My mom was in town to see Drewpy in a school play. Mickey D phoned to say he would have to stay at work late so instead of coming home first, he would meet up with mom and I at the school. I let her in on the plans while we ate dinner with the three boys.
Half way through the chicken caesar salad, my six year old Achey turned and said in a very serious tone to my mom, "Grandma, if you're thinking about hugging my dad when you see him tonight - DON'T. We have a no-touch policy at my school".
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I’d rather have cabin fever
Saturday night was the final banquet for the curling club to officially end the season. Sunday night was the first meeting for the soccer club to officially begin the season.
Is there no time to even take a shower between the extra curricula’s these days?
I’ll miss curling. I hate change and the fact that I can consistently stink at curling is reassuring.
The rest of my life seems to be going to hell in a hand basket.
Yes. That is a camper trailer parked in my driveway. Yes, we bought it. Yes, that was me cleaning it, vacuuming it, buying Tupperware storage bins for it and picking dead flies out of the zippered windows.
Ladies and Gentleman, Alison L. Davies, born and raised a city slicker, will now not have my wagon hitched to a star as much as have my camper trailer hitched to my mini van.
“Sleeps six ‘comfortably’” the guy said in his sales pitch. Hmmm. I wonder if he’s ever slept on a Sealy Posturepedic at Howard Johnsons. They’re pretty comfortable.
He must have been bragging up trailer sleeping over the less comfortable ‘sleeping directly on the ground’. Yeah. I’m certain he was sticking it to the tent-styled accommodations that come with the “suitable for all hard surfaces” guarantee.
A hotel room tends to spoil its guests with modern conveniences like unlimited electricity and boundless streams of running water. The camper trailer gets plugged in and there’s a water jug to fill under the spit sink.
A hotel room has security windows; a camper trailer has sturdy zippers.
A hotel room has a sitting area with a coffee table; a camper trailer has a kitchen table that doubles as the master bedroom.
A hotel room has a hair dryer, wake up service and a coffee maker; a camper trailer has a fire extinguisher, thin canvas walls and a wheel jack.
A hotel room can be a few doors down from the elevator; a camper trailer uses a crank to hoist up its roof.
But who am I to not go along with the group and in this case, ‘the group’ consists of the soccer moms. We have some tournaments to play and the soccer moms want the whole team to camp. And you DO NOT cross the soccer moms.
Last Sunday morning, one of these soccer moms, Madame (French teacher not brothel owner) scored on me twice during my soccer game. And she plays on my team!!
Oh no, if the soccer moms say ‘camp’, you camp – nuff said.
Mickey D knew that me roughing it in a tent could alter my personality forever. And out of fear that it would make me even more unbearable and impossible to live with, he coughed up some dough to ensure I would be nestled a good 4 feet off the ground. I tell ya, that Mickey D knows how to treat a lady.
Is there no time to even take a shower between the extra curricula’s these days?
I’ll miss curling. I hate change and the fact that I can consistently stink at curling is reassuring.
The rest of my life seems to be going to hell in a hand basket.
Yes. That is a camper trailer parked in my driveway. Yes, we bought it. Yes, that was me cleaning it, vacuuming it, buying Tupperware storage bins for it and picking dead flies out of the zippered windows.
Ladies and Gentleman, Alison L. Davies, born and raised a city slicker, will now not have my wagon hitched to a star as much as have my camper trailer hitched to my mini van.
“Sleeps six ‘comfortably’” the guy said in his sales pitch. Hmmm. I wonder if he’s ever slept on a Sealy Posturepedic at Howard Johnsons. They’re pretty comfortable.
He must have been bragging up trailer sleeping over the less comfortable ‘sleeping directly on the ground’. Yeah. I’m certain he was sticking it to the tent-styled accommodations that come with the “suitable for all hard surfaces” guarantee.
A hotel room tends to spoil its guests with modern conveniences like unlimited electricity and boundless streams of running water. The camper trailer gets plugged in and there’s a water jug to fill under the spit sink.
A hotel room has security windows; a camper trailer has sturdy zippers.
A hotel room has a sitting area with a coffee table; a camper trailer has a kitchen table that doubles as the master bedroom.
A hotel room has a hair dryer, wake up service and a coffee maker; a camper trailer has a fire extinguisher, thin canvas walls and a wheel jack.
A hotel room can be a few doors down from the elevator; a camper trailer uses a crank to hoist up its roof.
But who am I to not go along with the group and in this case, ‘the group’ consists of the soccer moms. We have some tournaments to play and the soccer moms want the whole team to camp. And you DO NOT cross the soccer moms.
Last Sunday morning, one of these soccer moms, Madame (French teacher not brothel owner) scored on me twice during my soccer game. And she plays on my team!!
Oh no, if the soccer moms say ‘camp’, you camp – nuff said.
Mickey D knew that me roughing it in a tent could alter my personality forever. And out of fear that it would make me even more unbearable and impossible to live with, he coughed up some dough to ensure I would be nestled a good 4 feet off the ground. I tell ya, that Mickey D knows how to treat a lady.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Drinks Taste Better in Coconut Shells
Through the magic of modern publishing, I’ve been able to slip away without anyone being the wiser. I snuck back into town last Thursday night after a week in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic.
Certainly I’m no travel writer but I do feel an obligation to report my experiences so no one else has to walk in my shoes … well, sandals.
The people in the Dominican are having a little fun at our expense.
As soon as you land, everyone greets you with a smile and a big “Hola” (oh la!), which simply means ‘hello’. Well, how much fun is Hola to say?? They know that once we tourists master ‘Hola’, we think we are completely fluent in Spanish.
So the laughs are on us when we start an exchange with “Hola”, throw a little slowed-English in and then they reply by hitting us with actual full Spanish sentences.
“Hola. Me a-no like, you know ‘like’, well, me no like too much rum, okay?”
“Ah, Si. Entiendo. Quieres un montón de ron” replies the pool bartender with a grin as she pours what looks like an awful lot of rum into my Banana Mama.
And, of course, the food at our hotel was fantastic. But I knew what the staff was up to. They figured they’d fatten us up for our world-renowned cold Canadian winter. Well, the jokes on you, Island Dwellers, because it’s not winter in Canada all year round. We’re gonna be fat for summer – hah! Take that, Chocolate Crepe Station!
Sadly, the rooms were so clean and well kept that we could never feel like it was a ‘home away from home’. The fresh flowers on the bed, the gleaming tiled floors and the sparkling Jacuzzi tub --nope, sorry, but that’s not screaming ‘home’ at all.
But it didn’t truly dawn on me that we were the brunt of some international ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ tomfoolery until I was on the beach at sunset the night before we left with two of my sons and my two nephews. They were all wave jumping and frolicking as I looked out over the ocean.
The water, quite honestly, was a colour my eyes have never seen before. It never appeared on a colour wheel in school or on a Glidden paint chip.
I’ll say jade but, wow, what a weak description. It was greener, or lighter, or brighter or maybe deeper. And lying under a lavender sky with its streaks of blueberry and pink, well, again, the Punta Cana locals surely giggle knowing they’ve challenged us to describe the indescribable -- in any language, let alone our own.
Thank goodness the honestly of SkyService came into play or we would have been completely duped by greatness. SkyService, our airline carrier, folded its wings while we were away. Thank you, SunWing, aka The Cavalry, who came to our rescue. They were amazing and gave us a fabulous ride home.
We did stumble upon love on that Dominican Island though. Mickey D’s cousin Jaime-Lynn married her sweetheart Damon under a white gazebo alongside breathtaking shores and white sands. They had lots of friends and family gathered. Even bathing-suit-clad onlookers from the beach witnessed their vows. Hopefully the hairy guy in the Speedo didn’t make it to any of the photos. There were no words to describe that sight either.
Alison Davies writes More About Life weekly. Email your thoughts to alisondavies@morebusiness.ca
Certainly I’m no travel writer but I do feel an obligation to report my experiences so no one else has to walk in my shoes … well, sandals.
The people in the Dominican are having a little fun at our expense.
As soon as you land, everyone greets you with a smile and a big “Hola” (oh la!), which simply means ‘hello’. Well, how much fun is Hola to say?? They know that once we tourists master ‘Hola’, we think we are completely fluent in Spanish.
So the laughs are on us when we start an exchange with “Hola”, throw a little slowed-English in and then they reply by hitting us with actual full Spanish sentences.
“Hola. Me a-no like, you know ‘like’, well, me no like too much rum, okay?”
“Ah, Si. Entiendo. Quieres un montón de ron” replies the pool bartender with a grin as she pours what looks like an awful lot of rum into my Banana Mama.
And, of course, the food at our hotel was fantastic. But I knew what the staff was up to. They figured they’d fatten us up for our world-renowned cold Canadian winter. Well, the jokes on you, Island Dwellers, because it’s not winter in Canada all year round. We’re gonna be fat for summer – hah! Take that, Chocolate Crepe Station!
Sadly, the rooms were so clean and well kept that we could never feel like it was a ‘home away from home’. The fresh flowers on the bed, the gleaming tiled floors and the sparkling Jacuzzi tub --nope, sorry, but that’s not screaming ‘home’ at all.
But it didn’t truly dawn on me that we were the brunt of some international ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ tomfoolery until I was on the beach at sunset the night before we left with two of my sons and my two nephews. They were all wave jumping and frolicking as I looked out over the ocean.
The water, quite honestly, was a colour my eyes have never seen before. It never appeared on a colour wheel in school or on a Glidden paint chip.
I’ll say jade but, wow, what a weak description. It was greener, or lighter, or brighter or maybe deeper. And lying under a lavender sky with its streaks of blueberry and pink, well, again, the Punta Cana locals surely giggle knowing they’ve challenged us to describe the indescribable -- in any language, let alone our own.
Thank goodness the honestly of SkyService came into play or we would have been completely duped by greatness. SkyService, our airline carrier, folded its wings while we were away. Thank you, SunWing, aka The Cavalry, who came to our rescue. They were amazing and gave us a fabulous ride home.
We did stumble upon love on that Dominican Island though. Mickey D’s cousin Jaime-Lynn married her sweetheart Damon under a white gazebo alongside breathtaking shores and white sands. They had lots of friends and family gathered. Even bathing-suit-clad onlookers from the beach witnessed their vows. Hopefully the hairy guy in the Speedo didn’t make it to any of the photos. There were no words to describe that sight either.
Alison Davies writes More About Life weekly. Email your thoughts to alisondavies@morebusiness.ca
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Gimme that 25th hour
“Mom,” Itch said as he entered the kitchen. “I really, really want this 8th book in the 39 Clues book series. I’ve read the other 7 and its ONLY $9.99 if you order it from school” he said while waving a Scholastic book order form around.
It’s Monday. It’s 8:10 in the morning. I have two other kids looking hungrily at me. I’ve agreed to drive them because I have to drop off a bag of clothes and costumes that I’ve been busy assembling for use in their big upcoming school musical.
I’m feeling stretched and he’s throwing yet another something at me. Frustration races through my veins as I stand waiting for the toast to pop.
“Mom. Just come here for a minute and read the description of the book. It’s totally awesome.”
I mentioned it was Monday morning, right?
“Itch. I don’t have a minute. I don’t have 10 seconds. It’s ‘awesome’ for YOU but for ME, it’s just another thing I have to do. And I’m running on overload around here. You guys are sitting there like bumps while I make your breakfast. And in between toast popping and milk pouring and listening to blabbering about who wants peanut butter AND jam and who will die if jam even comes close to landing on their toast, I’m also picking fallen jackets up off the floor, finding matching socks and putting the lunches together.”
I motion to the counter and the three separate piles. “One guy likes apple juice not fruit punch; the other guy will throw his sandwich in the garbage if there is butter on it and I’m smack dab in the middle of my daily struggle to strike a balance between the evil pre-packed snacks and fruit and sliced cucumbers.”
“You guys just don’t get it. There is not enough time in a day. Not only do I carry your laundry hampers downstairs, wash the clothes, dry the clothes, carry them back up, fold them AND put everyone’s clothes away, lately I’ve been having to waste time searching for the dirty clothes – under beds, shoved into drawers, in the closet – its ridiculous.”
“I throw out empty wrappers left on the counter. And, correct me if I’m wrong, I seem to be the only one capable of putting a glass into the sink LET ALONE loading it into the dishwasher.”
“The floor needs to be swept – I’ll end up doing it. I’ve been asking for a week if you would each go through this stack of papers on the table and throw out what needs to be thrown out but I guess I’ll end up doing that, too. And, if you can believe THIS, I found half drank water bottles left by the sink. Are all of you SO LAZY that you can’t even dump out the water from your own drinking bottles???? Do you think someone is going to follow you around and pick up after you FOR YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE!?”
“Itchy! You might really, really want that book but you leaving the sheet there waiting for me to read the description is JUST GIVING ME ONE MORE THING TO DO!!” Ahhhhhhhh.
After wiping the last bit of spit off my lip, I look towards my three boys for some sign, some glimmer, of understanding…
Itch looked at me wide eyed. “Maybe I could read the book description out loud to you.”
It’s Monday. It’s 8:10 in the morning. I have two other kids looking hungrily at me. I’ve agreed to drive them because I have to drop off a bag of clothes and costumes that I’ve been busy assembling for use in their big upcoming school musical.
I’m feeling stretched and he’s throwing yet another something at me. Frustration races through my veins as I stand waiting for the toast to pop.
“Mom. Just come here for a minute and read the description of the book. It’s totally awesome.”
I mentioned it was Monday morning, right?
“Itch. I don’t have a minute. I don’t have 10 seconds. It’s ‘awesome’ for YOU but for ME, it’s just another thing I have to do. And I’m running on overload around here. You guys are sitting there like bumps while I make your breakfast. And in between toast popping and milk pouring and listening to blabbering about who wants peanut butter AND jam and who will die if jam even comes close to landing on their toast, I’m also picking fallen jackets up off the floor, finding matching socks and putting the lunches together.”
I motion to the counter and the three separate piles. “One guy likes apple juice not fruit punch; the other guy will throw his sandwich in the garbage if there is butter on it and I’m smack dab in the middle of my daily struggle to strike a balance between the evil pre-packed snacks and fruit and sliced cucumbers.”
“You guys just don’t get it. There is not enough time in a day. Not only do I carry your laundry hampers downstairs, wash the clothes, dry the clothes, carry them back up, fold them AND put everyone’s clothes away, lately I’ve been having to waste time searching for the dirty clothes – under beds, shoved into drawers, in the closet – its ridiculous.”
“I throw out empty wrappers left on the counter. And, correct me if I’m wrong, I seem to be the only one capable of putting a glass into the sink LET ALONE loading it into the dishwasher.”
“The floor needs to be swept – I’ll end up doing it. I’ve been asking for a week if you would each go through this stack of papers on the table and throw out what needs to be thrown out but I guess I’ll end up doing that, too. And, if you can believe THIS, I found half drank water bottles left by the sink. Are all of you SO LAZY that you can’t even dump out the water from your own drinking bottles???? Do you think someone is going to follow you around and pick up after you FOR YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE!?”
“Itchy! You might really, really want that book but you leaving the sheet there waiting for me to read the description is JUST GIVING ME ONE MORE THING TO DO!!” Ahhhhhhhh.
After wiping the last bit of spit off my lip, I look towards my three boys for some sign, some glimmer, of understanding…
Itch looked at me wide eyed. “Maybe I could read the book description out loud to you.”
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