What's Next?

Why I am Not a School Teacher

Liam got home from school today and excitedly stands in front of me grinning, "Do you notice anything different about me?"

Clean shirt, I'm guessing?

He looks down and says, "No, I wore this yesterday.  I pulled out my last tooth in school today; it was barely even loose."

He continues to tell me that he and one of his buddies in French class each had a loose tooth and decided to both pull them out at the same time.

"We got to miss almost all of French class to clean up the blood!"

I imagine I will hear about this one at the next parent-teacher conference.

Giggle

"Put your seatbelt on; I wanna try something."

Why Do I Pay for Advice

I had my bi-weekly call with my Nutritionist and anecdotally related my Nightmare Bathroom story during our precursory pleasantries.  Imagine my surprise to find that she is also a Life Coach amongst her many talents.

If I take an introspective look, is it possible that though it seemed that I was merely ripping off layers of rotting wall, in reality, I was peeling back the layers of the wall that I have constructed between myself and well-being.  Her words, seriously.

No!!  I don't think that even a little.

My Dad, my free Life Coach, had much more sound and practical advice:

"Call me before you solder anything.  That has to be done right."

Apparently someone out there knows my limitations.  If he knew anything about macronutrients, I would redirect the $40 per month to him.

Ms. Fix-It

This morning, over coffee, I am staring at my mutilated fingers and wondering what part of my grossly deformed ego makes me think that I can renovate.

Every time something in the house needs to be fixed, removed, replaced, attached, straightened or coloured; two things happen.  Firstly, I make a very small project into something that could better be handled by a wrecking ball.  Secondly, the gremlins who live in the back of my soul known as Pain and Idiocy sneak to the part of my brain that houses Common Sense and ponder the prospective project and then say, "How tough can it be?  I've been to University.  You certainly don't need a degree to do this."  I shake my head even now.

There was a leak from the shower / bath area into the basement.  It started after Liam bathed the dogs so I originally thought that it was the resulting flood that seeped through somewhere.  But no, it persisted; he had, once again, broken something.

Then entering onto the scene; the Enabler, my Ex.  He says to me, "Did you notice that you have a leak into the basement that gets worse when someone is having a shower?"  No, dear, the buckets were there to catch the Leprechauns and Rainbows that I suspect are bouncing around down there.  Well, now it has to be addressed and fixed.

For a change of pace, I will tell you the punchline first, all in technical terms, of course.

The pipe that joins the main pipe to the showerhead; was loose.  Yes, half a turn and it was all better.

There are people in this world who continually pick at the edge of a scab even though we know it can cause bleeding and scarring.  Picture that, but on the scale of an entire bathroom.  I had to, at the very least, tear down The Eyesore, better known as the permanently-stained-bathtub-surround, to be able to appropriately visualize the problem in its entirety.  Well, that's garbage now.  Also, I've never liked the linoleum that covers the rest of the walls in the bathroom, or those ridiculous ceiling tiles for that matter.  And, behind all that was glue-covered plywood that was a little wet at the bottom.  Well, of course that has to go; that glue could be toxic and, we won't even discuss the effect that mildew spores can have on our lungs.  So, after removing around 1084 nails with a hammer and crowbar, the plywood is gone.  Imagine my surprise to find behind all that, tongue'n'groove 1 x 6 inch planks of wood horizontally nailed across the studs, floor to ceiling.

Apparently I live in a log cabin cleverly disguised as a house.

The Ex now says to me, "If you are thinking of ever replacing the bathtub, now would be the time, while you can still remove the doorframe."

Well, that would just be silly now, wouldn't it.

I have now replaced the tub surround, which almost fits, and I will be trying to find some professional to put up some walls, and a ceiling.  Hell, I know my limitations.

And, the little pipe that goes from the main pipe to the showerhead has been tightened.  No more leak.

My New Favourite Bumper Sticker

"I was raised in the wild by Forest Sprites and Faeries."

My parents would be so relieved.

Nap......Stretch......Howl??

Just when I think I have them figured out, I am totally perplexed again.

Shopping Beyond My Means

Last week I was put up by my employer at the Pan Pacific Hotel in Vancouver.  It is an amazing, 5 star luxury hotel on the waterfront in downtown Vancouver.  I have never stayed in a hotel quite like this one.  Down pillows and duvets, immaculately dressed staff who treat the guests like royalty.  The problem with all of this luxury and attention is that they treated me as though I was entitled and wealthy; which I am neither.  And, I felt that I had to dress up to walk to the ice machine.  Which was a bit of a drag.  Totally not my style.

So, after my first evening of being treated like the princess that I have always strived to become, a totally bizarre transformation took place in the core of my psyche.  I embraced the feeling of entitlement.  Hell, my credit cards have been paid off for weeks now; I really am wealthy.

After my first night of sleeping on the clouds with angels playing harps in the air above me, I woke to a gorgeous man next to me in my king-sized bed telling me it's time to wake up to start my beautiful day.  Well, it was actually the phone ringing with my wake up call.  But, he had a really nice voice.

Now that I am feeling like I belong to a class of citizen that I have only seen in the tabloids, I come to the realization that I need new clothes.  A person of my stature must shop at Holt Renfrew and, with my new scent of the Pan Pacific wafting out of my pores, I immediately attract a Personal Shopper named Gabrielle.  This is true, I can't make this shit up!

I am embarrassed to admit to the delight and elation that I felt as I followed Gabby (we are close now, so I can call her Gabby) through the various designer alcoves as she whipped signature pieces off the racks without missing a long-legged stride.  I felt like I was in a scene from The Devil Wears Prada.  She showed me to a dressing room the size of a small bedroom just off the Gucci suite and asked me if I would like a bottled water; sparkling or flat.  Apparently she knew that I was going to look at the price tags as soon as she closed the door and may need the water.  If Gabby really knew me, she would have offered me wine.

Wow!  Expensive clothes really do fit better.  My advice to all of you....NEVER try them on!

As I strut out in my various ensembles; Gabby is practically applauding, the mirrors are obviously fixed and the personal tailor is standing by with her tape measures and pins.  Now that I am totally playing the part, I float like a gazelle towards my dressing room, flip my hair over my shoulder and point to a rack; "Oh Gabby, would you be a dear and grab me that little red Prada jacket in my size?".

What the Fuck........over!

Princess Kimberly of Fruitvale has now taken over any remaining sanity and therefore any hope at escaping with my dignity intact.  The only solution...... I'll just buy something and head for the nearest door whilst maintaining the facade. 

So, I buy a beautiful $1200.00 red Prada rain jacket, flee to my hotel, try it on 18 times, have a totally fitful sleep in the bed that has now become the enemy, and, return the coat the next day with a huge sigh of relief.

I am, this week, contentedly lazing in a hotel room at the Holiday Inn where I am quite comfortable walking to the ice machine shoeless and braless.  Right where I belong.

Another Good Parenting Day

I have mentioned before how much I enjoy the entertainment that my children are able to provide to me.

As I was dragging my ass home from a 13 hour shift after too many days to still be functioning (whining, I know), my sweet daughter-soon-to-be-crowned-Princess calls me and asks me to pick her up from her friend's house "on my way home".

First of all, not on my way home.  Secondly; it's a 3 block walk.  So, the following actions should be considered totally justifiable by a jury of my peers.

On the passenger seat, I had a bag of fresh crickets that I purchased for my favourite child, Jack (the Gecko).  I handed the bag to Taryn after she sat down and told her to be careful with it considering the precious cargo.  The crickets were in a clear bag, sealed, placed in a white plastic shopping bag.  Princess Taryn takes the bag, tightly in her hand and displays her I-couldn't-be-more-disgusted-if-I-just-stepped barefoot-in-a-pile-of-donkey-shit face (one of my personal favourites).  She snarls at me, "Are you aware that this bag is not even tied off?"

Naturally, I responded with, "OMG, seriously?  Hold it tightly, Dear.  I didn't even notice."  Then pondering; "I hope none of them got loose before you got in the Jeep."

Let the chair dancing begin.

As I slowly drove home smiling and singing along to Girlfriend, by Avril Lavigne, Princess Taryn squirmed and yipped as every nerve ending on her body suddenly suspected the contact of a rogue cricket.

They make it soooo easy; I almost feel guilty.