I’m moving over to FB. www.facebook.com/tinysliceoflife
Time to streamline some things, including my online usage 😛
See ya there!
Oma
Today, I was so very fortunate to be with my parents, aunts, uncles, but mostly with my sister and four cousins, as we said our goodbyes to our Oma. The six of us … well, I’d need to sit down and have a cup of tea or a glass of wine to tell you about “what” we are, who we are, and what we are to each other. I can’t speak for the others, but for me, “the cousins” were my childhood, in almost every way. And though over the years, we’ve all “grown up,” and sometimes grown apart, there is always something so special about being with them all together. We have something that no other group of cousins will ever have – each other, and mostly, our Oma.
Each of us took turns this morning saying some very heartfelt words about Oma. And our parents – my dad, my uncle, and my aunt (Oma’s three children) – also had some remarkable things to say about her.
Though we aren’t geographically as close to each other as we once were, or maybe have grown in different directions, I know for me, the knowledge that I have this solid group of people who have shared so much of my life growing up, is something I take great comfort in. No matter what happens, we’re “the cousins.” We have shared moments, stories, and memories.
These were my words to Oma, my Om, my Omie:
Whenever I talked to Oma, I’d always say “Oh hey, Om, what’s up?” She’d say, “Whatever is up, must come down” or “Oh, you know me, just getting into trouble.”
This last week, I’ve been talking to my sister and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles a lot, and listening to all these great memories and stories they have of Oma. And while it’s been really great to hear them, it’s been really tough for me, because I feel like I don’t have any of my own stories.
Sure, we all remember being there on Sundays for a roast and soup. And we remember sleepovers where we’d dance in the living room and have apple pancakes with sugar on top in the morning. And we remember Stephanie and I choreographing plays and games; and the boys wearing Oma’s old German dresses; and the girls pretending to be cheetahs or lions. And Opa’s swinging boots in the basement. And Darryl being chased with the wooden spoon, again. And Sarah wearing the crocheted toilet roll cover on her head as a hat. And the Cousins Wall of Fame. And Oma’s yellow-coloured glass she’d use. And the grey Tupperware ice cream bowls. And our Christmas Eves.
But these are ALL of OUR memories.
I’m not sure I have a story that is wholly mine. I know she loved me. I know she was happy that I heeded her advice, and married someone who was tall, dark (haired), and handsome. I know she adored Monkey and Peanut, and looked forward to seeing them and always told me to give them a kiss from her.
But maybe that’s it. Maybe, because Oma is so very connected to my childhood – to OUR childhoods – it’s our collective, shared memory; she permeated our childhood, she was a pillar of our family.
For me, losing Oma is like saying goodbye to a big part of my childhood. So much of me being a kid was at Oma’s house, with Oma, and the cousins. The sound of the living room clock. The hum of the numbers spinning on her bedroom alarm clock. The gentle clicking of the beaded curtain in her bedroom. The smell of the basement. The smell of her cooking. The orange shag carpet in the playroom, and orange wallpaper in the kitchen. The toy fox, who now has only one eye. The Christmas tree. Oh, the Christmas tree.
Peanut told me not to cry because Oma is in “heben.” Monkey was sad that Oma wouldn’t have a Christmas this year. But we had our cousins Christmas with her just a few weeks ago. And Oma said to us last week when many of us were there at the hospital with her, that she felt like she was in heaven.
So, I think when all is said and done, the collective, shared memory of Oma is enough for me.
Oma always said she wished I lived closer, but that she thought about me all the time. To be so loved by her, and so lucky that my own girls go to know her, is a truly great thing. Oma – the girls want you to know that they love you very much.
I know I will treasure what memories I have of Oma, and smile about them often. There will be tears, too, no doubt. But I will try to heed more of Oma’s advice, and try not to worry
– as she’d say, “it’s for the birds.”
Bye, Om. I love you, too.
Granny pants
So, yesterday was the last day of school before Christmas break. It’s always one of the best days of the year. What I was really looking forward to was watching a Christmas movie after the kiddos went to bed. I wanted something that would make me cry. I chose The Family Stone. Worked like a charm.
Since I hadn’t been feeling very well this week, I decided to go to bed as soon as it was over, around 9:30. But lo and behold, because I hadn’t been feeling great the last few days, I had no pajamas, because I hadn’t done any laundry (story of my life). How frustrating. So, I dug around in my dresser and came across …
Granny pants.
A whole, brand-new package. I couldn’t even tell you why I had them. Perhaps I had bought them for those days when I was feeling super bloated. Perhaps I had bought them for post-delivery of babies. Seriously, I have no idea. They were still in the package. So I thought, well, let’s see; maybe they’ll do the trick.
They were fantastic.
So comfortable. Super high-waisted. Super low-cut. Just what I needed. So I crawled in bed, in my granny pants and huge Tshirt, in my cozy flannel sheets, and snoozed away.
This morning, I got news from my dad that my Oma was in the hospital. So I went to Ajax to see her. She’s not been well, especially these last few months. You know, it’s pretty unsettling when you arrive to all the “grown ups” and 5 (including yourself) out of 6 cousins with tears in their eyes. Oma is 86, and her health hasn’t been great lately. She forgets who we are sometimes. She has problems with her heart. And many other things.
And there we all were. My parents. My two uncles, and two aunts. My sister. Both my girl cousins. One of the boys. Truth be told, it’s been many years since we’ve all been in the same place at the same time. And I carry a lot of guilt over that.
But regardless of that, and all sorts of things that have been said or not said over the years, even though we were all so sad and so worried, I felt like I was home. Exactly where I belonged. These were the family I grew up with, spent every single Sunday afternoon with.
Today, Oma kept saying Thank you so much for coming; and You couldn’t ask for a better bunch than you guys and calling my dad, her eldest son, the big guy. These little Oma-isms, though they are most likely due to the recent onset of dementia, are the things that have always made us all laugh, that stay with us. Like Oh my God in her German accent (which sounds like oh my Got), one of our favourite expressions from a Christmas many years ago.
And it broke my heart to hear her cry out, sometimes in pain, sometimes in relief from shifting position; during her nap time. And to see just a couple of tears roll down the side of her face. Even though she isn’t very comfortable right now, and has just finished a three-hour blood transfusion, we all know that she was elated that we were all together. It’s when she’s happiest.
I don’t know what the next few days will hold. We shall see. But when I got home, you’d better believe my kiddos called both their grandmothers to tell them they loved them.
So tonight, though I’m physically feeling better than yesterday, I’ll be busting out a pair of those granny pants for bedtime. I have a great need for comfort today. And sometimes, a girl’s just got to be comfy. Even if it means granny pants.
Bye Bye November!
Wow. So November is over, tomorrow. Which means I haven’t posted anything in eons! A lot has happened.
Apparently, my little Monkey is becoming quite the fully grown child. I took the girls to see Santa today at the mall (cuz I’m cool like that) and when I looked at the photo afterwards, I was blown away. Suddenly, she doesn’t look like my baby anymore! She doesn’t look two months away from turning 6; she looks two months away from turning 12!!!!!! My heart hurt a little bit, seeing that. How does that just suddenly happen?
And yet, she’s still such a little kid. Two weeks ago, it was my 8th wedding anniversary. We got a sitter, and my friend was kind enough to drive Monkey and her own daughter to Sparks. My friend told me everything went really well; but as they were driving to Sparks, suddenly Monkey burst into “We Three Kings” for the entire ride. She said it was hilarious. And I have no doubt that it was, cuz that’s how she rolls – spontaneous (and often never-ending) song. Even though she looks like she’s growing up so fast, and even when she does grow up, I hope she keeps that spirit.
Like what I saw at the Raffi concert last weekend. I took the girls to see Raffi – someone I loved myself as a child – with a dear friend and her daughter. What a great concert. Seriously. It was fantastic. Not only did I get to see this man sing songs I loved as a child, but now my kids were seeing him and hearing them live; songs they have grown up with, as well. To see them dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs, even if they didn’t know some of the words to a few songs … I can’t even describe the feeling. When I came home and told Frank Danger about the concert, I had tears in my eyes – he thought I was bat shit crazy – but to see the joy in the girls’ faces was incredible. And of course our favourite song was Baby Beluga (and yes, when Raffi sang his new verse of the song for the Beluga Grads – people my age – my friend and I looked at each other and laugh-cried! You know the laugh-cry, don’t deny it!).
We decided to take the plunge a few weeks ago and get the girls baptized. There is quite the story behind it, which I will save from this public forum, but suffice it to say, Frank Danger and I almost had to get married “for real” in the church, but decided that our “fake” legal marriage, performed by a Humanist minister in front of 120 of our family and friends in a chapel 8 years ago was enough. I do. Still.
So off we go, and make the decision to baptize the girls. I wouldn’t have thought it would be so cool. The girls were stunning in their ivory lace dresses, and I could see on their faces how special they thought the day was and how special they felt. I know Monkey loved it when she got to go up to the font to make sure she would be able to reach while stepping on the stool. And when the priest came around to each of the children being baptized in their seats in the pews, and did the first anointment. And when it was her turn to actually be baptized, and she got to have her beloved Hammie by her side as her godmother – she was absolutely beaming.
And then it was Peanut’s turn. And she’s always adorable. She tried to drink the holy water.
Yup.
Frank Danger held her up, leaning over slightly, above the font for the priest to pour the water on her forehead, and as he lifted the special cup to do so, she leaned forward to take a drink! That got a good laugh out of the whole church. And she didn’t even break her stride – she just smiled and did what the priest said to do next.
It was quite a special day for them.
Cupcakes for baptism party
Some floral decor for the party
And now it’s the Christmas season. Christmas songs on the radio. Our tree is up. We’ve had Christmas pictures taken, gone to the Santa Claus parade, and have gone to see mall Santa. And Monkey keeps telling me this is going to be the best Christmas ever. I don’t even have energy for sarcasm and jokes, because it’s all being used up on sentiment, that my babies are getting so big, and they’re just loving Christmas time, and it’s my favourite time of year, and I don’t want it to fly by like November did. Lately, I want to crawl in their beds with them, and snuggle them, and just be there with them. I had little interest in co-sleeping when they were babies, but now, as they’re growing to be ginormous … I’m beginning to understand what people mean when they say “it goes by so fast.”
I heart Rick Mercer
I am at a Timmies waiting for my car. And checking my Facebook. And a group I’m on, consisting of all moms in my neighbourhood, are talking about the election.
Awesome.
Politics is not my favourite subject or topic in the world. And I teach Civics. But I think voting is important. So I’m loving the dialogue on this FB group.
And it’s happening at my school too. Students are talking about it. We are hosting a Student Vote next week, and having a small all candidates meeting tomorrow. My class and two other civics classes made some PSAs to air on our TV announcements to promote the Vote and importance of voting. They’re really well done.
It is engaged citizenship in action. Right before my eyes. Even my five year old wants to come to the polls with me on the 19th.
And so I will just park this little video here. Because I love Rick Mercer. Because I am going to vote. Because I think it is an important right that we have and that should not be taken for granted.
And did I mention I love Rick Mercer?
VOTE!
Armpit hair and Baby Names
So that’s a title you’d never thought you’d read, huh!
Monkey said the absolute funniest thing to me last weekend at breakfast. I was wearing a tank top, which I normally do as PJs, and was sitting with the girls while they were eating. I guess I stretched and put my hands behind my head. She stated at me in such shock, pointed and shouted “WHAT IS THAT!?” Of course, I panicked, thinking there was something gross on me. Nope.
“Sweetie, it’s my armpits.”
“Yes, but why is there black stuff on them!?” Look of complete horror.
“Sweetie, it’s hair. I just need to shave. I didn’t do it yesterday.”
“HAIR?!” Bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Why are you laughing at mommy! (I laugh) Why is that so funny!?”
“You have hair in your armpits!”
“Yup. Everyone does.”
“Nope. Not me. I will never have armpit hair!” Keeps laughing.
“Yes you will! When you’re big.”
Stare of you’re shittin’ me, mom; which is a combination of yeah freaking right, and how dare you say something like that. “Well, sweetie, I’m serious. Everyone gets hair. Lots of people shave armpits. Lots of people don’t. Mommy usually shaves her armpits.” Still staring at me.
Awesome. Yet she can’t wait for boobs. Sorry, “big nipples.” Sheesh.
Then came the conversation about baby names.
Yes. For HER babies. When she has some. SOME. Apparently, she will be having three. Dear lord.
Where does she come up with this stuff!?
And, no, I’m not having any more babies. How would I have time? With three unnamed grandchildren? And having to tend to shaving armpit hair?
Just me and the girls
A whole weekend with just my girls. Wow. You know – there is so much that is different when it is just us for a few days.
For example, we had pancakes for dinner. This was always my favourite dinner when I was a kid – when it was just mom, my sister, and me on the weeks dad was working nights.
I watched about, oh, 5 hours of Nashville on Netflix on the big TV on Saturday night. Rather than on my tablet.
I did not do any dishes for 24 hrs.
Or laundry for that matter.
Hell, I’m not even prepping lunches tonight, because I just. Don’t. Want. To.
I don’t know what it is about being the only parent home that makes me actually want and feel like I have to do less … but I’m enjoying it!
Oh, the girls and I also did a 2.5K Terry Fox walk this morning, which was awesome! They had a great time and I am really proud of them for doing it. It’s really something, seeing them beginning to develop and understanding of the importance and awareness of doing things for others, showing compassion, wanting to know more about people’s stories.
Overall, it has been a pretty good couple of days.
Also, some retail therapy at Loft and Disney was nice 😉
Dixie Cups
Sunday night around here, now that it’s September, means forgetting that I had to do laundry for tomorrow …. dammit! Hold that thought ….
And we’re back.
So, Sunday nights are full of cutting up veggies and fruits in preparation for lunch time snacks; doing a load or two of laundry; squeezing in a short work out while dinner is in the oven; procrastinating lesson planning and / or watching a video on pre-history for class tomorrow …
And, lately, trying to figure out why my children feel the need, nay, the burning desire, even the compulsion, to rummage through the bathroom cupboard in search for Dixie cups.
Apparently, there is a great need to have the tallest stack of Dixie cups possible on their bathroom counter at all times. And usually, if they are quiet enough and work quickly enough before I hear them and march upstairs to tell them to go back to bed, they have been organized.
Tonight, it stopped at a stack. A pretty tall stack. The other night, there were cups filled with water for each child for each day of the week. Yet another night, all the hippo cups were in a stack, the zebra cups in a stack, the monkey cups in a stack … and there were some beside the garbage because the animal on those cups were deemed not good enough to grace the counter with their presence.
I mean, they’re trying to be helpful. And it’s hilarious, seeing how OCD they can both be (no clue where they get it from though 😐 ). Tonight, it was little Peanut hard at work, her little bum crack showing out of her too-small PJ pants (which I’m going to have to smuggle out of the laundry rotation and pack away), and “Rapunzel” length hair hanging in her face, while she worked by night-light. I suggested that if she really needs to help mommy with the cups, that maybe sometime before bed would be better. “Otay mommy.”
I don’t really pretend to understand. But, there is a leaning tower of Dixie cups, ready and waiting. Until another night…..
Me vs. Costco
I hate Costco. Loathe it. With the burning passion of a thousand suns. It is exactly how I imagine people would act in a zombie apocalypse … just a bit slower than in a true zomb-pocalypse.
To me, it’s the definition of both “madness” and “infuriating.”
There are buggies everywhere. There is no rhyme or reason as to flow of traffic, either in the parking lot or in the store itself. People actually have the audacity to leave their buggies sitting askew in the middle of an aisle. And God forbid another person say “excuse me” if they need to get past you – nope: just barge on through, even if it means shoving someone else’s cart, containing their two children, half way across the aisle.
Even the cashiers are starting to get pushy with the memberships! Like, seriously, you’re going to ask me to spend MORE money on a stupid membership!? Here, keep my children, who are breaching a meltdown … they’re on YOUR side of the check out anyway, because you just have to take the cart around, even with people’s children in them!!!!!!! Since when are Costco cashiers trying to promote anything? Are they aware that they are just now live-action telemarketers … well, except, not on the telephone … you know what I mean!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Costco, I shake my fist at you. Oops. My middle finger popped up. Sorry.
And yet, I continue to go there. Frig! Why, you ask? I don’t in my right mind know. I mean, there are some good deals, for sure. And I do love their quinoa salad. It’s impossible to sneak toys past your kids into the cart, but there are some gems in there.
I try to go as infrequently as possible. It stirs up all sorts of rage about all sorts of other things in me. Like: Frank Danger’s laundry is still not folded; my favourite course to teach is cancelled this year (actually, this fills me more with sadness than with rage); I have a head ache that’s been on-going for about 4 days (I blame humidity); kids shoes are so flippin’ expensive, and I don’t even shop at the expensive stores for their Sasquatch feet; the dog’s barking bugs the shit out of me; the milk spill from four months in my trunk ago actually leaked through to underneath the storage compartment in my trunk, resulting in a long, but well-worthwhile, car cleaning at the Autospa; so much more planning to do for work and daycare is closed the last two weeks of summer …
Thanks Costco. You’re a real pal. Filling me with rage.
At least the kids were fantastic today while we slugged through the torture chamber that is Costco, so I am thanking my lucky stars for that!
Is it wine-o’clock yet?
Sneaking Ice Cream
This is what it’s come to.
Sneaking a bowl of ice cream. At 12 noon on a Wednesday after visiting the dentist. And the girls are upstairs for quiet time.
Wow. Way to go, me.
This last week of summer is the absolute L.O.N.G.E.S.T. W.E.E.K. E.V.E.R.R.R.R.R.R.
And it’s so damn hot. I’m over the heat. Over it. Done. See ya later. Bring on turtlenecks and wearing shoes with socks. I mean, come on! I already got my fall tone highlights, for crying out loud!
Basically, I’m bored. Maybe not bored. Maybe, ready. Ready for the change that comes with a new school year. Ready to not be the sole entertainer of my children (go ahead and hate on me for saying that, but I’m just sayin’). Ready to not be in my house looking around thinking, why can’t I just be home all day long so that I can actually get shit done? Oh wait. I AM home all summer. But if you’ve ever spent more than two hours with your kids for more than one day in a row, you’ll discover that a 10 minute cleaning of a bathroom suddenly turns into a 30 minute ordeal because there is a battle about princess dresses, a calamity about Barbie’s clothes, the puppy ran away with a pair of Crocs, a cup needs to be refilled with water, Jake and the Neverland Pirates is over and we don’t like Thomas the Train, my own mother calls, then my husband, just to chat and say hi.
Imagine me making that face. You know the one. The one that says “YEAH FREAKIN’ RIGHT YOU’VE GOT TO BE FLIPPING KIDDING ME THIS IS MY CIRCUS AND THEY ARE MY MONKEYS WHY ARE THERE ALWAYS MONKEYS AT THE CIRCUS COULDN’T THEY JUST PUT SLOTHS IN MY CIRCUS INSTEAD?????”
Breathe.
You know what it is? The opposite of nesting. Remember when you were oh so close to your baby’s due date, and suddenly, everything in the house was cleaner than ever before, you baked and cooked things that were magazine photo worthy, had time to nap and watch Netflix? Yes, well, this feeling is the opposite of nesting. I’m like a crazy mother bird who pushes her babies out of their nests. I just want some space. I just want to have a spot to put my head down. I just don’t want to clean up after anyone else!
And that’s what work will provide me! 🙂 Working with teenagers is great – they can use the bathroom by themselves (none of this “Mom, I’m going poop!” announcement, or “mom, you come wipe my bum?” nonsense), throw out their own garbage (though my own kids do well in this department), have a conversation that lasts longer than 10 seconds, or shorter than 5 minutes of the same thing over and over and over and over and over …. they are also really good at amusing themselves so that you can get things that need to be done, done!
And ultimately – they go to their own homes at the end of the day. 😀
Don’t get me wrong. I love my girls. I love being with them. Perhaps my threshold is just a bit lower than other people’s. Plus I like the routine of my job. Sure, there’s flexibility, but there is a structure to it. And I get to get out of my house. Kudos to those parents who home school their children. Seriously.
But I need to get out of my house. Maybe that’s what it is – I’m a restless person.
So I sneak ice cream while my kids are upstairs. A little joy in a bowl, just for me, no questions asked, no tears shed because I won’t share. I need something to get me through!
Especially because there is now yet another crisis breaking out regarding the “Inside Out” book on CD that simply cannot be found … and a toilet seat being slammed down because a washroom break interrupted the search …
I might need more ice cream.
A Tiny Slice of Life 