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April 19, 2004
For all those waiting with breathless anticipation, I wanted to let you know my plan of eating Coffee Crisps till I could stand them no more, worked.
Shelley, you can uncross your digits. Dr. O'Brien called with the conspicuous mole verdict. I'm cured. Apparently the thing was an irritated birthmark, though she did say it was pre something (insert medical term) and it's good that it's gone now. She called me at work and I have to say, when her name showed up on my telephone, life got very slow motion. The palms of my hand were a soppy wet mess and I thought nothing past well, here goes. Amazing how wonderful relief feels. Isn't that a slogan somewhere? I just want to toss a bunch of appreciations out to every single good wisher in the world and in my best Bob Barker voice, may I remind you to have your moles spayed and neutered.
I really do talk too much and I really do write that which hath no interest. It was on Saturday, as I was changing the sheets on my bed, when I remembered I had written that I change them every week and wash my hair every night - in the same entry I pledged I would better acquaint you with who I am. I wanted to hang myself by my mattress cover. Who cares???? So while I hide under my blushing eyebrow, I should explain I'm trying to contain my nonsense talk. Let's just say I'm on the phone with someone and I glance over and see the nail polish bottle (Sally Hansen Extended Wear) on my table, in my next breath I'll tell you it dries out your nails and leaves them chipped. Now the problem with this is we were discussing how to rid the world of obstinate people and I've gone and disrupted the whole potentially life changing conversation. There's a place for banter and then there's the moments when banter becomes boring. Tune me out when you have to, I've done it to MYSELF on occasion!
Oh man, I HAVE to share with you the moment this week where Remo and I sat there with stunned, stupid, humungous grins. So we're watching the Apprentice or the Bachelor, I forget which one we taped on the new VCR, when along came a commercial and fsszzzzttt, the VCR skipped past them ALL BY ITSELF. Impossible. You know us now, we don't have that kind of luck. Remo kicked the controller in the middle of the room and we waited for another commercial. Fszzzzttt. Remo did the I'm-too-cool dance. Fszzzzttt Fszzzzttt Fszzzzttt Never mind the part where we didn't even know VCRs do that, we certainly didn't know we had brought one home with such an incredible feature. Now all we want to do is tape.
Please do not call me, or anyone else in Montreal for that matter, tonight. We're watching game seven of the semi final quarter whatever playoffs. Ten years ago I'd have done two things on the eve of such an important game...a) prayed to every God in the living world that our team would lose, so it would be over already or b) stood in front of the TV irate because the love of my life cared more about hockey than ME, with all my infinite charms. About a week and a half ago, I sat and watched a game with Remo and Brandan. Remo lives and breathes hockey. He coaches those guys from our living room with such vitality, I swear they're going to stop in the middle of a play to high five him. So something crazy happened in that game as I asked questions (probably some of which were EXASPERATING), I got totally hooked. Became the perfect wife. May we take Boston and then Tampa Bay and then whoever wins the western conference (do I sound legit?).
Speaking of Remo, I promised I would drop a line in here about what an incredible father he is, actually my pledge was to say he's God's gift to the world. When he went to the rec centre at 6:30 one cold March morning to wait in line for three hours so he could secure spots in swimming lessons for the kids, we put Kaillan in aquatots, her very first lessons. The plan was to sign her and Brandan up for two sessions each, in piggy back (side bar: Kaillan calls it a pinky back) lessons. An hour instead of half an hour. Nowhere in the book or on the invoice did they mention the part where an adult had to go in with her. The lessons are on Saturday mornings, and with two kids in lessons at the same time and me keeping the baby occupied the whole time, I could not go in with her. Besides the part where over my dead body am I slipping in a bathing suit in front of all those yuppy people. When we discovered the crisis, I tried everything to secure another spot or recruit a new teacher or pay for private lessons even, because Remo made it clear he wasn't going in, I mean he DOES have a multicitinal (multi-city) company to run. I was kitten-like in my attempts to boss, threaten and bribe him. In my own defence, I really was yanking short straws with why I couldn't do it. Didn't have a bathing suit that fits. Didn't feel comfortable, I mean I did after all just have four babies in a row. Kaillan was counting her sleeps till her lessons would start. She packed a lunch box even. Until the very last minute, Remo nonchalantly insisted he was not doing it. But he pulled through. And just as I was recovering from all my anxiety, he said he was going to do go all along. I want to call him a creep but he really is fantastic. Cool. Nobody will make our children laugh more. Last night he ate supper with his eyes closed the whole time. It took him maybe an hour longer and so what, most of it made it landed on the floor, the kids loved it. I tried and slipped up and got caught. This morning he put the big soup pot over his head and sang That's Amore at the top of his lungs. I sing with all the ability of a jellyfish and I picked a jellyfish because it's the floppinest being I could think of. When I was a little kid singing hymns in church, I swear my step-mother told my Dad, sister and I to just mouth the words. I don't care, I'm singing my guts out to everything from here on in. I think half our tone deaf problems arise in our inhibitions. We went to a wedding in September and were siting with newlyweds who had met in a swing dancing class. Both on the short, stocky side, a big band song came on and they leaped up and started flinging themselves all over the big empty place. Were they particularly talented ? Nope. But they had a magic and an enthusiasm that was contagious. As soon as we have five minutes to rub together, Remo and I are going to sign up for dance lessons. Too.
So I'm scrapping my plan for making Sunday suppers. Truth be told, I'm reworking my whole meal making routine. Two thirds of my children are under the age of three, much too young to cherish all the warm fuzzy memories I long for them to have. We have a Nonna who is an amazing cook and we have a Nonno who would gladly have all the kids over any day, any time. Remo's brother has three kids who are really tight with ours, they'll run for Sunday lunches. We get to go home to a clean kitchen, with leftovers even. We'd be out of our minds not to pursue this! We did it two Sundays in a row so far and everyone was happy. My over her head sister in-law is in, I'm in, my father in-law is beaming. As for the rest of our meals, I have three little kids and I work full time, I'm got to look at this whole thing differently. Till now I've had it in my head a meal had to have an impressively prepared chicken or fish and once a week beef. Two vegetables and pasta, potatoes or rice. All that work and I'm bribing, threatening and what was that other word I used up there, oh yah, begging them to eat it. Well son of a biscuit box, it doesn't have to be like this. About this time of year Remo, (Remo, who), gets so over his head we barely see him and no way, I'm NOT futsing around with fancy meals while googoo dancing for the baby and keeping the older two from being kidnapped out of the back yard. I'm thinking of just tossing out healthy food. So what if it doesn't match? Raw broccoli with dip, a boiled egg, cantaloup. Barbequed chicken from the store with chopped cucumbers and tomatoes. Why bust our butt when they'll probably be happier anyway? For the record, I'm having a hard time settling into this new approach because a good meal is so imbedded in my brain and besides, we take leftovers for lunch too. But I feel a breath of freedom.
Quick updates on the kids...
Kaillan calls setting the table stamping it. As in "I can't right now I'm stamping the table". She fights to use her Caillou blanket as a table cloth. The kids love to blast their silly song CDs so we can dance like maniacs and we inevitably wind down with some official exercise (jumping around is highly motivating). Kaillan calls a pushup a checkup and I think the only body part she actually bends appropriately when doing a checkup is her nose. When I asked Kaillan how much I love her, I expect her standard answer: too much. Yesterday she held up one finger after another,
"One, two, three, four. I love you four. Not the little fingers, just the big ones".
Too cute.
Emmie is awesome as always. Happy like you have no idea and waking up only once overnight. She crawls fast and pulls herself up on everything. Still shoving every dangerous thing she can find in her mouth, her smile lights up her face, lights up the world, really. I have to pull out the book so I can figure out what we're supposed to be feeding her these days. All of a sudden she's nine months old. On Monday, I'm taking her to the pediatrician for her checkup (what would Kaillan call that, I wonder?) and then we're going to the pediatrician to have her kidneys checked, she has that bilateral pylectasis we have to keep checking in on.
Brandan'll be bringing home a report card tonight. If I was measuring time on this, I'd say it's going extremely fast because I feel like we just sent the last one back. Because all the other moms in his class have been fantastic, volunteering like crazy, I thought it would be fun to organize a dinner out as a thanks to us for making a scary year easier and more exciting for eighteen little impressionable kids, and anyway, we'll be together for years to come. I sent them all pretty invitations with beaded pear appliques on them (Mme Poirier means pear in English), and reserved a dinner in a nice restaurant the Friday night before Mother's Day. Ever the opportunist, I asked them to send me their best recipes and I'll put the collection together, could be a rewarding endeavour for you even! Remo said nobody will go and I'll embarrass the family. I know at least, Kevin's mom and I will do the town in.
We had ten days there where we had to sit on Brandan. One of the kids at recess pushed him and he hit his head on the bricks, hard enough that he got whiplash. The school called Remo to say he seemed fine, to which Remo responded oh, well if he seems fine, then he must be. Brandan went on to play soccer-baseball after school (probably not a good idea) and was twenty-four hours later, ill with a throbbing mess head. We brought him in and learned he had another concussion, which left Remo feeling wrecked. I wrote a note in asking that they maybe use him as an example and talk to the kids about how accidents can happen. The kids played rough in the winter but they can't crash all over the place on the tarmac now that there's no snow. The last day of school before Easter, Brandan was at Remo's parents, I had asked them if they could bring Brandan to school in the afternoon for his Easter party. No problem - till they called to say they were going to the school together to give the sheets to the teacher because it's not supposed to be like this. Like Banditos.They were FURIOUS that Brandan was hurt and you haven't seen them in action. I pleaded with them it was ok, I was handling it. They went anyway. Picture my Italian from the movies father in-law with his boots all undone and his pants tucked in and his heavy accent blaming the teacher for Brandan being skinny even. Remo called to say we'd have to switch everybody over to my last name now, because his Dad told him he took care of things.
Great.
Oh, Easter. I had two major revelations AGAIN. This time I will learn my lesson. First off, the million little eggs we put together and hide only after the kids go to bed? We have to get them ready a week before. Remo was so tired he was hiding three in the middle of the hallway. And I'm going to make everyone in my life promise not to buy my children chocolate. We must have forty five bunnies and helicopters and Strawberry Shortcakes and Spidermans and princesses. It's sick and we ate them till we became sick and everyone I work with is now sick too. I'm giving it away and throwing it out and freezing it on top of the pile I froze last year. Fondue is a tough sell when summer hits. Does anyone do anything creative with a million pounds of milk chocolate?
Obviously I could find a million things to add, but man, you know how it is when they need you. Miserable slave drivers. No time for editing even, my apologies my friends.
Allisun
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