I was forced to eat four cherry tomatoes at lunch and when the juice squirted out of my mouth and I spit out the remaining pulp, seeds and skin, wiping the remnants on my kitchen chair cushion, my Mom got annoyed.

When I got bored because Hanna was asking why we celebrate Victoria Day but not Queen Elizabeth Day, I started to sing a song I made up about celebrating death. “Everybody dance here, everybody dance there, it’s the death dance, getting progressively louder for the refrain: It’s the DEAF dance!” Nobody even attempted to join in, harmonize or sing along to the made-up lyrics. My Mom did however correct deaf vs. death as if it makes a difference.

I asked about how I would speak if I didn’t have a tongue and my Mom blathered on about using non-verbal cues. So, I pointed at my eyeball and waited for a response. My Mom did not pull over the vehicle or bother cranking her head around to see me in the backseat of the van and there was no effort made to guess I was thinking about playing “Eye Spy” and the colour I was spying was blue, the colour of my eyeball.

When I made up the game shovel ball on the driveway, my Mom was the worst pitcher ever. My strike zone though unconventionally high for shovel ball, was a fairly simple target with straight forward yet ever-changing rules.  I stand in front of the van with a snow shovel, my Mom lobs a tennis ball toward me at van window height, I leap in the air swinging the shovel wildly while my mother winces as if it would matter if I butt-ended the van with it. Continue reading “Ellie and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” »