Cry Me a River

Do what you love... if you can find the time...

Do what you love… if you can find the time…

Yeah, I know.  Its been over a month since my last post.  LAME.  I get it.  The only excuse I can muster is life.  Its busy.  Break neck pace, I wanna punch someone in the kidney busy.  Its true that I do prefer busy to bored, but its so busy right now I’m struggling to keep it all together.

Its when all the worlds collide.  Super busy stuff at the office (like MEGA busy) and too much stuff to manage at home.  Just today I’ve been navigating a dead tree, a warranty claim on our new floors, window washing, preschool enrollment and scrambling to book the birthday party I should have booked weeks ago.  None of these things seem to be easy to do.

All this on the heels of yet another lice infestation at our house so we’re up to our follicles in tea tree treatments, essential oils and nit combs.  Its so fun.  The two hour ritual every night of combing through the locks of two very impatient and irritated wee lassies.  I check myself every day but the phantom creepy crawly itch never goes away even though I haven’t found a bugger yet.  *shudder*

There’s something about the springtime for out and out scheduling challenges, right?  Shorty #1 is in a choir so we’re ramping up for the end of the year performance.  Its rehearsals and choreography and now I get to try and make her a bird costume.  Got that?  A freaking bird costume!!

We’re spring flinging at the school so that means volunteering to do something that isn’t atrocious (like trying to bake sh*tty cupcakes).  Its also time for fundraising and donations.  Fun runs and silent auctions and such.  Its all a little manic when Mommy has to go on the road next week.

If only cloning was ok…

Wanna Hang Out?

We’re back on the dating scene.  Playdating that is.

Kids hanging out in this day and age is a totally different ballgame from when I was a kid.  We used to run around from neighbor to neighbor ringing doorbells to see who was home and wanted to play.  We played without adult supervision until the street lights came on and we knew it was time to go home.  Simple.  Easy.

Today, its a whole other thing.  Playdates are prebooked and marked into the calendar.  Parents are often present for the duration – at least for the under 6 set.  These things are SCHEDULED.  You text back and forth with the other parents, booking the event around swimming lessons and art classes, soccer practices and violin lessons.  They are capped at 2-3 hour window of time and recur only once a month or so.  Its like casual dating.

Shorty #2 just turned 3 but she’s already all about booking the playdate.  This morning she asked me to set up a play with a new neighborhood friend.  I promised I would reach out to the kid’s parents and # 2 says “Just text her Mom.” then shoots me the double guns.  When did my kid become a CAA agent asking me to arrange meetings for her.  I’m surprised she didn’t ask for the playdate to happen over lunch at the Four Seasons.

The other element to the playdate is the parent hang.  With really little Shorties, you have to stick around and make sure they are well behaved.  This means you’re on a double date with the parents of said kid.  Sometimes this is cool, but sometimes its a bit awkward.  Now you’re spending the next 2+ hours of your Saturday wrangling kids with another adult you don’t really know and may only have in common a toddler kid.  Sometimes its awkward.  Do you offer them tea?  Wine?  What?  And God forbid the Shorty wreaks havoc (Hello little biter – I’m looking at you), now you’re really on the spot.  Discipline with an audience.  Fearing judgement you need to find the right level of admonishment so you appear just firm enough according to the other parent’s standards.

Seriously, dating in my 20’s was easier than this.

Maybe that’s the answer.  We need Tinder for playdates.  “40-something mom and 3-year-old seeking same for fun times and laughs in the East Van neighborhood.  Our likes are finger-painting, applesauce and finger-painting with applesauce.”  Here’s our profile picture:


I miss the days of ringing doorbells and asking “Marky’s Mom” if Marky could come out to play.  It was easier.  If the parents were around it was because they were ordering pizza together and there was usually beer involved.  What’s happened to us that playing is such a production?


I Aim to Please… Maybe Not So Much Anymore

As you may have gathered by my previous posts, I’m a type-A personality.  I’m also one of those people that’s a pleaser.  I don’t like to inconvenience people and prefer to make things easier for them.  I can’t help it.  I’m actually a horrible spa client as I spend most of the time trying to contort my body into the exact position I think the therapist or esthetician might need.  I mean, I drive manicurists crazy with my stiff knuckles.  Seriously, I’ve been scolded by massage therapists constantly “Can you please relax your arm?”

Its the same with doctors.  I hate to inconvenience an already busy doctor’s office or emergency room with our little case.  I carry that deference to the medical profession that my parents generation had when the doc was always right.  But little by little I’m starting to feel a change as my Type-A is beating out my Aim to Please gene.

This change probably started with pregnancy.  All of a sudden it wasn’t just my own health I was worrying about, it was the Shorties.  The Mama Bear instinct takes over and all of a sudden the infallible Doc that’s only half concentrating on the issue is in my sights.  The health and safety of the Shorties trumps everything else.

Poor Shorty #1 has had a couple of strange allergic reactions, so we were packed off to see an Allergist yesterday.  Luckily, I read the reviews for the doctor and was somewhat prepared for a potentially confrontational visit.  #1 is TERRIFIED of needles.  I mean, she is apoplectic when she sees them.  Anyone who has visited an allergist will sympathize then with the pin-cushion like experience that can happen when being tested for allergies.  She was beside herself when she realized what was about to take place.

The “nurse” was no help.  She tried to mitigate the fear by explaining to Shorty that there would only be 5 pokes.  I finally convinced her that this was a must-do and there was definitely a treat waiting on the finish line.  She sat her 4 foot plus frame on my lap and the nurse started the pokes up each arm.  As she attempted the 6th, Shorty who was carefully counting flipped out.  She very nearly kicked the nurse in the chin.  I thought of apologizing to this total b%^&# but decided not to.  We both sold #1 on 5 needles and she was changing the plan on the fly.  I decided that this was now her problem and suggested maybe next time she should give kids a little more credit and tell the truth.

Now enter the Doctor.  With piles of diplomas and certificates lining the walls heralding his status as a pediatrician and allergist, he came in with an abysmal bedside manner.  Poor Shorty was now itching like mad, allergic reactions abounding from the test.  He gruffly came and grabbed her hand.  When she flinched, he admonished her telling her to “calm down”.  Excellent.  Now I was ready to kick HIM in the chin.  Seriously, why doesn’t he get it?  He must do this all day, every day.

When he told me that Shorty’s reaction to tree nuts was anaphylactic, I was shocked.  I said “really?”.  His condesendingly replied “Well yes!  can’t you see the reaction.  It was 10 blah blahs in a dilution of blah blah blah blah.”  DUDE, you just told me that if my kid eats a cashew she could possibly DIE.  Can you have a heart for two seconds and stop being a f%^&ing scientist?

Now here’s where I pupped out and didn’t actually say this to Dr. Dickhead.  But next time I may not be so civilized and nod and acquiesce and be too afraid to ask questions.  Next time I’ll stand up to that self-righteous ass and ask him to treat me AND Shorty with the respect we deserve as human beings who have come to him for some help.  I hope you will too.