Today went much better. Way way way better. The pessimistic side of me wants to say “Of course. It wasn’t a weekend day.”
The horrible day I’d been dreading, the first day of classes on campus, was nowhere near as bad as I’d anticipated.
Cameron and I were out the door nearly an hour early. In past years when I’ve made the mistake of bussing in the first two weeks it’s not been uncommon for five or six full busses to zoom right past, and several more to take just a few people. But this time we got on the second bus.
Fine, I thought, that bus isn’t so bad. But just wait. I have to drop Cameron off, and (cue sinister music) get on another bus. Again, no wait. The bus was packed, and that’s fine, I got on it.
All of this meant I got to work earlier than usual. Work itself was fast-paced, no major disasters, no crap falling from the ceiling, and a couple of fun, “Huh, how do I do that” puzzles to solve.
The trip home was good too. There’s a new bus route that makes the trip just as fast as my downtown route, without having to go through that nasty skytrain station. I’ll probably alternate between them, as Cameron does really enjoy the skytrain trip. Bumped into a friend at the grocery store. Had a nice walk home with Cameron in the sunshine. A pleasant evening and a good chat on Skype with my mom and Bill.
Best of all? No major tantrums, lots of snuggles, easy story time. Bedtime itself was easy – we snugga-ed on the comfy chair a bit, and then I eased into the bedtime routine, but was met with resistance. “One more minute, Cameron, okay? If I give you that, then I want you to go to bed without crying or fussing, okay?” It took a few repeats, but I got the okay. He relaxed to almost-asleep, and when I said bedtime, he didn’t whine. He launched straight into his goodnights, kinda smeary-sounding since he was nearly asleep, but he was determined to get every word out. Into bed, request for his “puff” over him, and he drifted off to sleep.
I should also note that I do feel a little sheepish about my reaction to my sister climbing. I’d like to note that I totally realize I’m not upset so much about her climbing as I am about the fact that I’m not. I totally get that it would by really hypocritical and downright silly of me to be upset with her for crossing the “line” into my athletic territory. Not only did I cross said imaginary line already by doing pottery (I’ll argue that wheel work is very mathematical in nature), but … it’s imaginary. There is no line. Sure, there’s a bit of envy in there, that she has the ability to go do it, that she’s got a dedicated and loving partner, that she’s able to stay at home and not work … but wait. I wouldn’t trade my life for hers. Am I worried that she’ll claim climbing in her mind as “hers”? Nah. First, she can go right ahead. Second, as Mom pointed out, the only reason she tried it most likely is because she’s undoubtedly heard stories from Dad about the time I took him to a climbing gym. It’s a possibility, knowing her. I’ll also admit that I snooped a little in-depth to find out who she went climbing with. Wasn’t hard. While he has years more climbing experience than I, from what he described we’re at a similar level in skill (or at least we were, I doubt I could climb that stuff now, but back-in-the-day yeah). I’m petty and small (and human). That made me feel better.
Also making me feel better is the idea that I might soon have the chance to gym climb again. One of the guys I work with, he’s a manager for one of the labs, his fiancée likes to climb, and as we exchanged woeful tales, he suggested that he could set us up to climb together. Wheee! I half-joked that this is the perfect system, with a built-in babysitter, after all, he wants his fiancée to be happy yes? Which means freeing up a climbing buddy, right? Half-joked. It’ll happen.
Happy Memory for Today:
Holding a sleepy Cameron tightly in my arms while waiting for the bus home. He admitted to being “Lots sleepy,” and wanted me to sing the fox-story song to him. This is The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night (darnit, what are the capitalization rules again?), a song I remember Dad singing to me late at night. It’s not often that I’ll sing for real, as I’m very self-conscious, but there was nobody else to hear. So I sang. And Cameron nestled close, pulling my sweater off my shoulder a little so he had full-face skin contact as he burried his face in my neck.