Archive | February 2011

Was I waiting for the packing elves?

I have to make this a quick one – the Precious is up and getting cranky waiting for me to finish my coffee.  (I endeavour always to get up before him and have a cup of coffee, but it’s like he smells it and wakes up.)  It occurred to me last night at 2:30 am that we are moving and I have done precious little to get ready.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I went out with a couple of friends (at the behest of a email from a male friend) to “surprise” his Aussie girlfriend with an impromptu birthday celebration.  She was with an out of town friend in a hip restaurant in the entertainment district, and we 3 gals snuck in and hid by the bar (drink, drink) while they finished dinner, and then surprised her with the birthday song and proceeded to drink, drink, drink  into the wee hours!

That of course led to a very hung over old lady on Sunday who did absolutely nothing other than eat breakfast at a diner cause she was too darned dehydrated to do anything else but sit and be annoyed by DH.  No visit to mum, no nearby forays to Whole Paycheque to get organic milk, nothing!  Our Buddhist discussion meeting was cancelled because the weather was awful (it snowed like crazy the day before) and so I sat my dehydrated ass on the couch and watched the Oscars.  (By the way, where where the black people?  I saw Oprah and Halle Berry – that’s it. Just saying.)

I work tomorrow night, MIL is coming over to help out, and I have not packed nearly enough.

Oh, boy.

Boxes and Dust – part 2

As I was going through one of my drawers, I came across my mum’s expired passport and a couple of photos of her in better days.  She looked so young.  The mother I knew when I was growing up.  Rings I’m holding on for her.  It made me a little sad.  A side effect of going through stuff, I’m afraid. And then I found an email I had printed out from my husband about 4 years ago.  Life was pretty crappy for me at that point, so I hated to be reminded that things were ever that bad.    Yet I’m also glad  – keeps me from complaining too much in the present.  I see all the stuff I’ve been hanging on to.  Bits and pieces of things – like shoe strings, buttons, ticket stubs, play programmes, love notes, we need to talk notes.  Wow, I am a pack rat.  Or a collector of memories, depends on your point of view.  I get so attached to the smallest of things.

I still have a few syringes and paraphernalia left from my cycling days.  I held on to this stuff on purpose.  Mementos of a life wished for and not attained.  I’m not sure why this seems so important because the only thing in life you can count on is that things change.

Infertility manifested itself in our lives and nothing was ever the same.  No matter how well balanced I feel, now matter how calm I feel, I always feel vulnerable to reminders of the past.  I’d like NOT to considering my dream of being a parent came true.

I subscribe to an email newsletter about family events in the city.  I read one item that promoted a group called Birth Lounge that’s all about birth, pregnancy and beyond.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that in the slightest.  They’re sponsoring a big event and I noticed that one of the sponsors was an acupuncture clinic that I shelled out a substantial amount of money to help me conceive all for naught.  For one brief moment, I actually felt excluded.  It was a reminder of my infertile past.  I watch a pregnant woman on TV getting photography shots of her belly and I feel a slight sadness that I didn’t get to have that experience of carrying my child. There’s no saying that if I had been pregnant that it would turned out all right or that I wouldn’t run into some horrendous medical condition.  Something tells me that pregnancy would have left my body a flabby wreck and I’d be moaning about that now for sure.  Yet, sometimes I get that old message that says I screwed up somehow, I made a mistake somewhere along the line.

I feel pretty content in my life these days.  After about 7 years of crap, life has becomes more sweet than bitter.  Yet, still these small things get under my skin a little.  I hate that.  These bits of papers and things that remind me of the past.

Time to take out the trash.

Boxes and Dust – part 1

The good news is that DH is  not flying off to some exotic locale next week, so he’s going to be around for the packing. He’s been spending his free time hauling boxes in and packing up the office.  Thank goodness!  Just thinking about packing and sorting with a toddler on the loose was giving me a headache. He was pretty tired when he got home from the road, poor guy.  I guess he’s not getting any younger either. He was dismayed to learn that he needs reading glasses.  Hah!  So finally the shoe is on the other foot.  Oh, how he used to tease me about my reading glasses and my back pains.  Now he gets up from the couch and scotches ( moves gingerly) a bit on his way to the fridge.  Just six months ago, he was swearing he was going to train for a triathlon.  Well, I suppose he’ll get around to it when he stops stuffing his face with chocolate.

He’s pretty excited about our move and that’s great to see.  It wasn’t too long ago when he swore up and down that he’d never buy a house,  he doesn’t want to take care of a house, and that I wanted too much, blah, blah, blah.  Looks like the arrival of a child changed his mind about a lot of things.  He wants to provide for his family and that has given him the motivation to succeed and prosper.  He’s been awesome about taking the Precious on the weekend, so I can get a few hours to just go out and browse the sales racks in peace.  Oddly, this is something I used to do for AN ENTIRE DAY and think nothing of it and now it’s a guilty pleasure.  Mostly, I end up with things for the kid and not for myself.   I used to covet sexy shoes and purses, now I keep my eye out for educational toys and stylish clothes for the Precious.  I’ve become a parent.

Don’t worry, the charm of the little bugger can’t completely erase the old me.  You’ll have to pry the wine bottle out of my cold dead hands before that happens.


Bad cupid

So did you do anything special for Valentine’s Day?  We actually had a date night on Saturday and went to a fancy schmantsy Italian restaurant.  We stuffed ourselves silly. We started with mussels in white wine sauce and a crab souffle.  I actually turned down the fish special for pasta.  I’ve been craving pasta and had fettuccine CARBOnara the other day.  The reason I haven’t eaten that type of food is obvious.  The very thought of the calories alone would have me shaking in my boots.  Now?  Bring it on.  It’s rainy and dark and my stretch pants still got a little stretch in them.  That night I ordered the agnolotti stuffed with crab and porcini.  Delightful!  The waiter forgot to put in my tiramisu order so when I reminded him he brought that and ANOTHER dessert.  A chocolate mousse praline tart.   Yeah, I almost polished that off too. I think I’ve got a problem Houston.  It’s called eating my emotions.  It was great just getting out the two of us and talking excitedly about the future.  If I recall I’ve spent exactly TWO Valentine’s dinners wondering if I was pregnant yet.  Now we have a child and that means no more lingering in the streets for the heck of it.  We go back home to pay the babysitter and change into our comfies.  I’m not exactly sure what hubby had in mind for after dinner, but watching him snore on the couch was not what I had in mind.

So to make up for that hubby had a romantic night planned for us LAST night.  So I took off to go shopping when hubby came home from work.  I go to a lingerie store.  I start at the bargain comfy flannel rack and work my nerve up to the fancy stuff.  Everything they have out for Valentine’s looks great on a hanger, but there’s not much material to them if you know what I mean.  I pick up a few satiny things.  I have a sick feeling which is later confirmed in the dressing room.  I’ve gone up a bra size and that’s not good.  I’ve got back fat.  Ohmigod, I’ve officially turned into my mother. If they had had kleenex back there I would have wept.  Nothing looked quite right on me.  Not even the  cotton pj’s stuff which I bought anyway cause I was back there so long I figured I had to buy something.  I leave there convinced the salesgirls feel sorry for me as I buy the cheapo pjs  on Valentine’s and head out into the rainy night.

Hubby is perfectly wonderful as he took over mealtime and bathtime for kiddo.  He goes out to get sushi, puts on a movie which he proceeds to snore through.  Then just as we’re retiring for the night and I have found a magical nightie that hides all manner of wicked things, guess who decided to wake up and NOT go back to sleep for a couple of hours?  I told hubby to turn the monitor off, he’s fine, but no, we’re serenaded by cackling, squealing and eventually yelling.  You’ve got to be kidding me!? It was like the kid knew what we were up to.  He doesn’t normally  wake up til 2am or so.  By the time hubby gets back from dealing with the devil, I’ve given up and fallen asleep since it’s well after midnight.

He’s off to Texas today on business.  Sigh.  Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?

Guess who’s moving?

So I was chanting this morning after feeding the cranky Boo some breakfast – phone rang – we got the house!   Eeeks!  And hurray!  And eeks again!  Then a flurry of texting – and DH asks me if I’m happy.  I think it’s sweet that he asks but really that’s always a loaded question for me.  I’m not nearly as contented until I am past the big change and can relax. Like going on a trip – until the plane arrives safely, my luggage arrives, and I can  determine the sheets in the hotel bed are not nasty and I breathe vacation air, I’m not relaxed and happy.  This is no different.

But yeah, I’m pretty excited! My ultimate goal is not to find a home that I don’t have to get up and move.  I can make it my own, pull up my rocking chair and shotgun and tell interlopers to GET OFFA MY LAND!  Until then, I AM looking forward to a fresh start!

Good sign?

Just happened to read this article on moving.  I scanned it and get to the end:

You don’t have to be Buddhist to know life is change. Watching children grow will teach you this but, for the childless like me, moving is the next best illustration. It reinforces how fleeting the most perfect situations are. So far, the moves I’ve made have resulted — at least in retrospect — in new opportunities. Moving is like a New Year’s resolution: One more chance to benefit from experience and aspire to a more perfect life.

Weird, huh?  The author is male by the way.  Maybe this is a good sign.

I have no idea

I am waiting.  Waiting, that is, to hear if we got the house we want to rent.  We have been reference checked and my friend (who is our present landlord) actually called them from Europe to lie about how wonderful we are and how everybody loves us and how well we take care of the place.  We are dealing with property management and they have sent our application to the owner (wherever she is) and we are in limbo.  It’s amazing. Yes, I’m being sarcastic.  I’m not a patient waiter, but apparently the universe finds it amusing.

We went to the open house (first ones there with applications already filled out) and toured the tenanted house.  First of all, it smelled like smoke which it’s not supposed to but if I smoked, and was paying that kind of money for rent, I’d probably smoke inside too.  Anyways, maybe it wasn’t even the owner and if it was, smokers don’t always realize that non smokers can actually SMELL and what they think is a slight smell is actually very noticeable.  Surprise, there was NO CLOSET in the 2nd bedroom. Mmmm. Okay, could always get a wardrobe from Ikea or Craigslist or something.  A TINY one in the master bedroom.  Yet, on the plus side, you could actually get in a king size bed WITH BEDSIDE TABLES.  The dining room and living room (with fireplace)  were a decent size.  Ordinarily I’d love a fireplace, but with a toddler, I’ll probably never use it.  The kitchen was fine but you can’t put a table in there.  There is a dishwasher, hallelujah.  The bathroom consisted of a shower stall, toilet, a pedestal sink and 3 count’em 3 shelves.  That’s it.  In a picture that’s fine, in reality, WHERE THE HELL DO I PUT MY STUFF????  You know, facial creams, tips, soap dispensers, hairbrush, box of over the counter pharmaceuticals, tampons, toilet paper…… the basement was not carpeted and the cork tile has to be taken out, but there is a full bathroom downstairs.  With a vanity and cupboards.  What a concept.  The “laundry room” is a basic washer and dryer behind the stairs.  That’s not a laundry room people.  The door to the outside doesn’t open. At all.   That has to be fixed.  The back yard has a deck.  Lovely.  A nice backyard with a shed.  It’s fenced! I can already see the Precious and Juno hanging out there getting all dirty.

So, all in all, it wasn’t EXACTLY as pictured (tenant’s furniture notwithstanding) but it has everything we need.  Did I mention it was $10 under our budget limit?  It’s not really near shopping, but it is 100 metres from the endowment lands, so no tempting fast food but lots of trails to walk.  Shopping is about a 5 – 10 minute drive away.  But there is a convenience store nearby. The neighbourhood is really nice and  it’s on a quiet street. Hubby just carried Precious around while I asked a few questions like the type of heating and if there was water damage (cause I noticed the floor in the basement).  I’ve noticed his distinct lack of interest in detail about rental properties.  Van down by the river type of guy.  I have pretty high expectations, since I am now used to living in a totally cool place with a walk in closet.  He is aware that to get a house on the west side under a certain price point is well, a crap shoot.  They tend to be a little on the worn side and the houses are old, small and cramped.  Now, of course, if you happen to buy one of those million dollar little huts in the saintly west side, and plan on living in it, you will extend it, renovate it and put in all the sparkly things – like closets and an actual laundry room complete with a place to put the detergent and dryer sheets.  I am however prepared to put my dreams of a pleasant laundry room and a walk in closet (omigod, I am the oldest BUPPIE* ever!) on hold for a little while longer.

This musing is all theoretical anyway.  Since I am still waiting to find out if we got it or not.  I did call the property management company and she thinks we will, but it’s not official.  Last night DH whispers, “Where are you going to put your Gohonzon?”  OMG, I don’t know!  I didn’t check!  Until then I actually can’t sleep cause I’m freaking out that DH is away for about 14 days out the next 3 weeks.  Yup. Did I mention I have a toddler?


* black urban professional