Skytrain Theater

Sometimes I forget I'm not 'Supervisor of the World'...seriously.  Like this one time when I dropped Q off at Kindergarten and while we waited for the teacher to open the door, this (young) mom decided to kill some time by making out with her boyfriend.  I was this close to going up to them and telling their behaviour was not appropriate.  But then I talked myself out of it.  I just gave her the mother stare.  You know the one.  My mom had the greatest mother stare ever.  Whenever I got the stare, I stopped doing everything.  Sometimes I couldn't figure out what the stare was for, so the safest bet was to just stop doing everything...

Tonight was just like any other Friday night on the skytrain...crazy.  I had settled in nicely with my crossword when this guy starts pulling the backpack off one of my employees.  He starts yelling, "Hey Pedro, you want a lesson in etiquette?"  My employee just looked at him stunned.  This guy keeps pushing my employee and telling him how much he hates backpacks.  And he keeps calling him Pedro.  Which is hilarious.  My employee is middle eastern, but buddy thinks he's Mexican.  I think I shall call him Pedro from now on.

Within me wells this overwhelming need to 'supervise' the situation.   So.....I do. 

Side note:  I think I'm invincible when I'm in my supervisory uniform.  I don't know if it's the steel toed boots I wear or the thought that everyone respects a Canada Post supervisor.  Whatever the reason, I believe it.  And so far it's not been proven otherwise.  Ergo - Me = Invincible.  Woot woot!

I put down my crossword puzzle and, like the superhero I am, I jump in between the crazy backpack man and my employee.  "Listen, I am this man's supervisor, and part of my responsibility as his supervisor is to ensure his safety.  You will walk away now, or I will call the police.  Do you understand me?"

"F*** off, four eyes."  Replies backpack man.  (I am still laughing, hilarious.  You can't buy comedy like this!!)

"Dude,"  I say.  "Did you just call me four eyes?!?!?!?!"  This was sooooo funny for two reasons. Number one...I don't think I've been called four eyes since grade 3, and I will have you know I have very, very stylin' glasses.  Anne Klein glasses.  Just so you know.  The second reason this was sooooo funny to me was that he was wearing glasses. 

"F*** you."  He says again and wanders off to teach someone else a lesson in etiquette. 

It was only after I sat down that I realized what a stupid thing I had done.  What was I thinking?  What would I had done if he had decided to do something other than call me 'four eyes'.  Something like, oh I don't know...hit me, say....  Again, I do not supervise the world.  I should stick to my skytrain councilling sessions.

A few months back, I had the pleasure of meeting Jeanette.  A hilarious drunk young woman.  She was funny.  She walks up to this one girl and says, "I'm not gonna lie (she kept saying that, "I'm not gonna lie...") You look like Superwoman.  I'm diggin' it."  The funny thing was this girl did look like Superwoman.  Red dress, blue coat, and a yellow purse.  I almost laughed out loud.  Then Jeanette decides to talk to me.  "Do you love your job?"  "Nope."  I answer.  "I hate it."   She then decides to tell me how she hasn't 'found' herself and she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life.  I HATE talking to drunk people when I'm sober.  Especially drunk people who are pretending to be sober.  Especially when I've just been at work for 8 hours.  "Where do you work now?"  I ask.  "In a liquor store."  Did you know that the people who come into liquor stores are really cool?  Neither did I, until Jeanette told me.  Jeanette was really touchy feely too, and had no concept of personal space. 

What should she do, she wondered.  I'm not gonna lie.  I convinced this poor, drunk, space invading woman to stick it out at the liquor store.  "Maybe,"  I said "someone will walk in who just changes your life forever."   "Thank you."  She said, as she took my hand for the 10th time.  "I'm so glad I met you tonight.  You have just made me feel so good about my life.  I am where I'm supposed to be.  Thank you.  What's your name?"  Catherine, I tell her for the 10th time.  My name is Catherine....

Back to the crazy back pack man...at the next stop the transit cops pulled him off.  Again, hilarious.  As he was being escorted away, he yelled, "I HATE BACKPACKS!!!!!!!!"  

"Committed"

First and foremost, my apologies for being an absent blogger.  I know how you, my faithful thirteen followers,  hold your breath for each and every little gem of wisdom written by yours truly (haha)!!  While it's true I've packing, working full time, picking paint colours for the new home, volunteering in Q's school, and of course, parenting full time...I've also developed a ridiculous addiction to Webkinz.

Have you heard about Webkinz? 

Okay.  Briefly, I will explain the lure of the Webkinz world.  It all begins when you buy a cute little stuffed animal, and with this animal comes an online code that allows you to "adopt" the little guy in a surreal online world.  You make a house for the lil fella, complete with flushing toliets and blending blenders.  You can wall paper the walls, and tile the floors.   And they have these games to play that help you rack up the money so you can buy all these crazy things.  It's the games that have me (although, I have to admit, I've caught myself freaking out at Q for buying a certain fridge when he already had one.  Seriously, who needs two fridges?)  They're like online adult games only way easier because they're supposed to be for kids.  It's great!  I can (and do...) spend hours playing Pile 'Em Up Solitaire!!  Oh yes.  I said Solitaire!  The only problem I've encountered so far is explaining to Q why mommy is playing his games and spending his Kinzcash...

The other reason for my absence is that I was reading a book.  A really, really good book.  A year or so ago, I bought Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love".  For the first six chapters I bawled.  Bawled.  Like a baby.  I could so identify with the anguish that filled those chapters.  I, too, found myself at one point in my life curled up in the middle of the night on the cold bathroom floor sobbing as my life fell apart around me.  I read as this amazing woman picked herself up and rebuilt her soul while travelling the world.  To be honest, my idea of hell is backpacking through India, Indonesia and Italy.  I often joke that my idea of 'roughing it' is a Motel 8 instead of a 5 star hotel.  Hostels are smelly, and the only things I think I would find in such a place are disgusting tropical bugs and cockroaches and rats (shudder).  But her journey of self discovery was fascinating, inspiring, and encouraging. 

So, you can imagine my pure delight when I found out that Ms. Gilbert had published another book, kind of a follow up to the first.  "Committed. A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage"  I will have you know I was in line buying that book the first day it was released.  Let me say this, the book does not disappoint.  I've never really had a problem with marriage myself...well, except for the fact that I've never been married, nor does it seem as though anyone wishes to marry me, but other than that I'm totally okay with marriage.  In fact ever since I was a little girl that is all I ever wanted to do - be married.  And be a mother.  To the extent that when ever anyone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd make something up - like a teacher or a nurse.  In an era where women everywhere were fighting for the right to go to university and have careers (and get paid the same as their male counterparts...) it seemed so silly that all I wanted was to get married and be a wife and a mother.  But really, truly, that's all I wanted.  My career now, I've kind of fallen into and given the opportunity - when (and if) I grow up I still want to be a wife and a mother.

Ironically, reading how this skeptic made peace with  her impending marriage has helped me make peace with my ever looming singledom.  The book follows her trek through Southeast Asia where she bides her time speaking women from all walks of life about their views on marriage.  She's looking for a formula that will guarantee a happy marriage. In the smallest communities in Southeast Asia where divorce rates are next to nil, the secret to a happy marriage was this...creating a life filled with love.  Duh, right?  Here's the thing....not just the love of their husbands.  But their children, their own mothers, their aunts, their cousins, their nieces and nephews, their neighbours, their friends, their hobbies, their work, their homes.  And it hit me.  I've been waiting for the love of a man to complete my life, but when I look around me - my life is complete.  It is fabulously complete.  Falling in love isn't nearly as important as being loved.  Loved by my mother, my father, my child, my kindred spirits, my God .  Falling in love isn't nearly as important as loving those around me.  Loving my life, loving my career, my home and my child. 

I have to stop waiting.

Start living.  Really living.  Breathing in the sweet air right before the rain, watching the sunset, drinking in the smell of my child.  While I don't think I've ever really missed out on these experiences, I do know that I've never really looked at them as the complete story.  It just always seemed as though by being a wife they would be more special.  I look around me, and my life is complete.  I am content. 

Read the book.  Read them both, if you haven't read the first.  Enjoy the journey

"Me Do Myself"

My mom says I've been saying this since I was two, "Me do myself".  At bedtime, I also used to say, "No bbd!  No bbd!"  Wasn't I just the cutest thing ever?  Q, when he was three, and getting into trouble - would start to cry and say, "Mommy, you hurt my fault!"  Ahhhh, it is true - kids do say the darndest things!

Anyways, back to me.  I like to do things myself.  I'm a take charge kinda person.  It's really what's got me through a lot of tough times.  It's what got me through leaving my ex with $300.00 in my pocket.  It's what enables me to put furniture together with tools from the dollar store.  It's what I rely on when I have to fix the toliet without calling a plumber.  I like that things are done my way, on my time.   I like to do things myself (I know I've said this twice now, but it bears repeating.)

However...

Q and I have been living on our own for three years now.  I kinda thought that by now I would have married some rich, handsome man and spending my days getting manicures and picking up the kids from school.  But we all know that hasn't happened...yet.  And it's getting lonely.  Q is a great conversationalist when it comes to hockey and hot wheels and webkinz, and don't even get him started on Pokemon.  But he's sort of lacking in the adult conversation skills.  I can't even remember the last time he asked me about my day.

All this to say I am moving in with my mom.  I haven't lived with my mom since I was 17.   Of course, our relationship has evolved some in the past 15 years, so I'd like to think I'm not so much moving in with my mom, but moreso my equal.  We've found a wonderful house, with two fireplaces, a double garage, a huge backyard.  It's got enough room that we'll have our own space.  It's got a huge master suite with a jacuzzi tub large enough for 5!  (Not that I would ever, ever share it with 4 other people...I'm just saying...)  We can have pets!  A cat!  A dog!  A zoo!!!!!

I'm so excited about this move.  I'm excited for the companionship.  I'm excited for the change.  I'm excited for the home cooked meals every day, someone to do my laundry and clean up after me (hahahaha......just kidding, mom....really....)

I'm not so excited about packing.  Ugh, and then the moving of the furniture and boxes and blech.

Any volunteers?

Hello??

Is this thing on???