Wagging Tales

This week seemed to last forever! Last weekend, we were south of the border to visit my nutty sister and her family. The usual mayhem ensued—near flashings, accidental harmless spiking of drinks, and backing into pillars that would not get out of the way. 

We should have spent the entire week there, considering my four year old, Lanes, was on Spring Break, but I am not prone to making choices that make life easier for me. I am now worse for wear and hiding from a turkey—literally.

The purpose of the visit to my nutty sister’s house was to meet my brand new nephew—of the four legged variety. I think I’m not allowed to call him a pet. Considering my sister used to raise her nose with polite disdain whenever my beloved late Labrador, Muttley, used to pant enthusiastically next to her, I would say she has come a long way!

My ‘nephew’ was very well behaved and peaceful, until he was face to face with his arch enemy—paper! Lanes, who at times was having sibling rivalry issues with him, made him a card for his ‘birthday’ and Mochi was delighted and turned it to confetti. 

Lanes found it hilarious.  If anyone has any paperwork that needs to be disposed of, do let us know! We were rather tempted to hide him in our luggage and bring him back.

Lanes thought he was super cute, but then from time to time, she would run away from him. When we first arrived, I was doing something in the kitchen,  and my hands were occupied and Lanes grabbed onto my jeans and nearly pulled them down. Of course all this has to happen under the purview of my brother-in-law, and this timing was really unfortunate. 

When I was fifteen, he had come over to our house to ask my parents for my sister’s hand (she is much much older than I am).  I was bouncing about the house and my shorts fell off and I flashed him with my flowery underpants. I never lived that one down. He let the best man know that when P and I got married, and now it’s recorded in our wedding video for all of posterity.

Other than that, my sister and I drove her kids insane. Lanes was packed off with my dutiful spouse, P, because both were in need of some shearing, I mean a haircut, and I accompanied my sister and my nieces to the mall.  

On the way there, they were trying to point out a very sadly named apartment building on the left.  As usual, I was craning my neck to the right, and marveling at a rather fabulous looking row of town houses. It was not until the girls kept chorusing ‘no no, the left, the left’ that I realized my mistake. Simple things are challenging for me.

While they were feeling sorry for Lanes, who would have to deal with me in my golden years, which are bound to be stellar, if my 30s are anything to go by, my sister and I engaged in our favorite pastime—talking with outrageous South Asian accents. My nieces really wished that they had an ‘eject’ button to escape. Luckily for them, it was not a long ride.

Of course on the way back, we were running late as usual, and my nutty sister accidentally backed into a concrete column. The man waiting to take our parking spot looked horrified and honked a belated warning. His mouth was agape for the longest time. I don’t know why considering the bump was so light no damage was done to the car or the unsuspecting pillar. He waited till we left the garage to take the spot.

That evening, my sister and her husband were looking suspiciously at the ‘potions’ I got from my homeopathic doctor (for the pain in my back that turned out to be my liver protesting madly at my large consumption of deliciously unhealthy foods).  It’s actually hard enough counting thirteen drops without my sister suddenly shouting ‘ten, eleven, twelve’ and derailing my train of thought. I have no idea if I over medicated myself that night!

Then my brother-in-law opens up a bottle and takes a whiff and announces it smells like rubbing alcohol.  He then sprinkles some of the liquid on the palm of his hand and slurps it up! Great. If his liver starts to function better than mine, I’m going to be pissed off! I hid my bottles after that because they do look a lot like the mini booze bottles available at a hotel room mini bar.

Any old how, the three of us and my six bottles came back to Canada the next day. I think my nutty sister was relieved because it was hard to feed me on this diet. She still can’t get over the fact that I turned down chocolate chip cookies—it’s tradition that she has a warm gooey plate waiting for me whenever I show up (she’s a good, if slightly insane, sister). I think she was eyeing me suspiciously from time to time to see if I was an impostor.

P, had to work late this week, and he was busy with work related stuff when he was at home. This did not bode well for me, because I had to find a way to entertain Lanes for five days straight with little or no energy.  She was relatively good when I had my ‘boring mom chores’ like cooking, cleaning, laundry. Lanes no longer thinks it is fun to be me. It seems she was under the impression I watch TV and hang out with my imaginary friends all day while she is at school.

I took her out a couple of times. One day I took her to the mall to get her a treat, and we were at the food court and a family sat next to us. They had a little girl Lanes’ age, and a boy who was slightly older. Lanes kept smiling coyly at the boy and didn’t even notice his sister.

In the end the nice boy was beaming at Lanes and telling her all about himself and how he was eating the most fabulous fries in the world. He then wanted to share them with her and told me to bring her back to the mall every day to see him! His parents and I were amused.

The next day, we went out with Lanes’ BFF from school and again, another family with a boy and girl sat next to us, and in the end that boy offered all his fries to Lanes too. What's up with the fries? Too bad I was on a diet--this could have ended nicely for me as I used to love them! 

His father was laughing at the two of them and told me to keep an eye on her and the boys when she is big! Oh dear. It’s a good thing I’m planning on going to college with her (or wrestling school—I think she will have a bright future in that).

On Saturday, P felt bad that he didn’t have time for Lanes and that I  was with her 24/7 so he had some ‘quality time’ with her while I escaped for some adult time with a friend—which really consisted of us having a lovely lunch that didn’t involve crayons or balloons. Not only that, I actually got to leisurely go shopping without running commentaries from a spouse or child.

I was having a really good time and resisted all temptation to call and see how P and Lanes were doing. Ok, I called three times, but that was 26 less times that I wanted to. When I got home, Lanes came running to me saying she got a turkey. Naturally, I thought she was referring to a rubber toy or stuffed animal so I told her that was great and to show it to me.

She told me it was far too heavy and that I’m going to be so happy to meet the turkey. I was getting slightly concerned considering when I left the house, she was asking P for a pet puppy like Mochi and we had settled on a fish. 

I knew somewhere along the line, since Lanes as the memory of an elephant, they would be stopping by to pick up two unsuspecting goldfish, who would have the good fortune of being named ‘Thumpy’ and ‘Bumpy’.

P came out sheepishly from the kitchen and announced that the supermarket gave him a free turkey.  I nearly collapsed in a heap, thinking a feathered friend would come clucking or gobbling, whatever turkeys do, behind him.  Then he showed me a frozen butterball that was in no way going to fit into the tiny freezer of the fridge in our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment.

I was mortified. The cover said it was a ‘young turkey’ and it made me insanely sad. P, knowing my love for animals despite the fact that I’ve been known to chow down on drumsticks and ribs, looked a bit pale and quickly said he was excited to win something and he didn’t think to exchange it or give it back and just brought it home. He said he really won two turkeys, but took one.

He shoved it into the freezer and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll try to figure it out, but for now I’m avoiding the freezer—I’m all chicken about the turkey. My nutty sister said I should just cook it since we have it and can’t return it or give it away. I just can’t see myself sticking my hand up the rear of a bird. Sigh. This is what happens the one time I leave Lanes and P unsupervised: )

On that bright note, I need to mess up counting my drops of medicine and turn in for the night—it will take a lot of bribing to get Lanes out of holiday mode and back in preschool tomorrow, so I need all the strength I can get.  More musings from BC next week and suggestions for my fowl friend in the freezer are welcome (shudder)…