Super heroes really do wear capes

For all the parents out there, have you ever had moments that just make you so proud?  I had one of those recently.  Now you’d think that it was because my daughter got straight A’s (well except for gym where she got a B – she has my grace) but that isn’t it.  I’m proud of that but this isn’t the moment that still sticks with me and makes me grin.

Let me tell you what happened.  Keep in mind I heard third person and there may or may not be some dramatization of this story (no guarantee!).

Meghan had a drama presentation so needed to bring some props from home.  Sunday night she asked me if we still had the old cape she had when she was younger. (When she was seven she wanted to be a teen titan).  We dug through her room and found the cape, which in truth I was surprised we still had.  Meghan may have packrat tendencies but I am the opposite.  If you’re standing still too long, you’re out!

Anyway, back to the story at hand.  We found the cape in her closet, and she swung it up and over her shoulders and buckled it at the neck.  “Look it still fits” she exclaims happily.  The cape is designed for a seven year old and although it does indeed do up, the once knee length cape now falls to her shoulder blades and looks utterly ridicules, except for the enormous grin on her face.

Meghan, ever diligent, brought the props to school a couple of days before her presentation and placed the items in her locker.  Of course she forgot practical things like a sweater or jacket on a rainy day.

Skip ahead to gym class, where Meghan’s gym teacher announces that they are going outside to play football.  She instructs everyone to go get a sweater or something because it’s raining.  She turns to Meghan and asks “Meghan don’t you have a sweater?”

Meghan turns to her teacher and replies (I can just imagine the little raise of an eyebrow) and states “No, but I have a cape”

(Now I imagine her teachers look, confused and a little unbelieving).

Teacher: “Ok, go get it then”

Meghan obediently retrieves said cape from her locker, places it around her shoulders and saunters back to gym class.

Her teacher: “You really do have a cape”

So off they go outside to play football in the rain.  As Meghan is running down the field, cape flapping in the wind one of her peers turns to her and asks “Um, Meghan...why are you wearing a cape?”

My brilliant, wonderful, slightly sarcastic daughter turns to her peer and asks “Why aren’t you?”

Later that night when her friend relayed the story to me I had that moment.  That moment when you have a jolt of total and utter pride that makes your smile so wide it hurts. 

That’s my girl!

Precautionary tales about peanut butter

I have a confession to make. Two actually. This morning, I was a distracted driver and I have proven yet again that I am not terribly good at multi-tasking. You sometimes receive messages that inspire you, lift you up or educate you; this is not one of those. This is more of a precautionary tale…

So, I was rushing out the door this morning (as usual – I don’t do anything at a stroll – I know this may shock you) and remembered last minute I hadn’t eaten yet. My brain function is at an all time low in the morning so you can understand how one could forget about eating. I pride myself on being quick on my feet and decide I’ll just pop some toast in and bring it with me. Ten minutes later, I’m in the car, headed to work, back on track. I approach an intersection, the light turns yellow, and I diligently come to a stop like a conscientious driver. Now this is where it all goes awry…

I look over to my passenger seat and see the toast with melted peanut butter glistening in the light (as dull as that light is today). My stomach says “GRROWWWLLLL” and my brain says, “I’m at a stop light, I could take a bite”. I reach over, take one of the pieces and take a bite, and it’s as good as it looks.

As I pull a finger away, I notice I have peanut butter on my hand from the bottom of the toast. Stacking the pieces seemed like a good idea at the time. No worries, I lick the peanut butter from my fingers and a brilliant idea comes to me. I’ll just lick the bottom of the toast too so I don’t get any more peanut butter on myself.

The light is still red at this point (Oddly what seems like hours, was only seconds). So I bend the toast to clean up the bottom. I’m such a great problem solver I think to myself. As I reach out my tongue to scoop up the mess, the hot, gooey, melted peanut butter pooled on the right side of the toast tumbles down in a waterfall of peanut buttery goodness, splashes onto my sweater, down my seatbelt, all over the steering wheel and onto my pants. I don’t mean little droplets; I mean great splotches of melted peanut butter everywhere.

I look in horror at the mess I’ve made and as I am contemplating, do I laught? Do I cry? A loud honk sounds behind me from the semi-truck driver. The light has finally turned green and I am holding up the line. Ten seconds later and a “high five” and two more honks from the lovely truck driver, I sprint into action, peanut butter dripping from the steering wheel as I turn the corner on the advanced left (sadly because of my delay the truck driver did not make it through the advanced left).

I pull over once I turn, take a moment to breathe and then dig all over the car for a napkin, a cloth, something to clean up the mess. I find a napkin of uncertain cleanliness (three kids can be messy!) and go about cleaning up the mess. (One more honk as the truck driver blasts by – I may have made him 30 seconds late for wherever he was going!)

I sat in my car, covered in peanut butter and just laughed. What else could I do?

This brings me to the second part of my confession – multitasking. I know they say women are supposed to be able to multitask, and I should be able to, with 3 kids ranging from almost 4 to almost 14, a busy job, CIP classes, PAC, etc, but I confess. I suck at it. I normally try to do single tasks in rapid succession, and every time I try to do two tasks at the same time, I fail. The peanut butter staining my pants as I type is a great reminder.

So kids, don’t eat while you are driving. More importantly don’t eat peanut butter toast. Even MORE importantly, don’t try to lick the errant peanut butter off the bottom side of the toast or you will end up with a car full of peanut butter (Did I mention I’m driving my hubby’s car today – he’ll be so thrilled), an angry trucker, a tangible reminder of the folly’s of multitasking and bruised pride about problem solving skills. But then again, if you need a laugh, this certainly did the trick.

Anticipation is overrated

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post, so those of you who actually read this without my begging you too, sorry about that.  This thing called life keeps getting in the way of the things I really want to do, like write and sleep.

I’ve been writing many blog posts in my head but sadly they haven’t created an APP for retracting thoughts yet!

There has been a story in my head for almost an entire month that I kept meaning to write but haven’t quite had the time.  So I thought I would steal a moment to torture you with my stories.

Without further ado:

Last month, it was a sunny May weekend, and for once my husband was off so we got to hang out doing all of the fun things we do together.  Thrilling things like cleaning the house, doing laundry, getting groceries and doing errands.  What can I say we’re living the dream. 

Anyway, I fail to mention I was very excited that day as I had received a notification from Canada Post that I had a package waiting for me at the Pharmasave post office and I could pick it up any time after 1pm.  So I went about my errands happily anticipating whatever lovely surprise awaited me in that package.

I should have known better, I really should have, but I do have moments of hope that someone could have actually sent me something great.  But back to the story

We pulled up to the Pharmasave just after 1pm to get my long anticipated package and I barely waited until Scott pulled into the parking spot before jumping out.  I practically skipped into the store and stood impatiently in line while the lady in front of me wrote the address on her package she was sending.  (Who doesn’t have that already prepared before coming to the post office, seriously?)

Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes but was more like two, it was my turn.  I handed my slip to the lady and hopped from foot to foot while she went to retrieve the package.  When she handed me the package I turned it around to look at it and saw the box on the outside.  I thought to myself, “no, that can’t be what it is, what would they send me...”

Stubbornly I marched back to the van and got in and wrestled with the massive amounts of tape to get the package open.  Scott was watching me like I was a lunatic (which I am but that’s besides the point).  Finally, success!  I opened the torn lid and looked inside.

Yep – a sample of baby formula.

Talk about the world’s biggest let down.  Here I had wondered all day who could have sent me a package not once thinking it was a very unintelligent marketing gimic that was sending me formula FOUR YEARS TOO LATE.  Nice.

I think maybe the world was trying to tell me something, I had been feeling sick for a couple of days prior to the package, I was moody and my boobs hurt.  Then the formula.  I think the universe was conspiring against me.  Good thing I screwed them over by having my tubes removed last year.  Phew, me one, universe, oh never mind, who’s keeping count anyway.

 I wonder what I’ll get next, maybe a sample of incontenance “underwear”.  Fun times.  Really.