Month: September 2022

Good Golly Miss Molly!

We babysat our youngest grandchild this past weekend and it went surprisingly well. Molly was a totally different child than she was the last time we babysat – a few weeks when they are just over a year old makes a huge difference. Last time she was a ‘mouth-wide-open’ screamer totally determined to punish her mother for abandoning her even when her mother wasn’t there to appreciate the punishment. Apparently, she was fully capable of crawling, but we saw zero amount of that; she was just a screaming lump in the middle of the living room.

This time was shockingly different. The Viking and I spent most of the time just staring at her like she was a changeling. We had only babysat a month previous – how can this little human be the same human from a month ago? The whole experience was a revelation.

The Highlights
  • She mastered the sippy cup. Last time she wouldn’t even pick it up. This time she was a rockstar, one-handing it and performing stunts as she drained the last drop of juice.
  • SHE WALKS! And runs! All around the house like it was an Olympic Speed Walking track. She stuck her little hand up to grab my finger and started dragging me around behind her. Amazing.
  • She loves getting her hair combed. Especially if you accidentally squirt her in the face with a water bottle. When she woke up in the morning, her hair was kind of knotted and sticking in all directions and I thought I should get her looking spiffy for her mom. I assumed I needed to sneak up on her because who likes getting the knots out of their hair when they are 14 months old? She turned around at the last second and got a face full of water and it wasn’t even warm. SHE GIGGLED! I started combing her hair and she got that look on her face that everyone on the planet makes when they are getting a head massage. She grabbed for the spray bottle and tried to squirt herself and when that didn’t work, she handed it back to me. So, I sprayed her in the face again and combed. And again. And again. Until the bottle was empty and she still wanted more.
  • The turkey baster is no longer her favourite toy.

  • She has the smelliest farts I’ve ever been forced to smell.
  • She found a remote control and held it to her ear like it was a phone. She went to the kitchen and started chatting on the ‘phone’, so The Viking and I started answering her from the other room and the conversation became quite complex.
  • She is an epic chair dancer.
  • She TALKS! I had given her a sippy cup of juice and when she had no interest in it, I set it on the table. An hour later she stood beside me, reached toward the table and demanded “JUICE!” Well, knock me over with a feather.
  • She has a stuffed sloth that is almost as big as she is, and she never puts it down.
  • She squinches her face when she smiles and it’s fucking adorable.
  • Watching her facial expressions is like looking in a mirror. She has a ‘what-the-fuck’ face.
  • Fruitloops received the ‘what-the-fuck’ face. Pretzels didn’t and are the preferred snack after grapes.
  • When she poops, she gets this still face and faraway look like she’s listening to aliens.
  • Cook an egg for her and she stuffs it in her mouth with both hands and no, she doesn’t want a spoon, thank you very much.
  • She gives hugs for no reason at all. It’s a ‘wrap her arms around your neck and lays her head on your shoulder’ kind of hug that makes you feel warm and squishy inside.

So, it was a win. More than just a win, though. It was a spectacular success! The one takeaway was that we don’t have enough toys to entertain Molly and keep her mind working. Lids off Tupperware containers and pill bottles filled with beads won’t cut it anymore. And that’s how I found myself scrolling through dozens of listings on Facebook Marketplace. We want to be prepared for next time, after all.

A Naked Treasure Hunt and Aqua-Viking

The continuing saga of our vacation. Here’s a link to Part One.

The morning we were leaving, all the luggage bags were on the floor at the back door and the neighbours were getting out their lawn chairs and spiked coffee. I was determined to cheat them out of the usual gong show and sing-along this time and I was about to find out if I succeeded.

The Viking selected the bags he wanted to load first and I trotted behind him, carrying the other two bags. I stopped well short of the bike and gently put down the bags. I was careful to avoid The Viking Stink Eye that happens when I get too close to luggage. While he called on his Gods to bless his packing, I went back in the house to dig out the jackets and helmets, cleaned the coffee pot, made sure the garbage and compost bucket were empty, changed the message on the answering machine, watered the plants, and put on my boots. Then I played Solitaire until he showed up sweaty and panting from all the packing. He looked like he’d been in a fist fight.

Our destination: Vernon, BC. We were managing to leave two full days earlier than we had anticipated, so we booked a hotel for the days before the cabin reservation kicked in. The Viking had scrolled through hundreds of hotels in the Vernon area until he found what he wanted – reasonably priced rooms and a pool. A POOL! Because not only is he a control freak about packing, he also has a water fetish.

via GIPHY

I don’t understand what it is with him and water. He’s like AquaViking! For me, a hotel with a pool is like going to Hawaii for a root canal. Sure, it’s great to be in Hawaii, but…well…you get my point. A pool means a bathing suit and it’s impossible to find a bathing suit I’m willing to wear in public. Apparently, the swimming costumes I am willing to wear went out of fashion in 1910.

It turned out that putting on my bathing suit wasn’t an issue after all. By the time we reached Vernon, the temperature had soared to over 30°C (86°F) and we were both melting in our big jackets and jeans. Our melting intensified while we reverse-VooDoo-ed all the packing and carried it to our room. Just so you know – The Viking allows me to help with unpacking the bike. Sure, he’s all…

“Be careful….ooooh….no! you have to….just a minute….watch out!….you can’t do that…..STOP!…for fucksake!” but he wore himself out once I had successfully unloaded a bag without breaking the bike into a million pieces.

I started peeling off clothes before the room door was completely closed. At that moment I really didn’t care what I looked like in a bathing suit if the pool could stop the sweating. Of course, it took quite a while to find the bathing suits because someone didn’t make a luggage map. It was sort of like a Naked Treasure Hunt, but I had to be careful with my nipples because the air conditioning was on ‘high’, and my boobs aren’t twenty anymore. My mood improved dramatically when we found that the pool was deserted, though.

The second thing I don’t understand about water: what are you supposed to do with yourself once you’re wet and no longer sweating? If I were a surfer or a water polo enthusiast, I would know exactly what to do in the water, but 1). The pool was too small for a surfboard and 2). Water polo usually has more than two people and we didn’t have a ball. So, I paddle around for a couple of minutes and then what? I have watched The Viking very carefully over the years to see exactly what he does in the water that he loves so much and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t do a damned thing. He just stands around. There wasn’t even something interesting on the wall except for a life preserver which seems a little redundant when the pool is only 3 meters (10 feet) by 6 meters (20 feet).

“I wonder how many times they’ve had to use that life preserver?”

“Probably never.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” End of conversation.

There was a clock on the wall, but it seemed to be mocking me. After 3 hours in the pool, I thought I could suggest we search for drinks back in the room, except the clock said we had only been there for 9 minutes.

I did notice an odd reflection on the door to the pool area. There were trees and about 5 flags, but when I looked at the windows all I could see was blue sky. I spent about 10 minutes trying to locate the source of the reflection. I even went so far as to get out of the pool and stand in front of the door, but I still couldn’t see anything. The Viking was wondering what I was doing, and he started looking too.  It was a mystery.  So, we gave up and went back to standing around doing nothing. It was probably the best time I’ve had in a body of water since my last water polo game – in 1975.

Nine hundred years later….

“Maybe we should go back to the room and have a couple of drinks.”

“Are you sure? We can stay longer if you want. I’m quite happy here.” I was already running for my towel.

“No. I’m done here.”

Drinks in the room, dinner in the hotel restaurant, and a quick tidy of the exploded luggage. I curled up to read, my head resting on The Viking’s stomach.

“Do you know that we didn’t have a single ‘incident’ today? Yes, there were a few stabby, snarky comments when we were unloading the bike and melting, but overall, it was a good day.”

“They were your stabby, snarky comments.”

“Hmmm. I think there were a couple from you.”

“Nope. All you.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like me at all. I am the soul of kindness.”

“HA!!” His stomach catapulted my head toward the ceiling. “A little bit of sweat and you turn into The Hulk.”

“Pfft! I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

Sand and Spit

We’re home from vacation. Sigh. Unwillingly and unhappily. Sad emoji. I was born to be filthy rich, but my ancestors didn’t put in the effort required to fund my preferred lifestyle. I shouldn’t complain because we did get more than a week of wonderfulness, but I’m going to anyway. Not here, of course, because my whining is boring, so go ahead and read on. Also, I’ll have another post about the vacation because there is just too much to tackle in one post.

We took the Goldwing, but we haven’t become very adept at packing. This is only the third time we’ve attempted a motorcycle vacation and it shows. Mostly because The Viking is a cranky control freak.

Back in the bad old days, when we packed the fifth wheel for every holiday, we had completely separate tasks that rarely over-lapped. He had nothing to do with stocking the towels, clothes and condiments. I had nothing to do with filling propane bottles and checking tire pressures. The only time we had to confer was in regard to how many times we would be eating steak and bacon (every meal) and how much beer and Baileys I needed to buy (a lot). This motorcycle packing is an entirely different beast though. It turns out that I am in charge of gathering things and The Viking is in charge of complaining about the items I’ve gathered and packing those items into the bags.

I started my ‘gathering stuff’ a couple days in advance, all the items grouped into categories, sealed in Ziplocks and labelled appropriately. I put all my clothes into a large Ziplock bag and squeezed the air out of it so it took up less space, and wrote lists of what needed to be done before we left. I brought out the custom bags that fit perfectly in the trunk and side bags of the bike and thought I had everything under control.

via GIPHY

Just to be clear, I did not presume to put anything in a bag. I clearly remember last year’s debacle and simply laid out the bags and piles on the kitchen table so The Viking could mumble incantations and work the intricate magic involved in his packing system. I took up position on the opposite side of the table and waited for instructions.

“Beach Towels.”

“Yes Sir!” I handed them over respectfully with a snappy salute. I folded them wrong, apparently, and there was a heavy sigh and several seconds of head shaking while he re-folded them properly and put them in the bottom of a bag. With great exaggeration for instructional purposes.

“Laptop.”

I had put the power cords in the outside pocket of the laptop bag and that was a colossal blunder.

“You can’t put the cords with the laptop because any weight on top of it…” he mimics pushing down on the laptop, “will break it.” He continues mimicking the pushing and breaking for an entire 30 seconds. Okay, he has a point. I’ll give him that.

My vacuum-packed clothes were an issue for some unknown reason. It probably wasn’t magic enough. He mumbled something about it being too wide to fit and bashed the side bag skinny-full-ly several times to make his point. “See?! It won’t fit. You have to be very careful that you don’t make the bag too wide, or the side bag cover won’t close. See?!”

I nodded enthusiastically like I had learned something new, hoping he wouldn’t carry on for another 6 minutes on the intricacies of motorcycle packing. As he dumped my clothes…..

“You only need 5 pairs of underpants.” Counting them out and handing me the remainder.

“But we’re going to be gone for 10 days.”

“You’re lucky I’m allowing you 5! You can wash them in the sink. I’ve been taking motorcycle trips for 107 years and have never packed more than 3 pairs of underpants even for a 6-month trip. And I washed them out with only one cup (250ml) of water that I recycle to make myself some coffee with nothing more than a Bic lighter and tin foil. I’m sure you can make do.”

“Should I buy travel-size laundry soap?”

“What?!! Are you crazy?!! We’ll use sand and spit.”

He dismantled my entire Ziplock system, including the Ziplock containing all the chargers for all of our electronics. He gave a Ted Talk on how a Ziplock of something takes up too much room, but individual items can be put into nooks and crannies. He explained with examples, best practices and techniques. He did make one concession for Ziplocks and that was when it came to things that might leak, like shampoo. He also gave a short lecture on where things go depending on their squishiness – hard things go here, and soft things go there. At least that’s what I think he was explaining; I had stopped listening at sand and spit because my lady parts were shrieking.

I finally walked away and left him to his dark magic. He may VooDoo everything into the bags easier but just wait until he’s looking for his toothbrush and has to unpack every damned bag to find it. That goes for tablets and phone chargers, too. He should have made a detailed luggage map with the location of every item at a bare minimum, but what do I know?

I’m not saying that I could do a better job packing the bike, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be so cranky and explain-y.