Dear Quarantine Diary -Week #37

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back to school, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, first day of school, humour, school

Dear Diary – Driving home from my parents at the end of the summer break, I seriously thought my car was falling apart. I heard a loud growling noise, like metal being torn from a building, and the car began to shimmy. In a moment of panic, I feared that it was coming from the semi in front of me, and any second, sheared metal was going to fly at me. Then I had a flashback to my childhood and I recognized the sound. “That’s a jet!” I exclaimed to Little Guy, who rolled his eyes nonchalantly at me (because turning his head was too much work). I knew the Snow Birds were in the neighbourhood, plus my Dad really likes planes and trains, so air shows and rail yards were often part of our summer experience. Sure enough, a fighter jet emerged from the clouds beside my window. A few minutes later, another one passed by. Not the Snow Birds, but still pretty cool!

What isn’t cool is that the shimmy was actually from my car, and I found out today I need new tires. Urgently.

Dear Diary – So once again a cloud hangs over our household. School started for Little Guy last Friday. This year, there’s a whole new stupid format: Classes 1&2 for one week, then Classes 3 & 4 the next week, and alternating like so! It’s a format that would have ruined my academic career. If I had been forced to endure math class for an entire morning or afternoon, I would have been a depleted, discouraged wet dishrag for the remainder of the day.

How to Do Math

1. Write down the problem.

2. Cry.

Little Guy did not get all the courses he requested, and when I saw the schedule I was nervous, especially as he elected to continue school online. Functions, Chemistry, and Drawing are doable, but how does one participate in Drama online?

We were very pleased when his request to change a course was accepted and after a quick phone call and email to confirm with me, the drama dilemma was deleted. At least, until it was time to log in for his new class but he didn’t have the necessary information to log in. He waited until after school to tell me. The school’s auto-dialer called us at dinnertime. Both terribly helpful! He’ll be marked as absent, which hardly seems fair, and worse, I had to call the school! I nearly have a panic attack every time I had contact with the school! I’ve left 2 voicemails and sent 2 email to explain why he had missed class. I should know by now that nothing is simple but crap doodle, I keep hoping!

Dear Diary – There’s obviously a new motorbiker in the neighbourhood. We can hear him practicing as he fumbles with the throttle and motors around the block to the south of us. It’s tolerable during daylight but once the sun is set and my jammies are on, I’m tempted to stick a banana in his pipe. Speaking of tolerable, Thunder Nugget next door is back in school so our days are much sweeter quieter. Even the squirrels have returned to play in the yard and birds sing again…between the hours of 8 and 3. Because there’s a whole lot of thundering and screaming the rest of the time.

Dear Diary – A “Weekend Warrior” is usually applied to a person who participates in an activity full-tilt on weekends. Those guys dressed in skin-tight spandex and pointy helmets on bicycles spring to my mind. But this weekend, I felt like a “weekend warrior” pushing through the pain as I made…chili sauce. It required endurance…to stand for hours chopping cups of onions and peppers. It required dedication… to peel and dice 8 cups of tomatoes. It required courage…to work with chili peppers (from the plant I mistook for a bell pepper but was company for Hubby when I was away during quarantine), not to mention bubbling, boiling water and slippery glass jars. Actually, Hubby braved the hot water for me as I lack the proper equipment and finger strength.

It was a lot of work for 8 jars of sauce I can’t even eat! (by the time I snapped a pic, Hubby had already eaten jar 8. I didn’t even bother canning it).

But I have still have a problem? I bought two 4-quart baskets of tomatoes…and I only used one. What do I do with these tomatoes?

Dear Diary – I recently had a friend betray my trust and I had to step back from the relationship completely. Which sucked! This week, we were finally able to reconnect and I’m hoping that the time apart will change some of the unhealthy dynamics that have been developing over time. I wasn’t sure how to speak up without creating an emotional hullabaloo. Neither of us has the emotional energy for it. Hopefully this is a new beginning, and I am certainly more prepared to set boundaries and stick with them.

A friend loves at all times.

Proverbs 17:17a

Dear Diary – I saw my rheumatologist today, for less than 5 minutes. With the exception of face masks, it felt normal – he was still running late (I really don’t understand how he can always be running late when he only sees patients for 5 minutes, and his office is never full). With covid restrictions, only 3 are allowed in the waiting room and I was #4. I had to wait outside and watch for someone to leave. I found a clean bench in the sun and watched the door. After 10 minutes, one person went in but no one came out. Apparently I was the only one asked to wait outside! Anyway, in those 5 minutes he toyed with the idea of sending me for an MRI on my frozen shoulder. I told him I’m claustrophobic…

So I won’t be going for an MRI and we’ll reassess next March when I meet him again, for another riveting 5 minutes of my life! 🙂

Dear Diary – I was in a store recently when the need to use the restroom arose. I was already feeling uneasy and way too warm, but I made my way to the tiny room at the back of the store. Trying my best not to touch anything, I caught myself actually holding my breath. How lovely would it be if I passed out in the stall, panties around my ankles, skirt around my ears, and my face pressed up against the grungy floor?!?!

I talked myself through my ministrations and stepped up to the sink. It was one of those sensor types but apparently, the sensor couldn’t sense me. I commenced the gentle fingertip wave while giving it my best “I’m not impressed” face. But nothing happened. I sighed and waited for the lady at the other sink to stop playing finish up. At least I don’t have to wait for her to fix her lipstick! I moved to the other sink and commenced the gentle fingertip wave. This time it worked and I nodded “good job” to the tap.

It wasn’t the first time I felt invisible!!

Next I moved on the hand dryer, also a sensor, which worked satisfactorily for the lady ahead of me. I wiggled my fingers under the sensor. Nothing happened. I wiggled harder. Still, nothing happened. I swiped right. I swiped left. I growled, “come on” and waved my hands like I was cooling a loaf of bread. Still nothing happened. I started waving and jabbing like a bad disco dancer, engaging not just my hands but both arms, and my legs…my whole body.

It was then that I noticed a small, birdlike woman standing at the sinks, staring at me with frightened eyes. I never heard her come in. I smiled under my mask, shrugged my shoulders, and wiping my fingers on my skirt, exited the tiny room.

I was barely 2 feet out the door when I heard the gentle purr of the hand dryer.

Dear Diary – I was joking when I threw down the gauntlet. I posted a Facebook memory of my Mud Hero run and asked “who’s with me for next year?”. I had 2 people say “I’m in”! Big Guy is also keen; I’m sure, like mothers after childbirth, he’s forgotten the intense pain and suffering. Little Guy has also been very keen for a number of years. I suggested that we train together this year, knowing full well that I could back out at the last minute and who would blame me? I’m keen too, but while the spirit is willing, the flesh is telling me I’m certifiably insane. Actually, the spirit just piped up in agreement with the flesh. I might just be in a heap of trouble.

But I have heard that mud is good for the skin.

Dear Quarantine Diary #24

Tags

back to school, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, school

Dear Diary – As part of the final “hurrah” of summer, we watched the production, Esther, live-streamed from The Sight & Sound Theatre in Pennsylvania. It was fantastic and we really enjoyed it, up until the climax when our internet started buffering and the screen froze. We waited for an hour, hoping it would sort itself out. We know how the story ends, but it was still disappointing.

The day I left, I had to first record myself singing and playing the piano for Sunday’s worship service. Our church has just opened, but for a few weeks, the service will still be pre-recorded, especially as so many have elected to continue to worship online.

It went well for the most part. I only had to restart the last song seven times (once was because I hit the wrong note on the last chord). I used Mom’s keyboard, propping my music and phone on her piano behind the keyboard; the phone only fell off twice. Unlike a boy scout, I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t brought “church clothes” when I came, so had to settle for a white blouse covered in little watermelons. I should have paid more attention to my own “melons” which were modestly covered, but still too prominant in the frame and not in a flattering manner. Also, I was looking above the phone, not at it, because I reading the music…and the words, which I occasionally got wrong.

I talked to the pastor after I uploaded it (but not about my melons – that would be inappropriate) and I thought we had decided to leave my face for the reading at the beginning, then switch to blank screens with the words. He would add guitar and harmony; there would be sound, but not sight.

I don’t know what happened between Tuesday evening and Sunday morning, but there I was, full frontal, singing over everyone’s heads. I cringed for the full 10 minutes. Note to self: Be prepared for everything!

Dear Diary – I seriously need to find a hobby that doesn’t require so much “stuff”. It only took me an hour to make this much mess (and that doesn’t include my tiny desk)!

Dear Diary – So school started last Thursday. By Wednesday evening, we still had no idea what courses Little Guy had, what time he was supposed to log on for virtual school, or where to log on. I was receiving frantic texts from another Mom at such a rate, I thought my phone was going to explode. Little Guy logged into the system and his schedule listed 8 courses for Sept-Feb…It’s a semester system and there are only 4 periods per semester. By 8 p.m. he had received 1 email from one teacher.  By noon Thursday, 3 emails. Around 2 p.m. he received the final email, which was for his first period class. But “class” had started at 12:30. Guess he missed it?

It was not an auspicious beginning.

Hubby, in the meantime, hasn’t taken time off in the summer like the rest of us. He’s struggling to find the motivation to work. Me too. The house is a disaster, the garden is overgrown. Even our little red squirrel has moved out! I’ve developed some bad habits during lockdown too.

I was in my kitchen washing dishes when I realized – I’m late for Facebook!

Good news! We’re still eating.

My friend and I went grocery shopping the day after I arrived home. To say I was “in a mood” would be a gross understatement. But I warned her.

Anyway, I finally had a good experience at the store. My cashier was sweet and soft-spoken. She told me about the store specials. She offered to help me pack my bags (which they aren’t doing in most stores). And she even gave me an extra bag for  my eggs and she didn’t charge me. I left feeling in a much better humour.

After we put groceries away at both our homes, we picked up Tim’s and went for a walk in Tim’s neighbourhood (since park loos are still closed and you just never know…) This Tim’s is in a plaza, which includes a grocery store. We were stopped at the light, when my friend noticed a guy waiting at the light with burger buns on the roof of his car. Others were noticing too and honking their horns. As my friend darted into the intersection to stop him, the guy turning right also stopped to flag down the burger bun dude too. I was shocked that so many people were piping up to help. As my friend walked back, another car (turning on the red light) honked at her for being there. My friend, who is NOT shy, threw her arms in the air and yelled “give me a break”. Then she pointed at the guy getting back in his car, with a bag of burger buns. This woman actually stopped, rolled down her window and apologized profusely, thanking my friend for helping this dude. And the car….was a Mercedes! I’m not saying all Mercedes drivers’ are jerks, but I’ve met more than my fair share of “I own the road, you despicable paeon, get out of my way!”, so much so that this merited mentioning.

Buns were saved that day!

p.s. The last Mercedes I saw and noted, was weaving through holiday traffic….and a few minutes later we passed him pulled over by the cops! I cheered. Little Guy glared at me. He didn’t understand my joy at this guy’s misfortune (even if he was being a dangerous jerk). Wait until he becomes a driver…

Mother Nature is so providential. She gives us 12 years to develop a love for our children before turning them into teenagers. – William Galvin

3 Peaches and an Angry Lady

Tags

back to school, driving, humour, school

Yes, I’m angry. My normal morning commute when school is in session, is always fraught with dangerous and inconsiderate drivers. That’s a bad combination. But somehow I forgot just how bad it can be…or I somehow tricked my brain into thinking the episodes were more spread out?

Today is the 4^th day of school and I haven’t even ventured into the back parking lot yet, just the kiss ’n ride at the front.

I’m afraid.

Today, I met 3 lovely peaches in a less than 5 minute span. The first ditz (like so many others) had no clue how to use a kiss ‘n ride. She didn’t understand that you can’t just pull over where the Spirit leads you, at a cock-eyed angle and have a 10 minute discussion with your child, while the 8 cars behind you honk their horns and try to edge the car in front of them forward by playing that age-old game, “not touching you”. You know the one where you get as close to someone without actually touching them and then egg them on by repeating “I’m not touching you”? Ditz didn’t even get it when the teacher started knocking on the car window and waving like a lunatic. It must have been some conversation in that car! It would have been more fun to watch if the car behind me wasn’t playing “not touching you” and screaming obscenities. Yes, I can read your lips using my rear view mirror…

I escaped the kiss ‘n ride unscathed, only to meet the next combatant…an old battle axe in a battleship. She turned left in front of me, breezing through her stop sign. I honked and gave her my “seriously??” face, to which this seasoned veteran replied with dentures sloshing and hands waving. I’m pretty sure one of those gestures is quite rude in Italy!

I stopped in a long line of cars at a red light, when the lady in red behind me took exception. Apparently she thought I should play “not touching you” and magically make the light turn green. I was at the edge of an intersection….a large truck was waiting to turn right, a small car was blocking oncoming traffic, waiting to turn left. I could a) inch forward so I would block the intersection so no one could move, not that I could go much further (because there were still cars in front of me and a red light), or b) sit still and let some traffic through. The light turned green, the grateful truck driver flashed a smile and waved as he joined the line, and lady in red turned a deep crimson and blared her horn like a ship leaving port – long and heavy! Yes, I can read your lips using my rear view mirror and they were not words of edification. I may have given her a quick first pump minus 3 fingers…and a thumb. I’m not sure. And I’m not proud of it.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. A pick-up truck nearly turned a pedestrian into a grease spot. A cyclist decided the rules of the road didn’t apply to him. A black BMW cut off a motorcyclist. The usual suspects in this city.

I’ll admit it, Big Guy. Maybe I should get one of these…

…with pink paintballs because I am, after all, a lady!

(Or lady-like…there’s a big difference.)

Happy Weekend!

The Crying Box

Tags

back to school, humour, life lessons, school

I admire Nursery School teachers. For the first few weeks (or up to Thanksgiving so I’m told by an expert), these stoic educators deal with tears…sad tears, angry tears, and perhaps in private, their own tears. They deal with the “contagious floodgates” – one child cries, which starts another crying, and pretty soon half the class is in the depths of despair. They deal with children with red faces and swollen eyes, and with children who have lost control of their bladders because they are sobbing and they just…can’t quite…hold it…. These teachers deserve giant gold stars!

There’s a Nursery School in the church, which my Little Guy attended for JK. Both teachers are incredibly kind! I have never once witnessed them losing patience with even the unruliest child. They remain loving and steadfast in the face of wide eyes and quivering lips.

A few years ago, one of the teachers came up with an “out of the box” solution to all tears…a crying box. A simple square made of masking tape on the floor of the main room with a box of tissues. The box is separate from main group, but studiously supervised, and while the teachers are always careful to acknowledge a child’s feelings (leaving Mom or Dad is traumatic), they don’t tolerate on-going crying for the sake of crying. They’re experienced enough to understand the difference between kids that are sad and kids that are crying because they are angry. And they recognize that some children just need time…to cry. And it works! The kids learn early on that the crying box is a safe place for them to go and let their feelings out. When they’re feeling better, they can return to the group.

Last week, one of the teachers told me about a child who was trying to “keep it together”. They could see the tension building and tears starting to form, and before long this little girl would sprint to the box for a good cry. Then she’d clean herself up, and return to the group. In a little while, the tension built again and she’d sprint to the crying box again.

It may seem unconventional, however:

• It gives the children a safe place to express their emotions; it is also a space respected by the teachers and other students;
• It acknowledges the children’s feelings without allowing the feelings to control their behavior;
• It teaches them that they are in control of their emotions, not the other way around;
• It teaches them how to gauge their emotions and to judge when they need some time out to regain control; and,
• It minimizes the “cascade” effect in the classroom (i.e., when one child cries, the others start crying too).

Within a week or two, as the children adjust to separation from caretakers and adjust to routines in the classroom, the crying box becomes obsolete. I think it’s brilliant!

How much more pleasant life would be if there were “boxes” in the community. You’re a road-raging parent in the school parking lot – please step into the box, have your rant, and then join the rest of civilized society peacefully. You have one nerve left and your co-worker is straining it – step into the box and breathe deeply until you are no longer seeing red and then go about your day with a clearer head. Your husband…oh, let’s not go there!

But do you see my point? Sometimes we need to take a “time out”, have a good cry or a spirited rant separate from everyone else, before we head back into the fray. And as adults, I don’t think we always do a good job of it. We think we “can’t afford the time” and instead end up hurting those we love the most, and teaching our children that it’s Ok to act like a “bull in a china shop”! We let our emotions and our circumstances control our behavior…and it’s just not a good thing for anyone.

I can’t draw actual lines on the floor with masking tape (how weird would that look to guests in your home, for example), but I’m going to try to make a mental “crying box”. That way, when I have that check in my spirit that says it’s time to step in the box for a moment or two, I’ll be prepared. And perhaps, someday, my “crying box” will become obsolete too.