Stifled

The last while has been one of those periods where I wish I truly am anonymous, that no one I know is reading my blog. So much to document and vent, but no can do, to respect privacy and honour trust. I wouldn't feel such conflict if by nature I weren't such a blabbermouth.

But I am going to honour my own need to be upright and trustworthy and shut the fuck up. Instead, I burrow into a book called The Four-Fold Path, where I learn to tap into my inner warrior, healer, visionary and teacher, all traits that need to be developed in order to be a balanced, peaceful person.

Reading the book makes me think that, well if I just develop these traits, I wouldn't need to see a psychiatrist. I will share the wisdom of this book. But right now I have to finish writing up a funding proposal for a Latin American group in the neighbourhood.

Am I Latin American? No. Why am I doing this? For something to do. But immediately after I said yes, I regretted it. Now I have to honour my commitment like the warrior I want to be.

Mornings In Paradise

Upon waking yesterday, I went down to the basement to discover clean laundry thrown on the floor in front of the washing machine. The arm rest had been taken off the couch and was lying on the floor. What gives? I called down The Boy for an explanation.

He said, Sorry about that. Friend and I moved the couch back from the TV and wanted more room on the couch to sit. Don't ever make my house look like it's been vandalized again, I told him.

This morning, after I made lunches for The Boy and The Man, The Man told me he was going to work from home. The Boy called from the basement where he was about to take his shower, Mom, mom, please come down. It's important.

I recognized that tone. No, I told him, You can get rid of the bug.

Mom, please come down.

I went down and he stood outside the bathroom pointing at a spider near the toilet. I told him, Take some paper towel, pick it up, then take it outside or flush it down the toilet. Then I went back upstairs. He let out a few primal screams.

After The Boy left for school, I started to make the beds, clean up and put the house back in order. The upstairs toilet was clogged. I went to use the basement toilet. It too was clogged. So that's what The Boy did with the little spider. I went back upstairs to get the plunger.

I said to The Man, I can't handle both toilets being plugged. You take care of the one up here.

He said, Impossible, it can't be clogged. That's because he was the last to use it and didn't flush so he wouldn't know it's clogged. I know his tell tale signs. But he took care of the problem.

I cleared the basement toilet.

Then I noticed a huge pile of clean laundry that needs to be folded and put away. The sink is full of dishes from the morning. I have research to do for my friend. I have to write grant applications for another friend. My body is sore from last night's pilates.

Ugh. This is when I want to reach for a chocolate. And there is some from Chinese New Year. I resist, drink coffee and stare at my fish instead.

Little Girls

I don't often have the opportunity to talk to little girls. When I do, it's always a treat. On Chinese New Year, I had the chance to talk to my 10-year-old niece. She's a noisy girl. Yet, when she enters into conversation with me, she is intelligent, focussed, and passionate. And ever so sweet. Plus, I find out things about her.

For example, her class did a mock election during a recent provincial by-election. Her teacher had the students run for mayor and councillors in class. Niece ran for mayor. She made a speech, which her teacher said was the most professional one of her class. She outlined the issues that she felt needed to be addressed in the city, like traffic, the environment, and poverty.

She didn't win. But she said that was okay. It was still a great experience, and she wants to be a lawyer when she grows up, so she can enter politics, because she wants to be prime minister of Canada!

The last time I talked to little girls was when I was rock climbing. A group of them came in for a birthday party. I asked them if they liked rock climbing. They were enthusiastic and rational. One girl said in a most innocent and matter-of-fact way, "I've never rock climbed before, but I was invited to come, so I wanted to give it a try. It's fun."

No fear, no attitude, as they sit on the cusp of adolescence. Gone is the cutesy whine. Just a confident willingness to give it a go before they hear the no-you-can'ts and no-you-shouldn'ts. Before the turbulent emotional teen years set in.

I love young girls because they are fresh-faced and bright-eyed, ever so open-minded. I wish they could hold on to this optimism and promise forever. I feel the urge to mold them, help them retain their confidence and centredness, show them how to get high on life without drugs, alcohol, make-up, and surgery, tell them girlfriends rule, teach them how not to let relationships with boys undermine their self-esteem.

Bro started querying Niece about her knowledge of the political parties. She wasn't sure about the facts. I said issues of names and fact can be learned in books and off the internet. That'll come in time. It's that quality of leadership to want to give voice to issues and her spirit of determination that needs to be mined.

I told Niece I will work on her campaign and vote for her. She said her teacher has also agreed to work on her campaign when she runs for office. This girl is already a winner.

The Cruel Joke

For Chinese New Year, I warned my neighbour of clacking noises coming from my house and arranged for Bro, mom, and Aunt to be at my house early for a day of mah jongg. The rest of the family would come for dinner, with Bro Bro bring most of the food.

Mom and Aunt arrived shortly after 9:30, carrying buns, cakes and fruit. Bro, who was bringing the maj jongg table and tiles, hadn't showed yet. Eventually, I got him on the cell. He's was 10 minutes away. But, he said, Tell mom I can't make it and watch her freak out.

I said, You tell her, and handed the phone to mom.

Bro and mom had their conversation. Mom's face fell. She said a few times, "Why didn't you tell us before? Now what're we going to do?"

When she hung up, she complained that Bro wouldn't make it till 2:30, that he's got a leaky basement he's got to tend to. Mom forgot about her coffee and went into salvage mode, trying to locate another mah jongg table and a set of tiles. Well, Aunt has table and tiles, but darned if she knew where they were. She thought the last time she saw them was when she brought them to Sis' for a day of mah jongg. But that was more than a year ago, before Sis moved.

I said, if Sis has them, they'd be in her shed amongst all the furniture she couldn't fit into her house. And besides, the gate to the shed is blocked by deep snow. You can't even access the shed right now.

But in desperation, mom tracked down Sis to see if just maybe she brought the table and tiles into the house. Sis said she has no recollection of seeing the table and tiles when she moved.

In the middle of their conversation, Bro arrived and brought in the table. Mom realized she'd been punked. She started laughing and ran to the washroom (her incontinence, you know). When she came out, she was still laughing. She came down the stairs and stood a few steps from the bottom. Talking to Bro, she said, "How can you lie with such earnestness in your voice?" She told him he will "die in an epileptic fit" (really, that's a term of endearment, said when mom is mock angry at someone).

Then we don't know what happened. She suddenly slid down the stairs. I caught her, but she was sitting on her ankle. She rested her foot and rubbed alcohol into it. She waited a long time before she could walk again. By the end of the day, her ankle had swelled up.

When Sis arrived, she said RICE - rest, ice, compression, elevation. Of course. I remember that from my first aid class. But I had forgotten. I think mainly because mom was still keen to get started with mah jongg and said a few times, "That was very funny. I paid for it with a fall, but it was worth it."

I think only Bro can make mom pee from laughing.

Happy Lunar New Year!

We certainly started the year off as piggies. We ate, drank and played mah jongg all day. Mom fell down the stairs from laughing too hard. I got to talk politics with my 10-year-old niece. Good fun, good fun.

Sentimentality Costs

I sit here looking out the window. In my line of vision are the roses The Man bought me for our anniversary. They are yellow roses flushed with red at the edges. I separated the bouquet, trimmed each rose, put them in their own individual glasses, and lined them up along the window sill. I change the water every day. The buds are opening up slowly. As the petals spread, they look like crisp chips...maybe candied wafers. They look edible, like they would burst with freshness sweet and light if I put the petals on my tongue.

I am thinking how lucky I am that The Man brings me flowers. Often for no reason.

Before The Man, my boyfriends didn't give me flowers. If they did, I don't remember.

When The Man started bringing me flowers, I dismissed the gesture at first as too formal, too ceremonious. He said at the time, No, it's an expression of affection. Then I dismissed it as being too intimate. You give flowers to the one you love, not to someone you're just having sex with.

But he kept bringing them anyway. I got used to it. I took it for granted that's what he does, that's his thing. Like staring out the window is my thing. It's nothing personal.

He's been bring me flowers for 20 years. During this time, I've grown to appreciate flowers. I give them to others. Sometimes, I even buy them for myself. As a buyer of flowers now, I realize how personal the giving of flowers is.

The flower is a temporal thing. It bloom for a short time then dies. But during its bud and bloom, when you can capture the thing in its most glorious state, you gift that to someone. That's the essence of the giving. And then there is the selection of colour, kind of bloom, type of complementary florals, shape of the arrangement. It's all very personal.

Then I read an article this week about the flower selling industry. Most of the flowers we buy in the city come from Columbia and Equador, grown by women slave labour. That's how producers keep the costs low. Flowers arrive by jet, drenched in pesticide. The farming and distribution of flowers devastate the earth.

How do you like that? How do you like having your sentiments exploited and negatively impact the earth? And here I was, with my simple complaint that so many flowers don't carry a scent any more.

The solution? Grow your own in summer. Buy organic and fair trade.

First, I tell them not to buy me chocolates. Now I have to ask The Man and The Boy not to buy me flowers any more. Unless they buy certified organic and fair trade. Nothing is simple any more. Sometimes, I think there is reason in my ogre-y ways.

We Keep On Linking

Back in December, I went to one of those Christmas home entertainment shows with a friend. It was one of those shows where you visit booths to see how you can spend more money over the holidays. Towards the end of the day, we rested at a table and sat on bar stools, drinking cocktails and watching flair bartenders do their act.

In the midst of the performance, two East Indian women walked around with trays offering samosas, flatbread and dips for people to sample. The food was good so we asked where we could buy them. The women pointed to their booth.

It was a Rubicon Exotic Juice booth. They were the suppliers of juices for the flair bartenders. On that specials day, they were selling litre-box juices at $1 each, 12 for $10. So my friend and I each bought the samosas and flatbread, and a 12-box case of juice. It was a really good deal to end a great day's outing.

This week, The Man gave away The Boy's desk online. A woman phoned for it. Her uncle, an East Indian man, came last night to pick it up. The Man helped him re-assemble the desk so they wouldn't have to figure out how to put together Ikea furniture. As he was leaving, the uncle said, "Let me get you some juice."

The Man and I looked at each other. Did he mean he wants to juice up his van first, as in start it before we load the desk?

Nope. The uncle came back with a bag of Rubicon juice boxes. I noticed his van had the Rubicon Exotic Juice sign painted on it. I said, "Hey I bought lots of that juice a while back. We're still drinking them."

He said, "I work for them."

"I went to the Christmas entertainment show in Mississauga and bought the juice, and some Indian food items and dip."

"I worked at that show. My niece worked there as well. This desk is for her son."

"Did she bring food around for people to sample?"

"Probably."

"When I bought the juice, I was served by a man. Maybe that was you."

"So you are my client also."

Is that not wild?

Our Nest

To tell the truth, it was very nice having my boys home on Valentine's Day. We were snowed in.

The Man worked from home, ensconced in his office all day. The Boy fell asleep again in the basement and didn't get up till the afternoon when I made him go shovel the snow. I puttered around as usual, did the laundry, and cleaned under the kitchen sink.

I know, on the surface, it couldn't have been a more mundane day. But I love days like this. I know my family is safe with me, each person doing his own thing. I like days that unfold naturally in an even pace of living. I like feeling the extraordinary in the ordinary.

In the evening, when we've all done with our work or rest, The Man and The Boy went out and brought back dinner and an orchid for me. We had pizza and wings. Then The Boy went babysitting, The Man watched Lost, and I went back to reading The Kite Runner. Ours was a very pleasant nest on Valentine's Day. Hope yours was too.

Obstructionist

Sometimes, there are things you can't control, so you don't try. And then there are times you realize you must step in to avert disaster so you do it, even if it means bringing out the inner bitch.

The Man wants to revamp The Boy's room. The room has been the same since The Boy was 18 months old. It's time to turn his room into that of a young man's. The Boy doesn't mind. He sorely needs better shelving and storage space, and he wants a new bed.

The Man is determined to get rid of everything - the bed, the desk, the bookshelves, and the dresser. He wants to buy an antique dresser that stretches three quarters the length of one wall below the window, then install open shelves above the dresser on both sides of the window. That way, The Boy's room will contain storage along one wall and a bed, and that's all. He doesn't need a desk because he uses his desk for storage only anyway.

So we got a new bed. The Boy loves his new bed. It's a double, and it's really, really comfortable.

Then The Man made the The Boy pack up his things in boxes so he could get rid of the desk. I cringed, because now The Boy will live among boxes. So here's where I become an obstructionist.

We already bought a new bed. I don't want to spend any more money on things that aren't urgently needed and will make the house a mess. So why don't we keep the desk for now. Too late, The Man has put The Boy's desk on Craigslist and someone is coming to get it. Except the person hasn't come, for two days now. She just keeps phoning to postpone the pickup. I have a desk in the living room and boxes all over the place. On the weekend, I am hosting Chinese New Year mah jongg and will need our space back.

I have put my foot down. The Man is not allowed to spend any more money. I don't want an antique dresser that sits too high to the window and doesn't extend all the way across the wall. We won't be able to move the unit into The Boy's room anyway. I want to custom build low drawers that serve as a window seat. I don't want to get rid of the book shelves and dresser till we have the money to build the drawers and shelves for The Boy. I can tolerate living with a few boxes. I won't have The Boy living only out of boxes.

I am going to move out with The Boy if The Man brings in any more furniture we don't need and can't afford, or gets rid of more of The Boy's things. I pride myself on how uncluttered I keep my small house. I don't want to have to wend my way around boxes.

What, it's Valentine's Day? Well then, I'm glad The Boy has a really really comfy bed to sleep in.

Weaknesses

If I were on a job interview and the interviewer asked me what my major weakness was, I wouldn't know which of the following to choose:

1. Chocolate
I know chocolate is a weakness for many women. I had coffee with a neighbour this morning. Somehow, the subject of chocolate came up and she confessed she can't go a day without chocolate. I've gone for two weeks without now. The chocolaty melt-in-your-mouth feel is on my mind a lot.

2. Chocolate Digestives
I don't eat these cookies often, but when I do, I eat the whole package. I think the chocolate has a lot to do with my eating them, but the combination of the chocolate and digestive cookie creates a grittier kind of melt-in-your-mouth feel, equally as good as chocolate by itself. It's like a different texture of chocolate.

3. Spam
I don't understand people who don't like Spam. I am a big fan. I am such a big fan I own the T-shirt. It is one of my prized possessions.



In Japan, Spam is considered a delicacy. They fry up the Spam in slices and pair it with cheese. The Man and The Boy won't go near the stuff. It means every time I open a can, I have to eat the whole thing. But Spam is also one of those foods I can't eat just a little of, because of how the meat melts in your mouth. So I eat the whole can in one sitting. Which can make you awfully nauseous when you finish. Despite knowing that, I can't stop.

4. Not doing our taxes.
I wonder if I'll go to jail for not filing my taxes. I wonder if The Man will go to jail because I didn't file his taxes. We have not filed for 2005, and 2006 is coming up. I figure there's no hurry. I did a quick calculation last year and we don't owe. In fact, The Man is due a small refund. That is, if my quick calculation is right.

The Man is all nervous. A co-worker of his is being chased by Revenue Canada for not filing. But he owes. For seven years.

So now I have set myself the task of completing the taxes this week. At least the 2005 ones. But I am dawdling.

5. I dawdle
I am a procrastinator. I don't do anything unless there is an urgent deadline. Don't get me wrong. I do a great job when I finally do the task. But it takes forever to get me going, if I get going at all.

I hear that in an interview, you're supposed to name just one weakness, then turn it around to illustrate how you've learned to use the weakness to your advantage, or how you've devised a strategy to cope with your weakness. I think I can do that...yes, chocolate is my weakness, but I've learned to make wonderful chocolate desserts. Oh I can't stop eating Spam, but look at what a great collector of Spam memorabilia I am. True, I haven't filed my taxes, but I am contributing to the Canadian treasury by not collecting the interest that is due me. It's my gift to Canadians. Dawdling? I work well under pressure and am at my most creative when there is a crisis.

I wonder if that'll wash.

The Hit

In the supermarket today, things got a little crowded in one of the aisles. I waited with my cart till traffic cleared. A little old man, must've been 80-years-old, with a shopping basket in the crook of his arm, waved me through. I said thanks and pushed my cart to the frozen food section. I was looking for puff pastry.

Not seeing the pastry where I thought they were stocked, I pushed my cart along the whole frozen section to the ice creams, looking into each change of item. I walked by the little old man again. He stood back to let me pass. Still not finding the puff pastry, I made my way back, again passing the little old man.

This time, he said in a quaint little accent, "Hello, how are you?" He made a little bow. He was neatly dressed in Fred Astaire casual.

"Fine," I said, "Hope you are well too." I continued on my way.

When I turned around a little later, the little old man was staring at me. Which made me think, was he trying to hit on me? Is that the kind of hits I get now? Or did he think I was stalking him and he just wanted to confront his stalker?

I'm gonna say he was hitting on me. No doubt because of my Anna Nicole Smith-ness, minus the big boobs, the blond tresses, and the va-va-voom-ness. Yup. That's what he made me think of.

The Best Dives

We hooked up with some friends for dinner and a movie last night. We headed to a restaurant recommended by another friend, hoping for a quick bite. But the restaurant was too fancy for our liking. It was not a quick bite kind of place. You really ought to be dressed and spend the whole evening over dinner to get your money's worth.

So we opted to run across the street to a divy looking place called the Regal Beagle pub. I wasn't keen for it. It didn't look regal and I was worried it really might be more suited for beagles. But my friend said, "It's a pub. They'll have beer and pub food. And we can eat and run without feeling guilty." Sure, that's a good reason to go to a restaurant.

The first giveaway that this may not have been a good choice was there was no one inside the restaurant on a Saturday night, and the waitress barely spoke English. One of our friends ordered a vegetarian burger. They didn't have that as their new supplies hadn't come in. He opted for a grilled cheese and fries. When the sandwich arrived, his face fell. The thing really was a Kraft slice melted between white bread.

Two of us had burgers, The Man had a club house. The fare was plain but mostly edible. I guess this really was a university hang out and the important thing was cheap beer.

As we neared the end of our quick meal, a loud rhythmic pulse resounded throughout the restaurant. I didn't recognize it as a fire alarm. We looked around and asked each other what that sound was. A man sitting at the bar and writing in a ledger turned to us and said, "It's okay."

The waitress came later and conveyed that the alarm went off all the time but she wasn't able to convey why or when the sound would stop. But we thought it was time to go anyway so we got the cheque, used the washrooms and put on our coats. As I walked through the front door, I was met by five firemen, carrying hoses and axes, sauntering in slowly. Outside, there were two fire trucks and a police car flashing their lights.

I said to my friend, "Well, they sure weren't in a hurry. But that doesn't look like 'It's okay' ". The Man looked up at the building from the sidewalk. He said, "Hey, up there is the old Rochdale College", as if that explains why the fire alarm going off and no one caring, is a normal thing. Rochdale College - Toronto's student drug haven in the 60's and 70's.

I'm just going to stick to my gut instincts about restaurants and be more selective about the dives I go to.

Connectivity

Despite living in the big city, we seem to socialize in small circles. I am constantly amazed at how seemingly unrelated people are connected to each other.

Today, I met a friend to help her do some research. I haven't seen this friend for almost 10 years. Last year, I ran into her at The Boy's school. Turns out her children also go to the same school. After a few run-ins, we decided we should get together. But before we could arrange that, I ran into her again over the holidays at a friend's Christmas party.

We talked and caught up with each other a bit. And that's how I decided to do some volunteer work with her.

Today, as we talked and looked at some of the web sites where I will be gathering information, I noted that I knew some of the people who own the sites. Turns out she knew them as well. In fact, we know quite a number of the same people. Must be because we are part of the arts-books-cultural community.

And then there is my neighbour who is a contractor for house renovations. He did a job recently on a house in the east end. He said to me one day, Your Former Co-worker says hi. How does he know her? They were chatting and she asked where he lives, he told her, she said, do you know Sylph who also lives on that street.

And then there is The Man who was subcontracted to do work for an office I fled from in horror a couple of years ago.

Then there is The Boy whose best buddy's dad's best friend is the brother of a woman I used to be a good friend when we worked together.

Sometimes I feel my world is very small. No, The Man would say my family is very big.

She Did It Again!

Really, what gives here? My red platy gave birth again last night. This time, I see only two little infants in the tank, so far. This makes the third birth she's given, all about two weeks apart, after I removed the males.

What is the platy reproduction anatomy like? My guess is the eggs were all fertilized by the two males before I separated them. It's just taking her time to grow and birth them all. During gestation, the males' presence is not required. She must be finished by now, because I see her swimming about a bit more.

My Funk

I'm in a funk. The lack of structure is getting to me. The cold out there doesn't help either. It's not that I have nothing to do. Too much to do in fact. But I just don't feel like doing anything. I think I've been brooding for a couple of weeks now. Or maybe I'm just getting over my illness. It's funny how being sick makes you think the end of the world has come.

So to stop myself from being sucked into a vortex of despair, I've volunteered to do some work for my friend at the book and periodical council. I'll be doing research to help relaunch her web site. Another friend has also asked me to help her publish her school newspaper. I think I'll say yes to that as well.

But you know what I'm glad about? Despite my bad mood, things are going well for The Man and The Boy. The Man's work is going through a good phase and we are grateful for that.

The Boy. Well, The Boy is The Boy. He refuses to go to bed at night and gets up late. He's late for school almost everyday. I feel like I am fighting with him daily to get him moving.

At noon today, he phoned my cell to say he needed his suit because the school orchestra is having their photograph taken so could I bring his suit to school. At exactly the same time, the house phone rang. It was the school office saying he was late for first class, again. I had a bird.

I said no to The Boy. I told him he has to solve this one on his own as I am not going to go out of my way to accommodate him when he can't keep to his basic job of going to sleep and getting to school on time.

Half an hour later, he showed up at home, singing and in a great mood. He came back to get his suit. He said on leaving the school, he ran into the music teacher in charge of the pit orchestra. You have to be invited to be in the pit orchestra, which performs when the drama or musical theatre department puts on a play. He's been asking to be part of the orchestra since last year, but the teacher always give him a reason for why he can't be in it.

So running into this teacher outside the school, the teacher asked The Boy if he wanted to be in the pit orchestra. Their percussionist has a conflict of schedule and now the orchestra needs a replacement. The Boy was overjoyed to say yes. He produced a schedule of rehearsal dates. Now he'll be at school every Tuesday evening as well. Then he rambled on about how his band teacher had asked him to try out for a special ensemble, how he's stage managing a grade 12 musical production, and how he and Butterfly Boy are emceeing the school's talent night.

Despite my funk, I am glad The Boy isn't suffering by it.

Into The Deep

I went into the deep today. The deep freeze. I was on the Toronto Islands for a board meeting of my friend's environmental foundation. With the wind chill, it was -28C and I walked around like I was a polar bear.

We boarded the icebreaker raft at Toronto Harbour at 9:30 am. Half way to Ward's Island, the water became sheets of ice. I have never seen the waters of Lake Ontario like that before.



When we got to the other side, the raft had trouble docking. There was just too much ice for it to position for off-loading. The boat made three attempts to dock before letting us off.



It's hard to imagine in the summer, this is the same place people come in droves to cool down, take in dragon boat racing, and shriek with silliness going on rides.



By the end of the day, the dock at Ward's Island was no longer usable. A bus took us from the dock to Hanlon's Point to board the boat from there.

Despite the cold, there were still young people prancing about as if it was spring, with barely a shirt on, exposing their necks and with their thin coats flapping open. I have never been more glad that I own a parka. The elements rule every time.

A Continent Of Incontinents

Sis' fiance and his teenage son, Young'un, were at Bro's birthday dinner last night. The Man bowed out as the dinner was a last minute affair and he had already made plans to visit his mother.

After dinner, Fiance had the job of driving Mom, The Boy and me home. Out in front of the restaurant, I heard Fiance say he would get his car from the back of the restaurant. A bit later, I heard Young'un say he was going to meet his dad in the back. Mom, The Boy, and I stood around seeing Bro off, and seeing Sis tuck her kids into her car.

After a while, I saw Fiance's car drive up. He went into a parking spot near us. Uh oh. Young'un was not in the car with him. I went up to his car, put my hand on the handle and was about to open the door when Fiance jumped out of the car from his side. I stood up and said, "Did you see Young'un?"

The man looked at me leaning on the passenger side of his car. He was not Fiance at all. He was much older, but someone who drove the same colour car, had a similar built, and wore a similar coloured jacket as Fiance. "Oh, sorry, I made a mistake," I said, backing away.

"Did you want me to drive you somewhere?" he teased something to that effect.

"Oh, there she goes again, always trying to get into strange men's cars," called out Sis.

Oh well, no harm done, I made a mistake.

Along came a second car, also in a light colour. I wanted to wave it down, thinking, for sure this was Fiance. The Boy said, "No, no, don't wave at strange cars, mom." So I waited to make sure. Sure enough, the car contained a single driver who drove right by us.

Finally, a third car came by. This time, I recognized Fiance in the driver's seat, and Young'un in the car with him. When he pulled up beside us, I said to Young'un, "Look how you get me into all kinds of trouble."

The Boy told Young'un what happened and they had a good laugh. I don't mind that. I think teens like to know they are the cause of adults making fools of themselves and I was glad to be the instrument of their merriment.

But the bigger issue at the time was, where was mom? She had completely disappeared. Had she gone off with Bro? Or with Sis? I walked around the restaurant and could not find her. I decided to go back inside the restaurant. Maybe she had to use the washroom again. Sure enough, there she was, making her way back to us through the dining room.

I said, "You came back inside without telling anyone."

She chuckled, "It was too funny and I peed my pants. That man even wore a jacket the same colour as Fiance."

Oh, so she saw the whole episode too. But that proves my point. It was easy to make the mistake that I did. Not that I thought Young'un had been kidnapped. But it was a cold night and I didn't like the idea of him wandering in the dark looking for his father. But who knew mom would wet herself over that.

I Live, I Live!

I am so glad to be feeling better. Enough so that I went out for Bro's birthday dinner. Yes, Bro was there too.

This week, The Boy stayed home two days from school with a fever and cough. When he went back to school, I came down with the same thing. But these illnesses take me longer to recover. The Man is so afraid of catching illness from me that he perfunctorily pecked the air above my head when he left the house this morning. But the good thing is, hey, I've lost three pounds in three days! Love these illnesses.

Because of my incontinence, each time I coughed, I squirted. The coughing fits meant I had to really isolate that pelvic muscle and squeeze. I have no doubt I am squeezing the right muscle now for my kegel exercises.

And because I showered for the first time in three days, I feel squeaky clean and fresh. Can't wait till the morning to start my life again.