Thursday, December 31, 2015

The Waffle Debacle (with a side of French Toast Taunter)

"And in the dream there were waffles in the freezer.  Lots and lots and lots of waffles.  So I knew exactly what I would have this morning," says Rissa as she comes down the stairs.

"Hmmmm?"  I'm on Facebook.  The way I used to be able to split my focus - pre-internet?  That no longer exists.  The noise of Rissa opening and closing the refrigerator a few moments later seeps into my consciousness and I look up.  I hear the word 'breakfast.'  "Pardon?"

"Have you eaten breakfast?" 

"No.  Un-unh."  I was planning on having a granola bar with some soy milk - I remain in post-holiday food recovery.   But when I see the egg container in her hand, my stomach betrays me. "Are you making scrambled eggs?"

Rissa looks at me and rolls her eyes.  "Mummy.  French Toast.  I am making FRENCH TOAST.  I had a whole back story about it.  You weren't listening."

"I did hear the waffle bit..."  I say apologetically.  This not-listening of mine is happening more and more.  The other night I was reading as David was talking, and I didn't hear a word of what he said. Not a single word.  In my defense, I did recognize that noises could be heard in the room.  Plus I was reading Harry Potter at the time.

I hurt his feelings.  He actually huffed at me - turned his head away from me even.  I had to do some major emotional back-pedalling.  Shit!  Maybe this is becoming a thing - the not-listening.  Is this a pre-cursor to early-onset dementia?  Between this and not being to remember people's last names and proper nouns - I'm pretty much fucked.

Rissa's still talking.  "I had to console myself with French Toast...  (tuned out)  "You and Daddy can fight over the last egg guck."

"Hmmm?  Egg guck?"

"I lied.  There wasn't as much egg guck as I thought.  So I used it up."   She shows me the empty bowl with egg and cinnamon residue on it.

"So basically you're a French Toast Taunter?"

"I didn't mean to be.  It just happened.  Plus, you didn't care about my waffle debacle - AT ALL - really you're getting what you deserve."  Mic Drop.  That's my girl.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Death by Nordic Socks

I picked up as many pairs as I could carry in my arms to the cash.  Nordic socks from Old Navy.  Colourful, Skandihoovian...  perfect...  until you try to put them on your feet. 

(movie trailer announcer voice)

In a world where quirky fashion puts its foot forward, Heather thought she'd hit pay dirt.  Will her beautiful new socks save her or destroy her?

I will fully admit that I'm not a pixie when it comes to foot size.  I'm about a size 9, with calves that would make an Olympic athlete proud.  But these socks - these beautiful socks that said Ladies Size 5-10 - gave me such hope.  Thing is about intricately patterned socks - most seem to actually have full-on wool knitted into them.  Wool doesn't have as much give as say - pretty much anything other than wool. 

The sock barely goes onto the ball of my foot.  Others, less determined, would stop here.  They'd recognize that the tensile strength of the sock more than likely outweighs the strength of their arms. But I, I refuse to admit defeat.   I use the not inconsiderable muscle of my upper back, shoulders and biceps to pull the socks up past my heel.  Thankfully my heels - so calloused from walking in bad shoes - can't feel anything other than pressure - a whole lot of pressure. I inch  the unyielding garment upwards  - I still have another 6 inches to go to summit my full calf.  My knuckles gain purchase to the fullest part of my calf - I pry those suckers up.

"HAH!"  The sock is up.  "THE SOCK IS UP!!!"

I look down at the other sock and square my shoulders.  I am wearing these.  They will adorn my holiday feet. 

The dermatographia on my legs after wearing these socks for a day is like nothing I've seen before.  Both calves are bruised from my knuckles walking the wool up.  And sure, I was perhaps a little woozy and my feet tingled from the lack of blood flow, but the socks were stupendous, spectacular...  splendiferous.

After I'd taken the socks off - Rissa tried them on.  (I'd also given her some of these socks - and she had complained of the difficulty in wearing them.)  Because my feet and calves are larger than hers - putting on my pre-worn socks didn't maim her.  A big holiday lightbulb went on over my head.  I could simply get David to pre-wear the socks for me... problem conquered.  Plus, I'll have pictures of David in colourful Nordic socks, which is pretty much a win-win.