Last Day

It's the last day of my self-styled NaBloPoMo and I have no triumphant final thoughts - I almost just went to bed without posting, and it's already after midnight. I finally slept a good chunk last night, so that was good, and had a lazy day with Eve and then went to see Frozen II with Eve's friend and her mom (a badass bitch who sobbed her heart out). Matt drove Angus back to Elmira a day early because there's supposed to be bad weather tomorrow, instead of going to get a Christmas tree with him, so that sucked a little, but he'll be home for Christmas in a couple of weeks.

Thanks, as always to everyone who commented - happily surprised to see some new names, happily happy to see the old(er) ones. It's nice that some people have said "could you maybe SLOW THE FUCK DOWN with the blog posts, I can't keep up" instead of "geez, it's been a while, have you forgotten how to write or are you just choosing not to?" (I had the most overwhelming sense of déja vu typing this, I suddenly felt like maybe I had said in my first post of the month that that was I was actually trying to get people to say. I just checked and I didn't, but that would have been either cool or further confirmation that I am losing my marbles).

That book that was taking me so long to finish? Turns out it was a good thing, because when I finally had a chunk of time to read more than a few pages, I realized that it was stupid and badly written. At this rate I'm not going to break a hundred books read this year, though, so I should probably try to step it up a bit, in between baking and shopping and wrapping. Or I won't, because I am not at all obsessive or compulsive about this kind of thing and it will not bother me in the least if I end up at 97 or 98. Gulp.

I promise I will still show you the gingerbread houses. Right now I am going to carry my snoring dog up to bed. Happy December.

Now I Have to Sleep for the Rest of the Week-end

I hate going out on Friday nights. Friday nights are for jammies and fuzzy socks and reading in my reading chair. I hate crowds. Going to a crowded place on a Friday night is kind of my idea of Hell manifested on Earth. Buuuut, I love my daughter, and her crazy Greek friend and her friend's crazy Greek mother and the other crazy friends, and we haven't had a madcap adventure together for a few weeks, so I agreed to go downtown to the Lansdowne Tree Lighting tonight which, if I haven't been clear enough about it yet, is Friday. It helped that the the crazy Greek lady volunteered to drive my van (which is required to transport our many children and children-adjacent people).

It was pretty much a magical freaking wonderland.

It was also really freaking cold. Don't tell Eve, who is still trying to thaw out her toes, but I kind of felt like it was perfect that way - it wouldn't have felt as quintessentially wintery and wonder-ish if it was warmer.



There was a Christmas market inside the Aberdeen Pavilion, which was a good place to warm up while pretending to admire people's Brussels sprouts - just kidding, it was cool. We bought some essential oils and a bag of meringues. We petted a lot of really cool dogs. Eve's friend Davis sang the intro to All I Want for Christmas for some dude with a video camera. We brought the hot chocolate stand to a virtual standstill with our voluminous order. Typing the word "voluminous" just reminded me that I also inadvertently taught Eve and her friends that the word is 'voluptuous', not 'volumptuous', which I thought they had been saying as a joke. You might think they would be grateful to me for the edification, but they were not - the general consensus is that the word SHOULD be volumptuous and English is a stupid language - enh, hard to argue with that.




So I hate going out on Friday nights, and crowds, but I love twinkly lights at night and hanging out with these dorks. I did not love standing in a twenty-minute line for bubble tea, but you know what, I'm pushing fifty and it was a new experience, so I went with it. 



Now I have driven all the children home and I am so tired I can hardly see. Eve said she might go to bed without showering, which, if you know her, is just crazy talk. I will tell you about the gingerbread houses later. 

Day 28

I am not surly today, just tired. Angus and Matt and I went over to my mom and dad's and ate Chinese food with them. I tried to go do my information picketing thing this afternoon but there was nobody there and then there was an email with more precise times and this is all kind of a clusterfuck and now we're doing a withdrawal of services next Wednesday which is one of only two days I work, which kind of sucks, but I support the teachers and fuck Doug Ford. I know I said that already, it bears repeating.

I feel like everybody has probably seen this already, but if you haven't, it is the purest thing. Angus and I have been playing it repeatedly and giggling like fools all day. There's already a shirt.

I've got nothing else. I've been trying to get through one book for the last week and a half because I keep staying up too late and then falling asleep when I try to read, so I'm going to try to go to bed early. I'll let you know how that went tomorrow.

Oh wait, I thought of something I was going to talk about. Subscription boxes. How do we feel about subscription boxes? My opinion is very Jekyll/Hyde. On the one hand: who doesn't love getting mail, and a box of surprise cool stuff showing up every month or so is THE BEST. On the other: What a gigantic steaming pile of crap rip-off bullshit, why don't I just go buy myself something I actually want instead of overpaying for a box that is probably going to contain one or two cool things and three or four things that seem like they came from someone's grandmother's basement?

The ones we have tried so far (and by "we" I mean "me", although a couple I ordered for the kids):

The Ipsy Bag: Five personalized beauty products a month. I got it for myself for a bit, stopped, and then got it for Eve for Christmas. There was a big range here, and the stuff we liked we really liked - discovered a couple of great brands and colours of lipstick, eyeshadow and highlighter etc. The fails were that they would round out the bag with a one or two skin care products, which annoys me because generally people have a skin care routine already, and it's unlikely that they are going to add some random tiny tube of moisturizer to it. Also, trying to paint your nails with polish from a tiny bottle is stupid. Then there was the problem of the adorable bags that the products come in. Every month. There are only so many things you can do with these slightly-smaller-than-pencil-case adorable bags, but you can't throw them out because, pay attention, ADORABLE, and before you know it you're in a Tribble situation (well, less exponential, I guess) and it's untenable. We cancelled it after about a year.

Quirky Crate: "The subscription box for the not-so-basic girl". Well there's my mistake, I must not have seen this before ordering it for Eve - we are as basic as they come. I got it for Christmas, again (I just like the idea of giving her something that isn't huge up front but gives her a little surprise every month or so for the year). This was mostly a fail - junky accessories and stuff pitched too young. She got a cool pair of socks out of it and I think that's about the only thing she actually liked. We cancelled after two boxes.

MeUndies: Underwear, "soft, sustainable and designed for pure comfort". This was an unqualified success, especially because I've been a bit lax in the past about making sure Eve has properly-fitting underwear. I started out by ordering her the Pride print because they were making a donation to some LGBTQ organization, and then I got her a subscription for Christmas. The prints are all amazing - she would regularly flash me her unicorn or shark undies while wearing a sundress. We went with the cheeky brief and she said they're amazingly comfortable. We only cancelled because her underwear drawer was overflowing.

Munchpak: "New and popular snacks from around the world delivered to your door". I got this for Angus for Christmas last year because he's at college and playing baseball and always hungry. He loved it. He said some stuff is a little weird but he doesn't care. We cancelled it when he came home for the summer. I will probably do it for Christmas again.

CauseBox; "Exclusive, ethically made products, $200+ value for $49.95, delivered four times a year". It was my first Christmas where I was actually making some money of my own, and the heady thrill of it led me to spend that money many times over. This sounded so cool - ethically made! Great value! Exclusive! (okay, I don't give a single crap about exclusive - if someone likes something I have, my impulse is to buy them one and be delighted that we match.) It wasn't bad, exactly. I got a couple of really nice things - a necklace I love, a...actually the necklace is the only thing I can think of that I wear consistently. A couple of things were really nice for gifts. It's curated really nicely and the packaging is gorgeous. That is.... not enough to justify the cost. I don't really know what to do with a jade face roller. I don't need multiple pink scarves. There was a gorgeous set of makeup brushes that would be useless to me if I didn't have a sixteen-year-old daughter who actually wears makeup that requires brushes.

I'm still considering getting Eve this one for Christmas - the ones that you can cancel at any time are usually worth a try, in my opinion. But generally the ones that don't offer specific products are probably not really good value, especially when you factor in that they're in American dollars - I'm better off going out and just, you know, buying my own shit. My memory is basically crap at this point, so if I really want to be surprised I can just stick it in a box and wrap it and hide it - at some point I'll find it and be pleasantly surprised. 

Colours. Oranges. Last Christmas. Insomnia. Gay Mermen.

Wow, talk of paint colours really brings the commenters to the yard! I saw Nicole's living room again in her festive post and I think her terra cotta works a little better than mine because it's a little more muted and it goes with that brick part, whereas mine goes into the entrance which I meant to be painted a sort of soft sage but it ended up East Nepean green, which was appropriate to Angus's early baseball career but a little too IN YOUR FACE GREEN for a wall. 

I put two of the oranges in my lunch today. One was passable and one was excellent. I feel like I have dodged the First Box Curse reasonably adeptly this year.

It is a rainy, crappy day. It never really got light, and leaving school after my shift I felt like I was in a horror movie where some kind of apocalypse was about to take place - the wind tunnel effect in the entrance sent a menacing skirl of leaves spiralling up as I walked to my car. Nothing apocalyptic actually happened, although the wind did turn my Jack Skellington umbrella inside out as I walked back to the car after grocery shopping. 

I saw Last Christmas with a friend tonight and it was cheesy good fun - best performer credits go out to Emma Thompson, Michelle Yeo and Emilia Clarke's majestic eyebrows. 

My neck still hurts.

I woke up at three a.m. last night and didn't get back to sleep for hours. At first I thought it was four a.m., which was bad enough, and then I realized I still haven't changed the clock from the time change (I have a thing where most of the clocks in my life are usually wrong) and well, I guess that's what I get for observing that this November has not been the Novemberest November that ever Novembered. I also have to do some "information picketing" job action stuff which kind of makes me want to die, but I will do it, because fuck Doug Ford. 

In closing, I leave you with these gay merman ornaments that my friend Jody told me about, including my immediate personal favourite, Apizza That Merman, because they are fabulous and make me think of better months. 

Hair. Oranges. Colours. Ow my neck.

Angus got a haircut today, after growing a truly horrible head of hair for over a year. I tried not to say anything because it's his life and bodily autonomy etc. and it was a little amusing how insane it was driving my husband. He usually wore a hat, which made it look borderline acceptable, but once last summer we were in a restaurant so I told him to take his hat off, and when he did I told him to put it back on.

Eve is having a tough week with multiple school-stress meltdowns. She said she doesn't really know why because she's had weeks with an equal number of tests and presentations before. I think it's just freaking November. I got into bed with her last night to rub her back and talk things over to calm her down before going to sleep and to distract her I told her the most horrifyingly offensive joke I ever laughed at. I won't tell it to you because you would have to break off all contact with me in response and I am choosing to believe that that would make some of you sad. It worked, though - she almost laughed her retainer out.

Look at the colours in that picture. Aren't they horrible? It's like they have abruptly expired and I was fine with them for twenty years and now they are poison to my eyes. It's the end of the decade and I'm about to turn fifty and I am seized with the desire to fuck up everything in my house. I don't know exactly what needs to happen, but it needs to be different from how it is now.

I bought the first box of clementines. It seems to me that the first box is always bad, but I don't know if that means I need to wait until later in the season or if the first box will always be bad so I might as well buy it and get it over with. Is this a wacky magical way of thinking which bears no resemblance to logic or reason? Why yes, I believe it might be, and yet here we are.

I am tired and my neck hurts and I can't think of a graceful way to end. Good night, friends. May your oranges be sweet and your physics tests be smooth and effortless.

Adventures in Babysitting

When Eve was younger she used to think that she was going to do a ton of babysitting once she was old enough because she loves kids, and money. It hasn't quite worked out that way because of a few factors, the primary one being that we just don't know that many people with younger kids who are within babysitting distance. There's also the fact that she needs fourteen hours of sleep and doesn't like to stay up late. The few times she's done it have gone swimmingly, so she may have gone into this one a little cocky. My friend has a pair of adorable four-year-old twin girls and she messaged me Thursday night to ask if Eve was interested in babysitting them Friday. I was in Barrie, but I hooked them up, and Eve went over Friday evening.

The texts I got were as follows:

"I'm here. All good. Parents haven't left yet."

"Bedtime is going kind of badly. It was supposed to be lights out at 7:20." (It was now 8:45)

"They're supposed to sleep in their own rooms. Kat wants to sleep with Gwen. Gwen doesn't want to sleep with Kat. Neither of them wants me to leave the room. I have to stand outside in the hallway so they can both see half of me."

"They asked for more milk and I got it. I think that might have been a tactical error."

"I also said may have said something about me not being able to come back if they didn't sleep which I wouldn't have said if I'd realized they were literally never going to sleep."

"Like, I said would you rather go to bed or risk never seeing me again? Gwen picked never seeing me again!"

"At like 8:45 I came up with this whole 'giving you my big girl bravery through my brainwaves' and we put our heads together and it almost worked buuuuuut ultimately failed."

"It was fine, we sat in the hallway and played with Snapchat filters and had fun. It was just bad that we were still having fun at 9:30."

"I'm not sure I'm ever getting asked back here."

"Update: I am home. They never slept."

I assured her that the mother would not blame her for the girls not sleeping. I then got this text from the mom:

We consoled Eve with telling her about the time that Matt's youngest brother was babysitting Angus at Christmastime so we could go see whatever Lord of the Rings movie had just come out. He was likewise on a hot streak of easy Angus experiences, so it came as a rude surprise when three-year-old Angus proved somewhat less biddable than two-year-old Angus of the year before. He demanded libations and multiple book readings, and then, Jeremy said "he wanted to change into different pajamas". "Oof", we winced, "you fell for the jammie switch? That's a rookie mistake, bro." Apparently the culminating insult was Angus stating "you're not making me very happy, Uncle Jeremy".

Eve survived her rite of passage and was way overpaid. I feel like I handled the whole remote coaching thing not too badly, considering Zarah and I were high as balls and doing a really difficult puzzle.

Day 24

I am just back from a typically fabulous week-end at Zarah's, and Angus is home for a week for American Thanksgiving, so I am very tired and very happy. The GPS suggested I go the northern route instead of the highway route, and it's a little lonely at times and a little short on regular bathroom breaks, but also very beautiful and less boring. I like to keep myself alert by blasting music and singing at the top of my lungs, and there's a certain fierce, unique joy that arises from belting out an Indigo Girls ballad while speeding through a quintessentially northern Ontario landscape that you really can't get while chugging down the 401 and stopping every hour at an identical On Route station.

We do Christmas shopping and downtown wandering and hanging out and running into a bunch of people that Zarah knows and usually something kind of weird happens. This time it was a pair of men who were having lunch in the coffee shop where we did and then we all ended up at the same fish market place that was not that close by and they asked if we were following them. Before we left I told them we'd see them at Indigo.

We go to the fancy bra place where I buy my annual expensive bra (yes, I did pull out all the stops and buy two this year) - people ask why I go to Barrie to buy bras and I don't really know, except Zarah knows a woman, and I'm already used to taking my shirt off for her and she consistently pokes me a little, mutters that I wear my clothes too big and then offers eight fabulous choices in bosom hoisters, so why mess with success? This year I found out that she has a bitter rivalry with another woman who she used to be in business with and who now runs a rival bra shop, and I might have to write a story about it or something.

I'm afraid to say it - I shouldn't say it - I'm going to say it, let's just all pretend that I haven't. *whisper* This November hasn't been too bad. I have a haircut booked for later this week, though, so there's still time for things to go horribly wrong.

Girls Weekend on a couple of levels

I’m in Barrie visiting Zarah and Christmas shopping, so I know what you’re all waiting for.

Doris from Bravo says hi. My boobs currently have altitude sickness. 

Not to Be Confused With a Garden-Variety Diss

I just looked up the definition of clapback and it gave me joy. My best clapbacks of recent memory were both on Facebook, which is fantastic for avoiding l'esprit de l'escalier (a French term used in English for the predicament of thinking of the proper reply too late).

One was on a neighbourhood Moms group (which is a beautiful and terrible thing). A woman made a bitchy post about people who leave early from school recitals and then closed comments. This is a bit of a hot button for me - I hate that people think they can judge other people without knowing their reality, and I hate the helicopter parenting mentality that makes people worry that their own children will be hurt if every single goddamned parent doesn't stay until the bitter end of every school production (I've checked with the very small sample of my own kids and their friends, who confirm that they cared not a whit if parents other than their own saw their performances). As long as people are subtle and considerate about the manner of their departure, I am fine with it.

So I made my own post, disagreeing with her post. And I left comments open. Some people agreed with me. Most people, in fact. The original poster was somewhat predictably not impressed, and opined that if I didn't like what she said, I should scroll by. I said that I had scrolled by, and then posted my own opinion, and invited her to scroll similarly by if she so desired. Someone else suggested that she could just vent to her own friends instead of blasting an entire Facebook group, and she said that she didn't have any friends to vent to. Please admire my self-restraint at replying exactly NOTHING to this.

Then someone commented on my post that it was ridiculous that I had posted merely to disagree with the original poster, that I was being petty (duh) and ridiculous (debatable) and that she saw absolutely no value in what I had done.

To which I replied: "Cool. Aren't you glad I left comments on so you could say that?"

**********************************

The second, less momentous one, was a few days ago on my cousin's post. She posted a cheeseburger with no bun, prompting a bit of slightly eye-roll-worthy (for me) discussion and praise about a low-carb diet. I have a very low bar for food hysteria and demonizing certain food groups these days, but people are allowed to post about their interests, so whatever. Then someone commented "ketchup? Pure sugar!" and my exasperation peaked. But instead of debating with someone I don't know or care about persuading, I contented myself with replying "ACTUALLY it's sugar WITH VINEGAR AND TOMATOES".

After Reading One Too Many Smug Sneering Movie Reviews

I read this column by Johanna Schneller awhile ago and it really stuck with me. It also reminded me of why I get pissed when I hear people denigrating movies like Crazy Rich Asians as nothing special, or calling movies like The Fault in Our Stars "sick lit" and automatically assuming that they are worthless. Sure, Crazy Rich Asians was a little formulaic and the male lead was a little too good to be true. Sure, there are stories about young people dying of cancer that are exploitative and melodramatic. But here's the thing - for every groundbreaking movie starring mostly white people, there are probably a hundred crappy ones. Don't Asian people or black people or Hispanic people deserve to see themselves represented in movies with clunky dialogue and ridiculous car chases and cringy sex scenes just as much as white people?

And people with cancer or other debilitating diseases? So they get representation in a cheesy romantic movie - big fucking deal. Ever seen literally anything by Nicholas Sparks? The Twilight movies, hello? It's really not fair that people disparage these movies or demand that movies with diverse casts have to be beyond reproach.

I'm tired and I feel crappy and this deserves a better post, but I keep forgetting to write it, so I'm just saying it - we are at basic step-one representation for minorities. Let them have their crappy, eye-rolling, trashy romances, brainless action movies and ridiculous thrillers. Then we can move on to demanding better quality representation for everyone.

Besides, Crazy Rich Asians became the most successful romantic comedy of the last ten years, which means it could pave the way for "more stories about less crazy rich Asians" as this Vox article states.

But take a hint from Schneller and do check out Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. It's amazing.

Day 20

I have been on fire for remembering things that I typically forget this week. The vest I wanted to wear with my dress that I usually leave hanging on the back of my bedroom door? Remembered it. The library book that I wanted to take and read on my lunch break that I usually forget on my bedside table? Remembered it. The Christmas stamps that I usually forget to buy until the post office is sold out? Remembered to buy them.

Then today I looked down at my chest and one of my boobs looked really weirdly shaped and I thought I had tucked something into my bra and forgotten about it. But I hadn't. My boob was just that weird-looking all on its own. 

The universe giveth and the universe taketh away. 

Skin in the Game

I had a doctor's appointment by referral today - a family doctor that does dermatology, because I had a couple of moles that my doctor thought should be looked at but dermatologists in this city tend to be booking a couple of years out. It was across town in the afternoon so I was a little anxious about the driving, the parking, the shirt removing, the getting back home in rush hour - I think that covers it. A little anxious, but less anxious than I would have been a few years ago. We call this growth.

The drive was fine. I found a parking lot close by, and then was briefly confused because it said note your license plate and pay at the meter and I couldn't find a meter. It turned out that I was parked in a tiny adjunct part of the lot that was quite large and involved several levels, but walking to find the meter brought me closer to the doctor's building, not further away. This is in stark contrast to that time my doctor was still downtown and I was trying to get to an appointment in a snowstorm, saw a sign for a street closure, panicked and parked three blocks away, walked forever in deep snow and then realized the street closure wouldn't have affected me at all, never figured out how to pay for parking and drove away worried that bailiffs were going to show up at my door. Why am I such a giant dork?

The wait was much shorter than I expected, given that it was so late in the day. I'm not even sure why I'm telling this story because it's so MAGNIFICENTLY BORING, which is a great thing for a doctor's appointment, but not for a blog post. Anyway, the doctor was awesome - friendly, funny, we're the same age, she asked about the book I was reading (We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler, amazing read, highly recommended) and I felt remarkably comfortable considering I was naked and wearing a sheet. She checked me over thoroughly with a magnifying glass with a light on it and then said "all your moles are benign - I'm sad for me but happy for you" and I burst out laughing and told her about the doctor I went to see when I had a weird immune response that gave me a vicious case of pompholyx eczema and my hands were unusable and he was typing on his little computer basically saying "this is terrible, sucks to be you, but wow, fascinating" and she said "we're a sick bunch, I know". She said I could get the moles on my back burned off for aesthetic reasons and honestly I couldn't care less about the aesthetics of my back skin but I might go back just so I can ask her out for a drink.

Now I'm home and it is still very dark much too early and I just realized that I've probably been a little weepy all day because this appointment reminds me of the friend I lost to skin cancer, and Matt is working late, but Eve is here, and maybe I can convince herself to take forty-five minutes away from physics and watch an episode of Veronica Mars with me. And we are more than halfway through November.

World Trivia Night X

Friday was World Trivia Night, which I realized while I was there is the tenth anniversary of my meeting Lynn (HI LYNN) in person for the first time, which also means we have been doing WTN for ten years, which also means I have been blogging for ten years (and a couple of months.)

Sometimes I mildly resent the importance placed on round numbers - why does everyone want to lose ten or twenty or thirty pounds? Why can't we just lose, like, seven pounds? Or thirteen? "Nice round number" is actually a set phrase for something that represents "a particularly noteworthy quantity of something" and it makes me feel sort of defensive of the other less-nice less-round numbers (which are what? mean flat numbers?)

In spite of this, a ten-year-anniversary for meeting one of my favourite people in the Ottawa blogging scene, and the motley crew that I see once a year at WTV and enjoy enormously, and for starting my blog, which was done with great trepidation and very little confidence (try not to look too shocked) is pretty damned delightful, even if we did achieve our second-worst score on Friday night and even if it was partly because I missed THREE book-related questions (I am pushing the nice round number of fifty years old and the old cerebrum is not what she used to be, and also, Nostromo sounded too much like Nostradamus and I was thinking less "Joseph Conrad's Italian expatriate who rose to his position through bravery and daring exploits" and more "whacky French prophecy guy").

Some of the other categories were: 25 (the answers all had 'quarter' in them - quartermaster, Quarterflash (which I knew thanks to my Saskatchewan cousins); Unfilmable - something about books made into bad movies or authors that didn't want their books filmed. There was mention of someone trying to make Paradise Lost with Bradley Cooper as Lucifer which *visceral shudder* please Milton no, never; the music category, which I'm never great at, but this one wasn't the worst ever; and the last category, which was questions the reigning Jeopardy champion couldn't answer. Turns out he couldn't answer them because they were really fucking difficult. Also turns out our table of 10 was not, in fact, smarter than a reigning Jeopardy champion, just in case anyone was wondering.

Here is my very first World Trivia Night post ever! I actually know how to link to things now because of Mary Lynn (HI MARY LYNN) but if I did I'd have to edit out all the funny stuff I said about not being able to link, so I will let it stand. I also met Julie that night (HI JULIE). It was a really great night.

I also like this post from the next year. It's kind of nice that if something happened in the last ten years and it happened in November I probably blogged about it out of sheer desperation for post-a-day material.

Ten years, ten trivia nights, 1035 blog posts - damn, that is perilously close to a nice round number. And the real prize is the friends we made along the way. Plus we got a medal for winning a category one year, and I'm not entirely sure that Lynn wouldn't trade in a friend or two for a chance at breaking ninety. Just kidding. Sort of (look, she's very competitive, it's one of her most attractive traits). Ten years, Lynn - we should get cupcakes!

My Life is Awesome

This was our annual weekend trip to Collette's dad's cottage, six of us, about an hour away from Ottawa. I'd say we've been doing it for about ten years. We leave Saturday morning, drive to the cottage and drop our stuff, do lunch and Christmas shopping in Newboro and Westport and then go back to the cottage for Susanne's amazing seafood fondue, drinks and games.

Some thoughts I had this time:

-It is strange driving the route that takes us right past the turnoff to where Matt's Nana and Grandpa used to live and we used to visit regularly. They haven't lived there for years now and we've lost them both, but I can drive the route without even thinking about it.

-I have been bitter (if you hadn't noticed) that the snow came so early this year, but the roads are clear now and the driving though the snow-covered fields and trees was very beautiful - I feel like there is maybe a lesson here, one that I'm trying very hard not to learn.

-If you are told that three hockey teams just left the restaurant and it will be at least an hour before you get your food, that will sound like a really long time. If you order five-dollar Caesars and talk with your five girlfriends, that time will fly by.

-Don't get fries for lunch. Wait, no, fuck it, get fries for lunch.

-Who can I buy these adorable bird coasters for?

-I'm sad that I have no one that wants unicorn stuff anymore.

-When you're playing Heads Up, holding your phone on your forehead, and one person is saying "oh fuck, that's a really hard one" and two people are laughing too hard to speak and two people are trying to give you different clues at the same time, it's really hard to figure out that the answer is Geraldo Rivera.

-It is likewise very difficult to act and/or sound like a newt (see previous).

-Toucan Sam likes Froot Loops, not Cheerios, COLLETTE.

-Janet's pajamas are adorable.

-It's really nice of Cynthia to make the trip from Cambridge even though someone always makes fun of her gluten-free pizza.

-I can't eat any more. Ha ha, jk, I can totally eat more.

-Margot's laugh is even cuter when she's had a double shot of tequila.

-I can't sleep.

-Wow, my hair looks really bad.

-My feet hurt, my back hurts and I'm exhausted. Totally worth it.

Five Dollar Caesars

Oops

Forgot to post tonight. Sorry. 

Surly Thursday: Shove Your Patronizing Snow Joy Meme Up Your Ass (not really)

You know the one, right?

Honestly, everyone who has posted this is a friend, and I'm not actually angry at them, because on the face of it, it makes perfect sense - snow is going to happen, so why not try to find the joy in it? The problem is, it's terribly simplistic. People aren't angry at snow because they're inherently cranky or miserable. For a significant portion of the population (seniors, people with mobility issues, Reynaud's syndrome GOOGLE IT), snow represents an actual hardship. It makes walking harder. It makes driving harder. None of these problems are going to be banished by thinking "oh, snow is so pretty, I will henceforth cease my uncivil grumblings!" 

I actually unfriended someone on Facebook last year because there was one more bad storm that coincided with a pretty bad mental health crisis and her chortling at Ottawa from warmer climes was the last straw (yes, I acknowledge that that was, in fact, down to me being cranky and miserable. Whatever, my timeline, my rules). 

I'm not saying people shouldn't try to find the positive in the negative. I'm not even saying think before you post memes. I am just surly about it. Also, HOW DO YOU KNOW I DON'T FIND JOY IN COMPLAINING?

Now, onto that infuriating "There's only ONE MONTH left in the decade, what have you accomplished?" garbage on Twitter. I am so not the target audience for this kind of thing. I don't make New Year's Resolutions - I don't have a problem with people who do, but generally the stuff I want to improve is always the stuff I want to improve, and thinking that January, of all god-forsaken months, is the time that I'm suddenly going to start stuffing my gob with twenty-four green vegetables a day and make a million dollars strikes me as a recipe for colossal failure and subsequent self-loathing. 

It just seems like such a Western, new-agey, bourgeois concept, which I guess is not out of place on Twitter. I do like the jokes that inevitably followed, and this is my favourite response. And once again, I feel like I'm dunking on something fairly innocent and denying people joy in feeling pride about their achievements. It sucks when I get stuck between being righteously surly and insanely self-critical.

I'm going to go work the book fair now, after I brush the joyful fucking snow off my car. For the record, I have run or volunteered or worked at TEN BOOK FAIRS over the last decade - put that in your pipe and smoke it, unless one of your feats was quitting smoking, in which case, sincere congratulations. 

Wordless Wednesday

What it looks like when my daughter comes into my room to discuss Important Things.

Home is Where the Carnage Is

I realized last night that I might be in a bit of a manic phase, but the really annoying kind where I'm actually very tired but I still have trouble resting. After noticing with pleased surprised that my feet were doing quite well despite working and walking on the treadmill more often, I spent all afternoon Sunday in the basement on the cold hard floor cleaning and organizing (do you want to see the picture of my gleaming steel shelves with their gorgeously arrayed cans of soup and coconut milk and black beans? I WILL SHOW YOU AGAIN) and yesterday my feet and back were extremely cranky. So I came home after work and put them up like a sensible person, right? HA ha, no, I am dumb. I made dinner and made chicken stock and cooked a bunch of bacon for a recipe. I went upstairs to watch tv before bed and decided to go through the t-shirts in the closet ("decided" is actually my body getting jacked by my stupid brain, so my forebrain is thinking 'sit down, you idiot' and yet I am limping towards the closet like a deranged Kondo-bot).

Right now I'm sitting at the computer but I can't stop looking up at the kitchen counter, which has way too much crap on it. I'm having a weird day. I left the Rav at the garage to get winter tires put on, got dropped at home and my cleaning lady showed up early - it was fine that she showed up early and since I'd been to the garage already I was fully dressed instead of taken by surprise in my pajamas - like, bra and everything. So that was good. Then she opened the oven door all the way to clean inside and it wouldn't close again. Less good. I looked at some Youtube videos and contemplated breaking out the WD-40, and then I decided to let my husband deal with it, but I do feel a bit like a traitor to my gender.

THEN I put a bottle of ketchup in the drawer of my refrigerator door with a bit too much alacrity and the little tab on one side that holds it on the door broke. It's not a huge deal, but it sits a tiny bit crooked now which detracts from the perfection of my fridge (we've replaced our fridge and dishwasher since moving in and I have a bit of an unhealthy attachment to both - double doors! deeper door shelves! bottom freezer! top cutlery rack! I am easy to please, people, I have never denied it). I also felt like I was now leaving a trail of problems for my husband to deal with later, so I went online to try to figure out how to replace the shelf. Eventually I realized that googling "GE Profile refrigerator door shelf" wasn't enough, found the refrigerator serial number and tracked down the correct part. Victory!

The part costs 96.21. Maybe I can just live with the imperfection. At least my broken house is clean.

Put it in Your Pantry With Your Cupcakes

I was just in my group chat with Nicole and Hannah (HI NICOLE AND HANNAH), which makes any day better, even a craptastic November day on which I am tired and my feet hurt and it started snowing at 3 p.m. and isn't supposed to stop until 6 a.m. The discussion ranged far afield from where it started, as is customary. At one point I said that our friend Beck's newsletter made me feel close to her because she likely felt the same about her gift list posts as I do about my year-end book posts - they're so much fun and also so much work. This reminded us of when Hannah did the hilarious post about People's Sexiest Men Alive issue (she said Richard Gere was a bit of a dick about vegetarianism and Buddhism and yet his stated goal of avoiding cruelty didn't keep him from singing in Chicago! I LOVE THIS).

Hannah then said she could take a stab at reviewing the list again if she even recognized any of the names, or if they weren't all so young that it felt inappropriate, whereupon Nicole naturally chimed in "coo coo coo choo, Mrs. Robinson", and we all laughed until she then casually napalmed us with the fact that we are all, in fact, now OLDER THEN MRS. ROBINSON

and we wait what-ed and looked it up and people, ANNE BANCROFT WAS 35 in The Graduate! Dustin Hoffman was only six freaking years younger than her. No damned wonder her cupcakes were still so perky.
View some hot pics of Anne Bancroft and read Nicole's post referring to it here. I find this so confusing. She looks older than 35, doesn't she? Isn't it always harder for actresses to get roles once they hit forty? Wouldn't this have been the perfect opportunity to cast an actress who was actually old enough to be Katherine Ross's mother, instead of someone only eight years older? Dustin Hoffman was 29, for frig's sake - in Hollywood years I think he was actually older than her! (I don't even know what I MEAN by that, I am just feeling SOME TYPE OF WAY HERE).

Here to make you sexually AND mathematically confused!

So I thought, well, maybe they just really really wanted Anne Bancroft to play the part, so they streaked her hair with some white and made her up a little older.

NOPE. "Mrs. Robinson is such a wonderfully rich role for a more mature woman" says the article I found (MORE MATURE? I have SALAD DRESSING older than her in this movie), and Dustin Hoffman was the perfect gawky unworldly youth, but neither of them were remotely the first choice for the roles.

Jeanne Moreau, Lana Turner, Shelley Winters, Angela Lansbury, Susan Hayward, Patricia Neal, Judy Garland and Doris Day were considered - Ava Gardner wanted it but they didn't want her, which, wut?

Jeanne Moreau would have been 39 playing Mrs. Robinson. Lana Turner would have been a senile, doddering 46! Susan Hayward would have been.... gasp... FIFTY! Never mind that we could have had The Graduate starring Angela Lansbury and Warren Beatty! (Dustin Hoffman thought they were making fun of him when they offered him an audition - then when he showed up they thought he was a messenger!) Robert Redford was in the running, but they didn't think he could pull off the part of the awkward underdog (which, no kidding). Dustin Hoffman was perfect. Anne Bancroft was perfect too, but geez, I guess I won't be making plans to seduce my daughter's boyfriend any time soon, and given how fervently I wish I hadn't just typed that sentence I guess that's all to the good.

Anne Bancroft also got an Oscar playing Annie Sullivan, a twenty-year-old, in The Miracle Worker, when she was thirty. I give up. I'm going to join Hannah who declares that she is now on the couch dying of old age. Also, now I want a cupcake.

Day 9

This is what I did with my afternoon: 

That's it. That's the post. 

The Mandela Effect

This is partly nablopomo desperation and partly genuine interest on my part as well as curiosity about how many people know about this. I had heard about a phenomenon where certain people swear that the Berenstain Bears were, at one point, the Berenstein Bears - people who swore they had books with that spelling. I am one of the people who did think, with a high degree of certainty that the -stein spelling was correct. I think there was one other thing too, but I can't remember what it was.

Anyway, I just did a Facebook quiz on Disney movie images and it referred to the Mandela effect, which I had not heard this called before, and at first I thought it was referencing mandalas and I was extremely confused. Apparently this collective false memory effect is called the Mandela Effect because one of the examples is people who think Nelson Mandela died in Prison long before he actually did die, not in prison (sorry, I tried to think of a way I could make that sentence even more awkward and just couldn't do it).

(Side note: This reminds me of a scene in, I think, this book by Jack Finney where (it was a long time ago, don't quote me) someone has done something to make time travelers forget that they are time travelers, but some people have residual memories and people are sitting around a table discussing the memories that are out of step with reality (somebody remembering the Titanic docking in New York, somebody remembering a sister they never had, somebody remembering a triangular stamp) and trying to figure out if any are real and what they mean. I find this kind of thought experiment delicious, which is probably why I'm the easiest of marks for time travel and alternate universe stories).

So after I did the quiz ("soundly bombed" would be more accurate, and the ones I did get right were because I chose the one I didn't think looked correct) I looked up the Mandela Effect and then found this list (40 Mandela Effect Examples That Will Blow Your Mind) and went through it, and thought I would put the results here. Feel free to chime in with any that strike a chord with you, or provide different examples.

1. Nelson Mandela's death in 2013 - this I remember properly. Some people think he died in prison in the 1980s.

2. Jif peanut butter - this I remember properly. Some people think there was a Jiffy peanut butter. I assume they're probably conflating Jif with Skippy.

3. It was Looney Tunes, not Looney Toons. I definitely thought it was Toons. I mean, why the hell WASN'T it?

4. It was The Berenstain Bears. I could have sworn it was the Berenstein Bears. When I started working in the kids' section at Chapters when we moved to Ottawa, I thought they had done a reissue with an inexplicably altered name.

5. Curious George never had a tail. I'm good with this one, the tail actually looks weird to me.

6. Sex and the City, not Sex IN the City. I was wrong for a while, but learned the right way before the series ended. Both ways kind of make sense to me, but I understand that New York played roughly as big a role as sex did in the series.

7. It's Febreze, not Febreeze. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I would have spelled it right if asked.

8. It's Oscar Mayer, not Oscar Meyer. I would have totally gotten this one wrong.

9. It's Skechers, not SkeTchers. I knew this one. When I think about it, both are equally nonsensical. Skechers isn't a real word, and sketchers doesn't apply readily to shoes.

10. It's Froot Loops, not Fruit Loops. Yup - obviously it's a stupid way to spell 'fruit', but the agreeable symmetry of the double Os makes it okay with me.

11. A portrait of Henry VIII that some people thought featured him holding a turkey leg when it didn't. I don't really have an opinion - Henry VIII with a turkey leg rings true to me, but I don't really remember this specific portrait.

12. Some people think the Monopoly Man had a monocle, but he doesn't. The theory is that he's being confused with Mr. Peanut which both rings true and opens up new levels of weirdness, maybe just because anthropomorphized nuts creep me out a little.

13. Pikachu's tail does not have black on it. I could not possibly care less. Forty things is a LOT, you guys.

14. KitKat has no hyphen. Now I want a non-hyphenated KitKat. Fortunately we still have dozens of them left over from Halloween.

15. The Fruit of the Loom logo does not have a cornucopia behind the fruit, as some people think it does. Both look right to me. The real question is why didn't they jump all over the opportunity to call them Froot of the Loom?

16. It's Cheez-It, not Cheez-Itz. This could be a conflation with Utz, a U.S. snack food brand. The first time we took Angus down to Elmira and went shopping at Target, we found Utz Baseball White Cheeseballs. They've never had them again and it is deeply disappointing every time.

17. It's Double Stuf Oreos, not Double Stuff. I think I knew this, and now that I examine it, I kind of love it - get it? It's double the stuff, but instead of doubling the Fs they took one off! I think it might be ironic!

18. The Mona Lisa - some people think she used to have a more obvious smile. I got nothin' - I always thought the whole point of La Giaconda WAS her tiny, enigmatic hint of a smile.

19. C-3PO has a silver leg SHUT THE FUCK UP IMPOSSIBLE YOU LIE

20. It's The Flintstones - some people think it was The Flinstones with only one T. That's dumb. Those people are dumb.

21. Chartreuse - some people think it's magenta pink, when it's actually a shade of green. In the list it shows a dark shade of green, when in my head it's a very light shade, sort of apple-y, lime-y, yellowy, so I am just thoroughly confused now, but this made me remember a Bloom County joke that went "what's feminine protection, a chartreuse flamethrower?", so that was enjoyable.

22. Forrest Gump said "Life was like a box of chocolates", not "Life is like a box of chocolates". Not gonna lie, I am shook by this one.

23. It's not "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall", it's "Magic Mirror on the wall". I would blame Disney for my confusion, but according to the first quiz I did it WAS the right way in Disney, so now I don't know WHAT to think, the ground is shifting, all is ashes.

24. Darth Vader apparently says "I am your father", without the Luke. I thought it was Luke, but I'm not a huge Star Wars fan, so I assume I've been swayed by the popularism of the wrong saying.

25. Before Gandalf falls he says "Fly, you fools!" not "Run, you fools!" I have no memory of either.

26. Upon meeting Clarice, Hannibal Lector doesn't say "Hello, Clarice", he just says "Good morning". Again, no memory of either one.

27. Freddie Mercury doesn't not say "....of the world" at the end of "We are the Champions". ........................................................*flips table*

28. Mr. Rogers theme song says "It's a beautiful day in THIS neighbourhood". Actually I guess it's actually "this neighborhood". Hmph.

29. There are 50 U.S. states - some people recall learning 51 or 52. Sign me up - I could have been swayed to say 52.

30. Sinbad never played a genie. (Shaquille O'Neal did). I would have believed this.

31. It's Smokey Bear, not Smokey the Bear. (WTF, it's Smokey with an E? I get a bonus WRONG THING)

32. In Tiananmen Square, "Tank Man" - some remember the tank running over him, some remember him moving away. This one is kind of grim - no one actually knows what happened to him.

33. Many people don't remember Neil Armstrong's death in 2012. I am one of these people.

34. Billy Graham's death in 2018. I thought he was still alive.

35. Mother Teresa was canonized in 2016 - many people "remember" it happening in the 90s when she was still alive.

36. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986 - some people think it happened in 1984 or 1985. Okay, this one is lame - how is that not just people not remembering exactly when something happened? That is my ENTIRE LIFE, bro.

37. The Lindbergh baby kidnapping - many people remember the case going cold, but the baby's body was found and the killer sentenced to death. I remembered this correctly. I even remember the name of the asshole that did it, but I will not put it here.

38. Some people remember Patrick Swayze recovering from pancreatic cancer. That would have been nice.

39. Some people remember Leonardo DiCaprio winning an Oscar long before he actually did in 2016, *shrug*

40. Some people remember the castle in Disney World's Magic Kingdom being at the entrance. I would have no idea if this was right (it's not) except there's a picture I love of Angus and Eve at about 6 and 4 years old walking hand in hand down the road towards the castle.

I have always prided myself on my memory and can often remember movie lines or conversations from years ago, but over the past few years I have been proven wrong a few times and it's less embarrassing than disturbing when you're SO SURE of something and then you can't actually convince yourself that a version of the movie was recorded where everything is the same but they changed the one single line that you remember just to screw with you.

There. That was more fun than I thought it would be.

Well, it's Friday

If it hasn't become apparent because you are less obsessed with the minutiae of my life than I like to imagine my loyal blog-readers are, I am indeed attempting to blog every day in November, although the official NaBloPoMo has, I believe, gone the way of the dodo. I have done it every year since my first year blogging, which I just now realized is exactly ten years ago, and it would feel wrong not to at least take a stab at it. I think I only missed a few days last year when we were in Mexico and I couldn't get anything to post, but my frustration was amply soothed by camel-riding, sailing and an abundance of passion fruit margaritas.

I always feel like I have ample draft ideas stored away for November, and then when I look for them they are either non-existent or not nearly as clever as I imagined when I jotted them down. So on days when I'm feeling uninspired, if Eve doesn't say something witty and bloggable and nothing cool happens I'm stuck casting around for material.

Oh! I do remember something funny Eve said, but it was a while ago - the first week of school, actually, when her schedule was still buggered and we were waiting to find out if she was going to have to biology, chemistry, physics and math all in one semester. I had bought a pack of purse tissues (wow, sometimes you say something and then realize how much it brings home how really not-young you are) with inspirational sayings on them (wow, sometimes you say something and then realize how much it brings home how really not-cool you are). One of them was "Seize the Day" and she hugged "HOW did they not make it "Sneeze the day", I swear, EVERYONE is letting me down today!"

We're having a low-key Friday night. I feel mostly fine but I react badly to sedation to I think I'm stil feeling slightly off-kilter from Tuesday. Eve has been sick all week and went back to school today. Her bus driver was an asshole on the way home and refused to stop at a bunch of scheduled stops and then when the doors closed automatically after some of a group had gotten off, wouldn't open them again so the rest of the kids could get off. She was fine, she's sixteen and knows her way around and has a cell phone, but it was petty and unsafe and she was understandably upset. The drama teacher had said she might post the cast list for the play tonight but didn't, and Eve is pretty sure she's not getting a part and wanted to be upset over the week-end instead of on Monday when, as she said, she'll feel like an asshole for being upset about not being in the play when it's Remembrance Day.

So I listened to her venting and then we got Five Guys and watched Veronica Mars. Matt got home from Lisbon and I was briefly glad, and then he got some fries and put ketchup and vinegar on them and started eating without turning the tv on and the sound of him chewing made me want to commit murder, so I asked him as politely as possible to turn the tv on, because murder is wrong and my irritation was probably misplaced.

Now I am going to walk on the treadmill very slowly for the third time this week, which is nothing momentous except it's the first time I have managed three times in a week in a very long time, and it's November, and eight blog posts and three treadmill walks is not nothing in any month but in November - I take it back, it actually does seem kind of momentous.

Surly Thursday - Could Be But It's Not

Sorry for the inside joke with myself. Eve's Junior Kindergarten teacher (also Angus's, we all adore her, Catherine M., may her name be praised) when it was time for the kids to get ready for home played an alphabet game where she'd hold up a card with a capital letter on it and the kids would figure out what name it stood for, and if there were multiple kids with that first letter to their name and they guessed wrong, she would say "could be, but it's not", and the child it was would go to their cubby and start getting their coat on etc.

Today was chill. No early band, no school for Eve because she's still sick, just a few errands to run and then a birthday dinner tonight. I went to the library, went to Indigo, went to see a friend who sells skin care products, then was shopping for pajama tank tops in Marks Work Wearhouse when my phone rang. It was my mom.

My mom is a wonderful woman who has given me more than I could possibly describe. She played with my kids with the energy of a teenaged babysitter hopped up on gummy bears and Diet Coke. She looks after my dog when I'm at work and takes her for longer walks than anyone else does. I love and appreciate her. And she is absolute shite in even the most miniscule of crises. Her ability to think critically, problem-solve and talk to anyone as if they are anything other than an idiot who is standing between her and perfect happiness goes straight out the window.

She asked if I was at home and I said no, which was obviously an affront. She barked that my dad was having a problem with the car and needed me to drive him... somewhere. I didn't bother asking for details, just said I would be there in fifteen minutes.

The only thing I had left to do was Starbucks, because Eve only asks for it about once a month and the holiday drinks came out today ("If you're going out and then, inevitably, coming home....?" she said hopefully and I was happy to oblige). I went back to Indigo because there had been no line twenty minutes before. There was now a line. A line with a woman at the front who had multiple questions about whether something was nutty or not, from what I could gather.

I finally got up to the counter and said "is the hot chocolate dairy free?" The girl said something that I just barely registered and then said 'lactose-free milk' so I said yes, (but also whipped cream, because she's lactose-intolerant but come on, whipped cream). I waited and waited and waited, taking deep breaths, and got the drinks. Just as I picked them up, I registered that what she had said was "the mocha powder has a bit of dairy in it". These were MOCHAS. I didn't WANT MOCHAS. I didn't ASK FOR MOCHAS, who the hell goes to Starbucks for COFFEE?? (oh wait)  But I also didn't catch it and say "oh no, I don't want mocha powder", so also my fault.

I wasn't getting back into the line and the crowd in the Indigo Starbucks was stressing me out, so I went to the car and drove home and the Starbucks drive-thru was blessedly empty, so I picked up a second hot chocolate for Eve, feeling like a bougie-ass loser, but whatever. I dropped it off at home and picked up my dad. It turns out the only problem was that the shuttle hadn't picked him up to pick up his car, so I dropped him off at the dealership ten minutes away and that was that.

So. Eve got her grande gingerbread white hot chocolate no-coffee, lactose-free milk, whipped cream, and my dad got his car, and I got my errands done (some of them twice!) and my mom never got adequately treated for her anxiety and it comes out like belligerence which sometimes I can roll with and sometimes I can't - today I could!

So Thursday went a tiny bit off the rails and yet Surliness Level = Zero.

Who is the Smartest Child in the World?

Someone named William James Sidis, according to Google. Enrolled in university at the age of 11. IQ of 250-300. Probably really fun at parties.

I went to the ceremony for awards for last year at Eve's school this morning. Eve wasn't feeling well but she dragged herself out early because the band plays before each grade's awards.

I always have trouble taking a decent picture at these things. I have no good excuse, except that she's like the third student and by the time she's up I haven't really seen many other people do their thing yet. The principal even told everybody to take their time because they've earned it, and they didn't need to rush across the stage or rush the picture-taking. I still only got two shots where she was still fixing her hair and trying to position the paper correctly. I was also trying not to block the student photographer who was taking everyone's picture - this was new this year, and maybe they got a better shot than I did, although no one's figured out how we're going to access those photographs yet.

After that it's just a long wait while a few hundred more students go across the stage. A few cute/funny moments - one kid, wearing a suit jacket, took the principal's instructions to heart and strolled across the stage like he had all the time in the world. There were two twin boys who both got honour roll, and one went across and off and then when the other was on the stage, the principal gestured for his brother to come back so the mom could take a picture of both of them. The brother hesitated and it was mayhem for a moment, and then everyone applauded until the first one came back. One girl scowled across the stage and then sneered at her poor mother who was trying to take her picture and it was hugely uncomfortable. Most kids were dressed pretty casually - one girl was wearing a short one-shouldered white knit dress and I felt uncomfortable for her but felt kind of disappointed in myself for feeling that way. One Asian girl was dressed like an animé character in a tiny yellow plaid skirt, yellow crop top and huge platform boots and I envied her confidence.

A girl named Rosie came up. She was in Eve's class many many years ago in elementary school - grade one or two - and it made me remember one day close to the beginning of school when I had picked up Eve and we ran into a group of girls and got all tangled up and I grabbed Eve's hand and circled her around Rosie and said "ring around the Rosie" and felt terribly clever, except it wasn't Rosie so then it was really embarrassing. This made me realize how strangely long I hold onto embarrassing memories, even when the embarrassment is slight and no one else would have remembered it five minutes later.

Eve wanted to come home with me because she was feeling miserable but she had her play audition scheduled for lunch which was a few minutes after her grade's awards, so I came home with the friend who drove me, walked Lucy quickly and went back to get Eve.

Eve says she doesn't really care about the crappy stage picture because she didn't even know the woman handing out the medals and certificates. We took a better photo when we got home. She's wearing ripped black jeans because she needed black bottoms for band and she didn't want to wear her skirt because she was auditioning for a male character (whoo-hoo, backwards Shakespearianism) and she only has black pants with rips in them.

She earned a ninety average last year while playing basketball and having a medium part in the school musical, which meant she was rehearsing five days a week for a good portion of her second semester, which was the more difficult one. I'm not going to say there weren't tears, but she got the job done. 
She's not the smartest kid in the world. But she'll do. 

Endoscopy Rundown Or Stomach of Darkness (The Horror! The Horror!)

I read until late, so I didn't sleep long because I had to be there early, but I slept straight through from when I fell asleep until I woke up to my alarm.

The drive was fine - we're always a little nervous having to do what we call "Escape from Barrhaven". Matt dropped me off at the main entrance and went to park. I asked at the information desk where to go and it was easy to find.

I checked in at the desk and got a bracelet. Matt found me a few minutes later, and then a woman came and asked the woman at the desk if she was in the right place for a colonoscopy and when the woman said yes she said "that's too bad", which reminded me of Swistle's endoscopy post. The other two guys in the waiting room for an older and younger guy, and the older guy was keeping busy by recounting every medical disaster that had happened to everyone he ever knew, even peripherally. Guy with an enlarged prostate - they set the laser too high and his intestines went septic and he ALMOST DIED. Laser eye surgery - ALMOST BLIND. Botched appendectomy - ALMOST DIED. For some reason I assumed he was the patient, but then the nurse came and called the younger guy back, which means he was the ride, which is even worse - how do you drive someone to the hospital for a procedure, no matter how benign, and pull that shit while they're waiting to go in?

A nurse came and took me back and gave me a robe to change into. I was there in January doing the same thing, and I swear I was trying to listen when she told me what to do, and I still couldn't figure out how to get it on properly, and I'm pretty sure I went through the whole thing with it on wrong. She asked me a bunch of questions and I was answering while trying not to blurt out my own questions about sedation. Swistle was unconscious for the procedure, while I had read that usually it is done under conscious sedation - I made sure to ask about this before hand for my myomectomy because of my weird phobia about general anesthetic, but for some reason I had decided to just go with the flow this time, and I was now sick with anxiety. My nurse left to answer the phone and I heard another nurse describing the procedure to the younger guy who was probably wondering if he was going to ALMOST DIE, and she said he would be awake but woozy, and I nearly burst into tears of relief.

My nurse came back and described the procedure and confirmed that it would be conscious sedation. She started an IV and then I was wheeled into another room. The doctor was a lovely, petite woman with a gray bob. She said I could actually try the procedure with no sedation and just try to concentrate on my breathing, so I said I would do that. That was a horrible mistake.

They sprayed some nasty stuff in the back of my throat to numb it. They put a sort of mouth guard thingy in to protect my teeth and the scope and then started feeding the tube through it. There is something desperately wrong about something being pushed down your throat that way. She had said I should concentrate on my breathing and could breathe through my nose, so I thought I would do that, but I hadn't realized how difficult it is to breathe through your nose when your mouth is still open. I tried to breathe deeply but my body was fighting it and I made a couple of horrible noises which the doctor seemed to find normal. I coughed a couple of times and she asked if I wanted some sedation and I made some sort of gesture that I hoped denoted HELL YES so the nurse injected something into my IV.

I actually didn't feel much better, but I started just trying to breathe as little as possible and the procedure is so short that I counted seconds and just hoped like hell that I could keep myself from flailing or screaming. And I could, and the tube being removed was one of the best feelings ever.

The doctor said I have a small hiatal hernia that explains the acid reflex. She had been looking for ulcers in my esophageal lining because I have low iron so often, and she said she found evidence of some, but they were healed. She took a biopsy for Barrett's esophagus but she said she would be surprised if it came back positive.

I went back to the recovery room for about twenty minutes, got dressed and we were headed back home less than an hour after my actual procedure time. I slept most of the afternoon and I feel tired and like I tried to deep throat an angry porcupine, but mostly deeply relieved that it's over.

(Dis) Orientation

I have an endoscopy on Tuesday morning. I've kind of been in denial, and when I cautiously let myself poke my head out of it, I was surprised to find that I'm nervous, but not brick wall nervous. Does anybody else have the brick wall? I mean, there's "I don't really feel like going to the gym today, but I"ll push through" and then there's "I want to go to the gym, but there's this brick wall". There was the time Matt was out of town and I had to take Eve to the Carleton University basketball game and I knew there was no way to get out of it but I was brick walling hard and I basically sobbed all afternoon and it was almost insurmountably hard (just getting there, of course, once I was there everything was basically fine, although none of the other parents talked to me because apparently I have some giant invisible-to-me writing on me that says NOT A VALID BASKETBALL MOM. And it seriously is basketball-specific, because I've never had this issue with baseball, volleyball or hockey. WTF, basketball parents? I am perfectly lovely. But I digress.)

Of course there is a tiny voice in my head alternately saying "this is good that we're doing this, they'll be able to figure out if something is wrong and treat it" and "well now you're letting them look so of COURSE they're going to find something terrible, you idiot". But I don't black out with fear at the thought of the process, even though some kind of sedation is possible.

I also have this weird map in my brain, although it's kind of like it's in my body because of how I feel when I try to go against it. The subdivision we live in is set up pretty well for driving in a square for groceries, drug store, gas, liquor store, library, dentist etc, so when I'm doing errands either from home or from one of my schools it's easy enough to drive in a square. Which is good, because I can't backtrack - and I really kind of mean "can't". If there's a set of errands that mean backtracking would result in less driving time, I might briefly consider it, but if I try to actually do it, I'm more likely to just skip the errand and go home. If I think "FINE, fine, you massive weirdo, we'll do it the longer way", then I can do it.

Similarly, when we go to the bar on Tuesday nights, it's in a grocery store plaza. Coming out to drive home, you can either turn left (away from home) and be almost immediately at the stoplight to the main street, or go right (towards home), and go over a few speed bumps past the grocery store to get to the main street. Most of us go the first way. I am utterly incapable of doing it, and if my husband is driving I ask him to go my way too, because it's almost physically painful to go the way my internal compass feels is correct. I haven't timed it, but I'm pretty sure I always come out to the second light before everyone who goes the other way, but that's a hundred percent NOT why I do it.

Feel free to chime in with any of your own quirks to make me feel like less of a freak. Or just exclaim vigorously at how very strange this is, and hint that maybe the basketball parents had a point, because dude, I KNOW.

Doing the Right Things for the Wrong Reasons

Scene: Our kitchen, 6:30 p.m. Matt is just home from a baseball meeting and picking up a few groceries. Eve is on the couch with her laptop working on her physics project. I am carrying garbage bags of clothes down for Diabetes to pick up tomorrow. Lucy is racing around with her purple dog because she's ecstatic that we're all in the same place.

Me: "I dismantled the clothing mountain in the closet and left twelve pairs of pants and about twenty shirts for you to go through".

Matt: "Okay."

 

Me: (gently) "...and I donated everything with a 32 waist."

Matt: "Ouch."

Me: "Don't feel bad. They were all very old."

Matt: "But I have to lose weight."

Me: "Ugggghhhhh, we've talked about this multiple times, our daughter is sitting right there, can we NOT with the 'I need to lose weight'?"

Him: "Okay. But the thing is, I need to lose weight."

Eve: "I forgot that Earth is not always the same distance from Mars when I was doing this question. Because spoiler alert you guys, the planets MOVE."

Me: "Diets don't work. If you're desperate to lose weight you're just going to do a bunch of stupid extreme stuff that won't work. You need to work on some healthier habits. You - we - need to exercise a little more and eat more vegetables."

Matt: "Yeah. So we can lose weight."

Me: *throws up hands in defeat*

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Scene: a couple hours earlier, up in our bedroom. I am watching a movie on Netflix and then remember that Diabetes is coming by tomorrow. I bag up a couple of stacks of clothes that are sitting on the bench on the hall and then since I'm just watching a movie anyway I decide to tackle the closet. I take down a mountain of clothing that Matt has stacked up until I can't see more than my top half in the full-length mirror.

I go through the clothes, bag up what is obviously to go and leave some for him to look at. I look at the gloriously clean and clear closet space and I think 

"Man, the cleaning lady is going to be SO PROUD of us when she comes next week". 

Let's Talk About Sleep Apnea!

Since Steph was good enough to ask her question (does air blowing into your mouth from the CPAP make you thirsty) in front of blog and everyone,  I figured I would answer it the same way (to be helpful to as many people as possible, of course, NOT because I am a whore for an easy post idea).

I was trying to find a subtle way to say that I feel like there's a slight misperception that only overweight people have sleep apnea without sounding defensive - I am certainly overweight at this point, but my sleep doc says I have a palate the size of the average eight-year-old and I've probably had obstructive sleep apnea since puberty. I did a bit of research and found an article from a neurology institute, the first sentence of which is "sleep apnea has long been thought of as a fat old man's disease" - guess they were less concerned with diplomacy. Apparently there's actually an increasing trend of women who are not overweight having sleep apnea. Regardless of that, though, skinny people can have sleep apnea and not all overweight people do.

Fun fact: lack of quality sleep both increases carb cravings AND SUGAR PRODUCTION. This means while that while my brain was deprived of oxygen night after night I might as well have been downing cinnamon buns, so the apnea probably caused at least part of the weight gain, rather than the other way around. Am I bitter? Only a little. (Only a little my fat over-sugar-producing sleep-deprived ASS)

Eve actually just got a referral for a sleep study, because people say she looks like me and my doctor said this might indicate that she has similarly small airways (sorry for passing on crippling anxiety and malformed airways, Sweetie).

To answer the question about the mask, air shouldn't actually be blowing into your mouth. There are some masks that cover both the nose and mouth, but mine are actually called nasal pillows and just fit in the nostrils. If the CPAP is working properly, you should be able to breathe exclusively through your nose. In fact, I find that I am thirsty in the morning the nights when I don't wear the mask, especially if alcohol was involved. When I was pregnant and the apnea was at absolute peak - I'm talking scaring small children three houses away - my tongue would feel like a dry stick rattling around in a stony cave in the morning.

Not gonna lie, it was difficult getting used to sleeping with the mask. My nose is tiny, that's part of the whole problem, and the masks aren't custom made, but extra-small works fairly well. When you first start, it feels like someone is aiming a turbo vacuum cleaner on reverse mode up both nostrils into your brain, which is not exactly conducive to a peaceful slide into dreamland. I would try to regular my breathing to a three-count in and a three-count out. I should have kept a diary or something, but I really don't feel like it took that long before I was used to it. You get used to the air pressure to the point where it feels like nothing. The fact that there's something stuck to your face is also an adjustment, but that gets better too. I find that as long as I lie down on my back for a few minutes, I can then turn and sleep on my side easily enough. The machine makes a noise, but it's more white noise than anything - Matt says he can't tell if it's on or not if he comes into the room after I've gone to bed.

So if you snore a lot, if your mouth is dry in the morning, if you sleep long enough but always feel tired, definitely ask your doctor about a sleep study. It's desperately awkward and not at all restful, but sleep apnea can cause a lot of health issues in addition to the fact that it just sucks to never be able to sleep without multiple breathing disturbances per hour. It's pretty routine for me now to put it on before I go to sleep, although I do have trouble wearing it all night - I try for at least five hours, but then I often get up to pee and don't put it back on. I'm trying to improve that.

Of course I did sort of hope that starting to use the CPAP would automatically make me a chipper morning person and I would lose thirty pounds. That hasn't happened. But I don't wake my husband up sounding like I'm dying several times a night anymore, and that's a nice thing. I'd like to think my brain is grateful.