38 and Great!

     I'm a high maintenance princess for one month out of every year. Just for one month, basically from Mother's Day through to my birthday on the 23rd (and as many days after as I see fit), I expect EVERYONE to stop what they're doing and pay homage to the excellence that is me. The other months, I am pretty humble. That may be because no one actually agrees that the world revolves around me :(
     Or, at least, so I thought... It started last night (the 22nd). When I got home from work, I had plans to go to the local drive-in movie for an all-nighter; on long weekend Sundays, the drive-in shows four movies from sundown to sunrise. I even got a 6-pack of beer to take with me. However, by the time Rod was finished working on his hot rod and had a shower, it was already getting dark and I am already indignant that he would dare to spend time on anything other than me during my birthweek. At the movie, everyone had taken all the good spots so we were as far from the screen as you could get without using binoculars. Urgh.
    Many of the dark fighting scenes in Pirates of the Caribbean were indistinguishable. I found myself asking Rodney, "Who was that? With the sword?" or "What was he grabbing for?" or "Who's fighting who? Is that Barbossa or Black Beard?" I also remarked on how much better it would be in 3D. Then, I wanted to get out and break some headlights, taillights and truck cab roof lights. Jeesh, I really need to write a courtesy manual for newbies to the drive-in.
     Honestly, I was a real party pooper. The beer wasn't helping either. I wasn't feeing anything after two bottles. Just the need to pee. The last time I went to the canteen/washrooms, I offered to help scoop some unidentified horror off the floor with the maintenance staff (Holla! Tammy and Kelly!) So, the next time I just popped a squat in the back field near the fence line.
     Ater the movie was over, I wanted to take advantage of our "alone time" and get some lovin' in the back of the Kia. This proved frustrating at best. I'm certainly not a prude and I have no problem with public nudity, but the idea of having random headlights shining on my husband's bare ass did not put me in the mood. Plus, I didn't want him to touch me with anything that had been near a public restroom. In the end, we got into a workable position with my head hanging off the folded-down seats and his feet pushing against the back window, knees bent. However, this caused him to get a Charlie Horse in his right calf. The whole thing was a nightmare and the worst two minutes of my life.
     I was disappointed and unsatisfied. What a complete waste of an evening. I decided I was just going home to bed, so that I could get up and go for a coffee at Timmy's before work. Unfortunately, Rod had made plans with his buddy, Phil, to go for coffee... ON MY BIRTHDAY! WTF?! It was the final straw for me. I was completey pissed. Went for breakfast with my dad and step-mom. Got a lovely card, a cool outdoor turtle lamp, and some spending money, plus homemade slippers and more spending money from mom.
     Rod was spending the morning wiring the lights on his hot rod, so I thought I'd spend the afternoon shopping in Belleville. Got in the car, rocked out to "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele and "Rock me Gently" by Andy Kim, started to feel a little better about my life... then I noticed how quiet it was on Bell Boulevard. Hmmmmm, looks like the mall is closed on the May Twofour Monday... How odd? Surely, Walmart is not closed! By the Jesus... even Walmart is closed! I parked the car and just started bawling. Yet another complete waste of time. Drove back home in the pouring rain. On the way, Rodney texted me, "Holy shit! It's really coming down!" I replied, "That's my soul... condensating."
     When I walked in the door, I went straight to bed. That's the only thing you can do when your day is taking a shit... Take a nap and wait for the planets to realign. However, my cell phone is linked to my facebook account. So, every time someone wished me a "Happy Birthday!", my phone would vibrate. I have about 300 friends, therefore, I got no sleep. And, I didn't want to turn off the phone just in case I missed something important.
     I decided I would just go to work and be as miserable with all the bastards at the restaurant as the universe was being to me. Total sour grapes attitude. I unloaded my tragic tale to Amanda, who basically ignored me... and then returned from the walk-in fridge with a chocolate cake and 3 lit candles singing happy birthday.
     Finally! Some recognition! Someone who took time from her busy day to say, "Dammit, Sherla! You ARE someone special! And, you deserve some chocolate AND a little birthday song!" I would have cried, but I spent all my tears in the parking lot at Walmart.
     Two hours later, I was taking extra napkins to Table 3, when I saw my friends Janet and Jenna carrying what looked suspiciously like a plate of cupcakes up the steps to my work. I was standing at Table 3 with the napkins in hand when I exclaimed, "Oh My God!" I think the poor woman at the table thought I was having a seizure. She almost jumped out of the booth to perform CPR or some shit. Next thing I know, another rendition of Happy Birthday comes parading through the door with Janet, Jenna, Jordian, Justin, Ryan and Heather. This was awesome! I was getting recognition AND making a public spectacle of myself! <3 <3 <3
     At 8:30 p.m., I got a beautiful vegatarian dinner prepared by my daughter, complete with a detailed menu of the repast.
A blooming onion, "Because of that time we had one at Coach's and loved it". That's where I started to cry again.
Grilled aubergine with olive oil and salish, "How the hell did you want me to fry the eggplant?"
Shut Up And Eat The Stuffed Tomato, "Don't give a fuck whether you want it or not - I had something like it in Greece."
And, Duh! Birthday Cake for dessert, "Mostly cause Dad wanted it,"
"Happy Birthday and shit," she said
     That's my girl. At moments like these, I could not be more proud.

     Then, there's the infamous birthday card from my son. Every year, I get something creative from him. This time, he spent hours drawing a picture of his World of Warcraft character. He also consulted with masses of anti-social, delinquent gamers via World of Warcraft trade chat to find out what words of wisdom he could impart in celebration of his mother's birthday. The results are as follows:
"I'm glad you're pro-life"
"Good job last night"
"Dad needs a blowie"
and "When I'm with my GF, I think of you"
The list goes on and on...
     So, I have received love and best wishes (and pornographic suggestions) from my facebook friends, my family, my co-workers, my beloved children and even complete strangers who probably have criminal records and definitely have social phobias. It is a good day.

They don't make Gramma's like they used to

     I'm sooooo tired. A word of advice to anyone with a teenager taking a Parenting class - "Don't let them bring home that godforsaken robotic baby."
     When Austin came home with a note from the school to say he would be participating in the "real" baby experience, I was excited. I wouldn't say I am eager to become a Grandmother, but I anticipate being very happy about that joyous news... assuming it doesn't come until my own children have moved out, graduated post-secondary and got a job. After that, I expect I will feel elated in the same way I did when I found out Austin would be bringing home a doll that cries, drinks, poops and burps.
     The first weekend he brought home "Garrosh Hellscream", named after the Warchief of The Horde on the popular online game, World of Warcraft. Unfortunately, Garrosh never even started to cry or eat or poop. He was a dud baby.
     A few weeks later, Swifty arrived. I'm not sure where that name comes from. It turned out to be appropriate because AS SOON as he finished a bottle, Swifty would immediately produce a dirty diaper.
     Just for some background on this assignment, the local highschool parenting program has these robotic, life-like dolls (worth about $1000 each) that they send home with a teenager for the weekend to experience what parenting might really be like. At 3 p.m., the doll activates and the student is required to use a magnetic wristband to respond to the baby. Basically, it's like scanning the baby's back in a grocery store except you use your wrist. This prevents mom and dad from babysitting all weekend; no wristband, no ability to take care of baby.
     After they scan, the baby proceeds to cry in a specific manner to indicate whether they need feeding, changing or burping. Sometimes - and this is the real clincher - the baby is just fussy and cries no matter what you do. Depending on the circumstance, you use a magnetic baby bottle to feed it, a magnetic diaper to change it, or pat it's back to burp it.
     Now, I had been warned that this would be the worst weekend of my life. I had heard stories of the student's parents putting the pretend baby in the trunk of the car overnight so as not to hear the crying. I had heard of other kids breaking the necks of these babies on purpose to ensure a failing grade. I had even heard of totally family meltdowns as a result of these inconsolable little machines. I didn't believe it. But, I believe it now.
     The first day was a cinch. If nothing else, Austin is a quick learner and an efficient caretaker. He had a system whereby he would keep Swifty's arms and legs up in the air while sitting in his little carseat (that comes complete with safety straps,  I might add) to expediate diaper changes and provide "hands-free" bottle feeding.
     I was quite smitten with little Swifty. He sounded just like a real baby when he was drinking that bottle. You know how babies are. They sound like they haven't had a meal in days and they're gulping back the milk like it's a cold beer and last call at The Regal Beagle. <<sigh>> It took me back to a time when my own two teenagers were just babies and not the disrespectful freeloaders they've become.
     With a smile on my face and a song in my heart, I would come home from work or back from the grocery store and the first thing I would do is check on my little Swifty.
     I found it most satisfying that the greatest demand Swifty had for Austin was food. On the first night, he would cry for food about once every two hours and would drink his bottle for about 10 minutes each time. Austin has a similar appetite and is constantly saying, "Mom, I'm hungry." Now when I say "constantly", what I mean is just that. If he is awake, he's hungry. I have made a roast chicken and a box of Lucky Charms for this child.... as an after school snack. Teenaged boys are cheaper to house than to feed, trust me.
     Anyway, I enjoyed feeding times with Swifty. Austin would scan his back and hand the baby over to me. I was not permitted to remove him from his car seat because Austin was afraid I wasn't holding Swifty's neck properly. I would proceed to rock and feed him until he made the cutest little gurgle, indicating he was satisfied. He was soooo sweet. My cat was not impressed with Swifty. He sniffed at the doll disgustedly and probably would have pissed on him if anyone's back had been turned.
     Even in the middle of the night on Friday, I never heard much from Austin and Swifty except for the initial cooing, the scanning beep and the eventual satisfied gurgle. I did have a dream that I broke the doll's neck accidentally. In the dream, I was picking Swifty up from his car seat when I heard a snap and I looked down. There, in my hand, was a gear shaft with yellow grease on it that had popped out from the back of his head. I think I tossed and turned for the rest of the night trying to find a way to put Swifty back together again.
     Saturday night was a little different. After having a few beers to celebrate my nephew's 40th birthday, I woke up to full out screams around 3 a.m. from Austin's room. Swifty was crying and Austin was sound asleep. I had to shake the hell out of him to "wake up and get the damn baby". It only happened once though. I was disgruntled about losing sleep, but I couldn't be angry with my darling grandchild. This prompted another dream in which we had to prepare magnetic baby cereal for Swifty in order to keep him satisfied for longer periods of time. The cereal was kind of green and Swifty doesn't swallow, but we just kept shovelling it over his face hoping to stop the screams.
     I worked on Sunday from 7:30 a.m. until 8:30 p.m. and was exhausted when I got home. All I wanted was a little quality time with my grandson and a nice hot bath after an episode of Game of Thrones. I didn't even read a chapter of my books before falling asleep. Round about 2 a.m., all hell broke lose. Swifty started to cry and no one could find his bottle. He cried, he drank, he shit and he burped. An hour later, Swifty is up and crying again. Austin is tearing all the sheets off of his bed looking for something when I come in the room. His sister is helping him look for something too. I said, "What are you looking for?" But, Austin can't answer me because he's panicked almost to the point of hyperventilating. I can clearly see the magnetic bottle and the magnetic diaper beside the carseat. So I ask again, this time with more authority, "What are you looking for?!" Meanwhile, Swifty is screaming. To which Alex yells at me, "He can't describe it! Obviously! Stop asking him!" I tried to explain that Austin clearly had a case of "baby brain" because there was NOTHING missing. Alex stomped back to her room and shut the door. Austin came to his senses and managed to calm Swifty with a diaper change after 5 more minutes of inhuman screeching.
     At 4 a.m., I wake up to more screams that have been going on for about 5 minutes at least. I'm pretty sure I can hear Austin crying, too. As I jump out of bed, I scream, "Give me that goddamn thing! I'll rip its fucking head off myself!" Alex is already in Austin's room and she blocks the door so I can't take the machine and MAKE it shut up with my bare hands. Austin is frantically rocking Swifty back and forth while he has a 20 minute "fussy" time. I bury my head under my pillows and pretend that this is all just another bad dream.
     At 5 a.m., Swifty is crying again. I walk into Austin's room, grab the doll from his carseat (careful of his damned neck), grab Austin's wrist and scan the baby's back. At this point, I've decided I will sleep after Swifty has returned to a nice box in the closet at the highschool. I change his shitty ass, but I can tell there's more to come because he's not doing that peaceful, rhythmic breathing that he does when he's not about to get all "Old Testament" and start raining fire or calling on locusts. Sure enough, we do another scan and he drinks a bottle for 15 minutes while I watch Totally Spies on Teletoon. Still no rhythmic breathing. Scan again. This time, it's patting and rocking until he burps 10 minutes later.

     Later that day (because we slept in after Swifty "timed out" at 6 a.m.) I drove Austin to school. I said, "If you EVER think about not using a condom, I want you to think back to this morning and the hell that was Swifty Pringle."