BUT that said, I've started my Christmas shopping already. Mostly, I'm doing it because I get extreme anxiety when it comes to being in crowded places with jolly, cinnamon-scented people hell-bent on getting the same item I'm hell-bent on getting while Bing Crosby plays in the background. I love Black Friday in the States though. I think it's the absence of cinnamon that makes that shopping-holiday ok. Just a thought.
Right, so I started sussing out my various Christmas gifts. In fact, I got a phone call yesterday from my sister, who lives near the Center Of The Universe, aka Toronto.
She said, "Hi, Beth?"
Me: Yeah? Is everything ok? It's 8am.
She: Yeah. You're looking for the (I'm not going to name or describe the item I want to get for Husband because I don't want you to scoop up the very few remaining in the world, Swiper!), right?
Me: Yes. Shh! Someone could hear you!
She: Well, I think I have a lead on one.
Me: (drops the phone in excitement) WHAT?
She: Well, (hushed tone) I have a friend who collects them, and I was asking where he might recommend to go find the one you want, and he said he had one he was willing to part with.
Me: WHAT?
She: But he's going out of town for like, two months.
Me: Whaaa?
She: He's a photographer and he's leaving Thursday morning for South Africa.
Me: WHAT?
(at this point, Husband is now out of the shower and can hear my end of the conversation, which is essentially terse whisper-screams of "what" over and over. He is wondering what is going on, so I have to distract him. I start shooing him toward the kitchen and motion for Kiddo #1 to kick up a fuss and take up all his attention. Have I mentioned I am a freaking SUPERSTAR at Charades? Well, I am. And it works.)
She: I can have the two of you meet up tomorrow morning, if you can get here. Can you do that?
Me: WHAT?
She: And he doesn't like kids. You can't bring Kiddo #2 with you, or he won't consider meeting you anywhere.
Me: WHAT?
She: I know. It's weird. But you know how photographers can be.
Me: What?
She: Well, I don't know. I guess he's the only one I know like that. Good point. Can you do it or not?
Me: What? WHAT? Uh. Yes. I'll do what it takes. Holy crap! This is a miracle!
She: Ok. I'll arrange for you two to meet at the Starbucks around the corner from my office at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Love ya, Sister!
Me: Love you too!
I hung up, elated that I could have so easily found the totally EPIC Christmas present I really want to get for Husband! What are the odds that just putting ideas out there and (secretly) asking for help would get me such quick, amazing results! I think this must be why people pray, and use Craigslist/kijiji. I think I might start doing both. Today.
Speaking of prayer, though, I now had to figure out what to do with Kiddo #2.
And, after Kiddo #1 finished distracting Daddy, I noticed she looked oddly zombie-esque. Not so much with an incessant need for brains, but more that she was pale, hot and really irritating. Scratch that-- she wasn't looking like a zombie; that's clearly closer to a Cullen. Whatever, you get the point. Her being ill could seriously cramp my need to be 3 hours away and childless tomorrow. Hmm.
Ok. So I called my first line of defense: The Grandmothers. Neither one was available, however. Something I don't think I will understand until I, myself, am retired (which means I should probably get working so I can get retiring but, whatever) is how a retired person, a person without employment, can possibly NOT HAVE FREE TIME. Baffling. But whatever. It doesn't matter what the reason is, neither one was available until the afternoon tomorrow, and probably I'd be back by then. Unhelpful.
Equally unhelpful is The Reason I needed someone to watch Kiddo #2-- I couldn't tell anyone what I was hoping to procure in my visit to Toronto, lest they (successfully) are able to drop everything and get the item I want, instead of me. But FRICK! Without some lame excuse, no one would be willing to watch my kiddo, right? An Emergency is one thing-- but we all know how things turned out for Baby in "Dirty Dancing"-- you don't just ask for $500 for something you can't tell your Dad about, because you'll end up having to get your Dad's help to fix the thing you thought you thought you were fixing in the first place. No bueno.
But then, I remembered that Girlfriends are Mother Nature's version of a Firefighter, Police Officer and Ambulance Driver all in one-- Good Girlfriends ARE your one-stop emergency destination.
Me: Hi. Uh, I'm not bleeding, but I have an emergency. Can you watch Kiddo #2 tomorrow morning, until say, noonish?"
Girlfriend: Yep.
Me: (pause) That's it? I don't have to tell you why?
Girlfriend: Nope. What time will he arrive?
Me: (pause) Seriously? I feel like I'm wasting this a little...
So, once I had details for tomorrow nailed down, I needed something do to to keep from screaming my secret at the top of my lungs. I'm kinda a crappy secret keeper. It was good when I lived in Colorado because when I had a secret to keep from a friend in Canada, I could then tell everyone in the blessed state of Colorado knowing it would never get back. I just get excited.
Anyway, so while the school day passed with Cullen #1 learning things, Kiddo #2 and I walked around the city looking smug and singing "I know something you don't know!" to complete strangers. One guy got really pale after I said that and he started to sweat a little. Weird.
After I sang it to a pregnant lady, she demanded I tell her what the sex of her unborn baby was (I picked girl and boy, since she looked huge. Then she said she wasn't having twins. So then I said, again, "I know something you don't know!" and she also went pale and ran to the Dr's office across the street.).
Then I saw Jennifer Love Hewitt.
That. Was. Awkward.
Anyway, after dinner, I told Husband the 982 things that the kids do before bed, reminded Kiddo #1 that she couldn't be sick tomorrow morning because I won't be home and kissed them all and drove off into the dark night to my sister's.
There's nothing like a white-knuckle drive down the 401 at night to make you really appreciate life.
I mean, really, really appreciate life. It pissed rain the entire way there, through construction which left the highway randomly cone-filled, closed in sections, shiny, slick and un-painted. Oh and my wipers are crap. I don't know if they give tickets for having windshield wipers that essentially don't work, but they should, and I should have a major fine.
So, I white knuckled it to my sister's house singing Jay-Z, Kanye, Eminem and Garfunkel and Oates the entire way. Don't pretend you don't have a "Mom" playlist full of all the stuff you're not supposed to let your kids hear or even know you have. You do. And if you really, actually don't, ease into it with Garfunkel and Oates. It's the daughters of Art Garfunkel and Darrel Oates (like, with different moms? Do I need to write this or do you get it and are now irritated that I felt the need to clarify that two men didn't somehow breed and have singing daughters?). They're hysterical. And completely kid inapprop. (They're on iTunes and worth the pennies. I promise.)
Just as my forearm was beginning to ache from the Nunchuk Grip I had on the steering wheel, I arrived at Sister's house. We did the classic laugh about random stuff that if I re-wrote would sound stupid and totally un-funny, but was hilarious at the time. She went through the protocol when dealing with this photographer (how she met him is a mystery since he's weird enough to be someone that I know, but whatever. Her friends are usually more normal is all). And, after stressing a bit about getting downtown in the morning commuter traffic, I got up the next morning, got out the door and (more importantly) got my gift for Husband!
And, I still can't tell you what it is because what if he reads this and finds out before Christmas? Or what if he doesn't read it, but one of you runs into him and congratulates him on getting the vintage, MINT, [secret thing that is so awesome you would freak the frick out if you read it here]?
So, you'll have to wait, like Husband, to find out what he's getting.
Oh forget it. I can't keep a secret!! I'm the worst! Promise not to tell Husband, but I'm getting him a
...
Dang. Sorry about that. I pressed the Publish button prematurely. :( Sorry. Maybe next time.
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