Moving!

I have moved to Wordpress (sorry, Blogger...)

To follow me, click on this link: http://therapeuticrambling.wordpress.com/

See you on the other side!

Perspective

My office is next door to the office of a woman whose job it is to call people and make appointments to see a doctor in the clinic. I shall call her Bellowing Belinda. Sometimes, she varies the routine by calling people to remind them of their appointments. But mostly, she is providing new and, apparently, very complicated information to people.

She has never been particularly friendly. Never gone out of her way to say good morning, or to introduce herself. At least once, her office door has closed quite firmly while I was having a hallway conversation near it. I chose not to take it personally.

Maybe it's that she has a job she hates (who wouldn't?), but for whatever reason, we have never really hit it off. Granted, I haven't exactly brought her some homemade cookies, but the one time I offered her some of the giant coffee I had just bought, she declined rather ungraciously. So I haven't bothered.

Did I mention that the people she is calling are all either very hard of hearing, speak English as a second language, or have some form of cognitive impairment? It must be so, because she shouts. Very slowly, and repeatedly. All day long, she makes loud, repetitive phone calls. I have the spiel memorized. No smoking 4 hours before the appointment. No, there are no needles. Just a pressure cuff. Your appointment will take half an hour. You can drop him off at the door and park in the handicapped parking. You get the idea.

Another reason I have never warmed up to this woman is that she often speaks very shortly to her victims. Today I actually heard her ask someone, after 10 minutes of trying to spell "Booth" (no, there is no "r" in Booth), "Isn't there someone else there that I can talk to?" It was so peaceful when she was on holidays this summer. I have no idea how her people got to their appointments on time.

I have usually just closed my door or put on something to block the racket. When it's too distracting to actually get any work done, I will go on a field trip to the cafeteria or another department for a break. I actually find her incredibly irritating, and not because she plays a radio station that I don't like, loud enough for me to hear. Which she also does.

Anyway, yesterday my door was closed and I was trying to ignore a phone call to a particularly deaf patient, when my other neighbour, Shirley, came into my office through the adjoining door, chuckling. I like this neighbour - she is friendly. We have lots in common, have spent hours chatting about work, or kids or home renovations. We have a kind of revolving door between our offices.

"Wow," she said. "Can you imagine having her job? My door is closed and it sounds like she is right there in the room with me!" Her office is a full 3 doors away from Belinda's.

With that one little offhand comment, I had an instant, major shift in perspective. One of those Kuhnian paradigm shifts after which everything which used to be blue is now green. Suddenly, it wasn't Belinda that was irritating, it was her job!

Shirley was right. Belinda has an awful, frustrating, tedious, Groundhog Day-esque job. All of a sudden, rather than irritation, I felt sympathy for her. Now, the loud, short-tempered phone calls, the distinct absence of friendly overtures no longer seemed excessive or exaggerated, but rather simply a coping mechanism.

In a way I admire her. I have a tendency to run off to a new job when there's anything remotely unpleasant about whatever I'm doing (and sometimes even when I love everything about it...). I could never do what she does, not for five minutes. And she does it day in and day out. No wonder she's miserable.

Interesting how attitudes and opinions can turn on dime. What was true one second is utterly false a second later - what once is seen can never be unseen. I guess it's why first impressions are so lasting. It's why stupid Youtube videos go viral.

Anyway, this was really apropos of nothing, except to say that I would really like to find and bottle whatever it is that finally tips the scale one way or another. Then, I could rule the world! Mwahahaha!

Oh, darn it. You probably have a new opinion of me, all of a sudden. Sorry about that. Please disregard. If you can.

Conquest

This weekend, Jack and I and my brother in law, Matt did the Riding Mountain Challenge, a 140 km round trip bike ride from Dauphin, MB through Riding Mountain National Park, to Wasagaming and then back again to raise money for the MS Society.

I'm sure this won't be the most entertaining post; I am mostly documenting it here for posterity. My inner Facebook Status Update monologue while out on the bike for 9 1/2 hours was much funnier. Unfortunately (or maybe not...) there was no service in the park, so both of my Facebook friends were spared hourly comments on the utter misery.

It was tough. Prairie folk don't do hills well, at the best of times, and certainly not when there are 35 km/hour winds involved, but we managed to get ourselves up the "mountain" on Day 1, and back down again on Day 2. I use the term "mountain" judiciously, although Matt tells me it would be considered a Category Three climb, if we were professionals riding in the Tour de France, which I will never do, and not only because of my distinct lack of male parts.

Besides the finish, the highlight of Day 1 was seeing a bear cross the road in front of us. I was a little scared, to say the least. We rode near the back of the pack (ok, we rode AT the back of the pack) and we were pretty much alone on the road when it came out of the forest, stopped on the road, looked at us and took a couple of steps toward us, and then sauntered on its way across the road and into the trees on the other side. I have extra laundry to do as a result.

Second only to the bear was the joyous discovery of the ultimate trail food: graham crackers, peanut butter, and chocolate chips. Most. Awesome. Meal. Ever. Never mind the fact that at that point I was hungry enough to have eaten the bear.

The highlight of Day 2 was reaching speeds of 44.5 km/hr coming down the mountain. I'm not sure I am coordinated enough to be going that speed in any vehicle without airbags, but I did it nonetheless. Nearly created yet more laundry, but made the climb worth it. I guess.

Besides the bear, the hills and the wind, though, it was a really nice ride. Very scenic and picturesque in the park. Some sun and nice cool temperatures - we were never chilly but never really overheated either.

Jack was the youngest rider by several years, and he covered the entire distance under his own steam. We walked a couple of the hills, but he never gave up, even when the wind kept knocking him off the road (we were literally stopped almost dead by a wall of wind near the finish on Day 1). I was so proud of him - he is a tough little kid. Despite frustration and discouragement, quitting was never an option for him. Bodes well for his future.

Today, my butt is a little sore, but Jack is fine. In fact, ten minutes after we finished and got out of the wind, he was fine. He's even been out on his bike already. I can't stand the thought of it.

Oh, and did I mention that our team, "Where's Jack?" raised over $1500 for the MS Society? Thank you to everyone who donated for your generous support! Mark your calendars. I had enough fun that we might even hit you up again next year. I may even be able to convince a few more family members to join us - take the weight of the bad-weather blame off Matt.

I enjoy accomplishments like this because it was so hard, and we did it anyway. I am thankful that my body is capable of that kind of endurance; many aren't. We are really just lucky, lucky people.

Renewal

I'm sure I say it every year, but I love fall. It is more a new year to me than the New Year. For the first time in a long while, I will not be attending school this year. This time, I am not jealous. I need a little break from formal education.

The kids are all ready to go. They are busy laying out their first-day outfits and fretting about their hair. Jack is excited to meet all the new kids in his class. Aimee has already had what seemed like a good first rehearsal for her musical theatre production. She will be walking back and forth to school this year, for the first time, and she has been furiously planning with her friends where and when to meet for the walk.

Like last year, it will be a busy year. We will have two different music lessons, two different choirs, the aforementioned musical theatre, and hockey, so far. There has already been talk of Patrol, cross country club, and curling. Oh, and soccer is not 100% done yet either.

I tried for a long time not to over-schedule my kids, which is why they are not in swimming, dance and karate, although I do confess to considering all of those at one time or another. I grumble about driving them all over the place to and from their activities. I grumble a little about the costs.

But it's hard to deny them when they really want to try these good, wholesome activities. They learn from every single one of them - teamwork and music and communication and getting along with others. Being busy keeps them away from 7-11 and its hoodlums and sweet delicious poison, and from the TV and the Xbox, and artery-clogging, intellect-dulling indolence.

I find some justification for ink-spattered calendar by arguing that my kids are happier when they are busy. They are more organized, more regulated, by necessity. They are learning to think ahead to be sure they are prepared for their committments (Aimee spent the last few days frantically reading her script for the first rehearsal). They are forced to settle down earlier at night, eat on a more predictable schedule, and perform some semblance of personal hygiene routinely.

They had a great, if mostly lazy, summer. They fended for themselves most of the time, self-regulated from wake-up to bedtime. I think it was good for them - they were mostly tired and dirty, and were never brought home by the police, not even once. The house is still standing, and they did the jobs I assigned without much grumbling. There was far more tv than they have ever watched. But for the most part, they made good, healthy choices about what and when they ate, and how they spent their time. Physical activity was never an option - it was required, and not necessary to enforce either.

Summer has just been long enough for them. I think yesterday was the first day they didn't actually plan an activity outside the house. They are just starting to show signs of boredom, and are more excited about school than not. That may change at 7:00 tomorrow morning, but for now, it's working for us. I am looking forward to their brains beins stimulated again, though. Neither has voluntarily picked up a book that wasn't a comic since June.

So we'll see what the new year brings. I predict more independence, more hormones, hopefully enough mild drama to keep everyone happy without any actual crises. I will happily watch them go off to school, and not miss the challenge of higher education for myself, this time. I will transfer the challenge to the task of geting everyone where they need to be, on time. That will be enough for now.

First day of school pictures to follow soon.

Childlessness

Hello! Remember me?

I'm the one who used to "entertain" you with pointless stories about my children, just to exercise my arguable talent for non-academic writing.

Since we (I) last spoke, I have finished my degree, secured myself (another) new job, and become the mother of a typically volatile pre-teen girl. I still also have the boy, who is also pre-teen-aged but is no more or less volatile than he ever was. His talent is identifying and exploiting those things which cause most of the volatility in the aforementioned pre-teen girl. Some things never change. I hooe he can use that for good and not evil, some day.

We had an interesting experience earlier this summer, my husband and I. For the first time in 12 years, we became childless for an extended period of time. Jack went off to camp, and Aimee went to Toronto with Gramma, and we were alone in the house for seven glorious, natter-free days.

We walked in the neighbourhood without worrying about babysitters or when we had to be home. We worked early and ate late and didn't fuss about whether a hunger-induced temper tantrum was right around the corner. We went for a run at the same time - together - and then sat on our new patio and enjoyed the silence.

Some things I didn't miss. Like the nearly constant bickering. The Lego that creeps out of the boy's room. The balled-up dirty socks, everywhere. The kitchen computer, constantly logged in to Webkinz, whenever I wanted to use it. In fact, you may find it surprising to her that I did not mourn one second for sticky fingerprints on the keyboard.

But after a while, the house started feeling too quiet. We waited nearly a week and a half for a letter from Camp, which eventually came ("Dear Mom and Dad I'm having a grate graet grate - I think I spelled that rong - time."). Had occasional text messages from Aimee, but that one little letter was all we heard from Jack in 12 days. I kept hoping that no news meant good news.

Eventually, Jack came home tired, happy, sunburned, dirty and kind of snotty, planning his Camp adventure for next year. Aimee returned slightly taller, a touch more sophisticated but no less dramatic. Trevor and I reverted to our slightly more regimented schedules and child-friendly habits. And our house is once again full of noise, bickering, dirty socks, and Lego.

In the end, I admit I missed them. It was lovely spending uninterrupted time with my husband (it was, really. I do enjoy his company), but I think I could get used to childlessness, eventually, I just need a little more practice.

And now, I'm going to wash the keyboard again.

School

Here are a few pictures of the first day of school this year. Aimee started at a new school and took the bus for the first time. A far cry from the teacher peeling her off my leg on the first day of Kindergarten - she marched up the steps of the school bus, warning us not to take pictures. Jack, on the other hand, has never had a problem with school, and will likely rule the school with his homeys this year. Their teacher has her work cut out for her - lucky she is well versed in dealing with rotten boys.

It should be a good, if busy, year.

Vegas

I watched the Winnipeg Blue Bombers get spanked by the Saskatchewan Roughriders today. I am moderately interested in the CFL, but the Bombers suck. Every time I invest time in watching them play, I am disappointed, and I swear I won't spend any more time on them until they fire the coach. But then I come back and spend another two or three hours watching them lose again. Maybe it's because they are the home team, and we don't have many of those, but more likely, it's the Vegas effect.

Sport fishing benefits from the Vegas effect too (except that fishing is more rewarding - sometimes when you fish, you get dinner). A couple of weeks ago, we took a little road trip to visit our lake friends. We went out 2 or 3 times a day fishing, which was so much more fun for everyone than I ever thought it would be. Quiet, relaxing, an exercise that proved to me I actually do possess patience under the right circumstances. The kids enjoyed themselves - I think even more than I did. I spent some time wondering how such a low-returns exercise could be so engaging. It has to be about the process, because so often tall the fish are still in the lake at quittin' time (Happy Hour, or "I have to pee!!", whichever comes first). In the end, I think the key is variable reinforcement.

Every single time, just as we were getting bored and ready to move on, someone would get a bite, there would be a flurry of activity. We'd stay a little longer, maybe get another nibble, sometimes even haul up a fish. Even more randomly, there would be one of appropriate size for eating, or someone would mention a legendary 55-pounder that rules the lake, and an unspoken challenge would hover over the boat until it dissipated with a barely-perceptible tug on the line. It got to the point where the kids would holler at the lake, "Hey, fishes! We're leaving soon! Hear that? We're going!!" Often, it worked.

It's all about the pure lack of predictability. You drop a line in the water and within a metre or two, it's invisible. The surface of the water is as impenetrable as if it was a brick wall. No clues what is happening on the bottom. Even the fish finder on the boat didn't always help - hours would go by with lots of fish on the monitor, and nary a nibble. And then, someone gets a big one with a perfectly clear screen. You just never knew - and it made you want to wait just 5 more minutes, just another 2 minutes, because any second, you're gonna hook the big one. And even if they ones we did catch were tiny, little bigger than minnows, it stood as proof that the next one could just be the record breaker.

I call it the Vegas effect, because it's the same principle that Las Vegas was built on. One little taste of what could be, and you're as hooked as my 5-pound pike. Even Jack, who had the fortunate skill of being able to pee off the back of the boat, got the first bite, and would probably have stayed out all day if Happy Hour hadn't come so darned early. And this is a kid whose main motivation in life, his currency, as it were, is television/Xbox/Nintendo/Wii/fill-in-the-electronic-entertainment-device... one whiff of the thrill of the catch, and all he needed to be happy for hours was a fishing rod and a few minnows. It's what keeps the little old ladies dropping quarters into the slot machines, I guess. Psych 101. Only fishing's fun.

Unlike watching the Bombers, who lost today by a colossal margin. I actually started wondering if the team was throwing the game to get the coach (who seems to be a pretty big jerk) fired. I have been quietly suggesting for weeks that they fire him, but today, fans in the stadium were actually holding signs to that effect. And I keep saying I won't even watch a game on tv (hear that, advertisers??) until they turn it around... but I will. Because maybe the next time it will be a closer game. Maybe even a win.

Vegas, baby.

Skunk

Tucker (the big dog) had a run in with a skunk. Tucker lost.

I was out last evening but the family said they smelled skunk in the neighbourhood. When I got home, we watched the Tour de France for a while and headed up to bed about 11:00. Jinx needed to go outside so we let her out and all of a sudden she started barking - a weird bark that wasn't just the "screw you, squirrel!" bark. She was quite alarmed. I joked about her barking at the skunk, and as I went to call her in, so she didn't tick the neighbours off, Tucker sneaked past me and bolted to the back of the yard. Jinx retreated a bit, and Tucker went nuts barking. I could see something that looked like a cat. A large cat with a bushy black and white tail. Not a cat at all.

Suddenly, he turned and raced at top speed back to the house. I was still at the back door hollering for him to come back. He was shaking his head violently and foam was flying off his jowls. Then the smell hit us. It was like nothing I've ever smelled before. It was burning rubber and garlic and death. In a second, it was everywhere in the entire house. He was still shaking his head and flinging stinky foamy spit everywere. We herded him into the tub and started hosing him down. Troy looked up "skunk spray removal" on the internet and while he ran around opening windows and getting ventilation going, Trevor brought me dish soap and Tucker got his first bath of the night.

The internet told us the tomato juice remedy is myth (and we know that everything you read on the internet is true... that's how I know Michael Jackson faked his death) but suggested mouthwash so we mixed mouthwash and dish soap (to make it thicker) and Tucker got his second bath. Recipe 3 suggested baking soda, peroxide and dish soap, so we tried that for his third bath. He was still a stinky, unhappy dog. And it was past my bedtime.

I was afraid to let them out the back, figuring they would go and roll around in the skunk spray so Trevor took them for quick walk to air them out. Jinx seemed to have escaped unscathed but Tucker still smelled like a giant tire fire. Tucker sleeps in our room, thankfully not (always) on the bed, but neither of us slept much, wanting to make sure he didn't sneak up and infect the bed irreparably. As it happened, the entire room smelled like a skunk had taken up residence by the morning. Apparently memory foam and skunk have a particular attraction for each other.

I took a vacation day today. I started by hitting the grocery store at 8:00 for cleaning supplies. I spent $60 on more peroxide, carpet freshener, pine sol, baking soda, furniture polish, scented candles, room fresheners... anything Not Skunk.

When I got home, to add insult to Tucker's poor injury, he was favouring his back end and acting very strangely. Since I had planned to call the vet to see if they had any skunk shampoo, I mentioned it to them and they sugested I bring him in, which I did. Although they couldn't find anything specifically wrong with him, he squeaked and cried when she touched his tail. Not sure how, but it seems he sprained it. The huge, whip-like rope of a tail that a number of family members have not-so-subtly suggested we have docked. He is not wagging anything right now, poor dog. In fact, he spent a stinky day refusing even to lie down, just standing somewhere in whatever room I was in, looking pathetic.

Anyway, I spent the day trying to cover all eau de Pepe in the house with lavender Pine Sol, Creamy Custard candles, Pet Fresh carpet deodorizer (I had no idea how dirty my baseboards were!). Tucker had a leave-in stench treatment at one point and actually smelled ok until he went outside and the sun warmed him (and his odour) up again. I finally broke down and gave him another bath with the special vet's shampoo, being careful not to touch his tail. Now he doesn't smell so much of skunk as he does of urinal cake. Every time he passes by, I am reminded of a freeway rest stop bathroom. Not pleasant, but miles more palatable than skunk.

I think I managed to eradicate most of the skunk smell... every once in a while a wave of it hits me again and I panic little wondering if one of the little bastards has returned. All the windows in the house are open, I had visions of one finding a way in.

I certainly hope Tucker has learned his lesson about skunks - both dogs eye the scene of the crime suspiciously every time they go out. We've never claimed he was the Einstein of dogs, though, so I will be ever vigilant from now on. I certainly have learned my lesson - the only permanent way to get rid of skunk smell is to set the house on fire. I'm still considering it.