The Christmas of Pregnancies

I am not. But nearly all the twenty-something and thirty-something's uterus’ I know, are otherwise occupied. No Vacancy.

For Christmas, my sister bought me a hair straightener and a FitPregnancy magazine, just for fun. And, Mary, it was fun! I even read it.

Then Delia came over for a games night and squealed “Why do you have THAT?” So I passed it on to her because I’d read it all.
But honestly, it WAS fun, Mary.

Anyway, three of my four bridesmaids are pregnant. Two are pregnant with their second children. And one other friend of mine sent me an e-mail that she’s due in August. Another girlfriend from University, is coming over for some Poker or Settlers of Catan next week with her wee one.

I find I’ve got babies on the brain.
And though none of them share with me an abundance of common alleles, I do get to hold them and spoil them and teach them songs, simply by association. And no one expects me to clean diapers or hold them when they cry or when they do squishy, rocketing diarrhea poops. If I do any of those things, I am instantly a very, very nice person (versus being a parent when it is just that you are not being negligent). I get to learn about how boobs leak and how bodies change without having to actually do any of it yet. And, incidentally, I get to sleep through the night and I can walk around the grocery store with a teeny-tiny cute purse instead of a fifteen gallon diaper bag. I get to ooh and aah over baby clothes whenever I choose, but don’t yet have to spend a single penny on expanding-waist-band jeans or maternity underwear (which I’ve only recently learn exist). No, it’s just not my turn yet. And I'm totally zen with that.

So how to celebrate their good fortune as well as my own?
Well, I’m quilting like a mad woman.
Garth is keeping me company tonight.
And I’m toasting those lucky ladies with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice (just because I can).

Down in Dodgeball History

Monday December 10th, 2007 will go down in Dodgeball History as the day Team Hillcrest dodged, dove, ducked, deaked and dodged just enough to bring home their very first victory ever. Not only a victory, but a landslide victory (11-6), there was event a moment when WE (you heard that correctly) had a six point lead and WE had to go “live” so they had the underdog advantage. This was truly unchartered waters.

Yeats claimed we won because of his shiny, red tear-away pants (up until now, he’s always worn the blue pair). Possibly it helped that Craig has shot-guns for arms. But what was truly beautiful was the way our team showed its evolution in strategy with the link-arms-and-reach-across-the-midline move (even though it was unsuccessful, I think it dazzled them) and with our throw-four-balls-simultaneously move. This is arguably the day Team Hillcrest learned the true Science of dodgeball.

The most memorable moment was Craig’s (pardon me but...) NO-FUCKING-WAY block. There’s this really bendy, fast Chinese guy on the other team, who’s really cheating (he’s always getting hit but claiming he didn’t) and so when he threw the ball at Craig, I think I saw a twinkle of N.F.W and he slammed his hand diagonally in front of him, deflecting the offensive ball with the ball he was pawing in what can only be described as something between an angry fly-swat and a slam-dunk swing. It was testament to dodgeball as an Art.

Be it the Science or the Art of dodgeball that we now have mastery over, we’ve been dreaming of a night like tonight and today it finally came to be.

Instead of “good game”, when I shook each opponent’s hand, I said, “Thank you.”

Black Hole of Bad Luck

Without getting into the gut-wrenching details of it, I fear M and I have found ourselves in a black hole of bad luck. No beating around the bush with airy-fairy words like "karma" any longer. Down right bad luck is what hit us yesterday. And what does one do when they find themselves knee-deep in "why me"?

They go christmas shopping.
They go bowling.
They eat poutine.
They drink tea.
They drink beer.
They hug a cat.
They hug a friend.

And they look forward.

The Karma of the Day

If you ask me if I believe in luck, most days I’d say no. Instead, to explain the inexplicable, seemingly-randomness of things that seem to occur for no reason, I find myself often referring to “karma”.

For instance, yesterday, a little shmuck of a boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a smart-ass grin, who has been the bane of many a teacher’s existence (including, on occasion, my own) came to school with half of one of his front teeth missing. It was bothering him so he was talking about it. When I asked how it had happened, he smiled with what seemed like a hint of pride and said, “I got punched in the face.” It was difficult for me not to grin. Then he added, “playing hockey….” and there was more, “by my own teammate.” And I went straight to the teacher whose life this young man had made miserable for the past three months and she smiled and shook her head and we both said, “karma.”

Well, maybe it was because I had inwardly (and slightly outwardly) gloated over someone else’s misfortune (no matter how much I felt he deserved to be punched by someone some time) but I had a bad day today.

I had a few friction-ful moments with a few of the staff that I work with. And the students were really rowdy and wore me down today. I felt acutely exhausted when Mark picked me up at the end of the day. And I described my day as “not the best”.

Maybe because the day wasn't generally amongst my top ten, I didn’t have high hopes when I took my fourteen year old, diabetic cat to the vet. Her blood glucose level was 20 last time I’d taken her, but today, (if I could have given her a high-five I would have), it was 6! Yay, Frankie. It could have been the time of day and it could have been a false negative due to various other factors, but I truly felt that it was good fortune (dare I say, luck?).

And then I went into the lobby of the vet’s office to pay. I set my cat in her crate down on a bench, glanced out the window at the parking lot and watched an enormous pick-up truck back up quickly (in what he thought was an empty parking lot) directly into the back of my car, smashing the tail light and folding the trunk in.

Perfect. Cat’s on the mend. Car is not.
The universe is in balance.

The man is very nice (to balance the demolished car?) and his dog has just eaten loads of chocolate and has had to have his stomach pumped or some other dog-remedy. So really, if I was to choose between being me or this man, I’d have to pick me.

And I came home and Mark hugged me and served me the dinner he’d prepared.
And after dinner, I lay on the couch with my good fortune purring on my stomach and contemplated, if given the chance, whether I would exchange a fortuitous blood sugar reading for a working tail light.

Frankie’s glad they’re not interchangeable.