Dad vs Hornets

I'm becoming terrible at writing in this thing.  Chatting with a friend last night I remembered a good Dad story from one or two summers ago.

~ ~ ~ ~

Trevor, Kat, Sarah and I had all gathered for a BBQ at my dad's place.  My dad and I go out to the shed to drag the BBQ out.  Inside the shed, I point out to dad that there is not one, but two hornet's nests tucked up against the roof.  He mutters something akin to "not for long" and we continue tugging the gorgeous piece of meat-grilling machinery out onto the patio.

Quick rant here, if you'll indulge me.  I won that BBQ in a raffle once.  It's a $1500 Napoleon stainless steal BBQ complete with an automatic chicken rotisserie.  I'm damn proud of that BBQ as it's really the only thing I've ever won.  Since I was  living in an apartment at the time, I told my dad he could hang onto it for me until I have a house one day and can use it myself.  So dad takes the BBQ, gives his BBQ to Trevor, and Trevor gives his garage sale BBQ to me.  And I have to buy the propane tank myself.  That free BBQ ended up costing me $60.

Okay, back to the story.  As previously mentioned, my dad muttered "not for long".  I didn't take much notice of that statement at the time because I was stressing out over the stains on my beautiful BBQ.  Once we had it in place on the patio, I begin fussing about cleaning it up for dinner while my dad slinks off towards the garage.  Moments later  he comes back with a 2x4 and a mission.

It doesn't take me long to figure out his maniacal plan.  My usually calm, intelligent father was afflicted with the classic "man solves problem with a big stick" paradigm... whilst in a small shed with only one exit, two hornet nests, and likely three hundred pissed off bees.

Inside, Sarah has heard the unfolding drama and gathers TreKat to the window to witness the showdown.

I quickly try to run interference:

Me: "What are doing?!  They're going to sting you!!"
Dad (nonchalent):  "It's fine."
Me: "There are TWO nests!!"
Dad (annoyed): "Julie, stop being dramatic."
Me: "Do you know if you're allergic?  You can die if you get too many stings!"
Dad (confident, nearly in the shed now): "They'll have to catch me first."

Clearly my dad thinks he's invincible so at this point all I can do is run to at the very least save myself.  I hop inside the kitchen to join the viewing gallery.

Moments later, dad comes running out the shed and we let him inside, too.  He's pouting and genuinely surprised at this unexpected outcome of his heroism.  Like it hadn't occurred to him that the hornets would be less than impressed with him destroying their house(s).

Dad: "The little bastards stung me".
Us: "No!/ What?/ Really!/ Seriously?"
Dad: "Shut up."

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.

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.

We Were Movie Stars

When I was about 9, I was asked to be an extra in "Searching For Bobby Fischer" with Trevor and my friend Kathryn. Her friend's mom was a talent agent and needed a bunch of kids for a scene with a big chess tournament. They were shooting the movie in Toronto, I believe somewhere on the U of T campus.

It was a great experience. There was a good 50 kid extras and in between shoots we were kept in a big room that had unlimited snacks, a courtyard to play in, board games, and a big TV that played "Fern Gully". Sometimes the actors in the movie would come to visit us (so we thought...they might have just wanted to watch Fern Gully, or more likely, to eat). A couple even came to sing songs with us. I think she was Diana from Anne Of Green Gables and he later did "Men in Black" with Will Smith. I'll have to IMDB that later to see if that makes sense.

When we got to the set in the mornings they would send us one by one through wardrobe and make up. We had to bring a couple changes of clothes for them to choose from, and they wanted my blue plaid dress, with my white and pastel glasses, and they French braided my hair each day. I didn't realize it at the time but I personified the geeky chess child.

While shooting, they paired us up at tables with a partner and we were to play chess as fast as we could and use those clicky "your turn" things. My partner was a little Asian girl who also didn't know how to play chess. So we just pretended and made our horsies chase each other. I think at one point our royal families decided to end their battle and have a wedding instead. We got shushed a few times for giggling. Chess players do not giggle.

The audio guys had tiny microphones taped to every few tables or so in order to pick up the ambiance. I recall deciding to keep a microphone for my barbies, and being told that they need to stay taped to the table for the movie instead.
One day we were sat at a table that had one, and we thought that we now had speaking lines in the movie. Each shot of that afternoon we repeated the same serious chess conversation over and over.

There was another scene where we all had to run from the back of the room to the front stage to pat Bobby on the back and congratulate him. Even at the time, I thought that was a weird thing to do, but damn it I was going to run the fastest and get there first. I was quite competitive, you see, plus I really wanted to be on camera.

When the filming was done, we all received a pay cheque. It was the first money I ever made and I was intensely proud of it. I have no idea how much it was for, but I do remember I was allowed to buy a "Fern Gully" VHS with it.

I never ended up watching "Searching For Bobby Fischer", not even to see if you could pick Trevor, Kathryn or I out from the crowd. Who wants to watch a movie about chess anyway?

The Georgetown Snake

This is one of those family memories that has continuously been brought up over the years. I myself have very limited memory of it, but I think it's worth writing down.

When we lived in Georgetown, our house backed up onto a small forest. My dad often hit golf balls into the woods (more on that another time) and would sometimes accidentally mow over a snake when cutting the lawn. We had no back fence so our yard was often subject to woodland visitors.

One day Trevor was out back playing in the sprinkler with a friend when he stepped on a snake with his bare foot.
He started to scream. While my mom rushed outside with me in tow (I was about 2 at the time), Trevor ran into the safety of the house, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Being the early 80's, no one had cell phones and neighbour's were friends, so my mom went next door to call my dad to come home and let us inside. While we waited, we tried to find the offending snake.

We found him in the neighbors bushes. Or rather, my mom and the neighbour found him. Even though they tried to point him out to me, I just couldn't see it. This is the only memory I actually have of this incident...crouching on the cement patio square, staring into the bushes and feeling very angry that I couldn't see the snake.

When my dad got home, he had two upset out kids...one because he saw a snake, and one because she didn't.

My House Rules

We had a bunch of house rules. Some were followed and others not so much. We were spanked as kids sometimes, but the biggest threat of all was the unhappy-face paddle. Reincarnated from a paddle ball, my mom drew a sad face on it with a thick black sharpie, complete with tears. I don't know if my mom knew those were symbolic gangsta murder tears but they certainly got the message across either way. When we were bad, the threat of "don't make me get out the unhappy-face paddle" was all we needed to hear to straighten up. I don't think it was ever actually used though. I wish we still had it; I would hang it on my wall.
We also had the classic "wait until your father gets home" and "1...2...". 3 never actually materialized. Whether from us smartening up or if my mom didn't want to have to follow through with the mystery that happened after 3, I don't know.
We would always try to run when we knew a spank was coming. My dad was good at catching us by the arm as we tried to run by, and we were pretty good at crying before he ever touched us. Fear and threats seem to be the most effective parenting techniques.

Rules:
- Dinner at 5:30 sharp
- No individually packaged snacks. Strictly for school lunches only
- Ask before eating anything that wasn't healthy
- Must split 2 pops between the three of us
- Don't eat the chocolate chips or the baking chocolate
- no colouring on the fire place
- no smushing cheese slices under the coffee table
- Don't walk up the wrong side of the banister
- don't jump on the furniture

That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure there were many more.

My household was also very egalitarian. Treats were split equally between us...right down to the mm of pop or meniscus curve of chips.
The only fluctuation for this rules worked in my favour. Neither Trevor or Sarah were "activities" people, so I got to go to all the Brownie and Girl Guide camps, do all the swimming/skating/dance classes I wanted to. I never really felt that "forgotten middle child" thing. I was pretty demanding as I recall.

When Trevor was 8, his allowance was x and his bedtime was y. I could also expect x and y when I turned 8. That was a rhythmic progression until we were teenagers. All of a sudden those rules didn't apply any more because I was a girl. My curfew stayed early despite me pointing out that I was better able to handle myself better than Trevor should I get into an altercation. I also tried to spin the angle that Trevor didn't often use his curfew and that I should be able to use his overage. No dice. Eventually I wised up and started telling them when I'd be home instead of vice versa. Cell phones had entered the picture by then as well, which might have helped my cause.

Operator

My nanny was babysitting us while my parents were on vacation and Trevor and I were watching tv in their room. For whatever reason he dared me to call the operator, so not being one to back down from a dare (especially an easy lame one) I did. On the other end of the phone, it sounded like the operator said "hello creature", to which I replied "hello stupid" and hung up the phone. Silly me didn't consider that operators by the nature of their jobs have access to both phones and phone numbers, proven by the fact that she promptly called back. Instead of answering the phone and thwarting her attempt to yell at me, I chose instead to hide behind a chair. Of course my nanny answered the call. She apparently didn't care whether or not the operator had called me a creature...she was pissed.

It was poor timing for a dare as well, as my parents returned that night. Again, that chair was my refuge until dinner when I thought enough time had passed that nanny had forgotten about the call.

She didn't, and it became dinner table conversation.

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.