What It's Like to have Camel Toe

It was Funky Sock day yesterday.  It was the day when you were supposed to wear bright and crazy socks to draw attention to World Down Syndrome day.  And, in case you missed the boat, World Down Syndrome Day is day to celebrate all the amazing individuals who are thriving and making our lives better by having an extra chromosome.

So, of course, I forgot to buy my long funky socks.  I couldn't find my Color Run socks, which are bright, funky and long. But at 5:30 in the morning, I also didn't do a super-thorough reconnaissance mission.

I possibly threw them out from being stretched from my enormous porkchops, er I mean, calves.  My calves are genetically larger than most. Everyone in my family's calves are like this, and subsequently our tube socks start like a tube and end up looking like a tuba after just a few wears.  The good news is I could tiptoe up the Great Wall of China.  The bad news is, I can only wear ankle socks.

Anyway, I couldn't find my Color Run socks, and I only have ankle socks, and even those are glaringly white and un-funky.  So I did what any normal parent would do on Funky Sock day at 5:40 in the morning: I raided my daughter's sock drawer.

I'm sure I don't need to remind you that my daughter is 6 years old and is no where near the same size in feet as my size 10.5s.  But I truly figured I could take like, 3 pairs of her socks, cut out the toes and then sew them together...

Yeah.  That didn't happen, either. I found a pair from Ardene (which is Canadian for Claire's) that were supposed to be for women, but after one wash would be for kids, and squeezed my foot into them, Cinderella's-Step-Sister style.

But, since I have huge feet, these socks that normally would go up mid-calf only (barely) reached my ankle.  Not to be deterred, I decided I'd have to show off my socks by wearing my flip flops.

Oh yes, I was showing love for World Down Syndrome day come hell or high water.

I jammed my cramped foot into my sandals, smooshing the toe-thing between my sock-wearing, already constricted toes, and decided to suck it up. All my students wondered why I was wearing socks with sandals; my colleagues wondered why I was limping around like a geisha.

But I did it! I wore the shit outta those funky socks.  And when I was making the rounds on my indoor lunch duty, one of the grade 7 girls looked down at my feet and then up at me.  Then she said, "Ms Sunny, you have camel-toe."

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I didn't know whether to check my pants or just pretend it never happened.  I looked at her face for a clue -- was she being sincere? Or was she mocking me?

It was sincere.

I stopped and looked at her.  Then I glanced from side to side.  "Sorry?" I asked.  She said, without missing a beat, "You've got camel toe!"  and her friend beside her smacked her arm and said, "Shh! That's not what it's called!"  And I said, "Um, I do not think you  mean what you're saying."  And she then realized what she'd said and turned bright red.  Gesturing wildly at my feet, she said "No! NO! I mean your feet look like camel toe. I mean, you have camel toe on your feet. I mean your sandals and socks look like..."

And the two girls dissolved into giggles.  I smiled awkwardly and left the room.

The next three trips up and down the hallway into different classrooms ended in that Grade 7 room with the three of us working really hard not to make eye-contact.  I confiscated a giant green ball, a soccer ball, sent another kid to the office with a bloody nose, and two other kids to the office to call home for clean jeans, but all the while I was secretly giggling and shaking my head.

I told the kids to settle down and that recess was almost upon them.  I walked a last time to the Grade 7 room where Camel-Toe-Clarissa asked me, this time, why I had two big balls.

I giggled, got my composure, and said "Clarissa, I think we need to just not talk to each other today."

Olympic Volleyball Spikes Again

This isn't Husband's team, but I'm sure this is how he sees it.

Thursday nights has been dubbed Olympic Volleyball Night at our house.

Husband signed up to play on a rec league at the YMCA a couple of years ago. He plays in the non-competitive, men's league.  If,therefore, you hypothesized that it would not be any big deal for him to attend you would be mistaken.
As a Human Being, I admire his line in the sand: this is the one thing he does for himself, and he absolutely will not miss it. Will. Not. Miss. It.

As a Wife? Oh, that shit pisses me off often.  At least once a month, in fact.

We had tickets to The Nutcracker at Christmas. It's our annual tradition.  It fell on a Thursday.  Guess where he went? Yep. Olympic Volleyball.
His birthday was a Thursday? Olympic Volleyball.
Kids are sick? Olympic Volleyball.
We have a scheduling conflict? I get a sitter, he goes to Olympic Volleyball and I do whatever I'm supposed to do.

I have already completed this glue project.
I am on to bigger and better shit to glue on other shit.

I'm  not trying to make him out to be some bastard.  I truly think it's awesome that he will not miss his "Me Time" pursuit.  Sometimes it just pisses me off.

Anyway, this week Thursday arrived and there was nothing on the agenda. Nothing. And, frankly, I was kinda looking forward to the quiet time while Husband was out and the kids were in bed. I had glorious ideas for passing the time by gluing shit to other shit, and using markers to write Pinterest mottos on said glued-shit. In other words I was gonna get down with my craft self.

Knowing Kiddo #2 would piss around for anywhere from 1-4 hours after bedtime, however, I took a preemptive strike.  I put Kiddo #1 to bed (she falls asleep like TV kids) and sauntered to the kitchen where Kiddo #2 was free-range eating bread and butter.

Me:  It's time for bed. Stop with the carb load and hit the dusty trail.
Kiddo #2: But I can't go to bed. I'm hungry.
Me: You had dinner, and I see you're eating now. You'll be fine.
Kiddo #2: Also, I'm thirsty.  Can I have some apple juice?
Me: No. You can have a shot of water.

(Yes, we give our kids shot glasses with water in them before bedtime to trick them into thinking they're having a whole drink.  Yes, I'm aware how bad that looks from the window. But, I figure he'll be able to pay for his Harvard education by taking drinking bets once he's of legal age.  Yes, I am aware of how truly clever I am, but go ahead and tell me anyways.)

Husband came into the kitchen while Kiddo #2 was licking the salt off his wrist and sucking a lemon.  Husband, in his knee pads and league shirt, kissed us both good-bye and headed off to Olympic Volleyball.  "My game is at 8:45 tonight, so I won't be home until late. Love you!" he cheerfully called without so much as a look backwards as he left.  

I gave Kiddo #2 the usual pep talk about "go to bed" and "I'll take Poochie" and "only get up if you have to pee, and remember to flush the toilet" and all that shit.  I walked Kiddo #2 to his room, watched him climb up to his top bunk, kissed him, hugged him and left.  I shut the door and sat outside his room playing Flappy Bird (and swearing, because that game is stupidly impossible).  I hunkered down for the long night when I suddenly remembered that I wanted to do some art journalling.  Panicked, I looked side to side rapidly for some sort of problem solver.  I looked for knockout gas, I looked for a magical button which speeds up time so that we could forgo all the bullshit and just get to the part where he's sleeping...  Nothing! How could I possibly get gluing if I still had at least an hour of putting him to keeping him in bed?

I heard the toilet flush and got up.  I opened the door and he's in the adjoining bathroom splashing water all over the counter.  I knit my eyebrows together and we sop up the water.  I say some crabby-sounding words and usher him to bed.

Me: Mean sounding words!  Crabby-crab-crab!  Empty threats and nonsense!  Kids in Africa!

This is what I'm sure Kiddo #2 hears when I talk.

That's when I remember that Einstein said something about being insane if you keep doing the same stuff and expect something different.  Or it was a different Ninja Turtle? Maybe the purple one?  Anyway, I have this epiphany and realize I could just lay down beside him.  I could just climb up to the top bunk and lay right down there thus ensuring the little crapper stays in his bed!

So, I did!  I walked right up that ladder, told him to move over and laid down.  I can tell he's confused, because he says "Mom, why are you in my bed?"

Me: Because you need some help getting to sleep tonight.
Kiddo #2: Plus I missed you.  Did you miss me?
Me:  Yes. Every minute of every day.
Kiddo #2:  Poochie's birthday is tomorrow.  Did you make him a cake?
Me:  No. I didn't know it is his birthday.
Kiddo #2: Well, it is. He misses his Dog Mom a lot. Like, he was telling me at naps today.
Me:  Oh. That's sad.  But he lives here now, so you take care of him, so he has lots of love.
Kiddo#2:  Our toilets are pretty big.
Me:  Yes.
Kiddo #2:  They're not as big as the ones at the pool.
Me: No.  But it's time to quit talking.
Kiddo #2:  But the pool toilets aren't as big as my penis.
Me: I. Uh. Sorry?
Kiddo #2:  The pool toilets are big, but my penis is bigger.
Me:  It's time to sleep.
Kiddo #2:  Miss Jenn says nobody wants to see my penis, so I need to put it away.
Me:  Yes. You shouldn't walk around with your penis out.
Kiddo #2:  That's what Miss Jenn says, too.

And just as I do when Husband starts talking about his penis, I rolled over and pretended to be sleeping.

But, I forgot I just got a new tattoo on my shoulder, and since it's new, Kiddo #2 is fascinated with it.  So, as I lay there wide awake, listening him breathe, his little fingers started tracing the (now healed) outline.  And while I listened to him breathing long breaths, tracing my tattoo lightly with his digits, I started to feel my eyelids closing.  And as I heard him do that long exhale that signals slumber, I heard myself doing it, too, and my previously wide-awake self began snoring softly with him.

The next morning, I woke up with Kiddo #2 still beside me, albeit with his elbow in my ear and his foot in my abdomen.  Sure, I fell asleep wearing jeans and can't quite move my hips at all because of the yoga position I slept in.  And I didn't get to glue anything to anything else.  But, Kiddo #2 stayed in bed all night!

My little plan worked!

Haha!

I'd finally solved the riddle of how to get Kiddo #2 to sleep!

Wahoo!

Huzzah!

I. Am. The. Champion. Of. The World!

As I ate my breakfast, however, I had an email waiting for me.

It went like this:

To:  Elizabeth
From: Husband
Subject: It appears Kiddo #2 has won...

When I got home from Olympic Volleyball at 10:20, this is what I found in the living room:

And this is where you were: 

Love, 

Husband

Gaaaaah.  Dammit Volleyball!