Bear-rogant Bob

Last night, while drifting off to sleep, I heard a “sliding” noise… like a window being opened. I lay perfectly still trying to hear other noises from a possible intruder over the sound of my pounding heart. Just when I was ready to dismiss it as my imagination, we hear a BANG! Both of us spring up from bed and ran to a window.

Then I see him.

Bob. The biggest black bear you’ve ever seen, has just smashed right through our fence, and is sauntering down our driveway. How arrogant can he be? He’s as big as a car, and is easily 8 feet tall if he stood on his back legs. According to Wikipedia (the source of all things true), “despite their heavy build and awkward gait, [bears] can run quickly and are adept climbers”, so CLIMB OVER THE FENCE YOU LAZY BEAST!!

In the midst of our adrenaline rush, I managed to get a few photos of Bob.

 

 

Bob has quite the reputation in our neighbourhood. When the moms at school say, “Bob came to visit last night”, we all know we’re talking about a bear and not gossiping about a midnight affair. You see, MOST of us have had encounters with him.

He’s broken our fence three times now. He’s broken my parents’ fence I don’t know HOW many times. He’s left claw marks in their trees. Teeth-marks in their garbage bin. He’s knocked over COUNTLESS garbage, recycling and green waste containers around the neighbourhood. (Maybe if people got the mandatory locks for their garbage bins there wouldn’t be a problem, but hey, that’s just my uneducated opinion). Our garbage is locked and in the garage, so he went after our recycling. Maybe the toy fish on the Duplo box in the bin made him salivate?

Bob freaked the living snot out of me last year (although technically, it was Colin’s fault). We were watching TV and heard a noise. We went to the door to see if anything was amiss. Before I could see out the door, Colin SLAMMED it, shouted “GET UPSTAIRS!!!!!!!”, and proceeded to run up himself instead of helping his terrified wife (who thought there was a crazed gunman at the door) clamber clumsily up the stairs, receiving several bruises on her legs in the process.

It wasn’t a gunman, of course. It was Bob. Riiiight outside the front door. We went out on the deck to see Bob sauntering away from our broken fence. It was the first time we actually saw Bob. He was walking the same route he walked last night, and went across the street to the same house he went to after ours last night. 

Well, Bob. 2 years in a row you didn’t get SQUAT from us (except maybe some slivers), so get the hint and STOP COMING!

Then there was that time this exact week in September last year when a different, MUCH smaller bear got stuck in our yard. I got home from work to a house decorated with police tape. That’s a sign that your evening is about to get interesting…

The police showed up after a few minutes to tell me that there’s a bear trapped in my yard. He’d eaten all the plums off the neighbours tree, which makes them get woozy. So he came into our yard and passed out like a drunken college boy after leaving 13 extra-large piles of crap all over the yard. A lot of fruit will do that to ya.

The conservation officer and police have their shotguns and tranquilizer guns out. We were new to the neighbourhood at the time and the neighbours were really nervous when the police tape went up. “What kind of gangster young family moved in here?” they thought. So I invited the curious ones over to watch the show from my porch. Really was a good icebreaker.

The police and conservation officer decided that it was better to tranquilize the bear after they gave it a chance to run away on its own:

-          in a family neighbourhood

-          at 4:30 in the afternoon when the kids are home

-          on a hot sunny day

Makes PERFECT sense, right? So, they scared it, got it all mad and aggressive, and chased it up a tree. NOW it’s time to shoot the sleepy juice. So that it will fall 30 feet when the meds kick in. SMRAT.

Even though I was glad the bear was being transported back to the mountain, hearing that “THUD” when it fell wasn’t a particularly happy sound.

I am SO TIRED of having these visitations. I have 2 young kids. We can’t even let them play outside by themselves. I’m more scared sleeping in our trailer when it’s in our YARD than when it’s in a CAMPSITE for crying out loud.

I know there are readers out there saying, “It’s not their fault, you are living in their territory”. Yah, yah, I get it. Other people (ie. not us) are destroying forests and building houses on their ex-territory. But for Pete’s sake, our house has been there for 35 years. Time to buzz off and find a new home in the wilderness.

Meet Evan's Friends

For Pre-school, we have to make “Emergency Care Kits” every year. They’re to be filled with familiar things that would comfort my child, in case of a natural disaster (as long as the natural disaster doesn’t hinder the teachers from getting out these kits from their storage space).

I take special care in assembling these kits. I, am one of those paranoid people who think that a natural disaster will most certainly affect us. I actually get teary, picturing him upset without me to comfort him, because I’m on the 10^th floor of my burning office building, crushed underneath it, or sinking in a tsunami wave. 

I really want to put something in there that will make him smile.

This past year, I put a several photos of our family, all with stories written on the back about our summer vacations, and about the members of our family. There was also gum, Spider Man tattoos and a small bag of chocolate chips. I also put in a cute bean bag chocolate lab. It was given to him by Colin and I Santa for Christmas 2011. It was so cute sticking out of the top of the stocking! I smuggled it out of the house to put in his kit, and he didn’t even notice it was gone for 8 whole months. Wow. Good thing I gave it to him. He really must love it.

End of the year came, and due to the lack of natural disaster again this year, he got it back and took it to Grandma’s house after school. He LOVED the new stuffed dog in there! Didn’t even remember he had it before! As there were also chocolate chips in his comfort kit, he thought they were food for the dog. So he opened the bag of chocolate chips and “fed” them to the dog.

When he wasn’t looking, Grandma took the chocolate chips away, so it seemed like the dog had actually eaten them. He believed the dog had eaten them.

He comes home and says, “MOMMY MOMMY I have to show you something! Where are the chlocate chips?”. Yes, I do mean “chlocate”. It’s one of those words he doesn’t say correctly but it’s so cute that I don’t want to correct him. Like skabetti for spaghetti or breftast for breakfast.

After a bit of coercion, I got him a few chlocate chips. He fed them to his dog….. waited a minute…. looked under the dog…. and they were still there! He was quite upset. He was coaxing the dog to eat them, but the dog just wouldn't do it (I hadn’t got the memo on the trick Grandma played on him). Nevertheless, the dog’s name became “Chlocate Chip Eater” because he actually did eat chlocate chips.

Cute name, except at 10 pm when he’s screaming “WHERE’S CHLOCATE CHIP EATERRRRRR? I CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT MY CHLOCATE CHIP EATERRRRR!!”

Next up is a cute, fluffy, white dog with brown and black spots. It was given to him by his Auntie, Uncle and cousin the day he was born. It’s gone almost 4 years without a name, but apparently he needs one now. Evan named him, “Peanut Butter Licker”. Or “Peanut Butter Liquor”. I’m not sure which. But I’m hoping it’s the former.

Last up, is the latest one he named. 

He’s on such a roll naming his stuffies, so I decided to ask what his Build-A-Bear frog’s name is (don't do it... don't ask)...

I’m thinking, “Hoppy”, “Ribbit” or something that relates to a frog.

Nope. His name is “Mussaf**k”.

Really? REALLY, Evan? The fist thing that comes to your brain is “Mussaf**k”?

Parents know that if you make a big deal of things, it makes them want to do it again. So I calmly push the name aside without trying to draw any particular attention to it. I suggest a few ones: Mr. Frog. Froggie. Frogger. Hippity. Hoppity. ANYTHING! But he keeps insisting on the name above. That’s going to go over well with the Grandparents.

So if you're ever walking past our house at bedtime and you hear him screaming in his not-so-subtle voice, “I NEED PEANUT BUTTER LIQUOR” or “MUSSAF**K”, don't call social services. He's just missing his friends.

Say CHEESE!

One thing on our “must do” list when we go to the Oregon Coast is the Tillamook Cheese Factory.

I’m surprised they let us back in.

3 years ago (Nathan was almost 3, Evan was almost 1), we were enjoying ice cream. It must have been Evan’s first one. Because I'm a good mom and would never ever feed him an ice cream cone before he turned one....

We JUST sat down with our four ice creams in the overly crowded ice cream cafeteria. The brain freeze effect apparently numbs the signal the bladder sends to the brain that says, “Get to the bathroom NOW”. Nathan peed EV.RY.WHERE. One of those messes that waterfalls off the chair and forms a nasty puddle on the floor.

[this is the second time I’ve mentioned pee waterfalls on my blog. I must have boys]

Did I mention we were each holding an ice cream cone?

I don’t remember how we wiggled our way out of that intensely embarrassing situation. It did involve a roll of paper towels and me having to hold 4 dripping ice cream cones though.

They let us back in last year and this year, so our slates must be clean.

I like people watching there. You get to observe people on their assembly line job. Woo hoo, sounds FASCINATING! I wonder if they get paid extra for that little perk.

There are 4 basic types of people who work there. I’m sure they jump from one to the other, depending on the day.

My observations:

The 15-Minutes-Of-Fame Employees:

These workers are perma-smiling, waving at the tourists. They like to be on display and in the spotlight. They would be the people who should be in customer service: the ones who wouldn’t rip the faces off annoying customers. They think, “Wow, my job is so important that people take their holiday time to come and watch me!”.  

I like those people. I tried to be a perma-smiler a month or so ago. Within minutes, a friend asked me if I was pregnant. When I said no she asked what the good news was. Apparently I need to smile more.

The Make-The-Most-Of-It employees:

So your job is boring? So what! Lets try and have fun at work anyway. These fun-loving people are joking with each other and ignoring the onlookers.

The Brain-Teleporters:

They are clearly bored out of their tree. These people seem to be able to separate themselves from their task: their hands are feverishly keeping up with the conveyor belt while they stare off into space.

Like me when I’m blogging.

Lastly, the Wrong-Side-Of-The-Bed Employees:

Maybe they don’t find cheese packing fulfilling, or loathe the tourists who are enjoying a holiday while they’re being displayed working in a cheese-coloured fish bowl. Maybe they woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or are just having one of those days.For whatever reason, they are grumpy, and have a perma-scowl. I especially like smiling at these people. [Evil laugh…]

Evan was fascinated at the machines. I have no doubts that he’s going to be an engineer. Even in our own house, he’ll look in cupboards and at our unfinished walls and will show me what pipes the water from the sink travels through on it’s way out of the house. He was staring at the machines with fascination, trying to determine what each one did and how it worked.

It took a long time to pry him away, but I HAD to. I knew what was next…

 

I love cheese. I love free. I love the free cheese samples. I load those toothpicks full, and make sure to grab samples for the kids, knowing full well they won’t want to eat half of them. Sure, cheese causes the body to block up but vacation constipation is never a bad thing ;-)

 

Let’s be honest though. The main reason we go there is for the ice cream. DROOL. There must be 40+ different flavours to choose from. Fruit ones, coffee ones, chocolatey ones. Bubble-gum, cotton candy, pumpkin. Brightly coloured ones, swirled ones, chunky ones, smooth ones (surprisingly, no CHEESE ones). SO many choices, how does one choose??

Know what flavour BOTH my kids chose?

Vanilla.

Are you joking? We drive 597 kilometers for an ice cream cone and you’re having VANILLA?!?!

I almost didn’t let them get it, but white doesn’t stain shirts. Plus, they were already making a scene because I got them a junior cone instead of a whopping 2 scoop cone even bigger than the one Daddy had. They were lucky I even got them a junior one at that point. Any good mom would have denied the ice cream and ate it herself.

Apparently, mom (aka, ME) is always right, because I ended up finishing one of the cones. “Mommy, I’m too full to finish. Can you finish for me?”. [Why I oughta…] 

I am a bit of a germophobe (aka Mysophobe. There. You’ve learned something today). Hand sanitizer is my friend. Interac machines and public toilets are not (that is a blog post all in itself).

However, when it comes to half eaten ice cream cones, my mysophobia goes into remission and I don’t care who has licked it. I’ll finish the sucker off.

As I ate the cone, I also ate my words. The vanilla was a good choice after all.

Pretty in Pink

Have you ever done a math magic trick like this? Come on, do it with me:

Step 1: Think of any number (Except 1).
Step 2: Double the number.
Step 3: Add 9 with result.
Step 4: Subtract 3 from the result.
Step 5: Divide the result by 2.
Step 6: Subtract the number you first chose with the result.

The answer is always 3!! What madness is this??

I have another number magic trick for you. 

It was my birthday yesterday. I made up my own magic trick for you to discover how old I turned.

Play along:

Step 1: Think of how old I LOOK.
Step 2: Multiply the number by 3.
Step 3: Subtract 2 from the result.

The answer is 34!! Every time!

You see, according to strangers and some friends, I have not aged a day since I was 12. You would not BELIEVE how many people ask my age and say, "REALLY?!?!?!? I thought you were 12!!!".

Not eleven, not thirteen, always....ALWAYS....twelve.

The next thing these people say when I look at them with a blank stare is, "you should take it as a compliment!".

Oh, ok [with continued blank stare]. So I should be happy that people who see me with my 5 year old think that I conceived when I was in grade 1?? And I should be flattered when I'm ID'd to...wait for it.... buy GAS??? Fantastic.

Luckily I didn't run into any of those people yesterday, and I had a great day! What really made my day was Nathan. At 5 years old, he told Daddy he wanted to get me 5 things and rattled off this list:

1. Make-Up [nail polish]
2. Necklace
3. Bracelet
4. Flowers [a dozen pink roses]
5. Dress

He went shopping with Grandma and Daddy and got everything on the list above.... all in pink! Apparently he was very specific in the items he chose. Looking through racks and racks until he found exactly what he was looking for. Evan even chose a pink pair of sunglasses for me!

I was so touched by their gifts! It made me feel special beyond words to know that my boys pay that much attention to what I like! Now when Nathan's not looking, I have to alter the pink dress to make it look a little less...frumpy. Even if I never wear it out in public, I'll wear it in the house with pride!

Pillow Talk

A few years ago, we met up with out-of-town-ish friends. If memory serves me correctly, they had come into “town” to run errands, so we bombarded them at IKEA. An odd place for a visit, but a visit at IKEA is better than no visit at all!

I remember the experience well. I was using an IKEA wheelchair, as I’d sustained a minor leg injury crawling through a play gym with my then 3 year old. I could walk, just not around IKEA, if you know what I mean. Colin pushed me in the wheelchair as I pushed the kids in the stroller.

Our friends had come to IKEA to get new pillows. They tested out many pillows and really thought through the decision. I don’t know if they ended up purchasing them or not (as I was a bit stuck in Roth-chaos), but I marveled at the extent to which they went to choose “the right one”.

I’ve never put much thought or money into what I rest my head on, and it’s usually just turned out fine. I guess there are a few reasons that I don’t put money or effort into pillows.

For starters: I’m cheap. No…not cheap. Thrifty.

Another reason: Colin’s cheap.

Lastly: we’ve been going through more pillows since the kids were born. They unfortunately have not mastered the no-peeing-at-night skill yet. It’s because they are such deep sleepers that their bladders can’t wake them up. I’d take that over a wet bed almost any day.

Thanks to the good ol’ plastic “pee sheet” (aka mattress protector) though, sometimes the pee migrates north to the pillow. Then the pillow has to have a bath in the washing machine. Sometimes it comes out good-as-new, and sometimes it comes out so lumpy that I need to throw it out.

*note: I’ve since invested in pillow protectors. They cost as much as 2 Wal-Mart pillows, but saving me from the pillow-washing hassle (and saving the landfill) is worth it.*

While packing for this last holiday we returned from yesterday, Colin and I decided that since we camp so much, (exhaustingly much, some might say), we might as well keep our current pillows in the trailer. They’re getting super flat, so we’ll start the new $4 spares from Wal-Mart that are sitting in our closet. So our beloved old pillows were demoted to trailer pillows to make room for the new and improved. I kind of felt like I was losing my blankie.

Last night was the first night we used the new pillows.

I started by lying down on it normally. You know, with just your head on the pillow. They are so huge and fluffy that my neck angle felt close to 90 degrees. I feared my trachea would get a kink in the middle of the night, cut off my air supply completely, causing an untimely death due to suffocation.

So then I tried with my head, neck and shoulders. That just made me feel like I was sitting in a recliner.

I tried my whole torso on the thing lengthwise. NOTHING I tried was comfortable.

Meanwhile, I’m whining to Colin about it. Ever been in a situation that does not annoy you, but then you hear someone else complaining about it and then you realize, “hey, they’re actually right, this DOES suck”, and then you become just as annoyed as they are? Sorry Colin.

Colin starts tossing and turning and twisting and adjusting.

Finally, we threw the stupid giant marshmallows on the floor and grabbed a couple of throw pillows from the couch. Nice and flat. ZZZzzzzz…..

I think from now on, I’ll put more time and money (if I HAVE to) into my pillow shopping.

The Cool Parent

I am not the cool parent in our house. I thought I was a pretty cool parent, but I came to my grim realization on the last day of  Kindergarten when Nathan brought home his journal.

I open it to the first page:

"I was at the ocean and I saw a fish in the water. Daddy saw an owl"

Awe, that’s so cute!

And the next:

"This is my dad's pumpkin so big"

I start tearing up because he loves his Daddy so much.

And the third:

"I went fishing with my daddy. I caught a ten pound fish"

It starts to hit me. He hasn’t yet mentioned ME.

As I flip through the book faster and faster, I get increasingly mad at Colin for being the cool parent.

I have no idea what this says but it includes the word "DAD"

Of COURSE Nathan journals about Daddy. They do so many adventurous things together. If he mentioned me in the journal, he would conveniently forget the time I took him rock climbing and would likely draw something like this:

Or this:

Or maybe even this:

Last night, I took Nathan to get some immunizations. I am the one sacrificing him to a stranger for a voluntary multiple stabbing, so yet again… NOT THE COOL PARENT.

He didn’t take it well at all. I guess it was his first set of shots that he really knows what’s going on, so he was quite traumatized by the experience. He didn’t even laugh when the nurse said, “Put your nose in Mommy’s armpit and tell me what it smells like” (???) as she came at him with the needle.

[Just to clarify, he did NOT say I had stinky armpits, however he did tell his Daddy at bedtime that he saw Mommy’s armpit whiskers. Nice.]

To cheer him up, I took him to a new pet store to look at the animals.  We stroked the chinchillas: the softest animal ever created. We saw bearded dragons, Peruvian ground squirrels (aka: rats) and parrots. When at a pet store, we always spend the most time at the fish section. “Fish” was Nate (and Evan’s) first word. It’s as if they were programmed to like fishing right from the beginning.

I saw something in a tank that I’ve never seen before. A freshwater crab! Nathan LOVES crabs. When we go to the beach, he literally spends ALL his time finding crabs, as I still do used to when I was his age.

I bought it for him. Before you call me a pushover, please note that I was going to spend this money on a yummy treat for us. At least the crab will last longer. Hopefully. 

He named it “Feisty Savary” (It’s a feisty crab that reminds him of his vacation on Savary Island). As we were all watching it explore his new home last night, Nathan says, “I’m going to start a journal so I can write about what the crab does”.

He gets that from my genes. I also used to document my observations of living creatures when I was a kid. It was called “spying”. Only I hid up a tree to do it.

So this is his first journal entry:

"I was [looking] at the fish [tank]. Dad was [sleeping] and I was [looking] at the crab"

???WHAT???

That's it.

I give up. Colin, you win. Even when you're sleeping you're cooler than me. 

Naming a Boat

We all know that when starting a story, we’re supposed to start at the very beginning; a very good place to start. However, I feel the need to start at the end of the story of our recent vacation to “BC’s tropical paradise”, Savary Island.

You see, since it’s been nearly 4 years since I’ve blogged, I must start back up with a bang. So this is the story of how Colin’s latest boat got it’s name.

It all began the evening before we left the Island….

The day was windy, and the water choppy. Fishing was, unfortunately (for Colin) out of the question for the day. But the crab traps were still set out from the night before, and they need to come in, despite the chop. I had been banged about with bruises up my legs and compressed my vertebra one too many times, and was a tad grumpy about having to go out again. An adult has to go out with Colin every time to be “the weight at the front of the boat to balance out the overpowering motor for the small boat”. As my Dad puts it, it’s like being on a sea saw. Up and down, over and over and over again. Remember when the other person gets off when you’re at the top, sending you plummeting to the hard ground? Yah. So do I.  

A big shout out to my Dad who took my place that evening. Guess he still gets tired of hearing his youngest daughter whining.

Colin, Dad, Max and Nathan return back from pulling up the crab traps for the last time. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was glad we didn’t catch any crabs big enough to eat this time. We’d had 2 crab feasts already, and it just seemed like more work on the night before we leave.

Colin and I have a conversation something like this after dinner.

C: “I think I want to go check my boat”

N: “Why? Concerned about the choppy water?”

C: “No, the boat is slowly taking on water and I want to see how much has come in”

Um…what?? I ask for clarification that “taking on water” is the non-stressful way of saying “there's-a-hole-in-my-boat”. Yup.

I timidly agree to go with him.

We get to the dock, and there are 3 foot waves. I’m in the water trying to steady the rowboat so Colin can actually get in and row us out to our “larger” boat (which thankfully is still there). It takes a long time and a year off my life, but Colin rows us to the holey boat.

There’s 4 inches of water in it.

Colin shouts over the sound of my screaming the waves “hop in the boat!”.

So…just to clarify…I am supposed to hurl myself from an extremely rocky boat with no hole, to an extremely rocky boat with 4 inches of water and a hole during a storm where there are 3 foot high waves coming over the sides of the boat?? Oh, ok. No problem. Just checking.

I time my epic boat transfer between two waves. I start bailing. I am trying not to cry, mainly because my tears would add to the volume of water to bail.

During the kafuffle, we decide that we have to beach the boat overnight. There’s little chance it could stay afloat. So we tow the little boat behind the holey boat to shore, making sure to lift up the motor before the waves slam us up on the beach. Then I put on my Popeye suit, eat my spinach, and help Colin carry the boat up past the high tide line.

It’s been years since I’ve been so terrified. But it’s over. For now.

Fast-forward to the next morning when it’s time to leave. Now, usually when you leave an awesome vacation, you are kind of teary and down because you don’t want to leave. I, on the other hand, was teary because I was scared to death of crossing the 6 km span of the Pacific Ocean in a boat with a flipping hole in it. I was, however, overjoyed that the 3 kids and my parents got to take a water taxi that does not have a hole.

Before we leave the cabin, Colin takes out his emergency radio and says, “Nance, we’ll be fine. But if we do capsize or sink, flip this to channel 16, shout ‘MAYDAY’ 3 times, and give them your location”.

Dad and Mom try to reassure me that God looks after us. To this I say, “Yes I know He does, but He also doesn’t expect people to go boating in the Ocean on purpose with holey boats. That’s when God says, ‘Dude, you’re on your own’”. I can just see God rolling His eyes and shaking His head saying, “Oh, Colin…”.

At the beach, Colin, Mom and I got the boats to the water at low tide. Mom’s in the Ocean in her runners and jeans simultaneously steadying the boat from the waves, and reaching over the side to jam her finger in the hole on the bottom of the boat. Then she makes a hard decision and lets her baby get into a sinking ship with a crazy pirate to cross the sea. I kiss my kids goodbye and tell them I love them.

As soon as I get into the boat, I jam my toe into the hole, and flatten my foot along the crack. I also have to shift my weight as far forward as possible. This lands my rear on the boat moorage float (like a yoga ball) instead of on a seat. The float acts as a trampoline every time the boat hits a wave (which, I might add, is every 2 seconds). One arm is holding onto a rope, the other onto a bailing/barf bucket, and between my legs are prawn traps and other fishing gear, giving me one new leg bruise per bounce.

As I’m playing this dangerous game of Twister, 4 things are going on in my head.

1. Prayer. I’m praying hard.

2. I’m composing this blog post.

3. I’m wondering, “Now where is that stupid radio? Wait a minute… it doesn’t float. WHAT GOOD IS A STUPID EMERGENCY RADIO IF IT DOESN’T FLOAT????”

4. I’m trying to remember what about I love about Colin that makes up for this experience.

Just when I couldn’t get more stressed, Colin starts singing Great Big Sea songs. Jolly, happy tunes about being on the Ocean. If I had a free hand I would have smacked him upside the head with a paddle.

I return to thinking about #4 above.

Even though I’m bouncing like a rag doll, you think I let my foot off that hole even once? Not. A. Chance. My foot goes numb from the temperature of the Ocean on my foot. I did a darn good job at plugging the hole because Colin only had to bail a bit near the end of the half-hour ride.

As I get out of the boat and onto the mainland, I suppress the urge to hit the deck and kiss the slippery boat launch concrete. No, that would be weird. I do, however, kick the boat and yell “Swiss Cheese!” at it.

Hmm. In hindsight, that might have been a weird thing to do too. Nonetheless, the boat now has a name. And one day soon, while Cap’n Colin is at work, I will be painting it onto the side of the boat.