Highways in the Sky

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I am currently cruising at a speed of 416mph at an altitude of 41,042Ft.  High above the clouds I once believed were filled with Care Bears, I journey to the windy city of Chicago,IL.

This is my third journey of the year having already completed two hockey trips in the last six weeks; my husband and I are off to a seminar, leaving our little ones back home with their Grandparents (potential disaster - in the back of my head I'm thinking this may be the last trip the hubby and I take alone).

There was a time when climbing aboard a Boeing 737, traveling abroad toward endless possibilities, brought feelings of joy and excitement.  Having attended school in the U.S. I travelled the skies with bliss.  Just last August we embarked on our first family vacation to Pennsylvania.  Then, with the help of some turbulence (more like our plane bouncing around like a ping-pong ball), I became helpless.  My mind rattled, stomach turned, all the while my little darlings colored and played games oblivious to the consequences if the plane went down.  "Smile and look happy", I told myself over and over (as I hid my white knuckles from view).

From here onward, flying bliss has been replaced with nausea, stomach pains, and hot flashes.  A means to end. Vacation. A metal tube the size of a two story building, hurdled into the air.....ugh.


I watch the Flight Attendants and remind myself they, like the Pilot, do this everyday.  Shuttling travelers through the blue, sun-filled skies, serving Bits&Bites along with over-priced sandwiches.  They, however, unlike myself, saunter down the aisle with comfort and grace while I, hold on for dear life just to make it to the lavatory.

Curses on them! I pay  for my ticket, get squished into the middle seat next to Phil and another gentleman (who appears to be enjoying  this experience as much as I), without so much as complimentary vodka cranberry to calm my nerves.  Jingles by'!

Which, brings me here. Blogging.  Writing the thoughts and rambling tidbits to those who, may, or may not ever read this.  Toronto in t-minus one hour and twenty minutes....Chicago...not quick enough.  Pee break...immediately!

Mommy Travels

Let me start by apologizing for not having posted in a few weeks.  Over the last month or so I have embarked on two hockey trips, one to Moncton for Drew, my younger son, and just last week returned from Toronto, where Noah participated in the Summer Meltdown with his fellow Blizzard Dogs.  After a full season of hockey, and a six-week spring league, why not hit the ice rink in capri’s and sandals when it’s 32 degrees outside.  The phrase, “I am Canadian” resonates in my head! 

So here we were, my two boys and I in Toronto.  With GPS in hand, we manoeuvred the 12-lane highways,  braved shady yet interesting side roads, power-shopped like there was no tomorrow (one word – OUTLET) and even  tried our luck at Toronto’s downtown subway system to visit my dear friend and find the Hockey Hall of Fame!

The GPS led us straight to the closest subway stop. The parking however, was another story.  Though I could see the white street sign with the glowing “P” (indicating Public Parking), finding the entrance to such lot was another story.  Five blocks, 35 minutes, 2 long distance phone calls, and a 4-block parking lot later, we were good to go.  

After a successful day in downtown Toronto, a visit to the Hockey Hall of Fame and a great afternoon with my friend, I safely returned to the hotel with several shopping bags and two children.  Phew! All the while I’m still muttering to myself, “I must be crazy!”.

In the end, our Toronto hockey adventure was terrific.  We rounded off our trip off with Canada’s Wonderland, one too many rollercoasters (for Mommy that is), minor sunburns (as opposed to wind burn), lots of shopping and finally visiting family before returning home.

I stand by my statement, “National Lampoon’s got nothing on us”, and only now can truly chuckle at the craziness that IS travelling with kids.  Lessons learned? One, it is cheaper to pay for an extra piece of luggage as opposed to a bag that is over weight ($20.00 for extra bag/ $56.50 for overweight bag). Two, hotel rooms should better label their free water – free meaning $6.00 a bottle – next time, hide the expensive water immediately.  And, three, when four lights on the dashboard of your rental car illuminate within the first hour of having it, it is best to return the car immediately.  Unlike myself, who calls road assistance strictly for informative purposes, telling them, “It seems to be driving alright, I’ll see what happens.”.  Well, stalling out on the 401-highway amidst a hurricane rainfall is what happens.  With that, one more phone call to roadside assistance, a few silent profanities and a Hail Mary….enter rental car number two!

Now home, back with my little girl (who I think has taken over my side of the bed), I have the privacy of my own bathroom, cooked meals, and most importantly, solid ground!  Summer in St. John’s might not be that bad after all!

Till next week….I’m Chicago bound!

A Two Chicken Dinner

This evenings house specials; “two juicy chickens, serving white or dark meat, a choice of delicately cooked carrots or perhaps you may enjoy a side of ranch sauce and crunchy carrot sticks, we also have turnip, whipped and or baked potato, brown rice, creamy Caesar salad and finally mouth watering corn on the cob. Your beverage choice for the evening is crystal water, extra chilled milk or apple juice set at a delightful room temperature of 18 degrees – the chef has been quite busy all day!”

“Would you like a few minutes to decide?”

The trio take a moment. Each makes a glance around the table as if to ponder the perfect selection to satisfy their ravenous hunger, then, with one breath they announce their decisions with anticipation and delight….or NOT!

“Is this chicken? I don’t like chicken.”

“Why did you make this? You know “I” only like brown meat”

“Um, these carrots are too mushy. Why did you make the other ones?”

“This is gravy. I hate gravy…oh, dressing too…nope, not eating that!”

“Why does he get the bigger glass? I like that one.”

“Stop looking at me! I’m trying to eat my food.”

“Mom, how many bites did you say? Four? Four is good right?”

“If I eat three bites, can I have a snack?”

“I SAID STOP LOOKING AT ME!”

“Get your foot off my chair!”

“My foot’s not on your chair. But it is now!  Ha ha ha.”

“Oh yeah, this is really disgusting.”

As I collected my food, I desperately tried to ignore the mind numbing sound of three Chihuahuas on speed. I quickly realized I was losing the battle.  Patience and self control were hanging on by a thread.   If there was anything worse than an overactive gag reflex and poopy underwear, it was feeding time at our stall.  Day in and day out I go to great lengths to provide healthy, well rounded choices for my kids.  I’ll admit that my repertoire is not big; however, the end result is always tasty to me.  With five mouths to feed it’s always challenging to conjure something that is favourable to all.  Yet, I feel I always provide a well rounded menu, with sufficient choice selection for all. 

Tonight however, like many, many meal times before it was no different. 

The little creatures were adamant in their refusal to eat, and I was not giving in to their demands.  I stand in the doorway, watching as the food controversy escalates. ‘She stuck her finger in his potato’, ‘He totally just spit corn at me’, ‘I`m only eating three`, with an underlying dribble (gasp) that can be nothing other than someone`s drink making its way across the table and onto the floor.

Option A: Join the chaos with a full-out Mommy breakdown.  Don’t eat the food! I only spent half the day in the kitchen. Which was hot enough to kill ya! You try finding something to make that everyone eats! Seriously! Have a go at it. Sweet mother of sh…..

Or, Option B, my choice for tonight.

Calmly I collect my dinner plate and glass of chilly milk then make my way past the little hooligans and into the bathroom.  With dinner on the bathroom counter, I lock the door, run the cold water in the shower and breathe a sigh of relief, absorbing the serenity of the white noise.  The floor is chilly and cooling.  I am engaged by the sounds of the shower, oblivious to the destruction that may be occurring down the hall. With a toothpaste covered hand towel to cover my lap I eat my dinner with conviction and pure delight.  My sanctuary, my happy place that allowed me to collect my thoughts and enjoy the fruits of my labour.  All was good.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM….Mom? Are you in there?

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Today was not one of my best days, a hormonal thrashing of agitation, impatience, eye-rolling and overall failure.  This morning simply blow drying my hair left me in a hot-flashed induced uproar (A sweaty, mumbling, hormonal mess).

So tonight, I reflect.  Mother Nature has me by the ovaries, but I fight, grasping hold of the good I know is out there.

Good:   Managed to get out of bed after pressing the snooze button three times, rather than the usual five.

Bad: realized Mother Nature had other plans for my wardrobe as I was now sporting the good old “grannie panties”. Good grief.

Good: Children smell PMS like a dog smells fear.  A carefully orchestrated plan of attack as they wait to take me down in a moment of weakness; breathe, “I am in control – They are only children”!

Bad: Ordered shoes, sneakers, and a camera filter on EBay  - buyers remorse? Or temporary insanity due to hormonal flux within the pituitary?

Good: Baked cookies for the kids. They’ve been asking me forever, hmmm yummy!

Bad: Ate cookie dough, correction, ate a lot of cookie dough. Then, felt like crap for eating cookie dough, so I…ate more cookie dough. Next up, Tums.

Good: Met my friend for Coffee! Nothing like a good Hazelnut Lattè accompanied with some sisterhood to  bring you back to the mortal side.

Bad: Drank too much coffee. Got heart palpations and  jitters…now the kids sounded like Chipmunks on speed. I could feel the fluid being drained from my brain as it throbbed and throbbed. Ugh.

Good:  Considered that the billion articles on PMS prevention as related to caffeine, alcohol and carbohydrates may have some validity. (Next month, only wine and fountain-pop)

Good: Drinking my GreensFirst every day.  Fifteen servings of vegetable awesomness!!

Bad:  Visited many public bathrooms in the City, thanks to my GreensFirst. Note to self, never again ask the children to “hold it” for five minutes till we get home.  My intestines still haven’t forgiven me for “holding on”.  From now on, wet wipes, hand sanitizer and whatever bathroom I can find.

Good: Advil

Bad: Just realized this month is the 20^th anniversary of getting my period. How is it that after a decade, I still cannot be victorious over the hormonal rollercoaster I endure each month.  Each and every time I am useless against its power. It takes my uterus, emotional stability and sanity to the threshold of tolerance; and every time I lose.

Good: Oldest child gave me an extra long hug at bedtime as he said, “I really love you Mom!”

Bad:  No hot lunch at school tomorrow. I’m so tired I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than try to think of something to make this hour of the night.

Good: Relief. Tomorrow is Friday.

Bad: Tomorrow is Friday the 13^th. Crap!

And there it is, another day under the belt... “Have a Happy Period”! – I think not.

Til tomorrow Diary….goodnight!

The Stomach Bug

There once was a stomach bug that snuck into my place
It was stealth like and shrewd while it plotted its chase

With its keen little plan it lurked in the dark
As my daughter played Barbies, she’d become its mark

A noise from the family room that sounded not right
Which one of the three was now starting a fight?

“What’s wrong? What happened? What did you spill?”
  “I said not to much. You don’t over-fill....”

Sweet mother! Holy crap! That’s not milk, juice or kool-aid
but a pool of vomit she’s spewed and sprayed

“Oh baby! What happened? I didn’t know you felt sick”
Was this a joke or some evil, unwanted trick?

The vomit was everywhere, webbed in her toes
her hair and her bankies, then it came across my nose

That smell made me urge, I could taste it in my mouth
“Sweet mother of pear!”, I wanted to shout

I gagged and I spit, then admitted defeat
there’s nothing normal about food that’s meshed to your feet.

I took one for the team as I cleaned up the puddles
while my daughter dry-heaved in between Mommy cuddles

It’s violent and harsh, but its stay is brief
yet, with two other children it leaves little relief

This bug was now hiding, in the cracks and the walls
Smirking and snicerking as the Locke Family falls

Have pity, take mercy for I will fight til the end
as I've no interest in cleaning fluids from either end.

I bid you farewell, with a cramp in my tummy
So unfair, this really bites, cause who takes care of Mummy?

April Fools' Day

First off I would like to thank “Shelia” for dumping the 30cm plus centimetres of snow last week.  There’s nothing better than shovelling snow and ice while listening to the sounds of Katy Perry’s “California Girls’.  Daisy dukes and bikini’s on top? … Please hold while I stick toothpicks in my eyes.

With snow pants, skidoo gloves, and a scarf wrapped around my face, I braved the 90km/hr winds once again removing snow, snow and more snow.  Where we live, the rolling hills of freshly fallen snow are something you only read of in books.  Here, the sideways falling snow mixed with rain and fridgid winds leave behind moguls of ice covered with dirt.  There’s nothing pretty about this time of year. 

The sun-filled skies of St. Petersburg, Florida are a far cry from the overcast, grey-coloured ones here.  Outside activities for the kids are beginning to shift toward spring, with dusted off hockey nets and street-hockey sticks making their way back to the streets. “If you build it they will come”. So, why not “if you play it, spring will come” in the hope Mother Nature will throw a few mild, sunny days our way. 

Stacks of t-shirts and shorts, numerous racks of bathing suits and bikini’s, soccer balls and shin pads, baseball gear, golf equipment have lined the retail stores. Have these people not looked outside lately?  By the time we’re ready for any of those things, most are gone and are replaced with next season’s fall line.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy winter; when it’s supposed to be winter. Here, winter has a sick and twisted time-line; seeing snow ‘til May or June is not that unlikely.  Perhaps we should engage retailers with a more appropriate marketing campaign. “You hand over a few of those bikini’s filling the stores and I’ll give you the 10 pounds I packed on over the winter!”. 

Well, today April has finally arrived. Some Newfoundlanders spread their wings - heading south, others persevere against the chilly spring air digging out their beloved barbecues’ and some extend that gym membership for just one more month.   Bikini’s, palm trees, martini’s by the pool…some good old vitamin D, seem nothing more than urban myths.  I know you’re out there and I’m gonna find you! Be it street hockey, rollerblading or simply shovelling snow in my flip flops….Spring WILL be found! (if today is any indication...+5 and sunny skies = awesome!)

Sheila's Brush

My daughter has finally recovered from pneumonia and then a nasty virus that kept us housebound for a pleasant two weeks.  In that time I snuggled with my daughter, re-arranged tupperware, and gutted closets. It was during these activities I discovered my house in need of some serious spring dusting and a coat of paint. 

No one will argue, when you have kids there is a certain amount of paint scratches, smudges,  and the occasional gouge that falls in the acceptable level.  I’ve discovered dust-bunnies that, had they been left another day or so, might have walked themselves into the garbage.

Spring project? Nothing a little sand paper and a lick of paint can’t fix, right? Paint those dust bunnies right into the paint as if they were always meant to be there! - Ha, ha, ha! Who am I kidding!  I can barely get a week worth of laundry put away.  It gets washed, folded into the laundry basket, emptied and sorted onto my bed…then back into the basket as I’m too tired and need to get into my bed (this process is then repeated for the next three-four days until the clothes is finally put away). Sound familiar?

It’s been an interesting few weeks to say the least.  Hockey for the boys is now in playoff mode, while other activities, like gymnastics and canskate are coming to an end for the winter season.  I can’t complain about winter, we’ve been quite lucky this year.  Though, once again I must slowly reintroduce my eyes to the phenomenon known as the “sun”.  I don’t know if Newfoundlanders go South during March and April specifically for sand, palm trees, and “all-inclusive” resorts; but, more so to solidify the belief that the sun does shine in other parts of the world. 

Last week while drudging my way down the Parkway, its’ glorious rays broke through the gray grief-stricken clouds of March spilling light and hope onto the streets of St. John’s.  Like a scene out of Hollywood, I wanted to pull over, exit the vehicle, stand in the middle of the road allowing my skin to absorb the heavenly and scarce warmth of the sun……”Mom, can I have $20.00 for Toys r’ US?”, a little voice breaks the silence as my blinded eyes squint to regain their focus while I attempt to remain on the road.

All that’s left now is the impending winter storm of Shelia`s Brush.  Generally, St. Patrick`s Day is accompanied by the Legend of Shelia`s Brush.  Newfoundlanders are given one last final wallop of a winter storm to officiate the coming of Spring (Spring? I laugh).  It`s said that Shelia is either the mother, sister or wife of St. Patrick; this last final storm (or storms) are said to be Shelia brushing away what`s left of winter. Sweeping away the winter season making way for Spring to arrive.

Well, I hear she`s cleaning house for this weekend. If so, I have a few requests.  “Shelia? While you’re whipping up a few snow squalls, blowing snow and zero visibility could ya swoop by and take some dust bunnies, slap a coat of paint on the walls and base boards and if there’s time, drop a box of wax on the doorstep…winter’s not the only thing needing a “brushing away” – these legs haven’t see a razor since…good grief that’s not pleasant!”

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all!