Ye gods, it's hot. Today the temperature hit 35 C (that's 95 F, in case you're a heathen--er, American). Southerners would be all, "pshaw" about that, but we are not southerners. Did I mention the humidity?
Not that I'm complaining. Since we only get a few precious months each year that are not filled with snow, ice and general misery, I actually embrace these sweaty, sweaty days. But the children! Oh! the children! They are sweaty and wakeful and grouchy and difficult to be around.
We went to the beach last week and I burned my upper back, in a couple of blotchy spots where I didn't smear the sunscreen. Today I was extra careful to cover those spots...and I completely neglected my lower back, which is now red and stinging. Le sigh. We are all still gritty in our creases from our beach excursion, which is probably contributing to the general air of crankiness.
Boy, I wish I had something more interesting to post about, but it's too hot. And the baby is climbing on the table again, meaning my time here is at an end.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Milky Way
This weekend I went on a bar crawl. I know, what the heck?! I am old and dull, who invited me to a bar crawl? My internetty friend Michelle, that's who. She was in Calgary for the Stampede, so I drove down and met her for a night of tipsy carousing. It was a sweaty, sweaty time. The temperature was 34 in the shade, and the bars and busses were much hotter. I spent a great deal of time rehydrating the next day, to the tune of about 4 litres of fluid.
The waiter who served us brunch: And what will you have to drink?
Me: The family-size carafe of cranberry juice, please.
Waiter: How many glasses would you like with that?
Me: Just one, thanks.
Waiter: Seriously?
Me: Uh, yeah. Thanks.
And then I drained that sucker like I'd spent the night boozing and sweating profusely. Which I had.
One of the memorable moments of the night: after we went through a metal detector at the entrance to a bar (sounds like a nice, wholesome place, 'eh?), a young man told me he needed to check my big ol' mom bag. Guess what he found in it? That's right, a Ziploc freezer bag (large size) with a breast pump in it. The poor guy dropped it like it was on fire when I told him what it was. No honey, it's not drugs or a weapon, I use it to express milk. From my breasts. For two of my three children. I am old. I think I'll put away my ID now, since nobody is asking to see it. Thank you and good night.
Despite the slight mortification factor, I was very glad to have brought it, since we later needed to share a private moment in a dirty bathroom stall, my trusty Avent and me. Then there was another mortifying moment when I had to come out of the stall with a pump full of milk, dump it in the sink, rinse the pump and stuff it back in the Ziploc, all while the young, single, childless ladies watched. It occurred to me just now that I could have just emptied it into the toilet and put it away without rinsing it, all without leaving the stall. Ah well, perhaps it was educational for the young girlies. Maybe they were extra careful to take their birth control that night. Or maybe they were just extra careful to not use the same stall or sink I'd just sullied. It might be catching!
The waiter who served us brunch: And what will you have to drink?
Me: The family-size carafe of cranberry juice, please.
Waiter: How many glasses would you like with that?
Me: Just one, thanks.
Waiter: Seriously?
Me: Uh, yeah. Thanks.
And then I drained that sucker like I'd spent the night boozing and sweating profusely. Which I had.
One of the memorable moments of the night: after we went through a metal detector at the entrance to a bar (sounds like a nice, wholesome place, 'eh?), a young man told me he needed to check my big ol' mom bag. Guess what he found in it? That's right, a Ziploc freezer bag (large size) with a breast pump in it. The poor guy dropped it like it was on fire when I told him what it was. No honey, it's not drugs or a weapon, I use it to express milk. From my breasts. For two of my three children. I am old. I think I'll put away my ID now, since nobody is asking to see it. Thank you and good night.
Despite the slight mortification factor, I was very glad to have brought it, since we later needed to share a private moment in a dirty bathroom stall, my trusty Avent and me. Then there was another mortifying moment when I had to come out of the stall with a pump full of milk, dump it in the sink, rinse the pump and stuff it back in the Ziploc, all while the young, single, childless ladies watched. It occurred to me just now that I could have just emptied it into the toilet and put it away without rinsing it, all without leaving the stall. Ah well, perhaps it was educational for the young girlies. Maybe they were extra careful to take their birth control that night. Or maybe they were just extra careful to not use the same stall or sink I'd just sullied. It might be catching!
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