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…