Sleeping Like A Hamster

Rainbow saved up her money to buy her hamster a car. It was a tiny yellow car somewhat resembling a narrow Volkswagen.

Carefully, she placed her hamster in the car. Despite the fact that he was backwards, I have to admit he was cute.

Then it happened…

The car accidentally dropped from her hands, with the hamster still inside. She screamed “He’s dead!” She lifted the still hamster from the car, his limp legs out to the sides. Sobbing, he passed him into the shirt I was folding.

I looked down at Smokey. He was still breathing, but other than that showing no real sign of the lively critter he typically was. Nothing else moved. Not a whisker.

I held him in the shirt for some time. Rainbow could not be consoled. I placed him back in his cage and offered her the comfort I could.

Smokey has been “sleeping” for the better part of two days now. Personally, I think he’s in some kind of a hamster coma.

He seems to be breathing normally, and his sleeping position has changed. And I’m really not sure what to do for a hamster in a coma. I never touch him or talk to him… and doing so now may just be too much of a shock to the poor little guy. I just keep peeking in his cage, hoping to find a party going on inside.

But for now, hamster hibernation continues.

Parking rant

There are several parking lots at Job1. Because of the building I work in, I can either pay a little bit extra to park in “yellow” or pay the regular rate and park further away in “red.” I chose to pay for “yellow.” At this point in time (for at least another week) students do not have the option to park in “yellow.”

Now the first couple of days of the new school year, I’d get to work only to find there was no room in “yellow.” It was full of cars with red tags. As “yellow” can park in “red” but not vice versa, I would park in “red” and walk the extra steps. Finally, they started putting notes on the “red” cars parked in “yellow” to tell them they seem to have missed the little colour rule.

Gradually, as the “reds” started catching on, more spaces became available in “yellow.” Still, despite the fact that you knew word was getting out, half the lot had “red” passes hanging from the window. Some even dared park with last year’s pass, or worse… no pass at all. Walking through to lot would make me clench my teeth as I couldn’t help but count the number of colour-blind parkers I passed.

Finally tickets started being issued. Now the lot still has some “reds” but the numbers have drastically declined. But I really have to wonder about the “reds” that come into the “yellow” lot day after day. Even if they aren’t ticketed themselves, they can’t miss that “reds” are ticketed. Is it the perception of invincibility? Is it endless wealth? Is it that they just don’t care?

I have to admit that I wish a ticket upon every incorrectly or wrongly tagged car I see in my lot. They irk me. I wish I had a ticket book myself to write them up one. Or two. Better yet, I wish I had a tow truck.

I know that in a week or two the students will be offered some places in the “yellow” lot and they can “upgrade” their pass. At that time, administration will probably oversell the lot (with the logic that not all will be there at the same time), and I will have to walk from the “red” lot in the mornings again despite my “yellow” pass.

And I’m ok with the “yellow” lot being full of “yellow.” But heaven help me if, on my way from the “red” lot I stroll through the “yellow” and pass one of those little red window tags in a spot that should be mine…

Because it’s gonna’ be a colourful reaction. I’m just saying.

Meeting the Neighbour

The girls each have a hamster, and each hamster resides in a separate cage. These cages are separated by cardboard so that, unless there is a crack I am unaware of (ala Pyramus and Thisbie), the two are never close enough to become acquainted with the neighbouring hamster.

Until now.

Yesterday Rainbow came running into the room to announce they had taken the two hamsters out onto the lawn and they “loooooooove each other.”

No good can come of this. I’m just saying.

Childhood Perceptions

Today’s celebration – childhood perceptions…

Rainbow: Mom, I really don’t think my teacher is all that bright.

Me: Really? Why is that?

Rainbow: Today she asked me what 2 plus 2 is! Shouldn’t she know the answer to that?!

Me: Well….

Rainbow: I mean really… it’s as if she wants us to teach her math!

Fall Changes

Ah, fall…

A time of changes…

The leaves are changing…

The dog is changing…

What’s that?
The dog?
Changing?

Yes… I am fairly certain that when I went out for eggrolls yesterday I had a long haired Sheltie that looked like this…

And when I came back with eggrolls, he seems to have been replaced with a short-haired clone with a bad coiffure an interesting hairdoo that looks like this…

And just in time for the cooler weather too!

Baby needs a new winter coat.

To Angel

There seems always to be a point in time – a life moment – that dissects one’s existence. When we are younger we compartmentalize our lives into events before high school and events after. After we marry, the marker might move to the wedding and life becomes divided into life events as a single and life as a married. For me, you are that life moment. My life became all that occurred before Angel, and all that has occurred since.

I wonder what you think of me now. In the early years following that moment, I would refuse to work on the day of your anniversary. I would go out to dinner, visit your grave, sing “Happy Birthday”, and cry. This year I will work at least 15 hours that day. As a result, I will not visit you until the following day. But I will still cry. I admit that I have allowed the needs of the living to take precedence over celebration of the dead. Now that you will be nine I expect that you might understand that birthdays are sometimes shifted to meet a family’s schedules. At least I hope you understand that. And forgive me. Again.

Tomorrow is your ninth anniversary. Anniversary. It sounds as if you were married. That truly bothers me. But Birth-day is just wrong. And Death-day is more so. There must be a better word. How about Angel-day? Or Angelversary? That might work.

And, despite the fact that I talk about celebrating your existence, I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that your resting place makes you seem a bit like the poor child with the tattered jacket looking in on the snazzy playground. Forgive me that as well. Again, it is more a case of tending to the needs of the living. Trust me when I tell you that it is no measure of the love I have for you.

Happy Angelversary, darling. You will always be my baby. I love you.

Possibilities

Today’s celebration = Possibilitites.

I’ll be the first to admit that it is easy to feel defeated sometimes. When I (yet again) don’t make the short list for some entry level position I could probably do with my eyes closed… when others appear to go out of their way to show my seeming insignificance… when I feel the weight of someone I don’t even know judging me… like the air slowly leaking from a balloon, confidence slowly oozes from one’s psyche, even when that rational thought tells you the opinions of others is just a bunch of hooey.

Well, for some of us, confidence would be shaken.

Rainbow has been somewhat negative about my idea that she should try Taekwondo with her sister later this week. It seems the idea of breaking wood, which she apparently thinks Taekwondo is about, isn’t sitting well with her (not that she’s likely to attempt breaking wood any time soon). “Fine,” I thought. It’s not for everyone. No big deal. And maybe she will change her mind after she watches some lessons.

Then today she proudly announced that she had snapped her frozen yogurt tube in half, clean through the plastic wrapper while trying to make it “soft but ice-bergy.” “This means I can probably break wood! I can even be a black belt some day if I practice! I think we should make a black belt out of paper for me to wear around the house. Will you help me?”

Ah yes… making crafts is the end results of most all of life’s decisions when you’re seven. And suddenly an accidental snap means achievement is possible. Snap. Confidence is restored. Anything is possible.

So today, I celebrate possibilities. Because sometimes believing things are possible is the impetus to making things happen. Belief makes things possible.

And I suppose a little paper black belt doesn’t hurt either.

September’s New Plan

When I was a child I used to love driving past car lots which were decorated with those strings of triangle flags. How festive it looked driving by the lines of colour that draped from pole to pole, outlining the parimeter of the lot and calling buyers to some fabulous “Deal on Wheels.”

I used to feel the same way about fall. Beautiful colours celebrating the end of summer.

Not lately. Not in years.

No amount of streamers can make a car dealership provide any more car for the money. And no amount of colour can mask the fact that September brings memories of death. I am not a fan of September.

But I have been pondering this for a while now. Inherent in the fact that someone has died is also the fact that someone existed. And we can focus on the grief and pain (which feelings are naturally to come, as surely as the anniversary is to arrive), or we can — when emotion allows — celebrate that the one(s) we miss have existed. Life is a great and precious gift and deserves that, I think.

While this may be a little easier said than done, and since it is not possible for me to just go back to bed until September is over, my current plan is to focus my energies this September on trying to notice the little things that need to be celebrated in life. Because, really, life is the sum of a lot of little things. It’s coffee, and chocolate, and kind words, and giggles. It’s even the flags at car dealerships sometimes.

Betty, Betty, Betty

My girls don’t like sandwiches (other than pb&j) and go to a peanut-free school, so last year I would get up early and bake muffins for lunches several times per week. Now they hate muffins.

So, in the interest of jazzing up the lunch bags, I bought a box of Bisquick. I have fond memories of some quick fixings made with Bisquick in college. Unfortunately, I haven’t bought it since then, and no longer have these recipies I was apparently so taken with.

So I went to the Betty Crocker website and began searching. What do you know! They have a Bisquick e-newsletter! Sounds perfect…. except that they didn’t have an option to click any provinces… only states. How could this be? How would it be possible that I could actually buy the product and not have access to recipes? As there had to be some mistake, I wisked dear Betty off an email explaining my dilemma.

Betty wrote back. “While anyone in the world can access this web site, the site is intended for use by residents of the United States of America only.” Apparently because Candians are ineligible for the programs and promotions (which I am not interested in) and because some recipies feature items and General Mills products that are not available in Canada, this seemed like a good idea to them. She offered me links to three websites that had nothing to do with Bisquick. For some reason I think she thought that would be “helpful”.

I have written her back:

While I thank you for your reply, the information was not at all “helpful.” I do not want information on connecting with my family (got it covered), cheerios, or whole grain oats. What I want is the e-newsletter on Bisquick recipies.

I am very disappointed that your company chooses to discriminate against providing this information to Canadians. It is completely absurd that this should be an issue when the internet is a media that spans the globe. The practice of supplying this electronic information only to Americans when Bisquick – and a plethora of other Betty Crocker products — is available in my country does little to foster product loyalty… in fact, it does the opposite.

So, the Bisquick sits unopened in my cupboard, my impression of Betty as a friendly sharing homemaker is tarnished, and I am spreading the word (via internet, ironically) that Betty has this anti-Canadian sharing policy.

If anyone has any tried and true lunch favourites they care to share with this busy mom of selective eaters, depite the fact that I live in Canada, I’d love to hear from you.