Blue Cheese / You Saw Me Standing Alone

Posted on 7/5/2011 by cheesefairy

My in-laws left for their Ontario home this morning, after a very fun visit. Despite many reminders to take it with him, my father-in-law left a hunk of blue cheese in my fridge.* No one in this house eats blue cheese. I am of the opinion that blue = mould, mould =rotten, and rotten = death so, as I want to stay alive to love and torture my children with unreasonable requests like “wash your hands,” I will not be eating it. Or mailing it to him, because that would be mean.

* He wouldn’t have forgotten except that they were anxious about driving to the airport during rush hour on the day after a hydro tower collapsed, making traffic a bit of a nightmare.

A number of years ago I worked for a rather wealthy software company. Nothing you’ve heard of. Unless you are one of my former co-workers who used to read this blog but probably stopped around when the “oh my babies are so great / horrible / awesome / growing up” posts started overshadowing the “life is kooky and I have time to think before I write” posts.* But it made a lot of money. The software company. Not the co-worker. As far as I know.

*I wrote this very post you’re reading, for example, while my children took turns running across the living room and saying “Mommy! Mommy!” and then running back over to the window.

One Christmas, we had our company party at the Westin Bayshore downtown. It was very fancy. The food and drinks were included. It was a safe bet to do this because 90% of the company was made up of developers and programmers who didn’t drink (or speak) very much. The 10% that was sales and administration made up for them in both the drinking and speaking departments.

Saint Aardvark, who has a special history with blue cheese (something about eating it by accident in a tube station in London and then barfing on his feet for three weeks — I don’t know, he has his own blog. Ask him) was sitting at the bar at this Christmas party, talking — probably about Linux — with my boss’s husband, who was a very nice man. The boss’s husband said, here, eat this blue cheese, and SA said, no, I will barf on you, because [this story about London and etc.] and my boss’s husband said, aha, no, see the key to enjoying blue cheese is to eat it while drinking Very Expensive Port.

SA said, where would I get some of that at this company Christmas party where beer and wine and hi-balls are included but probably not Very Expensive Port?

My boss’s husband said, I will order it for you, as soon as I check with my wife, who is your wife’s boss and also the company accountant, to make sure we’re on budget with this Christmas party.

My boss lifted her head from her folded arms and said: Go nuts. Order all the port you want. The salesmen are all drunk and the programmers have gone home to play video games.

(doesn’t that sound like a modern folk ballad waiting to happen?)

So SA drank expensive port and ate blue cheese and not only did not barf but became evangelical about blue cheese + expensive port = sweet heaven. I either need to toss the cheese or go buy some expensive port. Guess which one of those things is going to happen.

What do you think? Is blue cheese sweet heaven or certain death? And does anyone want mine or should I put it on Craigslist?

Posted in | Tagged , | 11 Comments

What I Learned In June

Posted on 7/3/2011 by cheesefairy

Amber does a monthly review of things she has learned. It’s good, you should check it out. I decided to join in.

Then I was all, hey I don’t think I even posted in June! How will I possibly remember the things I learned. And it’s true. I didn’t post much in June. We’ve had guests for the past three weeks, plus the end of preschool, Trombone’s birthday, a mild cold, and the Stanley Cup final/riot/bullshit. I have done many things I haven’t told you about (not riot/bullshit related, don’t worry). And now I barely remember them because it is July 3rd? What the hell?

Things I have learned in June:

1. The farther I get from a regular blog posting routine, the farther I will get from a regular blog posting routine. That is, in part, why I am posting now with this list. But also because it could become a habit and I need more habits.

2. No matter how steely-resolved you are not to tear up at your preschooler’s graduation (because, really, preschool? graduation? Where’s the AFTER PARTY, KIDS?) uh, you will. Totally. Especially if there is a slide show set to music AND the slide show plays that song that will be ever known by me, with attendant drama and weeping, as The Song That was Playing when Dr. Mark Green Died On ER.

I tried thinking of Marilyn, who has written at length about music and crying, but it didn’t help. I still teared up. I guess Marilyn needs to come across meaner, or something.

3. Gin and lemonade: Very very delicious and you don’t have to buy tonic, which I am not always in the mood for.

4. If you are driving somewhere and you think you see a couple of fifty dollar bills on the road, STOP. Even if you are late for the place you are going. It might actually be two fifty dollar bills. Yes, I am totally serious, I found money on the road.

5. Read the second page of PDF restaurant menus. Otherwise you might not realize until the morning of your child’s birthday party that the pizza you planned to order needed 24 hours notice.

6. Always have family come to town and tail you everywhere in their rental car. Otherwise you might not find out that your brake lights don’t work until..well..someone hits you, I guess. Luckily I had family in town, so I changed the light bulbs and got on with my life.

7. Take five minutes and try on the pants you’re buying. The time you *think* you’re saving by not trying them on will be debited from your time account when you have to make a special trip to return them.

8. Value Village doesn’t have store credit anymore. If you are returning something to Value Village, you have to find something else to exchange for the thing you’re returning. This might take a while. Plan accordingly. See also, point 7.

9. The shape of the wine glass really does affect the taste of the wine.

10. On the West coast, any crummy, cold morning in June might turn out sunny and hot by noon. Pack water, snacks, hats, shorts, sunscreen, umbrellas and rubber boots wherever you go.

11. Always keep a loaded water gun under your lawn chair. You just never know.

Posted in | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

On Five

Posted on 6/30/2011 by cheesefairy

Trombone,

Tomorrow you are five. You were born quiet and thoughtful and you are still that child sometimes, but this year you found your voice. You have yelled and hollered and sung loudly and fought and screamed and wailed and laughed, with gusto. With your whole belly and your whole heart. You discovered physical comedy and slapstick, scatological jokes and the joy in whispering forbidden words into your brother’s ear while I look on, seemingly unknowing.

“I need to tell you a secret,” says your brother to me. I lean in.
He whispers hot in my ear,
“Don’t let the poop monsters bite!”

“What kind of monsters?” you call from your bed.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s a secret.”
“Poop monsters!” crows your brother, “Trombone, I said POOP MONSTERS!”

You have taught him well.

***

Five things you have learned this year:

To read words. To tell time. To negotiate. To lie. To walk a dog.

Five more:

To try new foods. The wonder of dessert. To brush your teeth properly. To get your hair cut not with the promise of a fancy chair and a toy, but because your head is hot and you can’t stand it. To sleep when you’re tired and eat when you’re hungry.

What? I can’t stop:

To share a space with your little brother. To be patient. When to walk away from someone who is mean to you. That I won’t abide someone who tattles. That you can tell me I’m not your favourite, that you want me to be gone, and I will still be there, arms open.

So many things, you have learned. Those are just the things I’ve seen: I bet there are other things you’ve learned that I don’t know about.

(To keep secrets.)

And it all started when you were born and you didn’t know how to do anything except nurse and poop.

Ha! Yes, I said poop! It’s my blog. When you have a blog you can put all your scatological jokes there.

You are wondering, in five years as A Parent, what have I learned?

To stand back, most of the time, and let you figure it out for yourself.

To lock the bathroom door.

That you don’t like sudden, loud noises, tight necks on shirts, or water on your face.

That you are more like me than I could have imagined, and more like your father than I could have imagined, and sometimes not at all like either of us, which I didn’t imagine.

That I should sing whenever possible because it is better than yelling, and you and your brother don’t cry when I sing.

Half an hour to myself before I greet you in the morning makes me much more relaxed for the rest of the day.

I cannot go to Costco by myself with two children.

It’s a phase. It’s a phase. It’s a phase.

That a typical day with you can go from sunny to cloudy to horrible darkness to torrential rain and back to clear skies several times over, and I can still say I love you at the end of it all.

Some days I have to dig to the core of you to celebrate the things I like about you.

Some days those things bubble to the surface, lemon fizz, sweet and sticky and wonderful.

You are a superhero, The King of Canada, Hero of the World. You are a blur of legs and arms and fuzzy, blond hair. You smell of grass and sweat and Freezies and tears. I could never have imagined you.

Happy Birthday.
Don’t let the poop monsters bite.

love,
yr mother

PS Ordinarily an adorable photo would go here but the computer won’t let me so, everyone: picture a five year old boy with blond hair and blue eyes and he’s probably making a twisty, sideways grimace with his mouth and sticking his fingers in or near his nose. Sid Vicious as a child, but healthier. Got it? Great. Thanks.

Posted in | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Welcome to Our Humble Abode

Posted on 6/14/2011 by cheesefairy

Dear Saint Aardvark’s Parents,

Welcome! It has been a long time since you stayed in our house because we have had both of our rooms full of children but now, having moved the children into one bedroom, we have a guest room for you to sleep in!

Since you are arriving tomorrow, in mid-afternoon, and we won’t have a chance to talk privately, and the children can neither read nor navigate the Internet, here are some things you might find handy to know.

– They are likely to come into your room, which so recently (like, yesterday) was their playroom, without knocking.
– In fact, they might just barge in, crowing “Where is our snack!” at all hours of the night and early morning.
– By ‘early morning’ I mean you might want to wrap your head in tin foil before you go to sleep.
– Middle drawer in the kitchen. That’s where I keep the tin foil.
– Anyway, just give them some chips or something and they will probably go away.
– Feel free to make a KEEP OUT THIS MEANS YOU KIDS sign using the paper and markers you will find in the corner of the guest, I mean, play, I mean, guest room.
– Ask me for tape. For reasons that will become obvious, I keep the tape in a top secret location.

Fresco:

– Fresco loves snails. He will make a noise like a donkey on acid every time he sees a snail. Then he will pluck it from its tree and drop it in the dirt, because “snails like dirt RIGHT!” It behooves you to agree.
– Fresco is afraid of flying insects. He will make a noise like a jet plane with a seagull in its propeller if he sees a fly or bee. He will refer to either and both of these insects as BEES. It behooves you not to correct him.
– Fresco runs really fast. He insists on wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. Try to catch him before he falls down.
– If he falls down, there will be a scrape. Be prepared to hear about the scrape for the length of your visit. DO NOT attempt to bandage, clean or otherwise approach the scrape. You may appreciate the scrape with a sympathetic tone, from over there.
– Re: the scrape. It’s still there.

Trombone:

– Trombone loves fighting. He thinks he is the size of a house. Please don’t squish him, though it will be tempting. He is just about to start kindergarten. He can’t go if he’s squished.
– Stop means stop. If you need help with this, ask Fresco. He is very good at shriek-hollering the rules.
– Please don’t laugh when Trombone says DARNIT, or BUTT, even though it is really funny.
– Yes, we read him Captain Underpants books. It’s fine. He’s allowed.
– He is very excited about his birthday. Please try to dissuade him from inviting everyone on the street to his fantasy birthday party. I simply do not have enough Clone Wars cake with marshmallow frosting for four hundred people.
– Disregard his ten-thousand item birthday wish-list and get him some socks. He needs socks more than he needs a remote control Iron Man that says I AM IRON MAN.
– Yes, by ‘he’ I mean ‘me.’ What of it.

Seamus the Cat:

– Feed him.
– Feed him again.
– Try not to go in the bathroom when he’s in the bathroom or he will freak out and run through the house and finish his business somewhere else.
– Leave your bedroom door closed. Seamus can’t do doorknobs, we don’t think.

Me:

– I like beer, gin, whatever. Not fussy.
– Please, no wrestling in the living room.

Your son:

– As you are aware, if you get in between him and his first cup of coffee, he will poke you with a safety pin.

Enjoy your stay!

Love,
Us, in our house

PS: Re: the scrape. It’s still there.

Posted in | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Two Guys

Posted on 6/8/2011 by cheesefairy

I was driving across town to get to my writers group meeting. Sun in my face, wind in my hair, Beastie Boys on the radio, lollipop crammed in my mouth. Yes, this is the Real Housewives of New Westminster, owning Canada Way. Watch me drive my filthy, silver sedan.

There weren’t a lot of people on the road, it being 7:45 pm on a Tuesday. There was one guy. You know the guy. He’s got to be first. He revs his engine and inches toward a red light, as though the sheer force of his mind will make the light change faster. He wears a baseball cap backward. He does the exaggerated double-take whenever he sees buttocks.

He was driving a beater of a red car, rusty and ugly but with a very important muffler. I first spotted him three cars behind me and then he was two cars behind me and then he was next to me and then he was behind me again because the guy in the lane next to me was cruising at a nice, safe speed limit. I wanted him off my bumper so I did him a favour and sped up a bit so he could get past. Then I watched as he wound his way around the other cars on the road to arrive first at the next red light. First!

I sucked on my lollipop. I enjoyed the sunshine. I dangled one arm out the window and thought about Mme Perpetua and the conversation we had on twitter about the new Beastie Boys album.

The lights along Canada Way, which is just a major thoroughfare, not a highway or anything, operate so that if you get one red light, you get all red lights, no matter how fast you go or how much like a deranged cretin you drive. So at the next red light I caught up to Mr. Red Car. I looked over at him. He was either four feet tall or sitting on the floor of his car. You decide. He was staring straight ahead and his car was going:
parummmmmmmmm
parummmmmmmmm
parummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Yes, it throbbed, like his manhood.

My car radio played some Jack Johnson. Something about banana pancakes and making sweet love on a rainy Sunday morning. I thought about how I might punch Jack Johnson in the face if he interrupted a rainy Sunday morning sleep-in to offer me pancakes or sweet love. I thought about how Jack Johnson did not write the song Banana Pancakes about a couple of people who have children in the house.

The light turned green and Mr. Red Car went vaaaaruuuuuooooooooom!, vibrating with the enjoyment of being a red car, which goes fast, faster than other cars, go car go. But before we could meet again at the next light, from behind me I heard another parummmmmmm. I looked in my mirror and lo, it was an orange motorcycle. The motorcycle eased into the left lane, behind Mr. Red Car, and we stopped at the next red light; Mr. Red Car, Mr. Orange Motorcycle, and me.

Mr. Orange Motorcycle’s motorcycle was a Honda Shadow. It was a pretty bike. Mr. Orange Motorcycle wore clean motorcycle boots, a little nut-shell helmet (black), a tight black jacket, and tight blue jeans. He did not look at Mr. Red Car, or at me.

My car radio played Mumford and Sons. I changed the station. I found Blondie.

The light turned green and Mr. Orange Motorcycle revved up and headed for the right lane, in front of me. He and Mr. Red Car were neck and neck until Mr. Red Car, spotting a slow car in the lane ahead of him, made a very tight lane change and cut in front of Mr. Orange Motorcycle.

“Tsssk,” I said, my teeth clicking against my lollipop, “He’s not going to like that.” I decided I was rooting for Mr. Orange Motorcycle because even though some motorcycle drivers are awful, noise-polluting Harley fiends, many more are not. Plus, he was a better driver.

Mr. Orange Motorcycle sped up and ducked around Mr. Red Car, into the left lane, then back into the right. Mr. Red Car evidently decided that being in the left lane was more important than being first! and the two of them kept pace with each other until the next red light, and then to the next, and the next, until finally, in a bold move, Mr. Orange Motorcycle zoomed into the left lane in front of Mr. Red Car to get around a slow moving van, then scooted over two lanes and hit the highway entrance a good five cars ahead of Mr. Red Car.

I cheered. I admit it.

I opted not to follow them onto the highway just to see what would happen next. I crunched my lollipop and switched radio stations again, hoping I would find the Beastie Boys somewhere else.

Posted in | Tagged , , | 4 Comments