Don't Blink

*It's another of my tragically long posts, but it's worth it at the end. I promise.*

For a smart girl, I sure have my fair share of dumb moments. Worse yet, they sneak up on me and I'm actually surprised by how dumb something I just did really was.

Take for example, dumb moment #2704 this past week. In my haste to get to the hospital after Cowboy's accident, I completely forgot about my children and the fact that they would be bouncing off a school bus sometime around 4:30, expecting fresh baked cookies and a warm embrace from their loving mother.

All right. So I'm exaggerating. While fresh baked cookies may cause their heads to explode, they would be expecting to see my increasingly wide arse sitting on the couch, riveted by the drama taking place on Young and The Restless and for me shushing them to be quiet as I tried to hear what my man Jack had to say.

Somehow, with a gaping eye wound, a cute doctor and a worried best friend, I forgot I had given birth to needy little humans who require nourishment and parental supervision.

With just seconds minutes to spare before the kids were released into the wild and herded onto their yellow bus, I managed to remember to make childcare arrangements, phone the school, intercept their release and redirect them in a direction where there would actually be an adult to feed and protect them.

(Gotta love having a sister-in law who lives across the street from the school.)

I felt pretty good about myself, actually. Look at me, handling a medical emergency, supporting my friends in a time of need and remembering to be a good mommy all at the same time. I freaking rock. In my head, the government was laying roses at my feet as they placed a sparkly rhinestone encrusted tiara on my head while tossing needy children into my arms.

Whose your momma now, I thought to myself. You know, because a girl can never get too cocky.

Fast forward several hours and the Cowboy was in surgery to have his eye stitched back together and I figured it would be a good time to phone my kids and reestablish contact. You know, remind them who's boss. Just in case they were thinking of trading me in for the prettier, kinder version that is their aunt.

I had honestly assumed because I am a dumbass like that they would have heard what had happened to their Cowboy Uncle and I wouldn't be springing this trauma on them out of the blue.

I had completely forgotten that my increasingly mature children are in fact, children, and still bear the scars of burying a brother and may harbour some residual fear when it comes to hospitals.

Hours of stress from trying to avoid looking at a gaping eyeball oozing blood and pus and tears and from stupidly guzzling several pots of hospital coffee all combined to rob me of any parental common sense I had. It was like a zombie beat me with the stupid stick and gained control of my brain.

After informing my sister in law of Cowboy's situation, I asked her if I could speak to either Fric or Frac. She reached out and grabbed the nearest kiddo, who just happened to be my beautiful son, Frac.

"Hey buddy! How was school," I asked Frac. He prattled on about how many girls he chased around the schoolyard and other important ten-year-old gossip, before remembering that I wasn't home.

"Where are you Mom?" So innocent my son is. So stupid his mother is. I never even thought to edit the situation. I just blurted it out like the dumbass I am.

"Oh? Nobody told you?" I asked, surprised as I tried to jam my foot in my mouth. (Of course no one told them. Other adults don't want to deal with the emotional baggage of damaged preteens. That or they have the common sense filter God was handing out to everyone as I sat in a corner and picked my nose.)

"Well, Cowboy had a bad accident at work-" That was as far as I got before Frac had a grade A, full-fledged, snotty nosed melt down. You would have thought someone had told him a few years ago that his brother died on the way to the hospital in the middle of the night or something.

Oh. Right. Someone did. That would have been me. So, um, the question begs, HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOT THAT SMALL DETAIL?

Eventually, after much cajoling and consoling, I explained to my son that unlike his baby brother, his favorite uncle was in no danger of dying. It took a few tries before I successfully convinced him that the man who routinely tosses him around like a rag doll wouldn't be saying hello to Bug in person anytime soon before Frac finally calmed down.

For all of two seconds. Then he asked what had happened to his uncle and this is where that zombie came back and beat me with the stupid stick again because you know, once, apparently, IS not enough for me to learn my lesson.

"Well, Frac, you know what a chisel is, right?"

"Ya, it's that sharp metal tool Dad uses to whittle wood with," Frac answered.

"Good boy," his dumbass mother prattled on, "well, a chisel came flying out of nowhere when your Uncle was at work and it came to a stop in his eye. Sliced that sucker right in half. Squished it like a grape-"

Commence grade A, full fledged, snotty nosed melt down #2.

The government was taking back my tiara and snatching back the roses and babies in my imagination as I realized the mental image I had just colorfully painted for my TEN-year old son.

It's simply amazing how stupid I can be sometimes. I'd almost be proud if I wasn't so damn embarrassed.

After a sprouting a few more grey hairs and new wrinkles, I managed to calm Frac down and convince his uncle would be fine. This time I took particular care not to gross the kid out or share how his eyeball looked as it gaped wide open.

I told Frac how much we all loved him and how I would be home soon, and reminded him to say his prayers and brush his teeth at bedtime and generally tried to act like the mother I should be instead of the twit I was.

Just when I thought I was home free, he put his sister on the line. You would have thought I learned from Frac's reaction to self-edit what I spewed to my daughter.

You'd have thought wrong.

A prepubescent eleven-year-old girl wails longer and louder than her ten-year-old brother. Just in case you were wondering.

Late that night, after learning the Cowboy's eye had been saved and now it was just a wait and see game to see if he retains any sort of vision in his eye, I opened the door to my empty house, where only the animals awaited me and I thanked God for my health and the health and safety of my family and I poured myself a large glass of wine.

As I gulped slowly savored the burgundy and listened to my phone messages, I reflected on how scarred my children are and how my family, my children in particular, are more aware than most adults around them, that life really can change in a blink of an eye.

Illustrated by the fact that as I tried to erase the mental image of chisels and gaping eye wounds and the wounded cries of my heart broken children, a sweet voice on the telephone congratulated Boo and I for FINALLY BEING APPROVED FOR ADOPTION AND MOVING INTO THE CHILD MATCHING STAGE.

Life really does change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it throws a chisel at you and other times it tosses a child.

*Thanks for all your prayers and well wishes. I'll let you know what happens with Cowboy's vision. And of course, I will let you know when they match us with a child. Keep your fingers crossed it will be sooner rather than later. That is, unless of course, the government reads this and decides I'm too stupid to parent a potato let alone a needy child.*

Bad to Worse

The universe was talking to me yesterday before I even rolled my dimpled arse out of bed. It was saying, "Don't do it, T. Stay in bed."

I, of course, was not listening. I was jonesing for coffee and wondering how I could lure my husband back home so I wouldn't have to be the one to referee Fric and Frac first thing in the morning as they argued over socks.

Because I wasn't listening, the universe decided to send me a clear message. Namely, by having my dog's claws snag my boob jewelry as he raced to fetch a teddy bear thereby stretching out my left McGuffy until the boob gave up, cried for mercy and rolled under the bed for sanctuary.

Gathering my stretched and sore appendage to my chest and vowing to switch from hoops to barbells, I made my way to the kitchen, dreaming of a dog with no legs. Where I promptly stubbed my toe on the birdcage, dropped wet coffee grinds onto the floor and discovered there was no creamer for my coffee.

Still, I ignored the Universe and my cozy warm bed and plundered on with my day. When my lovely daughter reminded me I was supposed to be fasting for a medical appointment and was not supposed to have any coffee, I should have just given up and crawled back into bed.

A morning with out coffee is akin to hell. Still, I persevered. Because I am the picture of optimism. The day can only get better I figured, as I whistled a snappy tune and hopped into the shower, smiling with possibilities.

Okay, no I didn't. I moaned that God, Himself was out to get me and then cursed a blue streak so creative my son high-fived me and then immediately committed said cusses to memory so as to be able to repeat them on the playground as I stomped into the bathroom.

I made a promise to Boo that I wouldn't put my health on a back burner any longer so I sucked my shitty start to the day up, shoved my legs into the only pair of jeans that haven't split down the middle when I bend over still fit and then hopped up and down as I tried to button the buggers up. You know the dance of which I speak. The one where you are valiantly trying to squeeze that roll of flab into a pair of too-small pants while looking like you are having epileptic fits to music only dogs can hear. Ya, that's the one.

Then I promptly unbuttoned the little buggers when I got in my car to drive to town. It was either do that or to hold my breath as I drove 35 km to the lab.

When I walked into the rural hospital where the lab was, I glanced around to see how many old people were milling about. Old people equal longer wait times which equals an even bitchier, annoyed Tanis who is in desperate need of caffeination.

Not a blue-haired person to be seen so I started visualizing the steaming hot cup of coffee I was soon to be swallowing. I handed my lab papers to the receptionist whose cup of coffee sat before me and mocked me with it's tantalizing aroma and sat down to wait as she found someone to stab me with a sharp pointy stick. Er, needle.

I've been poked before, many times. Once, when I was really sick and the docs feared my appendix had ruptured they ended up poking me 27 times before finally finding a vein in my ankle. Good times. I've harboured a healthy fear of needles ever since. So picture me sitting in the waiting room, salivating over the scent of badly brewed hospital coffee wafting through the air, beads of sweat springing out on my brow and twitching slightly with nerves.

It was right about then a light shone down from the heavens above and angels started singing. Brad Pitt stood before me.

Well, okay, not Mr. Pitt, but surely his doppelganger. The best looking man I have ever seen in my life walked towards me. He was perfection personified.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you're drooling," he said as he offered me a tissue. Dear Lawd, he had an Aussie accent. Could he be any more perfect, I pondered as he stared at me and wondered if I was mentally disabled.

"Ma'am? Are you Tanis?" he repeated.

Snapping out of it and realizing he was not only talking to me but he looked a little worried that I was about to strip him naked and jump him. I pulled myself together, shut my mouth, wiped my drool and tried to act cool. Because drool is cool.

"Um, yes," I stammered. His muscles rippled like a caged tiger as he walked. It was all I could do to reach out and pat his arse to see if it was made of stone.

"Here. Pee in this," he said as he handed me a plastic cup. How sexy. As I blushed three shades red, I rushed off to escape my own idiotic behaviour and get a grip.

It was right about then that I realized there was no way I could squeeze out any urine. I had fasted for 13 hours. I was dehydrated. But there was no way I was going out there and announcing to that handsome hunk of a man I couldn't pee on command. So I sat there and thought of Niagra Falls, visualizing the rushing waters of Nature.

Three drops later, I figured that was as good as it was going to get and put the cup in the little box, hoping he wouldn't check it until I was well the hell out of Dodge.

Wrestling with my jeans again, I ignored my reflection in the mirror because after the drool there was no way this man would ever find me attractive so I may as well just accept defeat, and I made my way back to the chair to commence with the poking.

As he pulled up my sleeves and eyed my veins, we chatted about the weather, about his accent and about small towns in general. I tried to ignore the fact he was getting ready to stab me and make off with my blood like a vampire. I focused on how beautiful this man was, on how lucky I was to be married to a slightly less beautiful man, on how there was a spider hanging from the web in the corner. Anything except the sharp pointy needle he had just picked up and was pointing at me.

He looked up at me then and noticed I was sweating profusely a little nervous and asked if I was afraid of needles.

"No, no. I just get nervous when a good looking man pokes me with out any foreplay," I stammered.

"I'll try and be gentle," he reassured me as he wished I would just shut my freaking mouth already.

"No, no, I like it rough." Shut UP TANIS!!! Oh look, I'm a drooling twit who can fit BOTH feet in her mouth. It was a puzzle why he wasn't offering to be my love slave for life.

He raised his eyebrow, chuckled and then shoved the needle in.

That's all I remember.

Until I woke up on the floor.

Ya. I fainted. At the feet of the good-looking nurse. As he was stealing my blood. And thinking what a damn dork I was.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked as he patted my back and handed me a glass of juice.

Um, ya. I'm fabulous. Not mortified at all. I just passed out suddenly and the world's hottest nurse keeps calling me ma'am. Could life get any freaking better? I looked down, expecting to see a needle still stuck in my arm, but there was nothing there.

"Don't worry, you fainted as I was pulling the needle out. I got all the blood required to test you for that geeky gene you must surely have inherited."

"Goody. I'm awfully sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't normally fall at the feet of gorgeous men. I like being stabbed, I'm generally a vampire's wet dream," I blathered as I stuffed myself into my coat and tried not to make eye contact with McSteamy.

"Well, it could have been worse. At least you didn't pee when you fainted," he joked as he twirled around my near empty pee cup.

Ya. Thank God for small miracles.

I really should have listened to the Universe when it spoke. This'll teach me.

Blizzards and Flakes

As a born and bred, true Canadian hoser, I am accustomed to whatever winter madness Mother Nature throws my way. However, that doesn't mean I have to like it. No matter how cute I look stuffed into a parka and toque.

So when the temperatures plummeted 20 degrees in two hours and the weather channel called for blizzard like conditions, I was unfazed. Annoyed, but unfazed. I just hunkered down around the fire; cuddled with some blankets and whined over who would have to stand outside with my pansy ass dog to ensure he piddled outside and not on my laundry basket like he did the night before.

(Gosh I love my dog.)

Eventually the wind quit howling and the snow stopped falling and Nature quit being a bitch. Or so I thought. Until I took the damn dog out to do his business. (That will be the last time I draw straws. Next time I'll just arbitrarily assign a potty minder for the pooch.)

It was a balmy -47 degrees. That is -53 degrees for you Yankee folks. In other words, it was facking cold and poor Nixon couldn't pee fast enough to prevent little icesicles forming around his willy.

Its times like this I really miss prancing around topless on a Mexican beach, let me tell ya.

Neither the dog nor I could get into the house fast enough. Neither of us felt like communing with the great outdoors as we breathed in air so cold it felt like our lungs were on fire. As I was brushing the snow off the dog and my boots, the phone rang.

Shit. It's the school board. That is not good news, I thought to myself, as I answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, may we speak to the breeder of Fric and Frac, please?"

"This is her," I responded while fervently hoping they were calling to tell me my children had won scholarships based on sarcasm skills and not actual academic merit.

"This is the ruler of the educational system out here in ButtFark Alberta. Please be advised that weather conditions have prompted the cancellation of the school busses tomorrow morning and seeing as your husband nominated you behind your back to be the moron who has to call all the parents on the bus route, now would be a good time to dig out that emergency phone list you buried in your junk drawer and proceed to inform all other parents."

"Do I have to?" I argued.

"Yes." Shit. Think fast Tanis, there is still a chance to turn this ship around, I thought to myself.





What??? I have to spend another day with those kids of mine???? Say it isn't so...

"But you don't understand. I just spent two whole days with my children. I took them ice-skating yesterday and sledding. All in one day. I had a Wii tournament for them and their friends. I had 13 children packed into my house for eight straight hours today and all I want is some peace and quiet. They NEED to go to school tomorrow. Can't you send a team of dog sleds or something?" I whined. Because everyone knows, WHINING works.

"We're sorry. But we are unable to comply with your request as all tax dollars ear marked for education are being used to buy the good coffee beans from Starbucks and pretty glitter pens."

"Dammit." Visions of spending the day relaxing in front of my computer vanished like a plate of cookies in front of Santa.





Shit.

As the responsible adult I am, I made peace with the situation and dug out phone list. And a bottle of wine. I needed fortification as I started making calls to parents to break their hearts and share my pain.

There is nothing worse than being the messenger. Everyone wants a piece of your ass to chew on. Over and over I explained that I did my best to change the school board's mind, but apparently icy, snow covered roads and dangerously low temperatures trump the parents need for peace and quiet.

Unfeeling school board bastards. How dare they put the safety of our children first.

"But I just spent the day shuffling my kids to FIVE hockey games this weekend," one woman whined. "I need a break."

I feel for you sista.

"But I've got to get to work and I don't have a sitter for the kids. Can you do it?" one man asked.

Not on your freaking life. I've already got to find a way to hide from two munchkins. I don't need to add more to the mix.

After robbing all those families of their joy, I vowed to find some new sucker to take over the responsibility of being the emergency caller on snow days. Life is too short to grow this many gray hairs at once.

It's not worth being ostracized at school events by a mob of angry parents who haven't forgotten YOU were the jerk who, by bearing bad news, ruined their lives on a snowy cold Monday.

I'm trying to find the silver lining in the snow day this morning as my children prance around with joy and generally step on my last remaining nerve.

The good news is, I don't have to take Nixon out to pee. It's still -47 out there with wind-chill.

The bad news is, my children may turn into ice pops if I force them outside to shovel the deck play so I can blog in peace.







Ah screw it. They're young. They'll thaw fast.

Maybe snow days aren't so bad after all.