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…