Crazy Aunt TeeTaa

I started writing this post on Friday but I was super, super grumpy so I decided to scrap it all and just go to bed. On Wednesday afternoon, I had a bit of an “incident”. One of the young men I help with school has an extreme light sensitivity due to his brain injury. We usually conduct our sessions in the basement of his parent’s place, which he has turned into own little Zen palace. It’s a great space, except it’s pitch dark, save for the light from his television screen. Even then, he wears sunglasses to shut down any glare. His eyes instantly adjust to the darkness, mine do not.

Wednesday was a nice cold but sunny winter day here and upon arrival to the house, I took off my boots and made my way to the basement stairs. That is when the trouble began. Because it was cold and because my hair is in a tragic state right now (see last week’s post), I was wearing a toque. Normally not an issue. Because of Covid, I was also wearing a mask, and I had on my glasses. Again, just a normal workday outfit.

Let me just say a few words about these basement stairs. They are steep. There are about ten to navigate. And it is deathly dark once you get about a third of the way down. Most days, they have some stuff on them, like little piles of “things that need to go upstairs or downstairs, so we’ll just set them right here, so we don’t forget”. Again, not normally a problem, but I do admit that I’ve had some issues navigating around them in the past. I have big feet and sometimes there just isn’t enough room on that shallow step for the two of us.

Anyways, as I was walking down the stairs with my heavy work bag slung over my shoulder, my glasses began to seriously fog up. Then, my toque started creeping up my head as my hair attempt to escape its trappings, and I couldn’t grab my toque because both my hands were engaged in one, holding back my work bag which had flung itself forward, and two, holding my water bottle. Then in a moment of shitclusterfuckery, my toque completely popped off my head, throwing my hair completely in front of eyes. Blinded, I lost my sense of perception and completely missed the last three steps, falling in a clump on the cement floor. Thank goodness I was wearing snow pants (I’d just been walking with another client) and it cushioned the smack of the stairs as I tumbled BUT, I landed full force on my left ankle. The ankle that I’d already had surgery on back in 2018, and the ankle that was just starting to feel semi-good again.

Perfect.

I felt a crunch and a hot searing pain rip around the joint and up the bone into my knee. I was scared to stand up, so I just sort of sat there in the dark for a minute laughing uncomfortably as my client asked me if I was okay. I managed to get myself up and complete my session, and at first, I thought it was it all good, until I went to climb up the stairs to leave. Long story short, it hurts like a son of a bitch, and I spent Thursday and Friday on the couch icing it with a steady stream of not so nice words randomly spitting out of my mouth.

Pain makes me grumpy, and especially this ankle pain because it was just finally starting to feel like I could do a bit more physically without having to treat it with kid gloves or constantly be worried about tweaking it. Last weekend, I’d even put together a new workout calendar, involving more hard-core type of exercises, set to begin on February 1. Yeah, that’s not happening now. I’ll be lucky to even get out for a nice long walk again for weeks, maybe longer.

So, I’ve been angry and grumpy, and I don’t enjoy being either. I was seriously having a hard time trying to keep myself from falling back into a rut, especially knowing some of my rut-busting “go to’s” like walking and dancing are off the table for the foreseeable future.

Then, as I was scrolling through Instagram, I saw my niece had posted a picture of her two boys, Cam and Wesley. They both look so adorable, and while the picture made me smile, it drove home how much we’ve all lost this past year. Sometimes, it feels like time has just stopped and our lives have grinded to an abrupt halt, but time hasn’t stopped at all. It’s just kept trucking along, never missing a beat.

Cam and Wesley

I’ve yet to meet little Wesley. He’s six months old now. I’ve yet to hold him in my arms and kiss him right under that perfectly mushy spot babies and kids have right behind the ear, in the nook of their neck. I’ve yet to eat his toes or gnaw on his tummy and I’ve yet to hold him cheek to cheek as we slow dance and I try to sing him to sleep. My heart aches to hug ANYONE these days, but it especially aches to snuggle these little guys.

And I mean, look at that devilish grin on Cam’s face! Come on! He’s definitely looking to get into some rascally trouble, and there is just so much I need to teach him about how to do that. I know he could benefit from my experience and tutelage. Damn you COVID! Damn you!

I know I just have to be patient, we all do, but it’s just so damn hard. I don’t care about not being able to go on an airplane or travel right now. I don’t even care about not being able to shop everywhere I want to or do all the things I want to. I can make up for all of that in the future. But this not being able to see family is killing me. And I know it’s for the best and I understand all the reasonings and I’m 100% on board, but not being able to be present in the lives of those I love and cherish is one of the hardest things ever.

I love kids. One of the ways I’ve been able to cope and manage the sadness of not having any kids of my own is to fully immerse myself in the lives of my nieces and nephews. Over the years, I’ve tried to be there as much as I can for all of them, and to do my part in helping them understand how much they are loved and how important family is. Of course, I take my role as “Crazy Aunt Teetaa” very seriously and go out of my way to ensure they have as much fun and get into as much kid trouble as possible (good trouble, like snitching chips or cookies  – nothing bad like writing on the walls with marker etc.).

Some of my best memories are the times I’ve spent with all the kids, just goofing off and having fun. It gave me the perfect excuse to let my incorrigible, bratty side out to have some fun. I mean, really, it’s all about the kids. I get no enjoyment out of it whatsoever. Honest, I don’t. I’m just fulfilling my duties as a Professional Aunt. I take no pleasure in doing Incredible Hulk or “Yogi Yoga” poses or playing the “Wanna Know A Secret?” game or cooking up dinner and singing Italian Opera in “Pasquili’s Kitchen” or playing “Don’t Laugh” or dancing with children clinging to each hip or leg.

When my sister’s three boys were little, I’d drive down to her place after work and visit. The boys would be in their jammies and we’d all snuggle in her bed and watch television or read a few books. It was supposed to be quiet time, but it never really was. We’d start playing and goofing around, and next thing you know the boys were running around getting all sweaty and wound up. It wasn’t my fault, really it wasn’t. It would always just sort of happen. I always knew when it was time to go home by the look on my sister’s exasperated face. Sometimes I’d even get grounded. By my sister. Who is only three years older than me. Yes, grounded.

IT WASN’T MY FAULT! THE KIDS MADE ME DO IT ALL!

One time, when her oldest was about 14, he had some friends over and they were all down in the basement, and I’d gone down to say hello. Next thing you know, they prank called one of the guy’s older neighbour’s and THEY MADE ME talk to him in my “Tiger” voice. I HAD NO CHOICE! I CAVED TO THE PEER PRESSURE! They were all killing themselves laughing in the background, and just as I hung up, my sister came down the stairs.

“What’s going on? Who were you talking to?”

Nobody said a word. They just tried to hide their giggling.

“Tricia, who were you talking to and did I hear Tiger?”

Now, a few things to unwrap here. One, I know when I get called by my full legal name of “Tricia” that I’m in trouble and I’m probably going to get a talking to when I go upstairs and we’re alone. Something about needing to be a positive influence and blah, blah, blah… Second, my sister is not all that fond of “Tiger”. The kids love him but since her imagination is a little stunted and she doesn’t believe in imaginary animals, she sees no purpose in me pretending that I am one. (And they say I have issues. Go figure.)

Call that day victorious because none of the kid’s gave me up, not even her youngest who was six and was a notorious bad-secret keeper. It was our inside joke for the longest time. We still laugh about it now, some twelve years later. My sister eventually found out what THEY MADE ME DO but by then, I’d cemented my “coolness” status, so all the kids were firmly on Team Tiger/Trish.

As I sit here writing, reminiscing, and looking at the picture of my adorable great-nephews, I’m feeling a bit better. However, I still have a huge problem. I have all this unspent love and hugs and kisses in my heart and if I don’t release them soon, I fear a grave catastrophe! I may just start running up to strangers or knocking on random doors. It won’t be pretty, and I’ll probably end up in jail, and jail isn’t really the sort of place you want to be if you have excess love to give. Or maybe it is…

So please Covid, go away. I’m begging you. Please, before I burst into a thousand little pieces or I invite the backyard squirrels and bunnies into the house. They like snuggles right?

In the meantime, I’m in negotiations with my niece. I think it’s only fair that she has another baby post-pandemic when we’re all vaccinated because I wasn’t able to hold Wesley as a smushy little newborn. Honestly, it’s the least she can do. I mean, I’m in crisis over here! She said she’ll take my concerns under advisement, but she’ll have to run it by her husband. I have a feeling if it’s a go, it might just cost me a case of my homemade bread and butter pickles – his favorite.

That’s okay’s, it’s a small price to pay for that unbelievable feeling of holding a new life in your arms for the very first time. A bright little soul. A genuine gift just waiting to be opened to a world full of hugs, kisses, and a bratty Great Aunt just itching to get them into some trouble. Make it happen Niece. Make. It. Happen.

Please?

Until next week…and if you don’t hear from me, it means that I’ve been arrested for hugging strangers. Send money for bail.

Peace and Love,

Trish