Sluggish

I'm sorry for the long silence. I've been swinging from vine to vine in the jungle of the crazy, and for the first time, most of the madness was not mine. 

During my post surgery recovery, I lounged around in my PJs and watched TV movies. Sadly, they got on my nerves after the first three days because the heroines fell for guys who look like they belong in a police line up or called out to criminals in alleyways instead of dialing the authorities. Thus, I showed up at my temp job less than two weeks after surrendering my gall bladder.

I don't know if it is related to the loss of a body part or not, but I have been rather exhausted since the surgery. My six year old, Lanes, and her schedule make me feel like the pit crew of a race car team on the best of nights.

She is easily side tracked and constantly on various missions that result in 'origami' hand drawn paper electronics propped up in between family photos. I am constantly trying to lasso her into doing things she deems unnecessary, such as taking a shower or having dinner.

Lanes has taken to hugging me and cooing every night because her father, P, placed an embargo on me after my surgery.  Lanes is notorious for elbowing and kicking vital organs while trying to be affectionate and he was on pins that she would puncture one of my wounds. He did not want me spewing my guts around the apartment like a fifth grade science project gone wrong.

The net result was that P was put on Lanes' naughty list and she has become rather obsessed with monitoring my abdomen, which she affectionately but not flatteringly calls 'squidgy and comfy'. She makes me sound like a dwarf that failed the casting call to be one of Snow White's little people.  

Speaking of tales, the going rate for the Tooth Fairy has gone up. Evidently, we pissed him/her off because Lane's two front teeth, missing since March, only just now made a cameo appearance. I guess they really are all she wanted for Christmas.

The days of milk teeth, chubby cheeks and extra small clothes are gone, and I'm clutching onto any attention from her with more desperation than that Rose chick clinging onto driftwood from that unnecessarily sappy movie where the big ship sadly sank. 

As it is, Lanes abandons me for long periods of time to chat on the phone with my nutty sister's family and her little friends. Speaking of which, I better line our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment with mattresses and pillows because P will most likely faint when he sees this month's phone bill because his precious spawn has memorized long distance numbers. 

When she can't get anyone on the phone (she finds it rude when people are not at home at her beck and call--literally), she talks to Siri or tracks me down in the kitchen, usually when I'm in the middle of rescuing something from turning nuclear in our cantankerous oven with sentences that begin with 'can I tell you something?' or 'let's have a conversation'.

In other crazy relatives news, my parents have descended upon my nutty sister, who might be even nuttier by the end of their visit.  My poor father, who never gets a proper vacation on account of visits to oncologists, decided to forget to mention that he forgot to take his blood pressure medicine when he went in for an infusion.

The results of his exorbitantly high blood pressure reading caused him to have an irregular heartbeat and in the meantime my mother and sibling nearly blew a gasket. We should have asked for a family discount from the nearest cardiologist. Surely, they do three for the price of one? 

If anyone knows of a Costco type place where we could get medical opinions in bulk, my next of kin and I would greatly benefit from a lifetime membership.

While this drama was going on in Seattle, I was set into a panic all the way across the border because my crazy sister sent me random e-mails of doom with no follow ups.  I was at work with no way to call, and P, my second in command who I put forth to handle my immediate family when they get too much for me, was at his office Christmas party, probably giving thanks that his family was normal.

After much ado, everything was sorted and my father went home sheepishly. My nutty sister, mother and I, on the other hand, probably needed to start drinking. Better yet, we could have done with an eggnog IV.

To make matters worse, that morning my father dropped his notorious blood pressure medication on the floor and my nutty sister's dog nearly ate it. That would have been the icing on the cake. Dog low pressure, old man high pressure, wife and daughters, no pressure. Not the best of days!

But there was some fun news since last I blogged. Firstly, P and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary! We survived years of P hogging the bathroom and me unwittingly landing in precarious situations.

Lanes went to her BFF's house and we had a date night at a restaurant that would scoff at the idea of mac and cheese and wouldn't dream of having crayons next to the cutlery.

I was also interviewed by a newspaper to give my two cents on what it is like to move to Canada and find a job. It was in context of a job fair that a magazine I once submitted an article to was organizing. The editor of that magazine recommended me to the journalist in charge of covering the event.

It was a quick phone interview over  lunch. I thought it was easy peasey lemoon squeezy as Lanes would say, but then they insisted on having a photo of me, much to my horror. I tried to convince them otherwise to no avail.  

I asked for a magical photographer who will hide any additional chins I might have and insisted that the hips would definitely be out of the question. That said, an appointment was made during my next break.

The morning of the shoot, I  actually looked at the mirror, combed my hair and slapped some eyeliner on, much to my chagrin.  In the end, I enjoyed hamming it up for the shoot, much to the amusement of my coworkers.  Sadly, I rocked crazy eyes in the picture and I think the double chin was pulling a photo bomb. Oh well.

I looked more serious than I normally do because Lanes and P told me my hair was out of control and that I really should try to tame it. In not so polite terms, everyone thinks that I need a major make over. 

After the article came out, my mother called insisting that I go and get my face done, whatever that means. P and Lanes keep looking sadly at my coif and I feel rather like a very bad before picture in a make over special for a TLC show.

With that I must sign off. Lanes has taken to decorating for the holidays. Right now there are three snowmen perched ominously on the top of each of our sofas.  P, in the meantime, has bumped his leg on the edge of the bed and the corner of the cabinet. I must go save the day as usual.  More musings from BC next week...

Here is the link to the article:
http://www.theprovince.com/Immigrant+Expo+aims+help+newcomers+find+what+they+need+started+including/9261888/story.html