Monthly Archives: September 2008

September 25

Today is my wedding anniversary. It’s funny how I still say, “my wedding”. I remember the engagement year, I constantly referred to it as mine, as if my finance was inconsequential. I was getting married, he was along for the ride.

We laughed together today exchanging happy anniversary greetings. But, you know, it’s sad for me. It wasn’t what I meant to have happen, the ending, that is.

Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself, which I really have no reason to feel. I’m in a good place. Plenty to keep me busy, lots of growth opportunities, two amazing children and a dedicated and loving co-parent. I don’t consider myself a single parent. A single mom perhaps. I definitely chose the right father for my children. It’s just too bad we weren’t the right couple.


Comment vous appelez-vous?

Je m’appelle Heather.

Moi, je parlez français.

Comment allez-vous?


I was saving french lessons for retirement, but a good opportunity presented itself, so I jumped at it. A fellow yogi, who was also my son’s soccer coach this summer, is in my class. She’s a lot of fun, so Wednesday evenings will be entertaining to say the least, except for next Wednesday when I have to go to night court for my speeding ticket. Oh, I didn’t tell you about that?

Beautiful spring afternoon and I’m leaving work with Jimmie on my back, heading for guitar lessons. When I came out the side door of my building, Bob Dylan’s bus was parked on the street. A rental security officer asked me politely if I wouldn’t mind walking AROUND the bus. To which I responded, “Excuse me?” He repeated his request and I gave him a puzzled look, “That’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”

Pissed off, I walked straight into traffic without looking, just hoping for a photo-opp of me and Jimmie sprawled on Duke street because some washed-up singer thought I might be interested in looking at him while he sat on his bus. And, I mean no disrespect to Mr. Zimmerman, but, come on. Unfortunately, traffic was light.

Things got worse when I arrived at guitar lessons and told Roger of my trouble. He got me all worked up and told me I should have said, “Yes. Yes, I fucking mind walking around the bus. This is my sidewalk, I pay taxes for it, and I’m going to walk on it.”

Needless to say my brain was off writing this blog post on the way home from my lesson and wouldn’t you know, a very nice police officer thought he clocked me breaking the limit, slightly. I kindly accepted the ticket, but showed up in court two months later to plead not guilty and get my day in court. Next week is it. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Just to top it off, the next morning, while I’m impersonating a pace-car and cruise-controlling at 50 kmh, radio reports of the Bob Dylan concert went something like, “he didn’t say hi, bye, kiss my ass, or even acknowledge where he was. Just played and left. No encore.” How is that entertainment? No where near as cool as french lessons.

Salute, mon amis.


After Justin’s first attempt to skip school on the third day of classes, he tried again the following Monday. I wasn’t with him of course, but his babysitter got a real taste of the sweetness I call “Jussy”. He stood at the back of the line and said he wasn’t going to school. Then another little boy said, “I’m not going either,” and then a little girl said, “me neither.” A little revolt ensued but they were all present for Oh Canada.

His Dad sat him down that night and told him that there are certain things Mommy and Daddy need him to do so he can do the things he wants to do, like play hockey. To get some major ice time this winter, he’ll need to attend school without trouble. The next day he was first in line and held the door for the class. A big job in his mind and one he was very proud of.

The trouble? Apparently, there is a little girl in his class he wants to play with.  I told him to ask her. He said he’s not allowed to talk in class. I said, “Well, just tap her on the shoulder and whisper to her.” His exasperated response, “Mom, we’re not even allowed to whisper.” My offer to write a note to the teacher received a very stern, “No.”

Last week the kids started the evening with the usual watering of my car and themselves. Then, they moved inside to extend the torture. I had told them I wanted to mow the lawn and they were both eager to help. But, dinner took longer to make and my choice of lunch was not Justin’s so, I had to skip the mowing. This didn’t go over well. Justin followed me around yelling and screaming that he wanted to mow. He smacked me on the butt from room to room as I got the wash going. When I came up the stairs, I was at my wit’s end. As I rounded the corner, I tripped and landed on the stairs, twisting my ankle.

I layed there in pain, moaning and crying. Justin stopped whining and came to me, putting his little arms around my neck, snuggling his face close and patting me on the back. “Are you ok Mommy?” he whispered sweetly, so full of concern. Korey stayed on the couch and very calmly asked, “Do we need to call 911 Mom?” I moaned that we should just wait a little bit, but it might be necessary if I can’t walk.

Walking on my knees and continuing to moan and wince with pain, Korey suggested I probably just sprained it. “Yeah,” said Justin, “You probably just sprained it…What does sprain mean Korey?” He was so scared, it broke my heart.

We made it upstairs and Justin got into the bath, urging me to put my foot up so he could cover it with a wet cloth to make it feel better. Korey followed later and got me to soak my foot in the water to relieve the pain. They both stepped up and got themselves ready for bed while I hopped around getting ready for the next day. My ankle very slowly started feeling better the closer we came to bedtime so 911 wasn’t necessary, nor was it necessary for Daddy to come over. Even still, Justin called him to let him know I had hurt my leg. I told their Dad I was just fine and there was no need to worry.

While Korey was finishing up in the bath, Justin and I lay together on the bed. At one point he asked, “Did you get hurt because I hit you?” I told him that it wasn’t his fault I got hurt, it was an accident, but I sure am glad he stopped hitting me.

I assured them by morning my ankle would be back to normal. They snuggled in and fell asleep. Next morning I think they asked once, but they could see that I was able to get around without any trouble. They haven’t asked since, about my ankle or mowing the lawn.

Are there academy awards for Mommies?

Back to the old grind

That’s what my mother always says when vacation is over. Both of my kids are now in school. Justin did very well on his first and second day. He had a little meltdown on the third day, but we got through it. Broke my heart to see him, arms outstretched, crying for me while the teacher carried him in. She said he stopped crying at the classroom door but when my friend and I peaked in the window he still had quite the lip on during Oh Canada. He was fine when I picked him up though so he’s ok, no lasting trauma.

I got my credit card bill this week. I have got to curb my appetite for boosting our local economy, or get another job to support my spending habits. Anyone need a writer, web consultant, massage therapist, hairdresser, a psychologist perhaps? Oh, there are no limits to my talents.

Korey’s soccer party was last Saturday at our friends’ house. They live just behind us so it was convenient to travel back and forth to grab clean, dry clothes, feed Mandy and get their jammies. The party lasted 11 hours (1-midnight). The kids stayed up the whole time playing in the basement. The adults talked, played cards and even had a little sing-song with Jimmie. I now have six layers of calouses on my fingertips, but it was worth it.  

Almost the entire soccer team was there, plus siblings: fourteen boys and one girl. At one point she and Korey went upstairs alone to play with her brother’s trainset. That’s Korey. Always ready to make sure everyone feels included and special. She’s in Justin’s class but Korey and she have become good friends over the summer.

It was a great time with some wonderful people who know how to have a good time. I feel blessed to have them so close. I was nervous because our friends just moved into a new house and I’m famous for spilling, scratching, dropping or otherwise marking new abodes, but I came away clean this time. I’m not sure what the downstairs looked like. I did hear the kids were throwing things at the ceiling at one point. Maybe next week we’ll have a painting party.

Actually, being in a fresh hosue made me long for new digs. Not likely going to happen soon (see above). However, I did pickup a good tip:  Instead of changing the colour of your paint (if you still like it, of course) simply use the same colour and then you don’t really need to do all that cutting in that’s so time consuming. I’m syked about this, can’t wait to spruce things up around here. Fall fix-up will begin oh, maybe this weekend if I don’t go to the cottage or have a date. Do you think I would attract any men if I put up a profile on a dating site looking for someone who wants to help me paint? Free beer & wings, after the painting is complete, that is.

Yoga classes started again tonight. It’s nice to see new people in the class and watch their amazement at how they can move into asanas so effortlessly. It’s almost like experiencing it yourself all over again. And, I’m back to guitar lessons tomorrow. I’ll walk to work, Jimmie on my back, entertaining the smiles from passers-by. Often people will ask, “care to play a tune?” The dumbest question is always, “What’s that on your back?” I’ve stopped responding. 

Maybe I could busk for some extra cash!

Back to school

While back-to-school shopping with the kids last week, I saw a tall, attractive man browsing through the bins of kids’ clothes. We smiled at each other a couple of times and he was having a chuckle at my boys running around wanting EVERYTHING. I was intrigued. When we both reached the same bin, I decided it was time to strike up a conversation, you know, see if there was a spark. My boys had just ran to the toy aisle and the timing was perfect. So I say to him with a shy grin, “You’re very smart to come on your own without your kids, it’s much easier that way.”

What did he hear? 

“Manager to lane three for customer assistance. Manager to lane three for customer assistance.”

I think he took pity on my bad luck and very politely asked, “What did you say?”

I repeated my opener. He laughed, agreed with me and said he was on his lunch hour or something. We wished each other well and off I ran to find my kids.

I’m pretty sure he was behind us on the way home. Which meant he probably witnessed our typical parking lot exchange of:  “I said, GET out of the CART and GET in the CAR.”

Anyway, if you’re out there reading this, tall attractive guy, I thought you were nice. Drop me a comment.