Here comes Mama Bear... or why we shouldn't force our kids to kiss hairy old relatives

Those parents who do not force our children to kiss their leathery Aunt Marjorie upon first meeting, aren't doing it to 'portend doom'  ("Why children need to feel the pinch," Macleans, May 13, 20013).   We do it so that our children will listen to their natural fight or flight response. Yes, it used to be a rite of passage that all kids had to endure. I was swept into many an uncomfortable embrace with complete strangers who happened to be 'family.'

If a stranger in the street wanted to hug your kid - would you let them?  Would you demand that your child kiss this stranger?  Would you poo-poo any ‘childish’ fears they might have about close personal contact with this stranger?  Not a chance.   Why then, when this stranger happens to be family, do people feel that thrusting their children into discomfort is okay, that giving an unwilling embrace to make another person content, is a good thing?  It's not.

That doesn't mean that children don't have to be courteous in their interaction with others - saying "goodnight," or "hello" is a reasonable request and one that I firmly encourage.

 

Yes, Anna Teitel, “a pity kiss for Aunt Marjorie when you’re 6 is a long way off from pity sex with a manipulative college boyfriend when you’re 21.”  It is a long way off, but that just means that the pattern of offering physical contact under duress has been going on for 15 years.  How’s that for conditioning?  I’m not a helicopter parent.  My 12 year old daughter walks to and from school – sans adult – and has done so since she was eight.  Much to my abject parental terror, she’s ridden the subway alone, and we both survived. 

When we teach children to ignore instinct, we teach them to get into a car with a stranger, to ride the elevator when everything in them screams not to, to offer up affection to make someone else feel good.  

p.s.

When playing the tickle game?  When the kid is screaming hysterically for you to stop?  Stop. 

Period Ping Pong

WARNING: Female things will be discussed

So you know how when women are around each other a lot, they can start to synch up their menstrual cycles?  Well in peri-menopause that morphs into Period Ping Pong.  My girlfriend Anne-Marie and I are racing to see who can stop menstruating first.

"I'll see your 23-day cycle and raise you a 15-day cycle!"

"Oh yeah?  Finished on Friday - started on Monday!  This is ON!"

"Diva Cup emptied 6 times!"

"Three super sized tampons - at the same time!"

"7 weeks since my last period!"

"Clots the size of toonies!"

What ever will we bond over when the bleeding stops?  Breast saggage? 

What made me think I was a bike rider??

 I must have been on crack when I thought I could do it.  I agreed to ride with actual bike riders who ride many, many kilometers.  For fun.  I was being 'one of the gang,' I was supporting a cause.  I was out of my freaking mind.

When I think of bike riding in the abstract - I think of sunny days on flat roads.   I think of shiny happy people on vintage bikes with wicker baskets on their way to picnics, sharing commiserative smiles with the other riders - joyous in their sense of community and fitness level.  Instead, I was rushing to catch up with actual bike riders, in cold drizzle, the victim of hills. Turns out I don't do well with hills.  I was fucked by those hills.

The night before, David and I had gone out for a ride - you know, to get my riding legs under me.  Problem was, it's spring and the midges are out.  Clouds of the little buggers - all having sex in mid-air and choking any idiot who desires a large breath, if say, you are winded by riding a bike for the first time in a year.  We were out for approximately 7 minutes.  Not one of those 7 minutes involved actual hills.  Had I ridden up a hill, I would have remembered.  I would have remembered that I can't do hills on a bike.  Hills are my kryptonite.

I'm fit - I do cardio every single day.  I power walk - even up hills.  I could manage, I thought.  I tried to 'tough it out' and tackled the first hill.  My angina?  Started the third pedal up that fucker.  The second hill I got off the bike 3/4 of the way up.  The third I got off 1/2 way up...  The last major hill?  I started walking at the bottom but still had people thinking I might have a heart attack.  Apparently, I stumbled as I was just walking my bike.  Given that David was driving the babysitting pace truck behind me, I'm surprised that he didn't load me into the back and escort me to the ER.

Coworkers looking at me all concerned.  "You're looking a little green.  You okay?"  Is it so wrong of me to measure my achievements by successfully NOT having a heart attack? David says I should double check with my cardiologist about that. 

Crawling back on the wagon...

I was bad last weekend.  I ate bad things.  I made bad food choices. It began innocently with gluten and sugar, then devolved into potato chips, corn twists, cookies and then ended with (shudder) amusement park donuts. Although I did discover that Chester's Corn Twists...  Pretty much gluten free!  Although deep fried in oil.

My office has bags of cookies that sit by the coffee machine.  Just sitting there.  With their gluten and their sugar and their high fructose corn syrup.  By Friday last week, my willpower had finally evaporated - I couldn't fight it any longer.  I HAD to have the Chips Ahoy cookies.  Which really pissed me off because Chips Ahoy cookies are nothing but crap.  But then I discovered that there was a leftover bag of No-Name chocolate covered almonds!!  Of course I discovered that after I'd already eaten a couple, okay 4, of the crappy Chips Ahoy.  The chocolate covered almonds were MUCH better.

Problem is, once your body has had the gluten and the sugar - you're off the wagon.  WAY off.  This shit must store in your cells, because as soon as it's back in your system - you get high and then you crash.  And it's a BAD crash.  It's a crash that makes you weepy and doubt your value in the universe, kind of crash.

This week has seen me desperately avoiding those cookies by the coffee machine and having a little extra stevia in my caffeine-free coffee with soy milk.  Mmmmmmmm...  Oh yeah, it's as good as it sounds.  For dessert I'm doing the frozen mango pieces - thank God for frozen mango pieces.  And instead of having that Rusty Nail... crap, just typing it now makes me want one... I'm having club soda with lime juice.   One day at a time, right?  I'm sitting my ass back on that wagon and revelling in its Radio Flyer rails and smooth ride. One day at a time.  I can do this.

Canada's Wonderland ain't for wusses...

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE in this post.

As I checked my email Sunday morning, this note, in Rissa's handwriting, was to the left of the keyboard:

AWESOME LEVIATHAN FACTS!
306 feet high, 80 degree drop, 
148 km/h, 32 passengers p/car

That was the first time on Sunday that I thought I might woof my cookies. The second was when I ended up in the First Aid building at Wonderland, but more on that later.

We'd decided that our first coaster of the day would be the Leviathan.  Get it out of the way, I thought.  Be a brave girl, I thought.  I also thought I might actually DIE as the Leviathan climbed its first hill.

80 degree drop from 306 feet.  10 degrees more and it would be STRAIGHT DOWN!   

I've made a mistake!  I shouldn't be here!  Please, please, please - let my death be quick!  Don't let me be the gal who voids her bowels and has white foam around her mouth. Let me look good when they discover I'm dead.

I had my eyes closed the entire time, I didn't want to see anything. We kept going up and up and up...  How much further up is there, if you're not in a plane?!?  My hands in a death grip on the lap handles. I would not look, you couldn't make me!  I felt the near free-fall, went round the crazy-ass curves and smaller hills - eyes completely shut.  And at the end, I was still alive!  Legs very woobly, but I was alive as we made our way to The Bat and then to The Fly.

The Fly is freaking awesome!  I love The Fly.  I scream every time it takes a sharp turn, because it looks like you're going to fly straight off the tracks.  I know that I'm not going to fly straight off the tracks - they must test for cars leaving their tracks before letting the public on these things - but it doesn't stop me from screaming every time it happens.  Screaming and laughing.  The Fly is equivalent to watching Jurassic Park for me.  You scream, then you laugh, because it's so ridiculous you were screaming.  The Fly is like having primal scream/primal laugh therapy - always enjoyable.  Which is why I was surprised when, at the end of the ride, I was in pain.

My armpit suddenly felt like it had been stabbed.  I was confused, because although sometimes I do pin things into an outfit (you know, those cotton armpit guards to protect a nice dress or fancy jacket from sweat stains), I was wearing a t-shirt and a hoodie and had no recollection of having a razor-sharp, stabby thing in my clothing.  Another sharp stab.  And then two more, now down my arm.  These were different from my usual angina symptoms.  I'm groping at my side, trying to find the pin.  Where was it?  David and Rissa looking at me like I was crazy.

"Mummy, we're in public!" Rissa says, as I'm reaching inside my hoodie exposing most of my bra and a fair amount of breast.

"There's a pin!  There's got to be a pin!"

I wrestle off my jacket.  I'm acting like a crazy-woman.  "Something is there!"  I'm flapping the jacket now... "SOMETHING. IS. IN. THERE!"  David and Rissa watch as a black bug flies out.  Not a bee, not a yellow jacket - a hornet.  Somewhere during the ride, I'd picked up a passenger.  When trapped in the hoodie, it got pissed.  I'd been stung.  Multiple times.  And that shit hurts.

"Holy mother of... Yellow rat bas... Rissa, close your ears!

SHIT PISS FUCK MOTHERFUCKER!!"

Only me.  It could only happen to me.  And because David worries that any minor medical deviation for me will lead to a heart attack, we trundle off to the First Aid building where I am given Benadryl and anti-sting wipes, my vitals are monitored over a 10 minute period and I'm questioned.

"Do you have any medical conditions?"  he asks.

"How long do you have?" I respond.

The paramedic looked a bit confused when he found out that I suffered from angina.  I'm sure in his head he was thinking "And you are at an amusement park with thrill rides because why?"

"Are you nauseated?"

"Yes, but that's probably just my hypo-glycemia."

There were a couple of minutes there when I thought he was going to have an ambulance physically remove me from the property.  But eventually, I was allowed to dance off on my merry way...  Now stoned, because WOW...  Who knew that Benadryl was so freaking potent?   I was cozy and sleepy and spent the next hour with my head resting against David's lap as we sat waiting for me to come down.

The only other injuries that day for me happened when I rode Flight Deck - used to be Top Gun - your head gets rattled around in between the headrests and you wind up with cauliflower ear and your stud earrings embedded in your skull.

But really?  Only two injuries after having ridden over a dozen rides?  For me, this was a good day.


P.S. 

Later in the day, I rode the Leviathan two more times.  Eyes wide open as we took that first 80 degree drop. And you know something?  When you're looking down that 80 degreen incline?  It looks like you are going straight down.  And it's AWESOME!!  Arms in the air for the rest of the ride, except where I thought I might whack them on a support beam.  Between rides 2 and 3 I actually ran with Rissa and her friends to line up again.  The ride was that much fun.  It turned me back into a 12 year old girl.  It is my new favourite thing.  I will travel through the world extolling its virtues.  I am a Leviathan convert. 

I've won over $5,500,000!!

On 100,000 Pyramid.  On Facebook.  Because I'm such a geek.  And what's stupid?  I get anxious when I play.  I start freaking out... when I can't think of the word.   My angina kicks in a bit.  I give myself angina playing a game on Facebook.  I am a ginormous dufus.

It's understandable though.  On account of the fact that there's so much at stake.  You know... all that virtual money. The angina gets worse when I can't think of one of the answers I have to acknowledge that my dementia's already setting in.  Simple words defy me.  My palms start to sweat a bit.  I have trouble swallowing.

What is the thing that they shoot into in basketball?  Starts with an 'n.'  What is it?  What IS it??  The clock is running out!  I'm not going to get my pefect score bonus.  WHAT IS THE WORD?!?  NET!  NET!  I mistype it, I'm spelling so fast.  Nearly sobbing as I type it again, this time correctly.  PERFECT SCORE BONUS!!  I'M GOING TO THE BONUS ROUND!!!

I need to find another way to get cheap thrills. Maybe it's time to read more erotica.

Our family needs a personal assistant

Because why?  Because every now and again when I go to clear the answering machine of messages - I discover things.  Things that should have been written down kind of things.  When we get to around 8 saved messages, I try to clean them out.  Yesterday I discovered that, unbeknownst to me, my friend Lisa had called.  Might have been sometime in the last week.  Did I know about it?  No.

So I asked at the breakfast table this morning. "Did Lisa happen to call in the last little while?"

David and Rissa made thinking faces for a moment before they both said, "Nope.  Don't think so.  I didn't take a message from Lisa."  Then they went back to enjoying their breakfast.

"So there wasn't say, a message on the answering machine from Lisa maybe?"

Immediately, David reconfirmed.  "Nope.  No messages."

"No messages.  From Lisa.  On the answering machine?"

David's eyes rolled into his head, trying to access his internal CPU.  His shoulders hunched a tiny bit.

"Ummmm...  Which Lisa?"

He was playing it that way.  "The Lisa, who was the Matron of Honour at our wedding, Lisa..."

He winced.  "That Lisa.  Yes, there might have been a message from that Lisa."

"So when you said that Lisa didn't call..."

"I wasn't lying..."

"You weren't?"

"No," he said emphatically.  "I wasn't.  I just couldn't recall the existence of such a message."

Note to self: check the phone messages daily.