Play Time

It’s been two weeks of long nights, early days, play dates and malfunctioning body parts.  In theory, I have had enough time to paint orange polka dots of mismatched sizes on my finger nails, in practice, I feel like I’m in a giant relay race. 

My diligent spouse and I have enjoyed babysitting our now six year old, daughter, Lanes’ best friend from playschool, ‘Andrew’. They were packed off to different kindergartens and now that it is summer, they are rekindling their friendship. This mostly consists of Lanes randomly and quite spontaneously squeezing Andrew and declaring her undying love towards him.

Andrew, on the other hand, does not like physical displays of affection, and always looks like he is either constipated or terrified (perhaps both) each time she manhandles him. P is left to physically tear them apart and I have to give Lanes lectures about personal space.  That being said, he asks to come back to our house, so I’m guessing he likes the abuse.

For the past two weekends, Andrew’s mom, who is my BFF here in Canada (fear not sidekick—you are irreplaceable), and I have been taking turns having the kids over.  I am typing this in peace because Lanes is packed off to his place, where she is probably smothering him this very moment. Poor chap.

Meanwhile, I have not been following my homeopathic diet because I’ve been tantalized by various fried delights by the way of dim sum and iced coffee, so my liver and gall bladder are protesting violently.  They have pretty much packed up their bags, put up a white flag and are ready to depart. I have thus been asked to scan my faulty organs to see if they need any help before they secede from me for good.

At this juncture, most people would be concerned about the outcome of the scan. My greatest fear is starving for twelve hours before it. My gosh, however will I survive? I’ll be cranky on the way to the scan—hungry equals grumpy in my case.

I also just got a temp job that requires me to wake up at 6am, so staying up until 3.30am doubled in pain feeling like a seasick pirate with a hole in her side is not an option. I am forced to attempt to eat healthy until the matter is resolved, but I have as much will power as there is rainfall in the Sahara.

In between all this, I’m randomly breaking out in hives.  So far, the common denominators for the cause are sunlight and chocolate chip cookies. Sadly, on the few days we have of sunshine here, I am unable to walk about unless I want to spend the rest of the day furiously scratching at my arms and legs. The red blotches make me look like I fell into a vat of suction cups.

Considering little things like fruit flies outsmart me on a daily basis, I’m rather stumped as to the root cause of the malfunctions of my skin. My family doctor is equally mystified, and as such, I’m packed off to the allergist next month.  In the meantime, I have some allergy meds that double as grizzly bear tranquilizers.

Meanwhile, P has been fluttering around the house claiming he wants homemade Chinese food. I presented him with a noodle dish as a surprise. P,  blunt enough to be a judge on American Idol or tell someone they look like a beached whale if they do, claimed it was not what he was looking for.

When I told him I was offended, he told me he cannot tell a lie. And that is now he came to wear the noodles on his head. No, just kidding. I must be getting old, because I took it with a pinch of salt—literally.

P insisted on going to the library yesterday and he returned with two cookbooks.  He rolled up his sleeves and was concentrating so hard on the ingredients that I thought they might levitate.

Lanes and I were being uncharacteristically unobtrusive, yet he wanted us out of the way to focus on his mission.  So off we went to hang out with a friend of hers from kindergarten and I had a fun play date with her amigo’s mom.  We returned several hours later to find P sprawled on the sofa looking rather pleased with himself.

This morning he made a Chinese egg dish with oyster sauce which was rather delicious, but perhaps better with rice for lunch rather than breakfast. I peppered him with praise with hopes that he will get obsessed with Indian food next weekend. Fingers crossed.

With that I must sign off and send P to pick up Lanes. Last I checked  in, I could hear her chattering nonstop in the background.  Our friends might find the silence deafening when she leaves! More musings from BC, next week, providing I don’t get in trouble for attempting to eat everything in the doctor’s office after my scan!