One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Senses Working Overtime. Part I.

October 4th, 2005 was my last prenatal appointment. My belly was measuring 39 weeks which in itself was a major accomplishment for a completely incompetent cervix. Referring to any body part as incompetent is demoralizing so the fact that my little pink doughnut proved them wrong? Well that made me proud. Way to go cervix.

Anyway. The doctor said my little-cervix-that-could was 1cm non-effaced and as he helped me roll my unwieldy body off the examination table he commented that the baby was going to bake for at least another two weeks.

TWO WEEKS???

like totally

The summer I turned fourteen was spent horsebacking, obsessing about boys, and spending time in my friend's attic watching endless videos on the VCR, taped from Samantha Taylor's Video Hits and Much Music. This was one of our favourites. Squeeze could do no wrong in my childhood.






I remember so many of the videos on my friend's favourte tape, a tape that was held with sacred reverence since the timing of each and every song was done with such skill.  Her pause and record prowess was legendary among the teen video-junkie set.

To this day, whenever I hear any of these songs, I think of the lazy afternoons spent in the attic, after a full day of riding or swimming or putting dreadlocks in our hair.  Black Coffee in Bed was preceded by XTC's Senses Working Overtime and followed by Echo and the Bunnymen's The Killing Moon. How do I remember something like that? No idea.  But I'd give my last bar of chocolate to watch that tape again.

And yes, in case you are wondering, I'm still in complete denial at how bad everyone's hair looked back then. COMPLETE AND UTTER DENIAL.

Liquid Paper: Use #43 and 40,000 question marks

Does anyone even use Liquid Paper anymore? Not important. Moving right along:

You know how random memories from childhood sometimes just pop right into the ol' noggin and you are like POW! that was crazy and totally disconnected from anything in my current reality (as tenuous as that may be).

And then you think: I need to remember that random-batshit memory so when I'm old there is something to say Senior's Bingo besides: my bunions hurt and my gawd! what is with these haemorrhoids? Piles? More like landfills! And what's with this weather?

So what to do with these single-serving, snack-size memories?

Why write it down and publish it on your blog!

Isn't that what blogging is all about? Brain dump for future reference? Or is it to find more like-minded and equally traumatized folk to lean on?

What? We're supposed to be swapping recipes? Gawddamnit, I got in the wrong line AGAIN!

Back to the post:

Sometime in the 80's, motherbumper's tenth grade homeroom

The girl who sat behind me in homeroom, who's name totally escapes me but I can lay bets it was either Tammy or Mary, would use her super shiny ruler as a mirror and paint all her visible teeth with liquid paper.

It was really freaky looking. Kinda like glow in the dark fake teeth with a white-washed wood panelling finish.

In order to preserve the look, she would then proceed to sit there with a super goofy look on her face to let dry. Kinda like when you dry off your teeth and push your upper lip over so it sticks to your gum and you look all Gomer Pyle.

We were in the far side (in more ways you can imagine) classroom row, against the hallway wall and I would sit sideways, watching the paint dry, and marvelling at the fact that if that was me painting my pearly whites, Sister Mary Margaret would be yelling "Mary Catherine Motherbumper! Get that goop off your teeth!". Sister Mary Margaret never said anything to bad-ass girl.

I never got away with anything (total lie but it seemed that way to my fifteen year old self).

And that's the end of the random brain fart memory. There is absolutely no story around the girl and her liquid paper teeth.

Actually the only other thing I can remember about her is:

Her parents sent her to my school because she was a total bad ass and they wanted to punish her with religion. Yup, we are here to reform! About a third of my class at the Catholic high school was there for that exact reason - punishment for being bad. I'm not sure why. It' s not like it was a Magdalene Asylum or something (though that might explain my hatred of laundry).

Actually hanging with the reform kids was pretty good. We had some really fun little get-togethers. And by fun get togethers, I mean all weekend debauchery, thrown by totally out of control and resentful kids with absent rich parents. Kids who had absolutely no sense of responsibility which is fun. Really freakin' fun as long as it wasn't my home or family.

What ever possessed a group of parents and administrators to think that sending all the bad girls to our school as punishment was a good idea, really had no idea what kind of influence they were inflicting on the ready, willing, and now able. I'm just saying.

Anyhow, I'm also over at motherbumper's lab today reviewing what by far has been the best book I've been asked to read by the Parent Bloggers Network and that's no lie. The Sky Isn't Visible from Here is one powerful memoir - trust me on that one.

Just don't trust me with your silverware or fine linens.