The Daily Chai Has Been Disappointed

Today's Chai Latte is having an existential crisis and decided not to make an appearance just to prove a point.










I bought these boots a couple years ago, not exactly sure when, but since I paid nearly $200 for them I expected them to LAST THE REST OF MY LIFE. Clearly I was mistaken to put so much faith in footwear. In true Canadian fashion, I have written a very strongly-worded email to Sorel, demanding they remedy this despicable situation. I will be sure to update you on the story of my boots, as I'm sure you are all dying to hear about it.

In other news, the weather sucks. Oh, my apologies, YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT. Can we, for the love of god, please talk about something besides the weather? How 'bout those Red Sox? Did you hear about this?

I would also like to point out that my most popular post to date is The Daily Chai is Hungover which makes you all guilty of schadenfreude. Since this is quite possibly one of my favourite expressions ever, I'd like to say that I love each and every one of you who read the post. You must be good shits. Also, you men really need to take the fucking kids out of the house. Possibly more often than once a week. Why are you still here? GO, GO NOW!

In all seriousness, I truly appreciate all those who have reached out to tell me they are enjoying my blog or just to say hi and see how I'm doing. I know I've written about some pretty heavy things in the past week, but I want you all to know that I really am doing just fine! I have my ups and downs, my good days and bad days, but overall, I'm happy. I'm moving forward with my life in the best way I know how, taking care of my kids and taking care of me. I'm not always going to make the right choices and already I've done some pretty dumb shit, but at least they are my choices. What makes me even happier is the connection I've made with the number of you who have said my words described exactly how you felt about a certain situation. We are not alone. Carry on.

The Daily Chai and Kids of Divorce, Part 1

Today's grande Chai Latte came with the apocalyptic warning that they were running out of the chai mix and I might not be able to get my latte tomorrow. I better enjoy this one like it's the last one I will ever have. It's damn good too so at least I will have good memories. 

People ask me all the time, "How are the kids?" when I tell them my ex and I have separated. It's a tough question because I'd like to say they are awesome and resilient, but I can't see inside their heads. I don't REALLY know how they feel about this or how much they're holding inside. I told them both from the beginning that they can talk to me anytime about anything and it was okay to be sad. I thought that was important because we're always telling our kids, don't cry, it's okay, here's a cookie, but don't cry. Don't negatively express yourself, don't express anger or hurt or sadness, be happy and for the love of god, don't cry.

Well, fuck. This sucks, they SHOULD cry if they want to, this is possibly the shittiest thing that will ever happen to them. I know when my dad left, I thought my life was over. Everything changed. The circumstances of my separation are very different from my parents, but the effect is the same. Split houses, not seeing each parent every day. Not being a family in the sense that you have always understood family. So, my dear girls, cry if you need to because this sucks. Lord knows I've cried rivers since I made this decision.

I hope my girls feel they can talk to me when they're sad. The problem comes when they don't talk to me and they hold it in, for whatever reason. Maybe they don't want to make me feel bad, maybe they just can't express the reasons for their unhappiness. Maybe they are just tired of talking about it. Fuck, sometimes I feel like if I have to talk about it anymore, I might go crazy. Other times I can't stop talking about it. And the thing is, I can't force them to express every emotion they are having, no matter how badly I want to know what is going on inside their heads. However, there is one story about Kate that I can relate here that makes me think she's doing okay.

She was freaking out on me because she didn't want to have a bath. And I'm not talking refusal to have a bath, I'm talking full out hysterics because I told her she needed to wash her hair during her bath. We got into a screaming match about it and I had to leave the room because we were going nowhere and the mom guilt about yelling at her was settling in. Plus, I was losing my shit just a tiny bit too much over the bath war and I needed to back off. When I came back, she was in the bath, but hiccoughing and crying like a crazy girl. I knew there was more to this than a bath and thought it was maybe more about this being my last night before I handed the reins over to my ex for the week. I didn't want to make that suggestion though because I needed to hear it from her. For all I knew, she was upset because she'd had a fight with her best friend, or a boy had teased her or the teacher got mad at her. The minute I suggest it's about our family, she'd latch on to that and I'd be left wondering if that was really the problem.

After her bath, she was still crying a bit and I asked her again, "What is this really about? I know you don't like your bath, but for god's sake, you have one every other night, why is this a constant battle? I think there's more to this than you're telling me, but you gotta say it to me, you gotta tell me yourself what's up."

"I don't like baths and I don't like when you yell at me and I don't like...that...you and daddy aren't together anymore," the last word ending with a howl of anguish. My heart, hardened by the ridiculousness over the bath war, melted into a puddle and I gathered my girl up in my arms while she sobbed about us breaking up. Finally she started to talk and she said, "We won't go to the park together anymore, we won't go swimming or skating together as a family and we..won't....go to DISNEYLAND EVER." Thank fuck that kid has her priorities straight. I stroked her hair and I told her to talk and to cry and to be sad, that it was okay to be sad about this shitty thing that had happened. But then I thought, she needs to understand something...something vital about what is happening here.

"Kate, you need to listen to me. I know you are sad that we won't do stuff the four of us and that's true. There are things like dinner and stuff that we won't do as a family anymore, but I want you to really think about this. When have we ever really done anything the four of us? I'm the one that takes you to the park, I'm the one that goes skating with you, I'm the one that takes you swimming and shopping and to the movies. We've been the three musketeers since Anna was born and mummy and daddy splitting up isn't going to change that. I'm still going to do those things with you. The best part is, daddy is going to do those things with you now too. So now you have two parents that are going to take you places and play with you and do different things so that you get to have all sorts of fun and spend time with each of us."

It was like a lightbulb went off over Kate's head. Truly. She stopped crying and nodded her head. I could practically see the realization spreading across her face. Ever since then, she's been happy and looking forward to the future, looking forward to moving to a new house and starting at a new school. Don't get me wrong, not all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. She still has her moments of doubt and sadness, but they don't last long and she carries on. As we all do. The best part is my ex told me tonight that he had them out tobogganing yesterday, so I know I spoke the truth to her that night.

The Daily Chai and How I Broke my Face

Today's grande Chai Latte came with a debate about whether Starbucks' pretentious size names are Italian or Spanish. I'm going with Italian and therefore ordered my grande with an Italian accent just for shits and giggles. The chai itself was foamy and hot and delicious. Well worth the $4.80. Crap, as I wrote that I thought, "No hot drink is worth almost five dollars." And yet...I will continue to purchase them because clearly I have no willpower.

2014 was a shit year. Many good things happened but it was the year I broke my foot, broke my face and topped it off by breaking my marriage. So you can probably understand why I was happy to say goodbye to 2014 and welcome 2015 with open arms.

Monday of the May 24th weekend: I've just had one of those weekends with the kids. Lovely little human beings that want what they want when they want it and to hell with everyone else's needs. They get along pretty well, but they'd been bickering and screaming for pretty much 48 hours. On Monday morning, after listening to Kate shriek at Anna about touching her stuff and Anna crying that Kate is so mean, I looked at my husband, wild-eyed and said, "Take these tiny monsters out of this house. I don't care what you do with them but I am this close to a homicidal rage here. Can you hear how my voice is getting high and squeaky? I don't like my voice like this. I need a few hours to bring it down an octave or two. I want to paint my nails, watch Grey's Anatomy and go for a bike ride. I need time to myself for five minutes." Perhaps sensing total  annihilation, he obliged quite quickly.  There were some protests from those sweet angels as they realized they were leaving the house and MOMMY WAS STAYING BEHIND but daddy was adamant that they need to leave RIGHT NOW. Go go go go

The next hour was spent happily in bed watching the BEST GREY'S SEASON FINALE EVER (Meredith and Christina say good bye and drink tequila and dance *sob*) and painting my nails, while happily anticipating my first bike ride of the season. 

Many of you might remember how much I love biking. It started in Germany with  the lovely, paved bike/walking trails all over the countryside. Great way to get in shape and explore the surrounding land. When I moved back to Canada, I didn't have as many chances to bike, working full time and going to school and now with two littles running around. However, this was the first really great day we'd had since my broken foot had healed so I was taking advantage. 

Everything started off well, the sun was shining and the roads were clear. I was at kilometre 18 and feeling pretty good about myself as I was coming down the highway just outside my town. It's a busy road with a gravel shoulder and I was trying to stay as close to the shoulder as possible so I didn't get creamed by a passing car. Suddenly my front wheel skidded off the road and started to shimmy along the lip of the pavement and the gravel. It started to wobble wildly and then suddenly turned sharply at a right angle. Since I was going downhill and probably doing about 25 km/h, you can imagine that my velocity pretty much took over...my bike had suddenly stopped, but my body did not. I went head first over the handlebars and for a split second I watched helplessly as the ground rushed up to my face and I knew it would be smashing into me in a second.  The peak of my helmet hit the gravel shoulder first, somewhat breaking my fall, but then my face skidded along the gravel, smashing my nose and cutting my lip open. My pelvis hit the handle bars and my right hand was crushed under them when I landed. My right knee took a bad hit too and I ended up with some nasty road rash that has left two large scars. I have no idea how long I lay there, but I got shakily to my feet and looked on the ground for my teeth, which I was convinced I had broken. Blood was dripping from my face but I didn't know from where, my nose? My teeth? Turns out it was from the split lip. My teeth, while the enamel was somewhat cracked, were miraculously unbroken. My nose, ditto. 

The first person to stop was, wonders never cease, a doctor. He asked me if I knew my name and where I lived and said he was going to examine my face. My mouth was filling with blood as he lifted my chin and I reactively spit to rid myself of the taste. Of course, I spit blood all over this wonderful person who was trying to help me and I immediately started to shake and cry and apologize.   He was very kind and said I was going into shock and it was okay, he'd been bled on before. Suddenly this wild looking woman skids to a stop on the other side of the road and comes running over to see if I need help. 

"Are you okay?" 

Now, you might think my first reaction would be "No, I'm not fucking okay! I'm bleeding from various abrasions and I think my hand and nose are broken. Other than that, I'm fucking fabulous."

Well, you would be wrong. My first reaction, not wanting to cause anyone trouble was to say, "Yeah, I'm okay, I just need to get home and get some bandaids. No trouble."

Thank fuck my humbleness got hit on the head with some good sense because I finally replied with:

"No, no I don't think I am. I need a ride home. And a hospital possibly. And oh my god, I'm bleeding so much and I can't find my phone but I can hear the music playing!" Because, you know, the whereabouts of my phone while I'm bleeding from numerous body parts is top priority. As is wasting the battery playing music I was no longer listening to. 

Suddenly I heard a soft voice to my right tell me I was going into shock and to breathe and could she help me, "I'm a doctor."

"Well, holy shit, it's doctor day in the 86 because this fellow here is a doctor too! Fantastic!" 

Clearly I'm getting a little delirious in the retellling of this story. Anyway, the first doctor took my bike home, the wild-haired crazy lady took me home and the second doctor left, seeing I was in good hands. The wild-haired crazy lady told me she and her passenger were out looking for corn (in May...yeah, my thoughts exactly) and just look what they found. Me! Bleeding and crying at the side of the road! Lucky them. Her passenger looked to be about 96 and quite decrepit. 

However, it was she that had to help me hobble up the sidewalk to my front porch because my knee was beginning to seize up and the shock was wearing off into extreme pain all over my body. My kids came tearing around the front to see what the commotion was all about and both started to cry when they saw mommy bleeding and crying and limping to the front porch. Anna is still traumatized by the incident. Just the other day she said to me, "You came home and you were bleeding and I didn't like that. You went to the hospital and you came home and you were still bleeding. I didn't like that either."

A trip to hospital showed nothing was actually broken and I didn't even need stitches to the hamburger that my lip had become. Nine months later and I have several scars but no lasting damage and even though my dentist suggested plastic surgery for my face, I've healed well enough that is wasn't needed. Thank fuck.  Who has money for plastic surgery?

Three weeks later I joined the gym. No more outdoor exercise for me. And I haven't ridden my bike since. PTSD. I keep picturing the ground rushing up to smash into my face. 

The Daily Chai is Hungover

Today's Chai is still at Starbucks and I'm lying in bed hoping it will magically appear at my bedside. No such luck.

Last night was a trip. Managed to drink enough wine that I got to see what it looks like coming up the other way. My buddy said, "Note for next time, stop about halfway through the big bottle instead of drinking the whole thing."  My reply, "Ha! Maybe I should stop halfway through a small bottle. That would be even better." Anyway, it's been a month or two since I indulged and I came out relatively unscathed. A little hungover but basically all in one piece. The last time I almost broke my nose when I tripped over my own winter boots and face planted in the icy snowbank. Nose bled for an hour and I cried to my bestie for longer because...oh, for so many reasons. Questioning my choices, worried about my kids, wishing things were different. I was in shock because the ground rushing at my face was reminiscent of my bike accident in May when I broke various parts of my body, including my face, which I'm rather fond of, so the experience was traumatic. 

My girlfriend came by around 7 and we got right into it. She's more of a friend of a friend, but it was a good time and we had lots to talk about. Seems to be an epidemic of men who don't take their parenting responsibilities seriously. Men...take heed! It's easy to let you wife do it all because she will naturally take on each new task, feeling like it's her duty. But just because she does all those things with the kids, doesn't mean she's happy about it and you can sit around playing video games with your hand in your pants. A word of advice (I might still be married if I'd insisted on this): take your kid(s) completely out of the house for a couple hours EVERY week. I know, you might be thinking that is just a crazy fucking thing to suggest, but trust me.  I don't give a shit if you just drive around with them, take them to the park, the mall, to work, I really don't care, but get them and yourself out of there. This serves two purposes. 1) the obvious one is it gives your wife a pause in her busy life so she doesn't go on a psychotic break and drown all of you in the tub one day and 2) you will get to experience HOW MUCH FUN it is to wrangle one or more children in an uncontrolled environment like the mall. I liken it to herding cats with a string. And maybe, just fucking maybe, you will realize that hauling those kids around everywhere, all the time, isn't, like, oh my god, such a fun job!! It's stressful and people judge you in public if you aren't the perfect parent and your kids CONSTANTLY ask you to buy them things and you have to say no all the time and then you say yes and your mother looks at you and says, "You spoil those kids!" Even though you said no five hundred previous times and just had a tiny weak moment. Or you are at the pool and one kid is hanging off you like a koala bear the other one is shouting, "Look at me mom, mum, mum,  MOTHER! Look at what I can do!" EVERY FIFTEEN SECONDS. If men experienced that constant pulling in every direction for even a couple hours a week, they would be more sympathetic to their wives. 

So yes, in my humble opinion, marriages everywhere could be saved if men would just take their kids out of the house once a week. Oh. And without fucking being asked to do so. A little voluntary action on your part would be the bomb.  Pretty simple eh?

Anyway, last night I had a surprise visitor from my way back past which was amazing. Funny how 15-20 years can pass and you are still buddies the way you always were, no matter how life has changed you. And he's still the same good guy I always knew, tucking me in on the couch when I passed out! I wonder how many times he's had to do that? Not much has changed! Still sitting on the same couches in my mother's house, shooting the shit about fights and tattoos and our ridiculous mutual friends who have not changed either. The only difference was my mom wasn't there smoking with us and we had to go outside to smoke. Good times. 

Adventures in Germany, part 3

To make up for my a) latte-less and b) story-less entry today, I've hunted up another adventure I wrote home about when I lived in Germany. This happened in March/April, after my ill-fated drive to French Ikea as well as my ill-fated morning cigarette adventure in which I was locked out on the balcony for hours:

On Tuesday I did something very stupid.

It was a lovely day, spring was coming, the sun was shining and the flowers were blooming. One of my favourite ways to spend an afternoon was packing Kate up in the car and go for a drive in the breathtaking countryside that I found myself living in Southwest Germany. This day, I thought it would be nice to go for a drive in the nearby mountains of the Black Forest. While it was starting to warm up, it was not really warm enough to walk, so go for a drive we did.  I went up the twisty, narrow road of the mountain until there was snow on the road and then I decided to go back. On the way back, I turned down a different road, just wanting to explore, you know? I got about 100 metres down the steep track before I realized I was on a walking trail, not a motorized vehicle road. In my defence, there were tire tracks on the road and I didn't read German well enough to understand the sign that read, "NUR WANDERWEG FAHRT VERBOTEN" (Walking trail only, driving prohibited).

Unfortunately it was too narrow to turn around so I kept going. I got to the castle ruins near Oberkirch and in front of me there was a grassy knoll that was just a mite too steep for my crappy family VW wagon to get over. I was able to turn back around at this point because the pathway had widened, but the only course of action I had before me was to go back. Ironic when you think about it.  Going up the walking path proved much worse than going down because my descent had caused the spring mud to get churned up and cause deep, sticky ruts in the path. I just could not make it up that hill to the paved road beyond.

Starting to panic just a tiny bit, I decided that I would drive BACKWARDS the way I had come, back towards the castle because the path at this point was too narrow to turn around. I had mountain on one side and complete abyss on the other. All I could see was forest, going down forever.

I calmed my heart and began to drive backwards. But then, and this is where I just want to kill myself over my own stupidity, the path widened JUST ENOUGH that I brilliantly thought I could turn around. Yup. I got stuck in the mud. And I'm not talking like, stuck in that I couldn't go backward or forward because my tires were too deeply immersed in the mud. I'm talking perpen-fucking-dicular to the pathway stuck. Not even kidding.

Nooooo, no, no, no, no, no what the fuck did I just do? I sat in the driver's seat staring at the wall of mountain in front of me and I started to cry. There was no way I was getting out of this one by myself to blithely return home with a cheery, "Hello! How was your day? Guess what happened to me!" I felt like Gretel with a car and a baby in the back seat. I was going to die out here in the Black Forest. I pictured myself surviving on the land and eating bark and I full out began to freak the fuck out. If you have ever met me, you know I would last three hours before perishing in the wild. And what kind of wildlife lives in the Black Forest anyway? Are there bears? Was I going to get eaten? Was Kate going to die a horrible death of starvation and being eaten because her mother was a fucking idiot?

Resigned to my fate, I got out of the car to take a look at what I had done. The front of the car was wedged into mountain. Like, a fucking mountain. What the fuck? The back of the car was deep in mud and resting about three feet from a cliff of oblivion. You could say there was not a lot of wiggle room here. So, I did what any normal human being would do. I tried digging my way out. Ten minutes later, I was sweating, swearing and covered head to foot in mud. And the car was just as stuck as when I started.

So I tried shouting (read: screaming) for help. No dice. Not a soul for miles. Where the fuck was I anyway? Had I fallen into some weird, cursed story where Kate and I were the only two human beings left on the planet? Finally, I got poor, sleeping Kate out of the car and half ran, half stumbled up the path, crying, cursing, and calling for help. She, of course, woke with a start when I shouted and was soon crying and screaming herself. I got about half way up the path when I realized a) I was scaring the crap out of my kid and needed to calm down, b) I was about a kilometre from the castle ruins where there were always people at the café so it wasn't like the car would be forever stuck in the mud and I would die in the woods of the Black Forest, clinging to my child and c) I was going the wrong way on the path if I wanted to go to the castle.

So, cooler heads do prevail in these situations and I turned around, heading for the ruins, instead of the lodge I'd seen further up the path (which turned out only to be a resting/eating area for hikers anyway) and managed to get Kate talking about her little friend Manny and how we would play with him just as soon as we got home and how Daddy would be at home waiting for us and how everything was going to be JUST FINE. We arrived at the castle about 15 minutes later, Kate on my shoulders chatting away about how she was going to hug and kiss Manny and how the car was STUCK and how FINE everything would be, "Fine, Mama! Mama HANDS! Dirty!"

I would like to describe to you the looks of horror on the faces of the patrons and the employees of the café that is nestled into the side of the mountain near the Shauenburg Ruines of Oberkirch when I arrived, sweating, covered in mud with a toddler on my shoulders, but I don't think I'm quite up for the task.

I talked to the bartender and she found a nice little, old lady who spoke passable English and when she heard my story, she repeated it to everyone there (much to my equal parts relief and horror) and a man came forward and said he had a Jeep and would pull me out. He didn't speak much English, but he, Kate and I walked together back to the car. He taught me "Eine moment, Bitte" for when I was too out of breathe to keep our quick pace going and generally was very jokey and encouraging to me, which was sweet and quite calming. He said, "Don't worry, it's ok and be happy! Be happy! Alles klar" He also said, "Ah, so this, this is Schwarzwald, Black Forest. You know, like Hansel and Gretel, you are lost in the Schwarzwald. Welcome to the Black Forest!!" and guffawed loudly, but good-naturedly. How the fuck did he know I was thinking about Gretel?

He stopped short when he saw my car wedged between a rock and hard place, turned and just LOOKED at me. No words needed. The older couple who had interpreted for me in the first place came up the path and helped communicate to me that the man would now run back to the castle and call the towing company. No Jeep was getting me out of this one. They also just looked at the car to me and back to the car. No words needed.

I thought it was a translating mistake, but he really did run back, after a few jokes about getting the army or maybe the marines to come help me. The older couple continued up the path after saying goodbye and maybe it was just a trick of the echoes in the mountains, but I'm pretty sure they were laughing hysterically at me as they walked on. So I waited by the car, which Kate was now safely ensconced in and I smoked. I was leaning on the car, smoking, in fact, when another hiker came by with her dog. Where were all these walkers when I was screaming for help and envisioning dying in the woods with my innocent daughter?

She started speaking German to me and I asked if she spoke English and she said, "No, well, a little, yes, you know, this is not for cars, only walkers, you must drive up the hill to the road and go that way, this is only for walking, not driving"

Thank you. Very. Fucking. Much.

I smiled sweetly, laughed and said, "Oh ja, I realize this NOW, unfortunately too late, ha ha ha!"

The irony was my car was stuck only about 200 meters from the road I was originally on, but damned if I could get to it. After waiting for about twenty minutes, that lovely man actually came back for me with two more men (one from the towing company) and they managed to pull me out with the help of the tow truck. I tried to explain how I was trying to get back to the paved road above, but the car just COULD NOT make it up the hill because of the mud. My German is still quite bad, but at that point, it was basically non-existent, so I will blame the next part on them not understanding and not on the fact that they are men. I will charitably say that they simply did not understand what I was trying to explain because they then took turns acting the exactly the way men act in a situation like that by trying several times to make it up the hill anyway. It took a few defeated attempts but they finally resigned themselves to driving both the towing vehicle and my car BACKWARDS one kilometer to the castle before we were able to turn around, race up one last steep hill and onto blessed asphalt.

Our friend Marco is now calling me Gretel and saying "Welcome to the Black Forest Gretel!" and laughing loudly at me every chance he gets.

Yes, I do wonder why these things always happen to me...

The Daily Chai and Queen of the Land of Passive Aggressivia

I haven't left the house today so I don't have a Chai latte to tell you about. Sad. Anyone want to help a girl out?

Someone pointed out to me yesterday that my blog posts are a passive aggressive way to communicate via electronic media. To that I say, yes indeedy! Sorry about that. But I like to write and I haven't for a long time. My need for expression these days has been coming out in unhealthy ways and my hope is that my posts will balance me and give me an outlet to be healthier in my everyday life. I can't guarantee they will always be entertaining, but I do so like to make you laugh, so I hope during my rants, my nonsense and my general batshit crazy girl outpourings that you occasionally chuckle and don't take anything too personally. My opinions are my own and they are based on stories I hear from people and my own experiences. If you think I'm talking about you...I might be, but I'll never tell. If something rings true to you that just means I've done my job and connected with you in this harsh, cruel world. Not a bad thing, when you think about it.

I have a whole, glorious weekend to myself in which I have not made any plans except to get drunk tonight with my friend. For a girl who is constantly moving and planning, I find this refreshing. The downside is that I don't have anything funny to write about. Maybe tomorrow, in my hangover haze, I will have some stories to tell ;)