To Hear or Not To Hear: That is the Question, Hamlet.

Husband returned from work for lunch today. Strolling in with a smirk on his face, I asked him how his morning went.

Husband: It was good. So, I had my hearing tested today.

Husband's got this hole in his ear drum from excessive ear infections/tubes/grafts/damage to his ear between the ages of say, birth to say, yesterday. He is also mostly deaf in one ear as a result. This deafness, by the way, drives me to DRINK. If he's looking ahead and his left ear is facing me, he hears NOTHING I say. Nothing.  I thought maybe it was like I was under water, or like Charlie Brown's teacher, but he assures me he hears nothing if that left ear is facing me.

Rather, he can hear me if I whisper "Want to have sex?" without moving my mouth or even looking at him, but he cannot seem to hear me when I say things like, "Hey, can you load and unload the disher?" or "Will you make Kiddo #1's lunch for tomorrow?" or "Honey, I lost our St. Bernard in the grass-- can you possibly cut the lawn today?"

At some point this summer, he was standing outside at Kiddo#1's soccer game on a particularly windy morning and ended up with a doozy of an ear infection that lasted almost a month and blah blah blah. Poor Husband.

So, after finally getting that all cleared up, he was referred to an Ear, Nose and Throat Doc to make sure the damage wasn't permanent or worse than it already was.

And today was the day that he went for his hearing test.

Husband: It was good. So, I had my hearing test today.
Me: Oh?
Husband: I can hear just fine.  In fact, the hearing tester person said that I had "better than average hearing."
Me: (silence)
Husband: (now preparing his lunch with his back to me) Literally, my hearing was so good that I was sitting in the chair and I could not only hear the tones, but also when other people were walking down the hallway outside the test room.
Me: (silence)
Husband: I'm not gonna brag, but I can hear better than some dogs. They tested my high-end and low-end sound recognition, and KER-POW, knocked that one right outta the park.

I know you know what I was busy loudly thinking while he blathered on about his ability to hear. I know you understand what I was thinking, because at around this same point, Husband figured it out, too.

While I just stood there, staring at him with a smirk on my face and nodding supportively, watching him "ker-pow" an invisible baseball out of the park, Husband suddenly stopped talking, looked me in the eyes and realized his folly.

Husband: Um. So. I. Uh.
Me: Yep.
Husband: And, uh, it's, I mean, the test results aren't, like, I mean, they'll type them up.
Me: Uh-huh.
Husband: Like, so once we get the final numbers, uh...
Me: Yes. Yes. We will finally know for certain just how much you can hear and how much you... cannot.
Husband: Actually, there was a lot of wind just getting back into the car.
Me: Oh?
Husband: Yes. And then on the way home, um, someone in the car next to mine fired off a cannon.
Me: Oh?
Husband: There's no winning here.
Me: Probably not.
Husband: Is that the baby crying?
Me: I would have no idea, your hearing is much better than mine.
Husband: (loud, sad exhale) Yes. It would appear so.

Terry Fox Is a Good Person

I was mad at Terry Fox last week.

See, I was supposed to go for my first big, 20-minutes-in-a-row, run and low and behold the Terry Fox Run was going on in MY park, the park where I run.

Sulking, I returned home.

Me: I can't run today.
Hubby: Why not?
Me: Because like, there's a real run going on in the park.
Hubby: Can't you blend in?
Me: Just don't joke. I can't run and it's because real runners are running in MY park.
Hubby: Then go for a run in the world.
Me: Don't toy with my emotions. I'm not there yet.

Off to the basement I sulked. I don't even think there's a better word for what I did, which is why I used it twice in the opening of this bloggy. Lip out, sighing heavily and feeling very sorry for myself, I went down to the basement and began cleaning the toy room.

From the basement I heard Kiddo #1 ask "Where's Mommy?"  When Husband replied to my whereabouts, I heard the gentle, excited jump of her feet while she bounced "That means there's a play date coming! I'm gonna go clean my room!"

Welcome to Real House: you know we're friends when  that's what you see when you arrive. Fake House, as dubbed by my brother, is the way your house looks for holidays, photo shoots and strangers. Real House is the everyday way you live.

Then I started to really be mad at Terry Fox. I mean, here was is this guy who is a Canadian Icon, running for Cancer research, running after he lost his leg, and the running no matter what and then dying because he was running and it spread to his lungs, and HE is the one keeping ME from running (not for Cancer research, no, I run so that I can pretend that my house is clean while I'm gone).

And worst of all, I now have to do the cleaning that I run to avoid doing, because I can't run.

GAH.

I'm a bad person.

Is it Coincidence that loose change sounds like Jingle Bells?

No sooner had I put the children to bed did Husband make his triumphant return from his 4-Day business trip to Chicago. I was busy unloading and loading the disher and medium-quietly dancing around the kitchen to the music on my Ipod. I have music going the way most people have a TV on. Thing is, I can't have a TV on or I get Zombified for days on end without showering, eating or doing anything productive.

So, I'm dancing around the kitchen, unloading and reloading the disher (quit wondering what that is-- it's the dishwasher. You call the clothes washing machine the "washer" so why not the dish washing machine the "disher?")  when Husband triumphantly returns. He hangs up his keys and comes in for a nice kiss when he stops abruptly and recoils in horror.

Probably I should mention that I don't usually shower when he leaves town. I figure a) what single parent has time to frickin' shower (also if you are a single parent, and currently have showered in the last, say week, you have MAD PROPS from this lady) and b) if The Mob shows up at the front door while Husband is away, the stench of my unwashed self should make them flee in terror. I also think this would save me from ninjas and The Killers (real killers, not the band, and also not The Band. Sigh.) but I don't think the funk would save me from Zombies. Random.

Husband recoils and I smile-cringe and tell him I'll just be right back and he stops me. 

Husband: Um. Yes. So, uh, how long was I gone for?

Me: You shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition.

Husband: You shouldn't answer a question with a grammar hint.  So. For how long was I gone?

Me: Clearly long enough that I should've broken down and showered.

Husband: What? Oh. Well, I'm kinda used to that. No, I mean, what the frick are you playing?

Me: Wha?

And then I giggle. Oh. Yes. I get it now. I'm not so disgustingly stinky that he can't kiss me; I'm playing Christmas music and it's September 11th. That's a new one, even for me.

I look into his eyes and say, "Well, honey, I thought it was appropriate."

He manages to catch his jaw before it clanks on the floor. (<-- this is the universal look of utmost shock and disbelief.  In case you've never seen it before because your Husband or significant people in your life aren't complete DRAMA QUEENS, I thought I should point this out.)

Husband: Care to explain?

Me: Well....  you've been gone a really long time...

Husband: Seriously? 4 days?

Me: Well, it's like, you were gone a long time and like, I was all by myself.

Husband: Wow. Does Invisible Children know about me yet?

Me: What? No. Geez. You're such a Drama Queen.

Husband: I learned from the best.

Me: So, anyway, I was here by myself and my phone died. Like, it said "No Sim."

Husband: Right. Get to the Christmas music, Ernie.

Me: Well, so today I HAD to go out and get a new phone because we don't have a land line, and what if Kiddo #1's school called and she'd been in a ninja fight?

Husband:  (silence)

Me: ... And, see, before then, I had to get this ice cream maker.

Husband: (stunned silence)

Me: ... Cuz it was on sale and now that we're doing the Whole-Foods, Plant-Based eating thing, you deserve to have ice cream.

Husband: (every beat of his heart looks like a dollar sign pulsing on his forehead. It's kinda creepy.)

Me: And, with the whole-foods thing, like, my old food processor was good, but it was really loud and wouldn't really grind up the dates or the chickpeas...

Husband: (a weird sound like a Zombie trying to push out a difficult poop is coming from his throat)

Me: ...plus it's Kiddo #2's birthday this weekend, so I got him a bike.   

Husband: (sitting at the table) Is there any ice cream ready? I need to drown my sorrows.

Me: Uh. Well, uh, no. I mean, there WAS ice cream. The kids and I ate it after dinner. It was really good, actually. 

Husband: Of course.

Me: Well, we were celebrating because Kiddo #1 got her ears pierced tonight!

Husband: Whaaa--what?

Me: Remember how like, 100 years ago Kiddo #1 said she wanted to pierce her ears? Well, last night she remembered and so I took her to the jewellery store and she picked out her very first diamond studs! 

Did you know that a grown man who is fully passed out weighs a lot more than you'd figure?

As I waved the smelling salts under his nose to revive him, I smiled, he smiled and I whispered, "Don't worry honey, Kiddo #2's earrings aren't real diamonds. And, also, I haven't put the tree up yet."  

Weeping with unabashed joy, Husband swooped in for that kiss he owed me.  "Am I still kinda out of it? Cuz you smell a lot better."  (I don't have the heart to tell him he's been out cold for almost 3 hours, which is about how long it takes to both shower and shave after so many days of neglect.)  

I smile and kiss him back. 

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a happy back to school time. 

  

 

Trifecta Wagering Is Open

It’s that time of year again: I’ve been researching various mimosa and sangria recipes in hopes of finding the perfect concoction for the first day of school. It’s not that I’m not going to miss Little Miss, but every day of summer vacation reminds me why teachers need summer vacation. 

I’m freaking out a little lot though.

Is it just me or do the back-to-school lists look something like this:

1 white eraser

1 pencil case

1 pair of indoor sneakers

2 live monarch butterflies

5 duotangs- 1 red, 2 orange, 1 yellow and 1 purple

1 unicorn eyelash

4 pencils

A package of spoons

Not to mention the clothes shopping.

Until I had children, I had never pondered why bugs in the Rainforest are 9 feet tall.  Now that I’ve survived my first summer with a school-aged child, I realize those bugs are huge because The Rainforest is hot and humid, with lots of sunshine, 365 days a year. If our kids lived there, trust me, we’d all have basketball stars and models;  two months of Chatham heat and humidity and my daughter went from “mostly tall” to “Amazonian.” 

Nope, sorry giant kid. You won't even fit on the Magic School Bus. 

You'd think after all that growing, that my issues catching the bus would be no more-- perhaps this would be the year that Kiddo #1 no longer has to catch the bus because she's too tall to even fit inside.

As luck would have it, this is not that year.

Like any good horse racer, I checked out the leader board and the racing program before betting on our first day success-potential. 

Kiddo Numba Won

Class: Kindergarten Claimer

Kiddo Numba Won, according to the program, is using Blinders for the first time this race. This is a good thing to know because there is a real potential for her not to get distracted by toys, games, or really anything between brushing her teeth and eating her breakfast. To the average race reader, this might not be critical, but I know my horse. Er, my daughter. She will definitely have a significantly higher chance of catching the bus if there's no way to distract her from her course. Unfortunately for her, however, there have been no driver or trainer changes-- meaning I'm here and not going anywhere.  I'm both driver and trainer and I am clearly doing something wrong. Kiddo Numba Won is able to catch the bus when her father is here as driver and unable when I am; odds are she's pooched before the call to post simply because we didn't modify the driver. Drat.

Checking the race stats for Kiddo Numba Won, she didn't catch the bus in her last three starts.  In fact, she didn't even come close. It was like she thought every day of the week was Saturday, judging from her times posted. Yet, there's something worth noting on the program here-- on 2 of her 4 starts, she was the favourite to catch that bus and yet still didn't. The addition of Blinders could be the thing she needs to finally win the Race. 

Bookbag and other equipment are on and ready to go. I'm dressed, Milo's dressed and we're all ready except for shoes. This is awesome. This is amazing! This is the way to start a New Year!  Kiddo Numba Won looks at me and says "Momma, my chest is tight."  I say, "Get your shoes on, we've got 12 minutes until the bus."  She says, "Momma (horrific cough) my chest hurts (disgusting cough) when I do that. Oooh."  I say, "Well, it wouldn't hurt so much if you had your shoes on." 

That's when I realize I have to scratch her.  To non-horse folks: I didn't sharpen my claws and go at my daughter à la Wolverine-- when you "scratch" a horse it means you pull her from the race before she even goes on the track. 

It sucks for the Momma because I still have to get her to school whether Kiddo Numba Won catch the bus or not. But it only semi-sucks for the Momma today, because it's the first day of school and I was going to put her on the bus and race over to the school, anyway, so that I could walk her to the yard and see who her teacher is.

Scratched and happy, we toot on over to the school with our unicorn eyelash and various other school supplies. I find last year's teacher and feel sad that we won't have her again this year.  But, sensing my apprehension, new teacher arrived on the scene and said "Oh! Kiddo #1, you look very lovely today. I like your skirt very much."  

For the win.