George Saunders

I made a big mistake the other night.  I took Fig’s diaper off and let her dance around the living-room in her birthday suit.  It was just before the girls’ bath and she was only going to be naked for a few [...]]]> “Irony is just honesty with the volume cranked up.”

George Saunders

I made a big mistake the other night.  I took Fig’s diaper off and let her dance around the living-room in her birthday suit.  It was just before the girls’ bath and she was only going to be naked for a few minutes, so I thought it was safe.  I was wrong.  In the time it took me to walk to the bathroom to start running the water for their tub, Fig had pooped.  Luckily, the healthy mountain of waste was on the floor, about five inches from the carpet.  I called my husband in for support and he took the girls to the bathroom while I cleaned and disinfected the floor.

That evening, I was so tired and sick that I went to bed right after the girls fell asleep.  My husband worked in his shop for awhile, but he turned in early as well.  My point is, neither of us spent time in the living room that night.

The following morning  I was sitting on the couch reading a book with Fig, and Pip was dancing around the living room in her ruby red slippers.  ”Mama, I think Fig had a poop!” said Pip with a sour look on her face.  I leaned over to Fig and inhaled.  Sweetness.

“I don’t think so, Pip.  Fig smells fine.”

“No she doesn’t Mama, I can smell poop.”  I got up and walked over to where Pip was standing.  I looked down at the carpet and realized, with great remorse, that we had overlooked a small portion of Fig’s deposit from the night before.  It had blended into the design of our Indian carpet beautifully, but it looked disturbed, as though someone had been standing in it…..NO….NOT THE RUBY SLIPPERS!!!!  I tried to remain calm for the sake of the children.

“Pip, I found a bit of Fig’s poop from last night on the carpet, and I’m afraid there may be some poop on your rubies.  You’d better take them off and let me check.”

“Oh no, Mama, there is poop!  There is Fig-poop on my rubies!!!!”

“It’s okay, Sweetie, I’ll be able to wash them.  It’s not a problem.”  I wasn’t nearly as confident as I sounded.  The slippers are sparkly and textured; not the kind of shoe you can dip into soapy water or throw in the washing machine.  This was going to be a delicate operation.  In the meantime,  I was impressed with Pip’s reaction.  She calmly handed her shoes over to me and stared at the messy carpet.  Fig was quite interested as well.

“Poop, Mama.”

“Yes, you’re right Fig, it’s poop.  Don’t touch it girls, Mama has to clean it up.”  As I cleaned Fig’s fecal matter for the second time in twelve hours,  I was struck by the irony of the situation;  Pip had only been wearing her ruby slippers indoors so that they wouldn’t get dirty.

After cleaning the carpet, I went to work on the shoes.  You’ll be glad to know that an old toothbrush and some careful cleaning did the trick.  The rubies are back on Pip’s feet, and the diaper is back on Fig’s bottom; for good.

Oprah Winfrey

I’ve never  been a shoe-girl.  I can think of one pair of slick black boots that I had a lengthy love affair with, but it ended badly when Lefty’s seam split up the back.  I still compare new [...]]]> “I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes.”

Oprah Winfrey

I’ve never  been a shoe-girl.  I can think of one pair of slick black boots that I had a lengthy love affair with, but it ended badly when Lefty’s seam split up the back.  I still compare new boots to that old pair, which isn’t healthy for any new relationship.  Suffice it to say, shoe-shopping doesn’t really rock my world.  I don’t window shop for shoes, I don’t know the designer shoe labels like Carrie did on ‘Sex in the City,’ and I’ve never gone out of my way to purchase a particular pair of shoes; until this past weekend.   I was in Vancouver and I was on the lookout for ruby-red slippers for Pip.

On Thursday, our first day in the city, we three girls ‘strolled’ Robson street without any ruby luck,   and Friday we looked on Commercial Drive and came up empty-handed once again, so I put out some feelers.  As it turned out, my girlfriend Tracy had purchased a pair of red sparkly shoes for her niece at a store on West 4^th Avenue.  She didn’t remember the name of the store, but she knew the general location.  A Google search and a phone call to ‘TomaToes’ later, I learned that size 10 sparkly red shoes did indeed exist.  Fabulous.

We woke up to a glorious Saturday morning, and for the first time since our arrival, our  raincoats were not required.  The morning was spent enjoying a family outing to the Aquarium, then Fig went down for a nap.  I had made a hair appointment for 3:00 in Yaletown, but I had enough time before-hand to drive to Tomatoes and pick up the shoes.  Just enough time. .

Traffic was heavy, and by the time I found parking on West 4th Avenue, I had only twenty-five minutes before I was due  at the hair salon.  It was going to be tight.  I ran the block-and-a-half to the shoe store, and when I got to Tomatoes and set eyes on the precious rubies, I literally squealed with delight.  They were PERFECT!!!  The salesclerk started ringing in the sale and, before I even opened my purse, I realized with horror that I had left my wallet in my raincoat-pocket back in the apartment!!!  What an idiot!!!  I had no cash, no credit cards, no bank card; just a cheque-book.

Pleading with Mr. Tomato didn’t work; he would not take my cheque, so I asked him to put the shoes aside for me.  I would be back.  Come hell or high water I was going to get those ruby slippers, but I had a more immediate concern to deal with…it was now fifteen minutes until my hair appointment and it would take at least half-an-hour to retrieve my wallet and get to Yaletown.  I called my hairstylist and asked if she’d take a cheque.  No problem.  Okay.  It wasn’t going to be a total disaster.   I called my husband and asked him to leave my wallet with the concierge since I didn’t have my own set of keys for the apartment.  Thankfully, I caught him before he had taken the girls out for the afternoon.

After a very satisfying cut and style, my focus shifted to the ruby slippers.  I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West in my obsession to get my hands on those little red darlings. I drove back to the apartment, got my wallet from Steven the concierge,  drove across town to Tomatoes and purchased the shoes.  A couple of hours later, I arrived back at the apartment and was greeted by a very excited Pip.

“Did you find my ruby red slippers Mama?”  (My husband had the camera ready.)

“I’m happy to say that I did, Pip, and they’re magnificent!  Here they are.”  I passed the brown bag to Pip and she  pulled out the little yellow shoe-box.   She unwrapped the shoes and literally gasped with excitement.  I think I was hugged and thanked ten times that evening.

I’ve never gone to such lengths to get a pair of shoes, but after witnessing the look of shoe-joy on Pip’s face, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Ambrose Bierce

My daughter is a furnace.  It’s Fall; people are starting to wear toques on their heads and Pip still wants to wear shorts and a t-shirt when she goes outdoors.  She doesn’t like the feeling of clothes on her [...]]]> “Sweater, n.:  garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.”

Ambrose Bierce

My daughter is a furnace.  It’s Fall; people are starting to wear toques on their heads and Pip still wants to wear shorts and a t-shirt when she goes outdoors.  She doesn’t like the feeling of clothes on her body.

I remember the type from my teaching days.  I’d have the students all lined up to go outside for recess and there would be one or two kids without jackets.  I’d insist that they gear-up for the weather, but when they returned to the classroom twenty minutes later, I knew they’d be coat-less.  I remember one young boy explaining matter-of-factly, “I’m hot-blooded Miss Pantuso, so I don’t need a jacket.”

Now it’s my daughter who refuses to wear her jacket.  She likes the feeling of fresh air on her skin; even if the air is chilly.  People have said things to me like, “Oh, kids are so active, they run a lot warmer than we do,” or, “She’ll tell you if she’s cold.”  I suppose those things are true, but right now my daughter is sick.  She has a cold.  She’s coughing and sneezing and requiring nose-blows every other minute, so am I being a responsible parent if I let her go outside in a light sweater when I’m ready for a parka?

My husband frequently reminds me that one doesn’t get a cold by being cold.  (He’s another furnace, by the way.)  I understand that you catch colds from viruses and bacteria, but isn’t your immune system compromised if your body temperature drops?   I know that there have been times when I’ve felt a chill and the next day I wind up with a cold.

Truth be told, I’m a rather cold person to begin with.  My body never felt better than when I was living in the tropics.  I like heat.  My muscles relax, my shoulders open, and my neck grows an inch.  I’m a turtle; a tropical turtle.

I like to think that the saying, ‘cold hands, warm heart’ was created especially for me.  I certainly use the phrase enough when people shake my hand and announce with horror, “My goodness your hands are cold!”  I’ve come to realize that the reason I’ve never been a fan of winter sports is because my appendages freeze so quickly!!!  My husband cannot believe how cold I get.  He finds it refreshing when my hands touch his face.  ”Forget the cold compress, honey,  just touch me.”

So perhaps my daughter and husband have more efficient circulatory systems than I.  Perhaps I should listen to my daughter when she says that she’s warm enough.  And perhaps it will be a long and challenging winter.