One of the toughest things about being a parent, especially one that hasn't entirely grown up himself, is keeping a straight face. This evening, Syd thought it would be fun to run around in my work shoes. So while I studied, I could hear “clop, clop, clop....b...clop, clop, clop....b!” (“b”, if you recall, is the unpronounceable symbol used by five-year-olds to shatter the ear drums of adults.)

Anyway, she sounded like a deranged horse. After three or four laps followed by a warm-down that sounded like it involved jumping jacks and an elaborate homage to Shirley Temple, I had had enough and I turned around to tell her so, my teeth clenched in full parental snarl. Syd, who knows full well how easily I'm swayed out of “stern talking to” mode, had countered by putting on one of Liza's bras. When she saw me looking, she donned her most dangerous smile and struck a pose.

Sometimes, I can fight the urge to laugh in the name of discipline but not as often as I should. After all, you have to appreciate the effort put forth to entertain your parents. This time, I didn't even try to hold it back. My clenched teeth didn't stand a chance and I burst out. She joined me in a hearty guffaw and continued her journey: clop, clop, clop....b...clop, clop, clop...

What can I guy do? Clearly studying was out of the question so I did the next best thing, of course. I donned a pair of Liza's high heels and the ugliest hat I could find and I joined her.

My parents are coming to visit in a few days. Good timing, too, since Syd will be off school next week. So not only will I have the perfect babysitters, but the morning traffic will be almost bearable.

Syd's excited, of course. I'm sure I've said this before but my parents are everything you expect in grandparents. My mom spoils her and Dad...well, let's just say Dad has a knack for thinking like a child (which is not necessarily a character flaw: “Growing old is mandatory...”).

So Syd and I were talking about their upcoming invasion and she asked me to sing one of the songs Grandma had sung to her on her last visit. Now on Ma and Pa's last visit, I was in Dallas and wasn't around for much of it so I had no idea what songs she was talking about. Syd prodded me: “The one with blood on the ground” and it all came rushing back. This is the song that my mother taught to me when I was a kid and has now taught to my five-year-old daughter:

Blood on the saddle
Blood on the ground
Great big gobs of blood all around
Little Kyle Baley
Lying in the gore
Ain't gonna see his friends/piano/family/etc. no more

You can see where there is room from customization in the fourth and last lines. I have no idea what my mother told Little Sydney Baley she wasn't going to see anymore but apparently Syd was pretty excited about the prospect of not seeing it. As was I, if I recall correctly from when Mom sang it to me. I remember my brothers and I on pins and needles around a campfire waiting to see what each of us wasn't going to see ever again, not taking any heed to the fact that we were presumably dying of blood loss. In fact, at the time, I didn't even know what “gore” meant. I thought it was a room in the house, like a library or a den.

The funny thing is, of course, that I would never sing a song like that to, say, my neighbour's children unless I wanted to estrange myself from their parents (and if you tasted the brownies they brought over yesterday when I was sick, you would think twice about it). As it is, I strongly suspect Liza doesn't know about these visions of saddles and gobs running through Syd's head. Nor does she know the other song Mom was gracious enough to teach her (my memory's a little hazy on this one but you get the idea):

A woman stood at the old church door
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
Many a woman had stood there before
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
She saw three corpses carried in
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
They were so pale, they were so thin
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
The woman to the corpses said
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
Bury me here when I am dead
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
The corpses to the woman said
AAAAAH!

Again, as a child, I had no idea what a corpse was. I thought a “corpsis” was some weird talking animal that hung around churches. Luckily, through the magic of the Internet and TV and my mother, Syd's got a head start on the meaning of gore and corpses.

Question of the day:  Why am I such a freak magnet?  (No comments from the Testosterone Alliance...)  Being shackled to a mortgage (but only for 5 more years) and thus deprived of a car, I pride myself on making the ecologically friendly choice of taking the bus to and fro wherever my life takes me.  However, this mode of transportation brings me within close proximity of “the public.”  Which I don't normally mind on most occasions, except when my Freakey-sense is tingling, which means I've had a crappy day, enough is enough, just get me home already.  But no, Murphy's law had it's way with me last night, where every drunken weirdo, loser, and other dregs of society chose to sat near/next to me.  Two drunken morons on SkyTrain, a chatty bus driver that drove 10 km an hour, stopped for every yellow light and talked to her “regulars” for 5 minutes when they got off at their stop, a guy that was SINGING on the bus when he wasn't talking LOUDLY to anyone around him about the passport differences of China and India, and some random wacko that walked up and down the aisle for no particular reason.  I had to keep repeating to myself that “I'm an adult, and screaming 'SHUT THE F*** UP!' would serve no useful purpose” and praying for green lights.  Now dear readers, being of the gentler and fairer sex, I am not inclined in the slightest to violence or swear, so this is not usual reactionary behaviour from me.  But I tell you, sometimes I just reach my limit with my fellow earthly occupants and want to jump out of my skin and beat them to a pulp.  Is that wrong?

Anyway, I'm in a much better mood this morning, and even took the bus and SkyTrain at 7 a.m. to meet a friend from Toronto for lunch.  (It helps to have a Starbucks every few feet as well, I love life in BC.)  I have figured out that I'm still suffering from the latent effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, with the Mom-Lady having just left my house on Tuesday after a MONTH-long visit.  I'm so happy she's retired now...

I will sign off now, as I must get to Modern Burger and secure a lunch table.  (Homemade sirlion steak burgers and hand-cut fries...drooooooool.)  Will post again soon...