Virtually real- Virtuellement vraie

Micheline Harvey: Virtual Assistant, real person/Adjointe Virtuelle, mais tout à fait vraie

My daughter, my teacher September 16, 2012

Filed under: Family — matamich @ 5:07 pm
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My daughter is all grown up. From the baby I carried and gave birth to, protected and nurtured, cuddled, fed, hugged and kissed, kept warm and safe, to a toddler, a preschooler, a little girl, a teen with all the challenges along the way as I did my best to set a good example, today I realize that she is the one teaching me to live.

She moved out of the house amidst heartbreak and drama and moved to her father’s house, where she has more space and more independence, and less Mom.

She drives her own little used car everywhere she needs to go. She finds solutions to problems and new, unknown situations. She goes out, participates, she puts herself out there.

My daughter is much less of an introvert than I am. And, although I completely understand the meaning of being an introvert, and I know that it does not make me less of a person as many mistakenly believe, or as society has wrongfully led us to believe, I also know that for me, leaving my comfort zone is far more of a challenge.

Watching my daughter do it all, although she is much braver than I will ever be, I feel stronger, happier, and I push myself because if she can do it, then so can I!

And I tell myself, that if my daughter can teach me important lessons, then I must have done something right!

 

Housekeeping – my version vs. his version September 14, 2012

Filed under: Family — matamich @ 3:25 pm
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My version of weekly housekeeping: Dusting everywhere, wiping off surfaces, cleaning glass surfaces with special cleaner, dusting books, bookcases, etc. Vacuuming everywhere (includes moving things around to get to the corners, nooks and crannies). Washing floors, wiping down stair rails, dusting heating vents. Thoroughly washing BOTH bathrooms, including floors, tub, vanity, sinks, and toilets. Emptying out and cleaning trashcans. Stripping beds, washing and drying bedding, making beds. Disinfecting kitchen countertops and cooking surfaces, etc. etc.

Hubby’s version of weekly housecleaning (when I’m swamped with work, have to rush out of town or am very sick): Vacuuming upstairs without moving anything and without dusting first (he does not see why we should dust before we vacuum). Leaving the vacuum cleaner out in the middle of the floor for the next day or more unless I put it away. Promising to clean small upstairs bathroom but not getting around to it except maybe once every four to six weeks (if I’m lucky) but forget to clean the floor, washer/dryer. Completely ignore downstairs area, bedrooms and large bathroom.

 

In which my husband drops his bike September 4, 2012

Filed under: The Guy Chronicles/Les chroniques du mec — matamich @ 9:59 am
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This Labour Day holiday, I went on a motorcycle ride with my husband and a couple we know. The plan was to ride for a little over an hour, stop for lunch in a pretty village, hang out and then ride back.

First stop for gas, I get off the bike. Hubby and I have a routine. He puts his bike stand down and tells me when he’s ready for me to climb back on to the bike. Why? I’m not sure, because I’m fairly small and lightweight, and I’ve seen riders remain in control of their bikes while large passengers got on and off. But I digress…

So, he fills the bike up, gets back on and I wait for his signal to embark. Then he kicks the stand up. I don’t move, waiting for his signal. Perhaps he wants to move out of the way and for me to get on a bit further past the gas tanks?

Then I watch, almost as if things are in slow motion, as he bends his bike sideways. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I’m about to ask him what he’s doing when I realize that his bike is falling and he can’t hold it up. He hops off, and wedges his foot between the ground and the bike, his leg against it. This bike weighs several hundreds of pounds. This is not what you’re supposed to do to keep a bike from falling.

You can tell that he’s freaking out. He holds the bike to keep it from hitting the ground and manages to let it down softly, still with his leg wedged between the ground and the bike. The guy on the other bike yells at him that this is not the way to do it and to get his leg out from under there.

I ask if I should help. No response from hubby, so I make sure my legs and feet are clear if he lets go, but I grab onto the back part of the bike, plant myself squarely and put my 120 pounds into pushing it back up.

The bike, of course, does not budge. Hubby is just frozen there. Finally, the other biker gets off his ride, slides between hubby and me, signals me to let go once he has a good grip and they both push the bike back up and put the stand on.

Hubby promptly backs right into me as he inspects his precious bike for any ding, scratch, chip or possible dent. There is nothing wrong with his bike, it did not hit the ground at all, it was supported by his leg, my weight and no doubt his crazy adrenalin rush, as well as by his friend who arrived just in time.

Everyone tells him that his bike is fine. And still, he stands there, panicked, dazed, inspecting every inch of the bike.

He never once asks me if I’m okay, did the bike fall on me, did I hurt myself trying to hold it up. He doesn’t apologize for backing into me.

The other girl tells him that he’s an idiot and she would have let the stupid bike drop to the ground. He could have broken his leg doing what he did!

And she’s right. It’s a bike, dude. Not a living, breathing, human being. And not your wife.

Men. Ugh.