Not Enough Time

My parental units have arrived. This time, I was not waylaid by hot dog stands en route to pick them up.  My five year old, Lanes, and I were not allowed to come to the airport, because only one very hassled husband, two old folks, and three suitcases can fit into our Korean car. Rest assured, I put in a request for a takeaway, but alas the hot dog cart was no longer outside the airport, much to my dutiful spouse, P's, relief. Or so I was told. I'll never know.

I'm in a funk today because my parents are leaving on Sunday. P is parking them near the border, luggage and all, and my brother-in-law is picking them up from an unidentified drop off site. I guess he will declare them at immigration. Most people headed out from Canada take back maple syrup but I guess in his case, a nice South Asian couple would do.  I should warn him that we don't have a refund policy for them.

They will spend the rest of their time in the US, and Lanes and I will sit with long faces on this side.  P will remain his usual poker faced self. Somewhere out there, some Black Jack table is missing him. Lanes will return to her regularly scheduled school program, and I will forge on with editing my book and hopefully will have it up for sale by the end of next week! That is, unless, I spot a donut cart outside my window.

Lanes’ kindergarten days are driving me a little insane. We got a dreaded notice in the mail informing us that several kids in the elementary school have lice. Because I produced a child who takes great delight in hugging the life out of her friends, I immediately launched into panic mode. I had visions of little lice jumping from head to head and of me swearing while churning everything in our tiny apartment in a vat of boiling water.

When there is a dilemma, I call my nutty sister to lament. I know that no matter how much trouble I’m in, it’s never the end of the world, because she can always put me in even more trouble somehow. 

I have lovingly nicknamed her the family concierge. Those who produced her quickly seconded my sentiments.  She is ever ready to make appointments, process shipments, look up information or give out prescriptions (solicited or not).

Having two girls of her own, my maestro of a sibling spewed up a couple of ideas, the best of which was to get some tea tree oil and put it on Lanes' head. She claimed that lice don't like the smell and stay away.

It seemed like a pea brain idea, but I was desperate. Before she hung up the phone, I was on my way to the store to secure some.  The next day, I rubbed several droplets on Lanes' hair.  My mother pointed out that she was getting a musty smell, and in our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous building, it's not a far cry to smell mold this time of year.

I suddenly realized it was Lanes, smelling like she fell out of a mothball riddled closet from some Transylvanian attic.  I was mortified. It was too late to do anything about it, and my attempts to water it down were moot.  I'll have to rescind my self-nominations for the Mother of the Year award.

Lanes went to school horrified but compliant, and her teacher was told the story of how my sister once again, got me into a spot. I lurked around the school a little bit in case I had to take my little offspring home due to the offensive odor.  Turns out, the smell wore off.

My nutty sister had dashed off to DC for a week and thus escaped my wrath. In any case, all she would say is 'did I forget to tell you it smells? Oh well, better that than lice'. And there you have it. Lanes has been going to school with her smelly hair since.

My little mothball, I mean Lanes, had a field trip to a pumpkin patch today.  Other moms had warned that we would return looking like muddy swamp creatures. I ran to secure rain boots for myself at the last minute, and sadly the only pair available was in construction worker helmet yellow. Between that, my light blue rain coat and knit hat, I looked like an extra from a bad music video from the '90s.

Lanes, all bundled and warm, looking like a little pumpkin herself, was undaunted by nature’s plans for us.  It was pouring rain, freezing, and muddy. And outdoors. None of these are my elements. I don't even go for mud options in a spa. I decided then that I must love my little spawn very much to go through all of that.

After feeling like an ice cube just south of the North Pole, I braved the weather and a trip to a public restroom.   We enjoyed a brief hayride where she and her friends dashed in and secured pumpkins. Luckily, I had the brainwave to bring extra shoes.

We got a ride with the grandparents of one of her friends and I was terrified of ruining their very clean, very expensive car.  I changed Lanes out of her boots and into clean shoes. The plan was to carry her to the car and thereby save its interior. As usual, my ideas were only good in theory.

Lanes was delighted to get a ride, but halfway there she was clinging onto me to make it easier for me.  Sadly, she was pulling my pants down in her attempts to save me.  At that point I had to make an executive decision between her having clean feet or me flashing the pumpkin patch. 

Of course I opted for the former option. In the end, it was only a minor flashing thanks to my dashing raincoat and we were clean as a whistle! Or whatever that saying is. I continued to praise myself in my head and now we are back.  Lanes has cajoled her grandmother into carving the pumpkin, which might or might not end well.

As my supervision is needed, I must sign off. More musings from BC next week...