I'll have the français fries

I don't parlez-vous
But hubby and the children do
And they pulled me through

We had a family getaway to Montreal this past weekend to kick off March Break. It was a relief to escape the home front even for only 48 hours.

The girls were so excited. We've never been tourists before. We usually visit relatives or stay home. Getting out of town where you know no one is very liberating, provided you set your expectations sufficiently low when traveling with children.

And what's a hotel stay without...

A thorough mattress examination.

Wear your glasses and use a flashlight. In an earlier post, I wrote about dealing with bed bugs. The goal here is to avoid, avoid avoid. If you see any evidence, then quietly ask for another room. But the Holiday Inn in Longeuil passed the test. However, we stored our luggage under the sink in the bathroom, just in case.

The girls were thrilled with the pool, but when the manager mentioned the pool opened at 5:30 a.m., I could've decked him.

As it turned out, it wasn't thoughts of the pool that awakened my little 7-year-old, it was the coffeemaker that got her heart racing at 5 a.m.

Lying there in that twilight between sleeping and waking, I felt I was being watched. I opened my eyes and it was a blue-eyed cyclopse staring at me.

"Mommy, do you want coffee? I could make you a coffee," she asked, hopeful of a yes.

"It's too early."

And that was it. Every 10 minutes the question was repeated. I know when to throw in the towel, or at least when to throw it into a bag.

At 6:30 a.m., the swimsuit-clad girls and I headed to the pool. At least it wasn't 5:30 a.m.

Yes, the hot tub can be relaxing at ANY hour.

After the buffet breakfast of français toast and Fruit Loops, it was off to the Biodome.

I loved this outing; next time though I'll sign us up for the insectarium and the botanical gardens too.

We saw:

A nice porcupine.

Although, when I look at the above picture all I can think about is how I need to get my roots touched up.

A duck with a facial tumour.

It's not a tumour! Actually, this bony deposit on its head is how the duck stays in constant communication with the mothership.

Penguins! Loved the penguins.

If you squint very carefully and touch your nose to the screen, you'll see the penguins behind Elder Daughter (back) Younger Daughter.

Although, after watching that terrible new Robin Williams and John Travolta movie, Old Dogs, in the hotel room that night, we realized how fierce and dangerous penguins can be.

After that we were off to...

Mont Royal for the lookout shot.

On the short jaunt to the lookout, there was an owner with a Great Dane in front of us. It was a male (the dog, I mean). It was hard to miss, with those furry balls bouncing and jiggling in front of us.

I had a Kelly Oxford moment, remembering her Tweet about this, I said to my husband, "Put some underwear on that dog."

We were giggling through our noses quite a bit.

"Ew! What's that onion-shaped thing hanging from the dog's butt?" asked Younger.

"Why, those are the dog's testicles," replied Oli, channeling his inner science teacher.

"Yuuuuck," said Elder.

It was a learning moment.

I think my husband's going to patent jocks for dogs and then we can retire early and travel the world, knowing we've saved future pedestrians from views of unfettered dog balls.

Losers can always learn

Hard times are instructional. What's the point of going through hell if you're not going to get something out of it? And I don't mean an opportunity for one-upmanship, the ever popular, "You think THAT's hard? Oh yeah???"

My older daughter plays soccer and I always tell her that we learn more from losing than winning. And as a frequent loser, I know what I'm talking about.

What do you really learn about good times anyway? Nothing. You just enjoy them. And here's another point about crappy times, without them we'd find it difficult to recognize the good ones. And here's another thing, what's "good" and "bad" changes, depending on where you're sitting.

With that in mind, I thought I'd outline what I've learned from some of our tribulations, starting with the most serious, and then ending with the bugs. Bugs are always on my mind and (more frequently than I'd like) on my head.

1. Heart failure:

• Every improvement counts, no matter how small.
• Things aren't always as dire as they sound at first.
• Someone should rename this condition in order to reduce the panic level among patients and their families.
• Young, healthy people get sick every day and everywhere.
• Waiting for the sky to fall is not living.
• Don't wait for retirement to really live.
• You can't live every day like your last. It's exhausting, especially if you could live another 20 years or so.
• When to push through and when to give in. It's not true that quitters never win. Go easy on yourself.
  
• When people offer to help, take it and tell them what they can do.
• Check your life insurance as soon as you have children. We never topped up my husband's and now, no one will insure him. What you get from the workplace is better than nothing, but less than you'd need if you died while your children were young. On the upside, my husband doesn't have to hire a food taster because he knows that he's worth more to me alive than dead. (He knows I'm kidding, right? I truly adore that man.)
  

2. Home renovations:

• Always get references, not just a quote. Cheaper is not necessarily better.
• If it's a big reno, like...say...a roof, consider hiring a home inspector to check the work. This can also prevent...say...rain in your basement in the event that the roofer skipped the important step of replacing the surface that was removed.
  
• Things always cost more than you think.

3. Buying and selling a home:

• Can you renovate and be happy?
• What you want versus what you need.
• Get a home inspection and fix the big problems before you sell.
• Sometimes going through lawyers is harder. Keep the lines of communication open between both parties, if possible.
• Get a long range forecast and if a tornado will be hitting your house in the foreseeable future, move. NOW.

4. Bugs:

• Gratitude: For having a washer and a dryer. If I was doing laundry on a rock by the river, I would have keeled over before the bugs did. On the other hand...
• Simplicity: If I was doing laundry on a rock by the river, we'd only have 1.5 outfits each and it wouldn't have taken as long. Pare your stuff down regularly.
• Reality check: No one dies from bed bugs (but you do go itchy-crazy).
• Don't accept used clothing or furniture unless you can poach, boil, immerse or freeze it. On that note, winter is a good time to get used stuff. Leave it outside for a while, preferably when it's a day like today and it's -33C with the windchill.
  
• If someone is getting weird rashes for no apparent reason, it could be bed bugs (I got hives, my husband didn't have any reaction and one of my daughters looked like she was thrown into an Iron Maiden).
• Get a canine inspection. Really. They now have dogs trained to sniff out bed bugs. There's a fella in Ottawa who does this through his company. It's money well spent. My daughter was getting a weird rash on her back in the fall and I was starting to hyperventilate. We got Patrick to come over with his dog Miley and we passed the sniff test. Whew.
• Check hotel rooms for signs of bed bugs before you flop.

What about you? What sort of trials have you been through and what sort of wisdom would you like to share?

Paranoid Part 2: Scabies seem appealing

If there was a theme for this litany of misfortune, it’s this: We all have a sliding scale of what we’re willing to accept or deal with. For example, I remember thinking (at a time before I had children) that dealing with lice seemed the worst thing ever.


In my mid-20s, I was a reporter at a small daily paper and I ended up doing a whole series on lice outbreaks at this particular school—an assignment that had me scratching my head and shuddering with revulsion.

The fun and frolics of 2007 made lice seems like a vacation. But here I am, jumping ahead of myself.

My last post ended with my husband adjusting to the reality of heart failure because the heart damage from his viral infection became permanent.

But there were improvements. He managed to work half-time, an effort that required him to sleep all afternoon.

Then, my contract wasn’t renewed. I got a full-time job offer from a company that I contracted for, but they were bought out by a U.S. firm and a hiring freeze was instituted.

I had a cushion, so we were fine at first. Though eventually, the funds dwindled and mild panic started to set in.

Then, I landed my current position at a medium-sized high-tech company. Whew.

It was a steep learning curve, but I was keen. Running out of your emergency funds is very motivating.

Could the hives be scabies?

Shortly thereafter, I developed hives on my arms and I joked with my co-workers that I was allergic to my job. I started a food journal to see if there was a correlation to the number of hives I had each day and what I ate.

The hives continued. Benedryl became my close personal friend.

Then, my children started getting hives. Off to the doctor we went.

“Hives aren’t contagious,” she said. “It looks like scabies to me.”

Scabies! It just sounded gross and when she told me that they were mites that burrow into the skin and lay eggs, I was nostalgic for lice.

Filling the prescription was a laugh a minute. The pharmacist, an enthusiastic East Indian fellow who seemed to be used to dealing with the hearing impaired, told me loudly how the pesticide was to be applied from “the neck down--avoiding the genitals, of course—for the most successful removal of scabies.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see everyone near the counter take one big step back.

Home I went for The Great Family Pesticide Rubdown. Then, all sheets and clothes went into the washer/dryer on the “boil”/”roast” cycle.

We were cured—for about a week and the marks came back.

The treatments were so hard on my asthmatic daughter. She was pale and wheezing and I wasn’t going to do another treatment no matter what.

I was crying on the phone to my friend Susan, who, recalling bed bug horror stories from her grandmother, told me to look for evidence of bed bugs.

Sleep tight; don't let the evil motherf#$%ers bite

“Are there small specks of blood on the sheets,” she asked?

Yes.

“Do you see little black specks?”

Yes.

“Can you see the bugs? They’re like apple seeds in size and colour.”

No.

I checked the mattresses and not one was found.

“Check the box springs.”

Holy Mother of God! It was a colony. Several colonies. It was a bed bug New World in my house!

I had an answer. I was elated for one day and then I found out that they are incredibly hard to get rid of. If you miss just one pregnant female in your pest control efforts, you’re screwed. Adults can survive up to a year without a blood feed and females lay one or more eggs a day.

I was pining for scabies.

So, we were plunged into a (new) hell. Actually, I think I was the most plagued by this special kind of six-legged crazy. My husband kept his perspective. After all, he felt that after his heart troubles, this was bad but not that bad. For me, it was my tipping point into full-blown anxiety, which was further fuelled by insomnia.

We purged like crazy. It’s amazing how quickly you can declutter when you assess everything as a current or potential bug habitat. Ironically, before this whole drama, we had a blog entry from Penelope Trunk posted in our kitchen, called “5 steps to taming materialism” in which she described her own family’s experience with bed bugs.

It was a reminder of our pledge to have a small house but big adventures. What a load of crap that goal turned out to be. I tore that off the wall.

Because of my daughter’s asthma and her earlier exposure to harsh chemicals from the home refinishing and then the “scabies” treatment, we decided on the pesticide-free approach and worked with Evergreen Pest Control.

Of course, the plumbing goes to hell

It took herculean efforts of vacuuming and cleaning and caulking every baseboard, electrical outlet, everything. My friend Susan came over and helped out. She caulked and then parked herself in the backyard to steam clean the pieces of furniture that we decided to keep. What a hero. I wouldn’t have set foot in the place if I were her. Of course, her husband made her strip on the porch before entering her home. Lucky neighbours.

I even inspected my neighbour’s house because we were attached by a wall and the six-legged devil spawn can follow a wire or crack into another dwelling. The neighbour was in the clear.

For weeks, I cleaned for four or five hours a night (after returning home from work), until the sweat dripped off my head and exploded onto the floor. I’m sure all this was very slimming.

By day, I was a mild-mannered tech writer; by evening a panicky, maniacal cleaning woman.

And the laundry! Everything that was washed had to be run through again. And in keeping with our stroke of luck, our basement flooded.

The plumber ran a camera through the pipe and called us over to see how “not good” it looked. The drain vomited chunks of rusted out pipe and dirt when he pulled the cable out.

The old cast iron main sewer line rotted away and had to be replaced. This required chipping a channel through the cement floor in the laundry room and garage. Cost: $7,500.

Our garage floor was old and cracked, so we opted for replacement rather than patching.

But none of the companies we contacted wanted to dispose or remove the remaining concrete. Demolition sounded so appealing. My husband wasn’t well enough to do it, but I sure could. I rented a drill from Home Depot and tore out that concrete all by my-damn-self.

And I loved it. Even now, when things seem to be going badly, I fantasize about jackhammers and crowbars.

See also:

Part 3: Betting our hedge