A Random Visit with Unexpected Results

Dear Jen,

So as you know the in-laws came, kind of suddenly, this weekend. Well, they have now went, even more suddenly. They were going to go into Halifax today (I think Brad was kind of looking forward to it), but instead, they left this morning at 4 am. Probably about 4 pm yesterday is when I started overhearing things like, "So I'm going to get up at 4:00" and, "I'm going to bring everything downstairs except what you're wearing tomorrow." I'm pretty smart so I put it together pretty quick.

Who knows why they left a day early. They gave their loose reasons, but the thing I do know is that Brad's father never was one for visiting long, and will always cut things short or cut them out altogether (hence why in the past 3.5 years this is the first time they've visited us, but probably the 8th plan to do so), so I'm not surprised. I just felt bad for Brad because I feel like he's always being let down by his parents in that respect, and this was just another time where I heard the genuine disappointment in his voice when once again a plan made with his parents was foregone with no discussion or warning.

Ah well. I thought Evelyn would be more upset because she just loved tagging along behind gramma, and especially being her smoking buddy (yay), but today was fortunately playgroup, so already all disappointment seems to have been forgotten.

Anyway, I'm just grateful that visits from the inlaws don't induce stress or exhaustion--so I try not to be annoyed by the little things. Plus they brought us our potties!

(angel choir)

They are really basic, but that's good--we like basic. Our only criterion was that the front bump be big enough to catch his boy pee, and it is more than ample--definitely more coverage than any of the $20-$30 potties from the department stores. And all for $3 a-piece? Yes please! I tried to get Gavin to pose on it for a picture, but he wouldn't. I got Evelyn instead, although she's so tall that you don't really see how the kid sort of squats onto the potty. But just in case your kids like seeing mine as much as my kids like seeing yours, I thought I'd include it anyway:

(hi crazy-hair Evelyn!)

And now for the moment of difficulty. I have mulled this over in my mind and decided that if we are going to be real friends I shall have to share these sorts of things with you, even though there is a chance it might make you jealous (depending on your situation). Especially because I want to make sure you never leave things out to protect me from envy. You hear that Jen? I want it all. I can handle it.

SO: when we first got the potties, I tried to sit Gavin on one to show him what you do with it! Well, he freaked out and got angry and resisted, so I let it go. But I did have Evelyn sit on the potty for him to see, and after about a day of playing around with the thing, he started sitting on it. Sunday afternoon I decided to keep his diaper off, and mention to him with great frequency that if he needed to go pee or poo he should sit on his potty. Well...he did! I think it helped that he's been pooing on the big potty for several weeks, so he understood what I meant by "going on the potty". Monday morning he had his diaper off the whole time, peed a bunch, pooed a bunch, and had not a single accident (okay Brad's dad found a poo on the floor upstairs. But I don't count that because he doesn't really know where the potty upstairs is).

I just keep marvelling because he is only 18 months old! Evelyn trained by the time she was 22 months, I think, and to me that was early. Honestly I always hoped he would turn out like his cousins, Amy's 2nd and 3rd, who both self-trained at young ages. But I never dreamed of it being this early, and I was actually trying really hard to prepare myself for the likelihood of having two kids in diapers by the time the baby joined the family.

Nope! 18 months old and he's already got it down, and I'm not having a baby for another five months! Sweet! I am very happy with my curly-haired Gavin right now.

(this is the least terrible picture I could get out of him this morning)

Now to just work on getting him into a toddler bed! It may be sooner than I'd planned, too--while Brad's parents were visiting and Evelyn was sleeping in his room, Gavin learned how to crawl out of his crib. Oy!





Somedays…

... we miss you more than other days.

“Mom?  ‘Member dat other time we camed to the zoo and Ebawyn was here with Gabin and Jacqui & Brad?  And I was a tiger and Ebawyn was a piggy and Daddy was there?  And then we had fun and we played and played, and ran and ran and…”

“Yep… I remember” 

Trapped on a Desert Island with Only My Lap Top and a Printer

Dear Jen,

So I'm hiding up in Brad's dark office, coming up with random "important" tasks to perform on the computer to avoid going back downstairs, wishing that the Skype phone was up here so I could shut the door and secretly call you! Not that it's against the rules or anything, but when you have guests over, hiding out is one thing. Walking past them, turning on the Skype program, grabbing the phone and disappearing back upstairs is perhaps going just a little too far.

Not that it's all that bad. See, Brad is oh so friendly of a guy, so he can't help but unauthorizedly invite random school friends to our house for dinner on occasion. This time, it's the girls in his Cuba class, who heard we were getting baby chicks (oh yeah--by the way, we've got some newborn chicks living in a clear plastic bin on our dining room table. I'd take a picture for you if the camera weren't, you know, downstairs) and of course began cooing and fussing and saying how they just have to come see them when they're here! So, Brad invited them for supper.

And they're nice girls. And Brad tidied the house and made the supper and cleared the table. But they're also single, Animal Science girls who live in an apartment together and recently spent seven days straight with each other in Cuba, and also with Brad, who they also converse with during their weekly class. And I'm, well, a mom, of 2.5 kids. And I went to school for Theatre--six years ago. And the biggest thing on my mind right now is filing my tax return to see how much money I get back this year, to figure out whether it's enough to justify visiting you! And to be honest the chicks aren't even really my thing--they're Brad's thing. So normally I'd stick it out, and only casually check the clock wondering when I'll be left to my own little world again. But lately I've been foregoing my daily nap because of that second-trimester boost of energy, and the problem is that I may have more energy than before, but I'm still pregnant, so come 4:00 I start to get a wee bit sluggish.

Try making conversation with people you have nothing in common with who you anticipate never seeing again in your life when it's 7:00 and you've been sluggish since 4:00. Know what happens? You notice, when you're putting the kids to bed, how nice and quiet it is up here. And then you start thinking that maybe you ought to print that document before you go on down. And also perhaps you can just sneak a little scripture reading in since they're right next to your bed. And before you know it, it's been an hour and you are officially hiding out in the closet-office off your bedroom, wishing the book you're reading (The Help--more than half way!) was also upstairs. That's what happens.

And I don't even feel guilty. I just wish I had my Skype phone up here...

Real Men Shoot Rats in House Coats

Dear Jen,

So, I know we've been talking about my little rat-in-the-roof problem lately. For two days in a row since the original offense and Brad's subsequent tossing of poison cubes up there I hadn't heard a thing and so I assumed the issue was resolved.

Last night, however, turned out to be an eventful night.

For some reason, I had given myself one of those weird shoulder muscle nerve pinches the previous night just by merit of sleeping. Ever have those? It happens sometimes. The unique thing about this one though, is that it progressively got worse throughout the day, until by bedtime the pain was not only shooting through to my chest and numbing my arm, but also all the way up into my neck. I don't know why--my guess is that, having had my sleep disturbed by Evelyn I really needed a nap that day, and since I didn't, my physical ailment punished me by inflaming itself.

Anyway, the point of all that is to explain that I slept very uncomfortably last night--lightly. This is why, at 2:00 am, I was wakened by the lightest scritch scritch scratching above my head. Groaning, I tried to ignore it, but just couldn't! So I did the only reasonable thing a person could do: got out of bed, grabbed the nearest book, and started smacking at the ceiling. Somehow this woke Brad up.

Nothing wakes Brad up.

He mumbled, "What are you doing?" "That stinkin' rat is scratching!" I said, getting back under the sheets. Brad goes back to sleep. I try to go back to sleep. Minutes go by, no sound. I think maybe I've scared it off. But then, just as my mind is beginning to drift again:

scritch scritch scratch.

I wanted to die. I huffily got out of bed, retrieved the "upstairs" broom (yup, we're fancy like that. Or mostly lazy. And our landlords left a broom behind), knocked it at the ceiling a couple times, set it beside the bed, and laid back down. The rat and I went through this dance for a few more minutes: it would be silent for a while, I would begin to drift, it would start back up with the scritch scritch scratching, I would grab my broom and knock it on the ceiling, and it would stop again. Until suddenly Brad got up, throwing his robe on.

"Where are you going?" I asked. "To get my gun!" he replied, then proceeded to stomp around the house for half an hour scouring for his pellet gun. Eventually he returned with the gun and a stool. He loaded the gun, placed the stool under the attic entrance, then looked around for a bit till he found a long piece of wood. "This'll do for a ladder." he said, and propped it on top of the stool. Before he made his outrageous and precarious climb, he paused, considered, and said, "Would this be considered something your grampa would do?"

See, because we have this running joke that Brad is just as ridiculous as my grampa. We discovered it at grampa's funeral when Brad identified with over half of the outrageous and hilarious stories my dad told about him in his eulogy. To give you an idea, my grampa is the sort of man who lost half a finger because his snow blower got clogged up, so he flipped it over without turning it off and started picking away at stuff with his hand! They'd have gotten along swimmingly.

Anyway, so he said to me, "Would this be considered something your grampa would do?" I didn't have to pause. "Yes." So then instead of the scritch scritch scratching of the rat, I got to listen to the padding of Brad's feet above my head, and the occassional rustle, and then a couple shots.

He didn't get it or anything. But it didn't come back the rest of the night! Took me another hour and a half to get back to sleep though. All too exciting.

Old houses are fun! We do have to tell the landlord though, because our suspicions were confirmed: the rodent was tearing away at the insulation, presumably to make a nest. And even if we get rid of this one, if there's a hole for something to enter through it's just going to keep happening and the insulation is going to get wrecked. Plus we only noticed this one because it was stupid enough to go right on top of our heads.

Anyway...fun night. In other news, I'm pretty excited about this:

For some unexplained reason, over the past two weeks I've added like ten members! I'm encouraged for the good weather--I think maybe, maybe with this much interest I'll start getting a couple more people coming once we're back at the park. I'm cautious, yet hopeful! And excited! Isn't it strange how these people don't even know me or care about me, and yet since I'm the one who started the group, I still feel popular and successful! This must be how you feel every day, you fancy playgroup lady. Right?

So...hope you have a good night's sleep tonight, like I'm praying for!

Love,

Jacqui