Top of the gross-ness chart

As a mother, there are many things you end up dealing with that are just gross.  Like sucking the snot out of your congested baby, getting poop on your hands when you change a diaper, or cleaning up barf with milk and cheese in it, or almost licking a smear you thought was avocado.  I’ve dealt with all those things and never complained.

Until today.

Today, I’ve experienced something that tops the gross-ness chart!

I was trying to put Joshua down for a nap this afternoon and I ended up falling asleep before him.  I woke up a few minutes later because Joshua had his right index finger in my mouth, poking around and picking at my gum.  I pulled his hand out of my mouth and turned my head away from his evil deeds.  Then I felt something in my mouth, like a small piece of food partical or something.  I thought maybe Joshua had stuck some chewed-on food in my mouth.  That would have been gross, but not THAT bad on the gross-ness scale.

I used my thumb and index finger to fish out the small partical.  When I saw what it was, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. 

It was a giant piece of snot.

Green snot.

Joshua had picked his nose and stuck his snot in my mouth!

I almost died.

Mish-mash

This post is a mish-mash of recent stories.

***

Last weekend, we went for a stroll in Kitsilano, and walked by Lens and Shutters.  It’s a gorgeous store full of camera equipment just begging to be caressed and drooled on.  I turned around and said to Cliff, “I want to go roll around naked in that store.”  Cliff gave me this bewildered look and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.  Obviously he didn’t share his wife’s desire to be intimate with some high-end camera equipment.

***

On Valentines Day, Cliff brought Joshua downtown to meet me for lunch.  We went to Urban Fare, thinking that we can be somewhere more casual and not deal with snobby wait staff.

We sat down with our food at a table, next to a table occupied by a middle-aged man and woman.  I wasn’t aware of the conversation that couple was carrying on, but it was obvious that as soon as we situated ourselves next to them, the man started talking about kids.  He began with the statement that “children do not belong in grocery stores”, and went on about a long story of how kids in grocery stores drive him crazy with their temper tantrums and unruliness.

I wanted to turn around and say something to him.  I didn’t.  I chickened out.

***

After dinner it’s generally a good time for us to phone my parents in Taiwan, as it would be late morning in Taiwan.  Last week I called my mom a couple of times using Skype, so she can see Joshua.  Each time while the program is dialing, I’ll tell Joshua that we’re 打電話給外婆 (calling grandma).  So now every night after dinner, he brings the iPod to me and demands “打” (call)!  We’ll dial up my mom and Joshua would be so excited to see her face show up on Skype.

***

One night while I was vacuuming, I sensed something is wrong with our vacuum.  Normally when I start vacuuming, the clear canister soon starts to collect dog hair.  But that night after vacuuming the rug in the living room, there was nothing in the canister.  The vacuum also sounded different than normal.

I cleaned out all the filters, but it still didn’t work.  I started to dismantle the machine to look for the root cause.  After sweating and swearing over the machine for 10 minutes, I found the culprit.  There was a spoon and a pen stuck in the suction tube, clogging up the system.

Maybe letting Joshua play with the vacuum tube is not such a great idea.

 

Earliest memory of a birthday party

I didn’t get a birthday party every year when I was growing up.  Birthdays tend to be celebrated at home, with my small family and a cake.  But I clearly remember my 7th birthday party.  It was the first party I’ve ever had where I was allowed to invite my friends.  MY friends!

Now, I don’t remember all the details about this party.  I can’t remember who all came (for crying out loud, that was almost 30 years ago).  I don’t remember my cake, or if I even had a cake.  I can’t remember what we ate or what games we played.  I can’t remember what I wore (although I am 100% sure it wasn’t some girlie outfit with lace or sequins).

I was on such a high.  My first REAL party, with MY friends, at MY place!
I’ve only ever seen birthday parties on TV.  And now I’m going to have my own party.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was all grown up to “host” a party.  I think the thought of me being the center of attention had my head spinning the whole time.

What I do remember, is this boy named Charles.  Was his name really Charles?  Actually I’m not all that sure.  But anyway, let’s called him Charles.  Charles was in my grade.  His parents and my parents happen to be friends.  I think Charles came to my party because our parents are friends, not because Charles and I are friends.

I was (am?) a tomboy.  Though I can’t remember what games we played, I’m sure we didn’t play any Barbies or house type games at my party.  No.  It would have been some sort of kung fu or sword fighting games.  It would have been something that involved physical pain being inflicted back and forth, with a very compelling story line of how the fight was necessary to save the world from being completely obliterated.  It was MY party, and I was the superhero who was going to save the universe and free us all from evil…

…Because that would be the only reasonable explanation of why I kicked Charles right in the middle of his back.  He fell on the floor and started crying.

Now, just give me a second to explain myself.  Charles is this kid who isn’t really MY friend.  He was a little chubby, kind of whiney, with fair and perfect skin like a girl.  So it was obvious to me that he was crying to get attention.  There was no way that I kicked him THAT hard to make him cry.  Wasn’t that obvious to everyone else?  Besides, if he kept crying, an adult will hear it and I would be in trouble…

…So I told him to shut up.

Then my mother walked in just as I was telling him to shut up.  My mother, the proper girlie girl, heard me tell her friend’s child to shut up after I’ve kicked him.

I can’t remember what else happened at the party, or how the day ended, or what presents I got.  For the first birthday party I was allowed to have, allowed to invite my friends, allowed to feel like a grown-up, the thing I remembered the most is my mother making me apologize to Charles.  I apologized half-heartedly.  How unfair!  It was my birthday party, and I had to say sorry to this sissy in front of all my friends!!  I was humiliated.

I didn’t have another birthday party for many years.  Maybe my parents felt that it was too much hassle to put on parties.  Anyway, that was ancient history.  I hope my parents are proud of me today; I haven’t kicked anyone at my birthday parties ever since.