Category: Snarky Sunday

Snarky Sunday

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Back in June my mom took a bad spill and broke her ankle in three places. She was wheelchair-bound for several weeks. No weight at all on that ankle. She is not a young woman. My dad is not a young man, and while he could do a lot of caretaking she needed, he couldn’t do all.

So my brother called their house of worship and made arrangements for meals to be delivered twice a week. My folks eat like birds, so these meals lasted several days (and we froze portions, too). My sibs and I, along with my children, nieces, and nephew, started a Parent Patrol, and took turns going to my folks house every day to make sure they had a hot meal and everything was okay (my dad really can’t manage hot meals, but he can do cereal and sandwiches). One or more persons was on hand every single day to feed them and clean up afterward, plus deal with other stuff, if only to keep Mom company while Dad puttered around outdoors.

Whenever I was there and the meals were delivered, my parents’ friends continually commented on how wonderful it was that we were all taking care of our parents. Which confused me. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Put rocks in their pockets and toss them in the creek?

Snarky Sunday

July is automobile inspection month for TV Stevie and me. We schedule the appointments around my must-take vacation (when Day Job shuts down for a week), which is the most convenient way to handle it. Because when my car is in the shop, I don’t have a car. When his car is in the shop, I don’t have a car–he needs wheels for his Day Job.  If I’m off work, I don’t have to think about packing a lunch (I usually come home to eat) or leaving on time (I usually have to wait for him to pick me up or try to catch a ride with a co-worker).

This year, I forgot to tell our mechanic to uninstall the app in TV’s car that prevents it from stopping at the supermarket when he runs out of something.

Snarky Sunday: Christine Hart

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To non-moms, I’m that annoying person posting too many kid pics on Facebook. Does everyone care that my kids are at the park, again. Of course not.

To other moms (of littles) I’m one of those people who unabashedly cherry-picks each photo session for the moments where one or both children are happy and clean – preferably doing something I find clever or cute.

Does my four-year-old throw a fit ending in tears and stomping at the drop of a hat? Oh, he’s the master. And that kid on the playground everyone’s frowning at for being too rough? Also my son.

Does my one-year-old spend her time trying to circumvent my will so she can eat soap and climb bookcases? Yeah, her breath smells like shampoo and my shelves have been gutted unless they’re higher than three feet.

So next time you see a smiling cherub on my Facebook or Instagram feed, think of it this way … sure, I’m needlessly sharing gratuitous adorableness with my friends and family. But I’m also investing in my mental health. So that next time I have to fish poop out of bath water or scrub spaghetti off the ceiling, I have public reminders of what they’re like at their best.

Christine’s new release, In Irina’s Cards, is available at Amazon.

In Irina's Cards #11 Final (850)

Christine Hart writes from her suburban Burnaby home staring at North Vancouver’s iconic Coast Mountains. She loves writing about places and spaces with rich history and visually fascinating elements as a backdrop for the surreal and spectacular.

In addition to her undergraduate degree in writing and literature, her background also includes corporate communications and design. She is a current member of the Federation of BC Writers and SF Canada.

When not writing, she has a habit of breaking stuff and making stuff – in that order – under the guise of her Etsy alter-ego Sleepless Storyteller. She shares her eclectic home and lifestyle with her husband, baby daughter and preschool son.

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Snarky Sunday: I Get No Respect

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The other day, I overheard someone say, “You get up at 4am every morning to go to the gym? I’m impressed.”

Seriously? Lots of people get up that early to go to the gym. I mean, gyms are open at that hour. Right? People must go or else the places wouldn’t be open. What’s so flippin’ impressive about that?

Image credit: andrejad / 123RF Stock Photo

Frequently, I am up at 4am . . . to write. Books. And to conduct the business related to those books. But that’s not impressive.

Someone who writes a non-fiction lifestyle essay that gets included in an anthology and goes on Good Morning, America impresses people. Creating whole universes from the landscape of the mind makes me weird.

A contributor to Business Insider tried an experiment a few years ago. He got up at 4:30am for 21 weekdays. Hey! You want a medal or a chest to pin it on? You’re a single guy. No obligations. You probably never worked a Day Job in your life. Not everyone has those luxuries. Nor do we get to decide to go to bed an hour or so earlier just because we’re up earlier.

I may get no respect, but you know what? I create magic. Try that at the gym.

 

 

 

Snarky Sunday: Eyebrow Threading

There’s a relatively new trend in cosmetic enhancement called eyebrow threading. I first heard about it from X-Chromo, who has actually had this done. I understand the concept: it’s like plucking with tweezers or using hot wax to extract eyebrow hairs. What I don’t understand is the mechanics.

A couple of weeks ago, X-Chromo and I went to The Maul (not a typo). One of the first things I noticed is how dark the interior of the place has become. I knew the “new” part of the sprawl was “green” and ill-lit, but when we ventured into the “old” part, I felt as if I’d wandered onto the set of a post-apocalyptic movie. Very dystopian feel to the place.

And there, in the middle of all this darkness, someone was having her eyebrows threaded. In a Maul kiosk, not a in a private space. And the technician had the threads in her mouth. As if they were dental floss. Using them. On some stranger’s face. In the dark.

I think I’ll pass.