted out, but the next day when I was rested enough to enjoy playing with it, I found that the front camera was not working. It was all black and some fuchsia pink lines were running across it.

Apparently, you have to make an appointment at a Genius Bar to get it fixed. We went to the Apple store at the mall without an appointment on Saturday but it was so full of folks that we couldn’t get in. 


I really don’t think it’s a good sign when so many people are there with a problem with a product. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out! As my ex-crush but might still be favorite Canadian rockstar sings 'that's when I knew it was a pretty good sign, something was wrong on cloud number nine'.

My sister and her brood were babysitting that night. P and I were finally going on a date so we thought we would make an appointment and go to another Apple store before dinner. So off we went in the literally blinding rain. Our appointment was at 8pm but we were lingering around for about half an hour before a cheery, I guess, Genius was able to see us.

Meanwhile, I could hear little word bubbles from customers around us. Lots of ‘Geniuses’ saying ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t help you today’ or ‘looks like you might have to come back’ 'or sorry you had to wait so long, here is what we can do'. I told P this is not boding well for us at all.  Ever skeptical, I was wondering why so many people needed help with their various devices. Shouldn’t they just work?

Why won’t someone just write an application that ensures the device runs without issues? If you can download programs that stop short of flossing for you, one would think this makes sense. No, we need a Genius Bar of all things to solve a problem. What do you do? Go up there and say ‘I’d like my Genius shaken not stirred?’. No. I’m reminded of my cousin’s stale joke. ‘A man walks into a bar. Ouch’.

And ouch is what I felt. Forty-five minutes of waiting, cutting into the first date we have had in two years, my little Genius, who was indeed, friendly and polite and sweet, and everything nice rolled into one, announced to me that they could not ‘swap out’ my faulty I-pod because there were none in stock.

Couldn’t they have told me that earlier? Shouldn’t the other folks who walk around in their blue t-shirts with their tablets clutched in their hands, greeting folks before the appointment have just asked me what was wrong and told me there were none in stock? Instead of looking forward and smiling with feet firmly planted on the ground, like the concierge of a froo froo hair salon, it would have been helpful if they sorted me out earlier.

So apparently I am supposed to store my stuff in the iCloud. This all sounds complicated to me, and I felt like my head was in the clouds. Storm clouds. It was all beyond me, but my Genius was so nice, he might have been a Care Bear, and that made up for the fact that again I was leaving the store with a lemon I thought was an Apple.

When we got to Burnaby I tried to ‘sync’ the miserable I-pod to the computer and I just had all my wires crossed. I tried to download this elusive Cloud, but it was all just smoke and air because when I signed in, it said I had an Apple ID but I had no access to this freaking Cloud. Insert thunder bolts here.

Now I have to waste my time on Tuesday, going to see the Geniuses in Burnaby and hoping that they will be able to fix my problem. Under comments I put down that I need a replacement and I’m hoping that I will be told ahead of time should they not be able to help me.

So far because of all these little issues, I’m not feeling the Apple. I guess every barrel has a rotten one. But judging from the amount of people that need help, there seem to be plenty of those going around.  I do appreciate the gift though. My sister is feeling horrible that it's faulty, but I think it's the thought that counts. 

I better sign off because I have to go ‘sync’ something and download a migraine.  I also have to respond to an e-mail I have requesting feedback from my first appointment at the Genius Bar. I'm going to have a deliciously devious time giving my two cents. More adventures from BC next week…

Squeamish

My four year old, Lanes, has been excited about Halloween all month. As such, our fridge is proudly sporting about fifty three pictures of grinning pumpkins in a field, nicely juxtaposed with a bright blue sky and rainbow accents. She was longing to dress up as a ‘manpire’ (vampire) witch and go trick or treating. Maybe I should pitch the idea of a vampire witch for the next installment of those novels teens like so much. Or is it already there?

When the day finally came, we decided to go trick or treating in the mall because it was indoors, the candy was from the stores, and there was a nice one hour time limit for it. We went there with engines roaring but after about twenty minutes of accumulating candy, Lanes decided she had just enough for herself and to share with her daddy and declared that she was done. I was surprised, relieved and proud of her all at once.

I was really stunned that I witnessed lots of parents just shoving their kids into lines and screeching ‘go fast go fast, get your candy, don’t wait or you won’t get any’ or ‘you are never getting any candy if you wait around’.  One dad was shouting like an angry coach when his child didn’t dash in front of a line.  It's a wonder he didn't have a whistle tied around his neck. What is this? Trick/treating or training for the Olympics?

Lanes was watching with her mouth wide open and politely stepped aside for those kids and their bossy parents.  I hope this is not a prelude to life in elementary school. If this is the ‘go get it’ attitude for a bunch of lollipops, I wonder what parents will do for the lead part in a school play or first place in math class. Home schooling anyone?

Seeing as we were already in the mall, I thought we had to do something frightening since it was Halloween after all—I’d try on swimwear. I had realized too late that Lanes’ swimming class was on Saturday and I had nothing to wear (apparently they frown on jumping into the pool in jeans and a t-shirt).  I went to a store and found that the suits were limited to those crammed into one lonely rack.

The good news was that most of them were actually my size. The bad news was that they cost as much as a down payment on an engagement ring and for that price, I don’t want to still come out looking like I was auditioning for the role of ‘Free Willy’.

For those prices, I wanted the swimsuits to give me a tummy tuck and make me look taller or to at least have some sort of gimmick to go with it. I wanted it to turn into a life raft or have an inbuilt device that will do my taxes for me. But no such luck.

I looked forlornly at the racks and was explaining to Lanes that this is the meaning of a mother’s love when a nice saleslady came and helped me weed through all the suits to find one that will try to flatter and fit my hips and my budget. Lanes was highly excited and had a surprising number of comments to make in the changing room.

In the end I settled for a black swimsuit. I was mortified at the thought of going out and about in it, so I found a little skirt thing on sale to go with it. Sadly, it had a white patterned trim on it that had a very profound bovine effect, which coupled with my proportions, might not be such a good idea.

On the day of the swimming class, waves of anxiety engulfed me. The idea of getting into water mortified me. The responsibility of being in charge of Lanes while in water gave me heart burn and had my stomach in knots. My earliest memory is of my mother trying to bathe me while I was screaming my lungs (and probably her sanity) out. There are three things I am most afraid of: water, germs, and roaches. Oh and ghosts.

As we approached the public pool, I was having palpitations. I gave my spouse, P, the mother of all dirty looks.  He could easily take my place and go with Lanes (he even has swim trunks), but because a Tibetan monk told him to avoid water, he won’t set foot in it. I think this is absolute madness.

Where did he even find a Tibetan monk? Who has one sitting around in their living room like he claims? Does this happen to ordinary people? Should I have conversations that go ‘so I was having lunch with Yoda in my back yard…’? My tirades were not going to save me.

Luckily, my horror was halted as I stepped into the changing room. In came fear number two. Germs. The floor was all wet and spotted with hair, there were loads of naked people, public toilets, and public showers—with no privacy bars. Apparently, this is all normal, but for someone who has avidly avoided sports all her life, this was a new (mis)adventure for me.

Because of my dislike of public washrooms, I had thought to bring rubber slippers, but in some spots, there was so much water that my toes were getting soaked despite my neurotic precautions. It was all too much for my phobia-riddled brain to handle. All I needed was for a roach to pop up somewhere and a ghost to scream out from the loo to complete my experience.

Lanes took it in stride, not yet contaminated with my mad notions. I was thankful we wore our swimsuits under our clothes and would be spared the entire changing clothes in front of strangers thing. All of a sudden, being seen in my swimsuit seemed like a good idea.

Several crazy thoughts about water borne illnesses later, we found ourselves in the overcrowded pool, where we had to discard our slippers. My disgust at having to walk towards the pool barefoot (I have issues needless to say) distracted me from my fear. I had a moment getting in, but Lanes was with the instructor and she looked at me yearningly and that got me in faster than anything else in this world.

I was hoping she would take a liking to her teacher and as with kids, you only have one shot to sell them on an idea so I very enthusiastically told her that the instructor was fabulous, just like her Uncle F (my brother-in-law who can do no wrong in Lanes' eyes). 


The swimming teacher was like 'who is Uncle F?', and I just politely but sternly told him to just roll with it, and later he bemusedly really got into character (and secretly he must have been thinking he needs a raise). Considering he was named after the weather one would think he would be fine with a name like 'F''.

The lesson was only half an hour in the shallow end so we both survived. My arm and back are killing me from balancing Lanes on some of the maneuvers and it turns out the skirt thing for my swimsuit was not a good idea because it kept floating up. At one point I tried to adjust it and it nearly came off! So after seeing more people without clothes in one day than in a lifetime, I realized I’m ok in my suit alone and shall go skirtless the next time. I consider the public warned.

We were to go to the mall afterwards but I was so finicky that even though we showered (in our swimsuits) at the pool, I insisted we go home and take ‘proper’ showers and then went on our merry way.  One day when I have money I am going to make some therapist very very happy (or he/she might need a therapist).

At the mall, Lanes got a haircut at a place we haven’t been to before. The lady who did her hair made me wait fifteen minutes for no good reason and she looked as excited to be there as I was when I found a changing room in the pool house after our lesson only to find the floor was wet in there too, and someone had stuck their old band aid on the wall. 

I was not thrilled with her hair cut and it was a bad sign when P had to look sideways and think for a few moments before complimenting the poor child. To me, she looks much like she is sporting an ‘Aunt Agatha’ look. The good thing about hair—it grows out. If only the same were true for my inane phobias. 

Those are the main crazy things that happened to us this week. We are back to no water Tuesday this week. The dandelion haired Mandarin only speaking lady continues to plague me. I was dragging an exhausted Lanes down the hill when we saw her running, not walking mind you, up the hill. Luckily, I thought to cross the road and there were two rows of traffic blocking her from us.

She waved excitedly, pointed at my belly with an overly zealous rotund movement of her hands and beckoned us over to run up the hill with her. Yeah right. I can’t even walk up the hill and if she thought I was going to drag Lanes up, she was on more crack than I originally thought she was on. I pointed at my little girl and nodded no and rushed poor Lanes down the hill far away from crazy neighbor. 

With that I must go and rescue P.  Lanes was last seen clutching some musical instruments and charging at him on the bed. More musings and mutterings from BC next week…