Good Girls Do Not Pee on the Floor

Having had a recent visit to the ER, I was reminded of this one hospital visit back when I was 6  years old.

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I had had a couple bladder infections that the doctors were concerned about.  My mother had a kidney operation when she was about that age, so they were investigating whether there was some genetic weirdness going on with me.  An ultra sound detected that one of my kidney's was a bit larger than the other, which lead to a series of embarrassing tests. 

On this particular hospital visit, they wanted to insert a tube to fill up my bladder with some crazy fluid they could monitor on a screen.  Doctor's don't feel like kids need to be 'in the know' on such matters, so I was only told what was expected of me for each stage.  For this stage they only told me that it would be uncomfortable.  I would later agree with them that yes it was.  But it was also painful and embarrassing.  They must have forgotten to tell me that part.  Being a good little girl, I just dealt with it and did as I was told.  My mom was there, so I trusted I was in good hands.

Once that part was done, they gave me my next instructions:  The tube would be removed and they were going to monitor the screen while I peed out all the fluid.  I was full and uncomfortable and that sounded like a fine plan.

But wait.  They wanted to WATCH me pee?  All these people!?   Even worse, I was expected to just stand there and pee on a towel on the floor!!!

No.  No way.  Voyeuristic urination was my line.  Good little girls do not pee on towels on the floor.  I wasn't having any of that.

It became a battle of will.  They just stood there and waited thinking that at some point I couldn't take it anymore and had to do what they wanted. 

So we stood there.

And stood there.


Until they got bored and offered a compromise.  I could pee into a bucket.

Nope.

Nope, didn't like that either.  So we waited some more.


Another compromise:  I could sit on a wheelchair-toilet.  But they were still going to watch.

Nope.

We waited some more because they just weren't understanding my position.  Just call me a martyr for the good little girl tribe.  I was not budging, whether or not it was going to kill me.


Finally, when they were concerned that my bladder might rupture they admitted defeat and let me enjoy the privacy of a washroom. 


Later as we were preparing to leave the hospital in triumph/failure/embarrassment, one of the offending nurses found me and said she knew I had a rough day, and offered me the treat from her Burger King lunch.  It was an ALF Melmac Rock record*.  I was so thrilled to have this piece of cardboard that it made the whole experience worth while.

*Please note:  A record, not a CD.  It was 1988

Epilogue:  There turned out to be nothing wrong with my kidneys.  One is simply just bigger than the other. 

Assholes.

Truth, Truth, Lie

I recently learned a new road trip game.  It's called "Truth, Truth, Lie", and as it's fitting title suggests, you and your companions take turns telling stories, two of them true, one of them a lie.  Let's play!

My stories below all evolve around a family road trip to Prince Edward Island when I was about 7 years old.

Story 1
On the ferry boat crossing to PEI, we were given permission to wander around the boat so long as we stayed together.  Sarah was only 3 at the time and was harnessed on a leash, so Trevor and I decided to take her for a walk.  The ferry was quite large, with the lowest level full of cars and two decks for passengers to explore.  The upper deck was entirely open air, and the lower deck was partially enclosed with a wrap around observation deck.  Upstairs was a bit too windy for us; Sarah's leash turned out to be a saviour as 3 year old's in high wind proved to be great kites.  Downstairs was much more fun, with a snack bar and pin ball machines inside and the great view outside.  I had never been on a boat before and was very excited to lean over the edge and water the water churn out behind us.  It all felt very Titanic, and we even passed some huge chunks of ice (icebergs to my young mind) with penguins on them.

Story 2
Also on the ferry boat as we approached PEI,  Trevor and dad were on the upper deck of the boat, and my mom, Sarah and I were on the lower deck.  We were approaching shore, and I decided I wanted to see from the top level.  I ran upstairs, but wasn't able to find my dad or Trevor.  The boat was beginning to dock so I rushed back downstairs trying to find someone from my family amidst the crowd of people exiting.  They weren't downstairs either.  I ran laps around the ferry until I was the last person on the whole boat, terrified that I'd been forgotten.  As the crew was raising the ramp to depart, they realized I was a stowaway and ushered me off the boat, alone.  Just as I was approaching a complete nervous breakdown, I saw my family gathered at the bottom of the dock, watching and waiting to see what I'd do.  It was one of those classic "I thought YOU  had her" parenting moments, but they somehow turned it into a "and that's why we don't wander away" lessons.  At least it reaffirmed any self-consciousness about having one of their children tethered to a harness.

Story 3
While in Prince Edward Island (on Prince Edward Island?) we were staying at the house of some friend's of the family who had two kids a bit older than we were.  Their play room humbled me...it was in the loft above their laundry room, and was accessed by a ladder.  One afternoon they took Trevor to the beach to see their secret cave, but my parent's wouldn't let me go since they thought I was too young to climb the rocks with big kids.  I was pouty and wanted to go sulk it out in their awesome playroom.  While climbing up the ladder, I slipped and fell, bashing my nose on the way down.  Too prideful to admit that I fell from the ladder - thus proving that their point about not being able to hand climbing to the cave -  I stiffed my nose bleed with one of the family's guest towels, and then hid the bloody evidence behind their washing machine.

So which one is the lie?  Guess below :)

How I learned to "look before you leap"

Growing up, we loved visiting my Aunt Marg's house in Milton during the summer when we could use her swimming pool.  It wasn't just the pool we loved.  We loved under the pool as well.  Her backyard was on a hill, so the pool deck was level closest to the house, but you could walk around it and get under the deck.  This arrangement made for excellent hide and seek games, and provided a wealth of bugs and plants to find and examine.  In particular, there were always little yellow butter flowers that you held under your chin and your chin glowed yellow from their reflection, it meant you loved butter.  Spoiler!  If it was sunny out, everyone loved butter.  But at the time - gasp!  I DO love butter! 
The spider webs that we found under the pool were incredible and pristine, complete with fat spiders of all sizes munching on untold numbers of bugs.  There were so many snails that it was impossible to go barefoot under the pool as their shells would inadvertently crunch under your feet.  My favourite were what we called pill bugs; the little guys that would curl up into their shells like armadillos and roll around the margarine containers we put them in.  We were told mice lived under there as well, but were never able to confirm that rumour.

As my memory holds, it was a typical day during a typical summer and we were eager for a swim.  Part of the fun at my aunt's pool was the assortment of pool toys kept on her deck in a big wooden trunk.  There were all sorts of inflatable toys, boats, floaties, flippers, and snorkels.  My brother, sister and I would race to see who got the best gear for our aquatic escapades (re: dunking each other until someone cried and we were ordered out of the pool).

On this day day I opted for surprise-under-water-tactics and thus required the snorkeling set.   I rushed to shove my feet into the flippers, and the snorkel and mask set over my pony tail. I dove in ready to begin my assault.  As I ducked under the water I put the snorkel in my mouth and took a big breath.

And filled my lungs full of earwigs.

I came to the surface choking, gagging and gasping for air, but it was too late.  The earwigs of Aunt Marg's wooden pool toy trunk were now scrambing around deep in my lungs. 

To this day, every time I feel a sharp prick while breathing, I think of the pile of little earwig carcase shells that might still be there...cemented to the sides of my lungs with their horny little pointers jabbing my flesh.

But I always check the snorkel tubes now.

When I Discovered I Was White

I've sat on writing this post since I began this blog.  It is one of the clearest memories I have as a child as it was such a revelation for me, but race is always a strange thing to talk about because it's so easy to offend, especially when I haven't been victimized by it.  That said this blog is about my memories, and this is my memorable memory as I remember it.

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I recall very clearly the day when it was revealed to me that people come in different colours.  Prior to that day, I don't believe it ever occurred to me.  Brampton was a wonderfully diverse city to grow up in and as my family was quite active in community sports, clubs, and activities, and went to a public school, we were well exposed to many different cultures from the very beginning.  Over the last few years Brampton has apparently gotten worse for gangs, violence, and cultural divide, but when I was young it was a very safe place to live. 

I was in Mrs Maynard's class...aka she whom did not give me a turtle...and the class was called to the carpet for a lesson.  One of the other children must have made some sort of a racist comment as Mrs Maynard began a very stern discussion that even though people's skin may be different, we are all the same inside.  She went on to tell us that sometimes people are judged because of what colour they are, and that is wrong.

I'm that nearly see-through kind

Wait.  What?  People were different colours?  I surveyed the class seated on the floor around me and was shocked to see how different everyone looked all of a sudden.  Shannon was white, and so was Matthew.  Natalie was black and Harman was brown.  I had gone to school with these kids for over a year now and never realized what colour they were.  It was sublimely awe-striking and a concept so bizarre that it just didn't make sense.  And yet...there it was.

Whatever else Mrs Maynard had to say flowed from one ear right out the other.  I was stuck on the suggestion that people were judged for what colour they were, even though they couldn't help it.  I like Shannon, but didn't like Matthew, and they were both white.  I like both Natalie and Harman----

WAIT!  What colour skin did I have???

I looked down nervously to discover that I was white.

And a huge wave of relief flooded me.

Despite just being told that everyone was the same no matter what colour they were, I already know within minutes that my life was going to be a lot easier that I was white.  It's hard to say exactly why I knew that, especially since I can't recall the rest of Mrs Maynard's lesson, but I remember clearly that one moment of complete relief knowing that I didn't have anything to worry about...all the bad things that she warned us about would not be directed at me...

(Interjection:  Okay, there I go being un-PC.  I know racism affects us all, and I know that white people can be racialized too.  This is just an account of my memory, and that was my honest 6-year-old reaction.)

These new revelations rocked my boat a little bit, but didn't change my life very much.  Shannon, Natalie and Harman (but not Matthew...I hated him) were all still my friends, but now I was conscious of our topical differences.

Vomit Stories

Bargain Herold's
Remember "Bargain Harolds"?  I like to think I had somewhat of a role in it's eventual demise.  When I was somewhere in-and-around 10, my mom took Trevor, Sarah and my cousin Amy with her to the Rat Plaza, with Bargain Harolds at the entrance.  As soon as we entered the mall, my stomach turned and I paused to puke while my family carried on ahead of me without notice.  When I was done, I realized that I had ralphed from one end of the Bargain Harolds threshold to the other, completely carpeting their entrance way with my undigested lunch.  I ran to catch up with my mom to tell her what I had done, but didn't make it further than 20 feet before I hurled again.  When I was done my floor pizza, I realized that now I had effectively sealed all the unfortunate Bargain Harolds customer's inside the store with my vomit force field.  I definitely needed my mom to sort this mess out for me, so I caught up and told her I barfed.  Except in my family we weren't allowed to say barf (or puke, or hurl, or yak.  Not sure about vomit force field, though as I just made that one up now) so I had to say 'throw up'.  She stopped in her tracks.  I thought I was in trouble for sure.

Mom - "Where?" 
Me - "Bargain Harolds door"
Mom -"Which one?" 
Me - "Both of them"

Whereas I would have been tempted to run away and pretend that it wasn't my kid that just made a guttural (pun!) statement on the quality of products and services at the store, my mom did the honourable thing and marched back to Bargain Harolds, jumping over the chuck and informed the Manager what had happened.

Manager - "Where?" 
Mom - "Your door"
Manager -"Which one?" 
Mom - "Both of them"

As we all left, my mom and myself quite embarrassed, Trevor, Amy and Sarah all dying of laughter, the unhappy Manager threw some cardboard down on top of my refurbished lunch.

Later, while exiting the Rat Plaza, we noticed that the cardboard had been removed and stacked up next to the mall's candy machine.  That nearly caused us all to puke again.



Doorway Vomit
Here's another quick one that still makes me laugh.  When I was really young, let's say 5, I woke up suddenly in the night and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.  My mom had super sonic hearing and always knew when one of us was awake at night.  She came out of her room to see what was wrong.

Me - "I threw up"
Mom - "Where?"
Me - (pointing at her feet) "There."

Luckily for both of us she was wearing her slippers.

The Turtles

As well as frogs and toads, I also raised a host of turtles growing up.

When I was 6, my mom and I went to Big Al's and the turtle tank was right near the front door. I studied the tank for a long time before choosing the tiniest turtle they had. I had saved up my allowance to buy Shelly and I distinctly remember he cost $7.99. Shelly lived on the kitchen counter in a plastic container called "turtle island" that had a bridge and plastic palm tree. He ate a boring diet of turtle pellets peppered with the squashed body of any fly who tried to make our house it's home.

After reading my journal, my grade one teacher Miss Maynard invited Shelly to join my class for show and tell. Always eager for a chance to show off, I happily complied. A week or so later, miss Maynard told me she had some exciting news for me. Her daughter found a little turtle in their backyard and named him Freddy (after Kruger, based on his claws). I was super excited, thinking that she was going to give him to me, after all why would her daughter finding a turtle be exciting for me? Sadly, this was not the case, but it did spark a series of careful backyard inspections and finally the accumulation of another $7.99.

Shelton brought new living accommodations with him, and joined Shelly on the kitchen counter. They got along well, sharing flies and playing with the cat.  Blackie and the turtles had a good dynamic.  Since salmonella didn't seem to be a concern in our house, we used to let the turtles walk around the kitchen floor.  They were zippy little suckers, despite the rumours about them.  Blackie would let them get fairly far away from them, then pounced and smack their shells with his paw to make them retreat into their shells.  Then later, if Blackie got distracted  by something, the turtles would attack his tail.  

When Sheldon reached maturity he starting trying to eat and/or kill Shelly.  Shelly was the size of a small dinner plate at this point so we decided to send him to university. That's not a euphemism for killing him, by the way, we literally took him to the conservation area at U of Guelph and let him free.  Now regarded as an unacceptable threat to biodiversity, at the time we thought we were doing a good thing.


Not too long later, I was playing at Fung-Ying's house when I saw a little turtle in an empty margarine container sitting on their kitchen counter.  I was upset and asked why he was in such a small container. Her brother had bought him for a friend's birthday, who wasn't allowed to keep him.  Thus, a margarine container.  To the delight of both myself and Fung-Ying's mom, Rocky joined Sheldon on my kitchen counter that day.

At this time I'm going to invite you to feel free to stop reading at any point...I have another 5 turtle stories to make my way through...

Still here?  You must be bored.  Or love turtles.  Possibly both.  Alright then, thanks for humouring me.  Carrying on...

Laurie and I were bike riding around the twin ponds one after noon when we saw a turtle near the edge of the water.  We got off our bikes to go check it out.  We were quite familiar with those ponds and as far as we understood, didn't support life outside of perhaps three-eyed Simpson-esque fish.  I'm ashamed to admit this, but I was too scared to pick up the turtle.  It was Laurie who grabbed him.  Despite having had three of my own at this point, this pond-caught turtle frightened me.  It might have had razor sharp teeth or some sort of venom.  But of course, it did not.  In fact, he didn't even see her hand coming because he was nearly blind with a disease contracted by neglect.  All of a sudden, me letting my turtle go in the conservation area doesn't seem that bad, does it?  Thus, "Pebbles" came home with me, and my allowance was diverted into turtle eye medication.  Because, yes, such a thing does exist.

At some point in this disjointed memory (remember the whole point of this blog is because my memory stinks), my Sunday morning habit of pouring through the penny saver and flyers got the better of me, and I bargained with my dad to buy a great big aquarium, complete with three turtles.  I was allowed to keep Stoney, Buddy, Frisky, and Sunshine (at this point I ran out of rock-related names) for the rest of the summer and my dad got the aquarium for his tropical fish afterward.

The story stops being interesting here (if ever it was actually interesting to begin with...).  I had six turtles for one summer, and all six went to post-secondary education in September.  I recall very little else about them, but having that many turtles at once must have been a trying summer for me, as it effectively ended my turtle-keeping.

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Update: May 13
I just found this You Tube video of how turtles bully cats.  Mine weren't quite this vindictive, but it just goes to show you that turtles aren't pushovers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFP6kzZJGOs&feature=endscreen&NR=1

My first pair of dangly earrings

One of the paramount moments in becoming a "big girl" was getting my ears pierced before going to kindergarten. Second to that was getting my first pair of dangly earrings.

As somewhat of an ostentatious child, I liked to draw attention to myself (middle child syndrome) so in attempts to highlight the specialty of my dangly earrings, I cleverly hid one each day in the climbers. This was clever on two fronts: 1) that I got attention and 2) that I got a little more time in the climbers which was the Holy Grail of Miss Maynard's class.

The guardian of the climbers was none other than Kermit the Frog. When Kermit was climbing, no one else was. Strange really that I was able to make amends with him so many years after this most hurtful betrayal. As it were, I used to hide an earring daily on the climbers after Kermit had taken his post. After a few minutes on the rug with the class, I'd "discover" my missing earring and get permission to go find it.

This one fateful day, however, my earring was not where I had left it. My fictitious search had borne an actual panicked hunt for my beloved dangly earring. Kermit laughed at me the whole time. Try as I did, I never found that earring, but I did learn a good lesson on lying and showing off.

I suppose I have Kermit to thank for that.

Stupid frog.

Neighbourhood kids

Growing up in Brampton was really fun. We had a lot of kids in our street and here are some random recollections of them:

Lindsay and Gregory lived two doors down. Gregory was my age but I was later told that I preferred talking to his mom over him. I used to go ring their door bell and when she answered, I'd say "guess what!" and launch into an epic tale of what I must have considered of monumental importance. Being that I was about 5 at the time, I'm sure it revolved around my cabbage patches or the bugs that I found.

When the they's moved out, Jennifer and Billy moved in. Jennifer was too old to be my friend but she was nice. Billy was a bit tough and intimidating to me. Once when we were all out front, I found a worm the size of a gardner snake and thought he'd be impressed if I showed it to him. Unfortunately for both me and that worm, he reacted by throwing it on the road. I wanted to go get it and put it back under the rock where I found it, but I was too embarrassed by his reaction, so I didn't. Eventually a car came and ran it over. I still feel terrible about that.
Once I saw Jennifer kissing her boyfriend while sitting on the ping pong table. Might seem a silly thing to remember but he was Chinese and it was the first time the concept of interracial dating occurred to me. I think his name was Ozzy and he drove a motorcycle.


I was never particularly close with our neighbour's who lived three doors down. Cristina was a couple years older and Stephanie a couple years younger. I do recall Cristina throwing my cabbage patch doll Angela into the garage. She got a white scratch on her face and I never forgave her for that needless act of violence. I'm sure Angela didn't deserve it.
An embarrassing memory I have of Stephanie is once while we were playing in her room I was so distracted by the clutter that I started cleaning her room for her. When my mom came to collect me for dinner, their mother commented that Steph's room has never been so clean. I said "all you have to do now is vacuum it and you're good to go". Did I EVER get an earful on the walk home on manners!! Mom was sooo embarrassed.
Michael was Sarah's friend since they were the same age. When they were a bit older he would come over to dinner, I think mostly as entertainment. Probably one of the funniest kids I know. He's recently filmed an indie zombie movie with some friends. I can't wait to see it.

Shanna and Cassie lived directly next door. Shanna was a year or two younger than me and Cassie was Sarah's age. Shanna and I used to play swimming lessons on our front lawns, which involved one if us jumping off the porch and running around in crazy circles with the other one following as if we were on a water slide. The game lasted until the eventual fall down, which meant we splashed in the pool. Then we'd switch. I'm laughing out loud as I type this, it's so ridiculous.
My favourite game with them was throwing the ball over the fence. It was exciting not knowing where the ball would launch from.
Once I turned 19 I have Shanna my old ID. Two years later when she was 19 she returned the ID in a thank you card left in our mailbox.

Adam and Ashley lived a few doors down as well. Closer to Sarah's age, I never really played with them, but once Ashley was mad at Sarah and reacted by taking off all her clothes and riding her tricycle home naked. My mom ran after her and dressed her on the sidewalk.
Their uncle Tom lived with them and was a cowboy. At least that's what he told us. We believed him because he had a hat, wore the boots and had a cactus in his room. Thinking about this now, it is incredibly inappropriate that I was ever in his bedroom. My assumption now is that he wasn't entirely of sound mind.

Laurie's family lived down the street; specifically 15 houses away. I was their Kimmy Gibbler and was always over. I often went there in bare feet and thought they were really prissy when they made me put on socks before coming inside. Now I know that my feet must have been filthy and their carpets were quite light. Their house always smelt like "clean"...mine smelt like cigars and crayons.
My family never went out for dinner. McDonald's was a very special treat for us, and very rare at that. The first time I went to Pizza Hut and Swiss Chalet was with Laurie's family. I thought they were rich because they went out for dinner and Laurie and Sarah went to camp all summer. Years later Laurie told me that she thought we were rich because we had so many toys.
Once when I was over for dinner, Laurie's sister Sarah was angry at us for something (probably Nintendo related) and said at the table "you know, Dad says you don't have to have Julie over all the time". Awkward silence. It confused me because I never stayed without being invited. My dad referred to Laurie as his fourth kid so she was at my place as much as I was at hers.

This is a long post. 6 hour bus rides can do that to you (PS: I'm in Peru!)

A blog of frogs

I had a host of frogs throughout my childhood. Here are the stories of some of them:

Chuckie, or perhaps it was Ernie: I found Chuckie the toad while biking one day. There were some boys at a playground throwing rocks at him, trying to kill him. I went over there to save him, but I don't remember if there was an altercation of sorts or if the little assholes took off when I approached (they were younger than me), but I collected him and road home one handed. He ended up having a nice set up in the aquarium below the fish. It must have been a terrifying day for that poor guy, first a stoning, then strangulation on a bike, and finally forcible confinement. I tried to make up for it by supplying all the crickets he could eat, but I eventually returned him to wense he came.

Ernie, or perhaps Chuckie: this toad I just found and tried to relocate in my backyard. He likely wasn't impressed as I don't believe I saw him again.

Mr Ed: he existed.  That's all I remember of his life tail.  (<-- that's a pun, not a spelling mistake) (Yes, I know that toads don't have tails, but they did as tadpoles, so my pun is still correct)

Prince: my tiniest toad was a firebelly given to my as a Bday gift from Chris o'flarity. He required a very tropical and warm tank, which I painstakingly outfitted for him. Alas, he too made a break for his original habitat (which was a great deal further away in the tropics somewhere) and his blackened dehydrated body under the bookshelf was found months later.

I had too many frogs to remember their names...or perhaps they didn't hold the same fascination for me.  I know there was at least one "Kermit" in there, so lets assume they were all named Kermit.

Sarah, myself, and possibly a Kermit

Kermit 1 and 2: abducted from the pipe under the foot of my grandma's driveway in St George. These two unwilling buggers were sequestered in my first turtle home (plastic circle, small bridge and palm tree with a lid). Before running out to play one afternoon back in Brampton, I kindly thought they'd like some fresh air and sun so I put them out on the deck to enjoy the afternoon.
Later my mom found their boiled bodies floating in the little turtle river. That is when I learned about the greenhouse effect.

The Albino Kermit's: bought from Big Al's pet store, I decided to bring the ugly little creatures to school. That's where they died.  I think from starvation because I never really figured out how to feed them.

Kermit 3 and 4: when we dug a fish pond for our backyard I really wanted frogs to live there too. Apparently they didn't agree because they , like all the others, left. I was beginning to sense a pattern about the strength of amphibians internal homing devises.

Smiley: Smiley was a lime green tree frog. The kind that needs plants, water, heat lamps, and a very controlled environment. Read: this guy was going no where! He was super cute and very shiny, very enjoyable to look at and poke. But that was the extent of his attraction. He did nothing. Hung glued to the side of the aquarium. Blinked for pleasure.
I later brought him back to the pet store for credit towards my iguana.

More on that another day.

Earliest Memories

Here are a few of my earliest memories, in no particular order or relation. That's what you're going to get from this blog...a spattering of nonsense that probably doesn't interest anyone but me. And potentially anyone I happen to write about. I'll try to keep the bitchy-teen-angst infused comments to a minimum this time.

We had just moved from Georgetown into our new Brampton house, which would have made me three. Our basement was unfinished, dark, and potentially full of monsters. Trevor, 6 at the time, was scared to go down there and as an act of defiance and bravery, I decided to upshow him and go down there, alone, in the dark. It was terrifying and I was pretty sure I was going to die, but well worth it in the end. This was probably the turning point in our relationship.

Again, basement story:

The neighbourhood kids were all in our basement, and as dumb kids do, we were running the circular path around the stairs for no particular reason. As I ran by, I accidentally knocked down a 2x4 into the path, but as the race was on, I didn't want to stop and pick it back up. In fact, I probably prided myself on a successful obstacle for the next runner to overcome. The next runner was unfortunately my toddler little sister, who stepped on the board and got a nail through her little shoe, into her little foot. I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!

That last story I held onto in shame until just last year, when I finally felt it was time to tell Sarah what I had done. She obviously didn't remember, as she was really young, but upon confirmation with our dad, he said that it didn't happen. Perhaps she just fell and there was no nail, or maybe there was a nail and she narrowly missed it...or maybe I dreamed the whole thing up. Don't know, but it's still a memory. So onto the blog it goes.

The day I got Blackie:

Mom had told me that I could get a kitten as soon as the fences were put up in our backyard. I was sitting in the kitchen looking out the patio doors, emphatically telling her that the fences were there, but I still didn't have a kitten. I was really angry about it and sulking my five-year-old face off.
Aunt Marg and likely Nanny opened our front door, as they came over every Wednesday for lunch. I was too sulky to go say hi, so I just sat slumped in the kitchen against the back wall. When I looked over, Aunt Marg was carrying a little black kitten and handed him to me. I vividly remember that moment, and how happy she looked to be able to give him to me. I felt nearly sick with guilt for being so angry at my mom.

Why is it that my earliest memories are charged by guilt?

Proof that I'm a thoughtless and unfeeling person:

When Grampa Les died, he and Nanny lived in Connecticut. Mom and Dad only took baby Sarah to the funeral with them and left Trevor and I with Aunt Caroline and Uncle Lambert for the weekend. I was probably about 4 if Sarah was a baby. It was the first time they'd been away from me, and it was over my birthday. I remember being very excited to spend a sleep over weekend with A Caroline and U Lambert, because they had a pinball machine in the basement and the little mushroom houses for their smurf figurines. Before Mom and Dad left us there, they gave me a birthday present to open. It was a girl-transformer, which transformed from a cat into a lipstick. It thrilled the shit out of me. Grampa Les, who?

Random, the day I became a "Big Girl":

One afternoon before I was old enough to go to school, I asked Mom to take me to the park. I decided to test her to see if she'd let me into the stroller and was really surprised when she let me. Feeling pretty pleased with my lazy ingenuity, I took the stroller ride congratulating myself the whole way. Until we passed my brother's friend Lindsay. She was 3 years older than me, and someone who I considered a "Big Girl". I was humiliated at being caught hitching a stroller ride, and never rode in one again.

Random, possibly the origin of my bathroom insecurities

More on the subject of Lindsay, she was an only child, had two cats, and super long hair. Though I wasn't aware of this word at the time, to me she seemed very bohemian. Once when all the kids were playing hide and seek, I thought she was going to go hide in the bathroom, so I followed her in there. She wasn't in there to hide, and didn't seem to mind taking a poo in front of me. Also very bohemian. She explained that when you got to go, you got to go, and once her mom didn't poo for a very long time and the doctor needed to sit his hand up her bum and take the poo out. I really wish I didn't know that story. When I went to high school and Lindsay was there, that story was all I could think about every time I ran into her, with her cropped green hair. Confirmed: Bohemian.

Short and Sweet...wallpaper:

My first room in the Brampton house had strawberry shortcake wallpaper. I was quite convinced that it was scratch and sniff, and used to sniff the different characters all the time. In fact, I remember giving it a lick, just to confirm whether it was also tasty wallpaper; it was just regular wallpaper flavour.