The DG is overdoing it, but doesn't really have a choice right now

With the advent of my new life (single mom!*  part-time worker!), I now have the best situation possible in the worst situation ever this new challenging reality:  our nanny, who is wonderful, comes to my house at 7 am, and also manages to leave the house almost impeccable when she leaves at 4, despite caring for our two girls, an extra little one (nanny share!), and picking up Vaughn and the extra's big sister for a 15-minute spell at the end of the day.  I have no idea how she does this, but she does.

I have incorporated a new cleaning schedule for myself, as the old method of waiting till the entire house needed cleaning (and laundering) was causing too much procrastination and fleas stress.  So, if you've ever wondered how the Domestic Goddess spends her time "off" work (which I refer to as my vacation from home), with two little girls underfoot, and sometimes a schoolkid in the way too, I present you with:

The Domestic Goddess Gets Her Act in Gear
aka Scheduled Within an Inch of Her Life

Monday:  It's not just Monday Gum Day anymore, no!  It's Mopping Monday!  The entire house gets swept and mopped with the trusty bucket, and either Mr. Clean or my Vim Hardwood solution, on alternating weeks.  But yes, the kids are still allowed a stick of gum after their afterschool snack.

Tuesday:  Vacation.  Up at 6, out by 7, somehow washed and dressed and fed, also having made breakfast for the kidlets, at work by 7:30, home by 4.  Just in time to make dinner.  Yet still, it's a vacation.

Wednesday.  Why, it's Wacuuming Wednesday!  Or Vacuuming Vednesday!  Call it what you want!  Also includes dusting and sneezing.  Baseboards, tops of doors, corners, rugs, stairs, playmats in the basement, couches, behind the toilet, blinds, under beds... did I mention how many dustbunnies my tiny house can produce in a week?  A lot. Also, the kids have gymnastics at 4:30, and we eat at 6.  I am still amazed that this is (sometimes) possible, thanks to the magic of crockpottery and programmable ovens.  Or shawarma, whatever.

Thursday:  Vacation.  But at least it's Pizza Day at V's school, so my lunch-packing is less intensive,** and it's also tv night, so I get 30 minutes to myself in which to order (or "bake") pizza, as it's also Pizza Night.  And then I welcome the babysitter, as I have ball hockey in the evening.  Thursday is a Good Day.

Friday:  TGIBF!  Baffroom Friday, that is.  Bathrooms, mirrors, windows and surfaces, oh my.  But it also has the luck of being Overlap Day!  Our nanny arrives at 7:30, so I can take Vaughn to the bus stop.  I have an extra set of hands to watch the two littlest ones, which lets me take Ailsa to her dancing lady class (or out for some special one-on-one time), clean in peace, and I have even managed to take a few naps.  Heaven.

Saturday:  Fitness first:  I teach Attack at 9 am, which means getting the crew up and in the car, which is already running by 8:27 at the latest.  I drop them off at the gym daycare, be a superhero/rockstar for an hour, then shower, bundle them up (is it spring yet???), get back in the car and home for an early, quick lunch, then off to the rink for 11:45, enough time to tie skates on three of us (Tamsin stays home with a sitter, Grandma, or Daddy, when he's in town), do skating lessons for an hour, then home to naaaaap.  Saturday night, as always, is reserved for a movie, served with wine, cheeses, and grapes.

Sunday:  Nobody in the house may make a peep before 7:30 am.  One day, my kids are going to read this and either feel betrayed and furious or have their suspicions confirmed:  7:30 is whenever the hell I decide it is.  Chris and I sneak into their bedrooms on Saturday nights and set their clocks back accordingly.   But anyhoo, I digress.  Sundays are for raisin toast, smoothies, and groceries.  That is all I ever schedule for Sunday.  And, of course, it's the second tv night of the week.  Oh, blessed, blessed 30 minutes.  So quiet, so peaceful... oh god, I have to pack V's lunch tonight...


And there you have it.  It's not unmanageable, as long as I stay on top of things... it's been 5 weeks of this schedule, and so far, the house is clean and presentable(ish), I haven't died from exhaustion, and the children haven't come down with rickets or ... well, rickets, anyway.  Unfortunately, they want an extra (vacation) day out of me at work.  Which impacts Baffroom Friday.  And Ailsa Time.  And, ultimately, ME time.

I think the real reason I wrote this down was to just confirm to myself that I am doing the impossible, but making it possible...as long as I don't think about it too much.  It becomes overwhelming at least 3 days a week (guess which ones?), but if I just follow The Plan, one day at a time, it's doable....but maybe it won't be if I add an extra day at the office, so seeing this in black and white will give me the backbone to stand up and say, "I can't," something that I don't like to say, ever.  Or maybe, most likely, I wrote it down so that when Fis asks me if I've renewed the plates/hung our degrees up/called the garage, I can just send him this link and say, WHAT DO YOU THINK?




*  No, he's just in Toronto.  We're still in the pool.
** Despite Fis' assertions that I'm paranoid, they totally judge you by the lunch your kid brings to school.

Square Pegs

First, let me apologize for the lengthy silence. Computer issues. I'm starting here, but never fear, Christmas and the Big 0-3 for Vaughn will be updated soon....ish.


Now, sit down. I have a story for you!

I was at work, yesterday, minding my own business. I left our secure area and walked across the hall to the bathroom, crossing in front of the exit, which contains two revolving doors and a regular door. At this point, an unnamed* male supervisory figure (UMSF) and my coworker Matt were looking at a tv in its box, in the hallway (it was going to another location to get scanned for ... spies? Who knows).

A few minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom. UMSF and Matt were still in the hallway, almost like a tableau, but there is now a 47-inch flatscreen stuck in the revolving door, by itself.

Like, not half in. Not in, with someone stuck in there with it (which would have also been awesome), but somehow, they thought that they could push it through by itself.

Lettuce do a bit of shape analysis, shall we? Large squarey thing/round turny thing. Umm.. now, I'm not a boy with inherent spatial orientation skills, but I'm pretty sure those things don't go together.

I think I hurt myself internally trying not to laugh. I mean, you don't even see this sort of thing on tv, because it's too ridiculous. Somehow, I squeaked out an offer to help. Then I said, is there someone I can call? THEN I said, it's probably too late now, but Alison's pass opens the non-revolving door. And THEN I walked sedately back into the office, collapsed into my chair, hissed, "Get over here!" to another coworker and acted it out to the three females in the office. Oh my god. Then Ali got up to go look. I tried to stop her: NOOOO! They'll know I told you! But she did, and she almost died, too.

THEN Matt came back in, told me to compose myself, and that they needed me. Because of my skinny arms. SO, UMSF was on one side of the doors, his arm stuck in, trying to lift/push the tv, and I was on the other, trying to lift it up, because if we can get the pressure lifted off the ground, we can turn the door again.

Sweet Jeebus.

Of course, I didn't tell them No, that's a terrible idea, or Do you really think UMSF and I can lift a tv with one finger each while our forearms are being squished by opposite sides of the revolving door?

I really should get an award for managing not to tell off the man who ran up to me, thinking that these two men are trying to help me because I had my freaking forearm stuck in a revolving door (???!!! somehow he didn't notice the OTHER jacka** with HIS arm stuck, or the GIANT TV....???)

Meanwhile, Alison walked out, used her pass to open the regular door, and watched it all unfold...just like Bugs Bunny would do.

The commissionaire finally showed up, and unlocked the door mechanism, so it could turn again. I wasn't aware of this part until today, but apparently, the door started turning automatically, and Matt was stopping it with all of his strength, so that my arm wouldn't break. I finally took my arm out when UMSF told Matt to take over for me, because "You know what to do". They finished sliding the tv out of the other side.

And then I went back to my desk and sent out my resume to a large number of people.



* Though this post, in itself, is probably a career-limiting move, it was too funny not to share. I thought I'd mitigate the damage by protecting my boss' name.

An Elevated Sense of Discomfort

The elevators in the building at work (this week, anyway) make me uncomfortable.

It’s not every elevator that makes me uncomfortable; I don’t get claustrophobic (probably from years of being stuffed into small spaces for fun and other people’s enjoyment), and I’m not afraid of heights or falling (probably from years of being launched into the air by (mostly) well-meaning cheerleaders). It’s just the ones in this building. The first time I stepped into one, I was impressed; you see, most of the surfaces in the elevators are reflective: front, sides and back. So, when I was in there alone, I was able to ensure that all was well for my job interview, all hairs in place (it happened once; you missed it), lipstick not smudged, no wardrobe malfunctions in sight…

Unfortunately, the neat-o reflective surfaces add to the discomfort of elevating (and delevating) when there are others in there with me.

I guess after a few years without being exposed to elevators (or escalators – hey-o, Dave!), I might not have a firm grasp on elevator etiquette, but here’s how I thought it worked: you file in, shuffle about awkwardly till you are all facing front, and stare uncomfortably at the number display until you got off on your floor. But maybe things have changed. The mirrored walls reflect people leaning against the sides, facing in, facing the back while talking to their friends, or staring directly at me. For my part, I can’t stare at myself for 9 floors with other people around. It feels self-absorbed (quiet, you!) and vain. And staring intently at the numbers as they flash up and down, when I am clearly the only person doing so feels even more stiff and unnatural.

What’s a girl to do? No, I’m not taking the stairs; that’s silly. I’m changing jobs. Ha!

Last day on the job!

Saturday, September 22 was my one-year anniversary in the Public Service. Friday, September 21 was my last day at PCO. A new adventure starts Monday.

But, first things first: speakers on.

Good, now click here. You can do the walk if you want.

I enjoyed my last day at PCO immensely, aside from a few minor devastations. Friday dawned beautiful and sunny and warm -- surely a good omen -- and Chris and I slowly got ourselves out the door (I was well into my "what are they going to do, fire me?" mode), only slightly after 8 am.

We got to York and Byward when we saw the crowd; there were people on rooftops, in garages, and everywhere. Oh, that's right: Blue Rodeo was playing a street concert for Canada AM! From 6:30 am onward, they popped on and off the stage, playing some new songs. (http://www.ctv.ca/ - under "highlights - Blue Rodeo; I'm not sure how long it will be posted) We were standing just behind and to the left of the stage, when suddenly, Jim Cuddy walked up and stood two feet in front of us - very cool. There were a few hoots and hollers, but because the host wasn't yet finished interviewing Margaret Atwood (she was there too - how uber-Canadian can you get?), the production assistant shushed the crowd. They actually quieted down! Amazing. Jim was very friendly, posing for pictures and talked to the people in front of us (although I overheard the girls beside us taking a photo of his butt) - the most un-rockstarly rock star I've ever seen...I was impressed. We watched them play a beautiful new song (not one of the video clips, unfortunately), and then Chris and I moseyed on to work.

For a Friday, it wasn't too bad - they still expected me to work, for some reason (what the--), but I managed to slip out at lunch to complete the final step of the long, drawn-out, Huffification process - the new passport. I swung by the Cock and Lion patio on my way, to get Mat to guarantor-ee my gorgeous, gorgeous passport photos (kaff), and told him that I'd try to be back soon as I could, so save me some beer. As I had filled out my forms online again at Passport On-line*, I jumped to the front of the line, and got back to the patio just in time to watch him drain his glass. Boo. But whoa, it was quick -- and a much better experience than last time.

I had time to swing by the bank before deciding that I probably should go back to work, where I was put to work (gasp!) again. At 3, the farewell wine-and-cheese started, and this is where the smile started to freeze on my face.

In this case, Jeff and I were both leaving, so it was an extra big deal, with awesome snacks, a good assortment of wine, and two wrapped presents. It is custom for the Boss (nameless - you'll see why) to speak at every farewell. She started with me.

She described me as the "face of (department X)", as the first contact the public has, as an ambassador who gives the first impression of professionalism, helpfulness, and energy. It was a lovely speech for a departing receptionist, the one who answers the phones and greets visitors. How nice, I thought, followed by, does she even know what I DO around here? Apparently not.

This is the woman who looks right through me every time I give her a message, and doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. She is very charming and fit, a successful woman in her late fifties that everyone admires....but dear god, I swore then that I will NEVER be like her. I am quite sure that the soles of her stylish and very expensive shoes are marked by the many people she has stepped on, on her way up...but she probably didn't notice.

I know, I know, I sound bitter and angry. Really, she can't be that bad. After all, she gave me a warm and friendly smile when she shook my hand and handed me my farewell gift (a lovely globe paperweight, picked out by someone else).... and called me Vicky.

*I made another PSA about it at my class this morning - it's that fantastic. Seriously, saved me at least an hour - instead of waiting your turn in line, you get bumped to the next open window - awesome.