Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Dear Fetus

Dear Fetus;

How's it going? Good? Yeah? I'm happy for you.

I have decided after several verbal conversations, to put this in writing and so have it on record that your current actions are not acceptable.

Your lease isn't up for another 12 weeks, and while I'm all for early moving, it is too soon. Your new home is not yet ready for you. I'll need at least 8-10 more weeks to prepare. I know, that seems like a long time, especially considering that is just over a third of your entire existence at this point. It also seems like a long time to me, and I don't think either of us will be happy if you continue to chip away at the walls of your current home in an attempt to break into freedom.

You may not be aware of this, but practising knife fighting at this point is not something that I find acceptable. It is also unacceptable to be using what I can only assume is a jackhammer in an effort to remove walls or add windows to your current living area. There is a very strict building code, and unfortunately tenant renovations are not on the approved list. Consider this your cease and desist order. 

There is only one exit and for safety reasons this has been blocked off.  I understand that you are very quickly out growing your living space ... believe me I know.  I am also aware that while the living space you have provides you with all the things you need, you are probably starting to look for additional stimulation. This is a fair and very reasonable request. I will forward it on, and have the man with the very deep voice talk to you more often.

To make the next 8-12 weeks more pleasant for the both of us, I have comprised a list of things that I think will be mutually beneficial:
  • There will be no more tap dancing, parties, knife fighting, or kick boxing. The neighbours have been complaining, they have been around a whole lot longer than you and frankly we both need them right now. It is in your best interest to keep them happy.
  • My kidneys, liver, bladder, spleen, lungs and ribs are not there for your personal amusement. Surprised? One day when you are all grown up and have a fetus of your own, you'll understand and I'll be there to say "told you so".
  • I will continue to provide you with regular intervals of sustenance, however if I happen to be running a minute or two behind schedule, you have to stop making me sick. When I'm sick I don't really feel like eating, and if I don't eat; neither do you.
  • Water is important. While I know that you are literally swimming in it 24/7, I happen to need additional amounts to live. Getting angry and throwing tantrums are not something that will change the fact that this is a requirement.
  • During the next 10-12 weeks I would appreciate it if you were able to fall into the same sleep schedule as everyone around you. I understand that it is very dark in your home and that day light and night time don't mean anything to you but they mean something to me. We would get along a whole lot better if you slept when I did, that way we both can get the rest we need and I can stop crying from exhaustion.
Now that you have my list, I await your rebuttal. Considering you are not currently being charged anything for your room and board, I would be surprised indeed if you have any qualms of your own. I will assume that any lack of communication (verbal or written) is agreement on your part. However, if you object to any of these terms, please submit your reasons in writing no later than the end of the week.

Thanks,

Saturday, 17 March 2012

6 + 6 = ???

Every now and then I get a hankering for chicken nuggets. I can't think of anything else. I close my eyes and I can see them, smell them, taste them.... I want them and I want them now.

So this one day the nugget-need hit me, so I got in my truck and drove to the nearest fast food nugget producer.

Clerk: "Hi, what can I get you?"
Me: "Can I get 12 nuggets, regular fries and orange juice, please?"
Clerk: "Our nuggets don't come in 12's."
Me: "Ummm, pardon?"
Clerk: "Our nuggets don't come in packs of 12. They come in 6, 10 and 20."
Me: "No problem, but I still want 12."
Clerk: "They don't come in 12's. I can't give you 12 nuggets."
Me: "I'd like 12 nuggets."

At this point, not only am I seriously confused, I'm also getting more than a little bit frustrated.

Clerk: "I just told you, they don't come in 12 packs."
Me: "Yes, but you said they come in 6 packs."
Clerk: "That's right."
Me: "So I'd like 12 nuggets."

Anger rising.

Clerk: "They. Don't. Come. In. 12. Packs."
Me: "6 + 6 is how many?"
Clerk: "12."

Silence.
More silence.
Even more silence.

Me: "Yeah, I'd like 12 nuggets."
Clerk: "The only way I can do that is to give you two packs of six."
Me: "REALLY?!"
Clerk: "Yes."
Me: "Well, I guess that will have to do."

This, right here, people, is just one more reason why education is important.

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

Mom's Girls

I remember hearing mom always say she only wanted girls. She was "blessed to have gotten two girls." I don't think I ever learned why she didn't want sons and it probably doesn't matter. She got me, and she got my sister. So she got her girls.

My sister is younger. Two years and eight months younger, to be exact. Two girls. Just like she wanted. I don't think she always wanted to live out on a farm, but that's where we were. In a house, in a field.

I remember one summer when I was seven or eight, so my sister would have been five or six, we kept a garden out back of the house. It wasn't much, but it gave us all something to do. We'd weed the garden, and harvest the garden. A lot of the time, we'd just eat the vegetables from the garden. Just mom and her girls.

It was late summer, and my mom, my sister and I were out working in the garden. Mom had this habit of eating peas (pod and all) right off the vine while we were working.

One day, my sister and I got it in our heads to "help" mom get the best pea pods. We'd pick out what we thought would be the largest and juiciest pods and bring them to her. She'd thank us both, probably just thankful that we weren't arguing. No, we weren't fighting. Not that day. That should have been warning sign number one: her girls were getting along.

We were too busy to fight. We were giving mom the "best" peas. We were helping, we were behaving. We were inspired. We were working together. We were headed down a dark road, and she didn't even see it coming.

We took a large pea pod, opened it and removed all the peas.

Then we got a worm.

I don't remember if it was my idea or her idea, but I do know it was my idea to wash the worm off in a puddle. Who wants to eat a dirty worm?

By this time, we had already set a precedent of bringing pods to mom, who would thank us and then eat them. Probably so happy that her girls were getting along, and working together. So like we had been doing all afternoon, we brought her the pod.

We watched in anticipation as she raised the pod to her lips. Our eyes grew wide. She grew suspicious, as her two girls watched her so intently with huge unblinking eyes. Then she stopped.

She opened the pod to find a live worm (clean-ish) where the peas should be. I don't remember her reaction, but I remember that we ran for it, giggling. A lot.

When dad came home that evening, she told him the story. The whole story. How we were working in the garden. How her girls were so helpful. How we brought her the best peas to eat. How one pod had a wriggling worm. How we had been good enough to wash it off in a puddle.... How she would have fallen for it, if her girls hadn't stood there and stared at here so intently ... as if waiting for something.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Which meant we could laugh and laugh. We were totally off the hook. When dad laughed, we weren't going to get in trouble. So we all laughed. All except mom, who didn't think the situation was really all that funny.

I bet if she had thought of it first, she would have laughed. She would have laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. But she didn't think of it first. Her girls did.

Yeah, mom wanted girls. But my dad got two tomboys.