The marble run has been this week's hit for creative play.
Today is the Friday of the March Break here chez Lannis.
It's been a busy one, but less frazzled than in the past. We haven't done anything huge. We scheduled no special outings. We focused on enjoying sunshine, and family, and creativity.
It's not that I don't want to take my kids anywhere. They're well behaved, I have no doubt they'd be on their best behaviour. I'm simply not interested in dealing with the madness of March Break crowds, and since we're lucky enough to have our extended school calendar it means we have a second spring break in May where I can take advantage of all other schools being in session and hit the road with my crew for some kids' fun without the frenzy of overcrowded, over-caffeinated, overstimulated, overboard action.
(I think this May we'll hit up Toronto's Science Centre... jury's still out, though.)
Instead, over this March break, I've worked three days (which means the boys had built in play dates for those days), as well as:
- Celebrated Pi Day (the boys' new favourite holiday, even though I lazied out with a butterscotch pudding pie.
- Celebrated Papa's birthday by having him and Gramma Boo over for lunch.
- Had two Mathathons.
- Went to Costco (exciting, eh?).
- Roasted a turkey with all the fixings for dinner one night (who says stuffing needs to wait for the holidays?).
- Hit up our local favourite secondhand bookstore.
- Bought Dollarstore crafts to keep us occupied.
- Played outside, specifically hauling the bikes out of storage (eeee!).
- Swapped some bins of toys from storage so they had something new less-familiar to play with.
- And costuming... I did costuming, of course... (JordanCon is less than a month away, and thankfully I'm right on schedule...)
That's one marble run that's taller than a particular nine-year-old.
So then out of nowhere I ask my then-almost-nine-year-old what he wants for Christmas and he replies, in all seriousness, that he wants a doll that resembles himself with clothes that resemble his own clothing...
What the nugget?!
I suppose this is what I get for not having cable or satellite, yes? (My children have not seen commercials in a loooong time. They also despise shopping. They have no concept of what toys are currently on the market.)
Hooookay, well. The first feat was to shift this request as naturally as possible from the realm of the Santa list to the general gift idea list, since—let's all nod in appreciative understanding here—said doll was going to be wearing remnant clothes of boys (yes, plural), and clearly would not be a product of Santa's workshop.
Oy.
And then I was struck by the, er, voodoo-iness of the entire matter...
Is it bizarre that my nine year old wants a doll that looks like him? Upon reflection, he's only ever had my old Cabbage Patch Dolls to play with (he found them uninteresting). I suppose it's kind of neat to have a mini-me with clothes to dress it... especially if made by mom's hand, right?
Anyhow, with that out of the way, I got to work on creating rag doll boys and harvesting what I could from the ratty tatty not-good-enough-to-join-the-hand-me-down-network bag of clothes my packrattiness stubbornly refuses to let me discard outright.
(Yes, a wee voice in my brain is telling me this is the reason I held on to them in the first place. Going forward it is clear my ability to discard anything in this house is about to take a hit.)
And yet...
BEHOLD!
Scary shit, right?
Yes, I'm inordinately proud of these. I ordered the glasses for the oldest's doll on eBay, and picked up the fake fur for hair at a fabric store, but everything else used was leftover from previous projects.
And old clothes. Plenty of old clothes were ravaged in the name of cuff material alone.
Including pajamas, underpants, and socks. Because dolls need wardrobes, too, yo.
Not pictured: the teeny leather backpacks to house all those clothes. (I may have gotten out of control...)
Soooo... I have extra kids over the summer. Some weeks more than most.
This week has been particularly busy with six kids each day and apparently I'm aiming to lose my mind, outdo myself, misbehave, launch myself into the middle of next week before I know what hits me, earn the right to wear my long weekend drunkypants...
In the last four days we have:
- baked four loaves of quick bread (one plain zucchini, one zucchini and raisin, one zucchini and chocolate chip, one raspberry banana chocolate chip), and a dozen muffins (zucchini chocolate chip)
- gone to the park four times
- gone to the pool once (it's been hovering between 17c/62F—25c/77F all week or we'd've been there more)
- painted pet rocks
- made Rice Krispie squares
- gone to the local independent movie theatre (for the $2 per person 10am matinee of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2)
- eaten two and a half watermelons
- visited the local secondhand bookstore for new reads
- attempted to fly kites (Monday was windy, but apparently not windy enough.)
- cut two boys' hair
- performed science experiments à la Bill Nye [♥]
- cleaned three bathrooms (one of my kidlets was caught not flushing so the punishment was to scrub all the toilets in the house—in the interest of supervision I cleaned the remainder of said bathrooms while he scrubbed away)
- washed and hung seven eight loads of laundry on the line, folded and put them away (with kidlet help)
- gone foraging for food grocery shopping (blessedly alone)
- and (la pièce de résistance) tie dyed shirts
It's all worth it.
The days are gone before I know it, but the kids're busy and content.
There are kids here in the morning. This morning it's mine plus three. Occasionally they say odd things--earnest, adorable, yet easily misinterpreted things. Today is one of those days.
Things said to me this morning:
"Leslie, your hair looks nice today. Frizzy like a doll's." [I was going for Muppet hair, but that'll do.]
"Your eyebrows do weird things when you're making sandwiches." [Excellent.]
"Your outfit looks fabulous today." [Same yoga pants and hoodie that is the stay at home mom's uniform.]
"You talk to yourself when you're making the boys' lunches. What are you saying? Or is it not for kids?" [Definitely not for kids. Not even a little bit.]
"I like the way you roll your eyes. The back of them look nice." [Now you know how I snagged Mr Lannis...]
An old tradition at The Mrs blog was to keep track of our day in an effort to quench a voyeuristic thirst remember where the vanished hours go. Every once in a while I revisit the theme. Hence, this post... April 1 2014
6:20 - alarm. Hit snooze. Turn lamp on low and stare at the ceiling.
6:25 - alarm. Hit snooze. Turn lamp on medium. Stare at ceiling more. Plan day.
6:30 - alarm. Shut off. Get out of bed.
6:30 - 7am - Change. Wash face. Brush hair. Brush teeth. Get dressed. Open bedroom curtains. Pick up dirty laundry in bedroom and master bath. Strip bed—time to put the duvet away and pull out summer quilt (nights are hovering around the freezing mark and we’re sleeping too hot). Bring all laundry downstairs.
7:05 - Feed cat. Because Minette. Turn on laptop.
7:06 - Start kettle for tea. Open Bean (word processor). Start this list.
7:10 - Sort laundry. Toss summer quilt in washer to freshen. Start bleach bucket for white napkin cloths. Decide it’s the opening day for the clothesline (high of 10c/50F, with 60% chance of showers in the afternoon—good a day as any. Worst case scenario I toss it all in the dryer anyway, right?).
7:15ish - Daycare kids get dropped off. Chat with client. Feed fish. Get back to laundry.
7:30 - Empty dishwasher. Prep teapot and pour in hot water. Make kids’ school lunches. Wrap every container, packaged granola bar, utensil, and even the banana in blue painter’s tape. Scrawl “Happy April Fools” in Sharpie on the sandwich container’s tape.
8am - Call four kids for breakfast (their choice: oatmeal in various flavours, cold cereal in various flavours, toast with various jams, waffles with/without syrup, fruit, or any combination of the previous as long as they eat what they take). Referee the insanity (my boys - if you’re going to fight over one particular spot at the table NEITHER ONE OF YOU WILL SIT THERE. There’s seven spots for four kids—plenty of choice—so no arguments!).
8:15 - Open laptop. Arrange playlist for new MP3 player (yes, we’re aware we’re behind the times, shhh, you!), load MP3s. Head to laundry room and flip laundry loads. Pour tea.
8:30 - Sit down and update this list on laptop. Eat my own breakfast—a waffle (I didn’t listen well to the orders, so there was an extra. Usually I have apple cinnamon oatmeal. I dislike waffles. I dislike food waste more).
8:30-8:45 - Check bank account (mortgage out? Check. Deposit arrive? Check.). Send email reminder of upcoming holidays to clients (JordanCon—woohoo!). Head to Lego Shop online to look up the new Mixels as per R’s request (good idea for our prize bucket for his Mathathon work).
8:45 - Realize that if I’m putting stuff on the line, I’d better put stuff on the line... move winter boots to back door and take wet sheets out and hang on line. Realize it’s twisted that I’m wearing winter boots to hang laundry (it’s 2c/36F already! YAY!), and also realize that snow makes for less clearance between line and ground. Hm.
8:55 - Tell kids to tidy up Lego. (Yesterday they began watching Darkwing Duck for the first time. Today they’ve opted for no TV and all Lego time, and they’ve got a spread of bricks to show it, too.)
9am - Haul single extra pair of splash pants out of closet for R (8 y/o), and spring coat for him. L (almost 7 y/o) gets snow pants and spring coat until Auntie J’s package of the splash pants we left at her place on the weekend arrives in the mail (oops).
9:05 - Tell kidlets to pack their lunches in their backpacks and get ready to bug out.
9:07 - Help kidlets get ready (L still hasn’t put lunch in his backpack—got waylaid by snowpants. And chatting). Send everyone who’s ready outside. Put on my own coat and boots, grab purse, water bottle, and gym bag and head out. Load kids into van.
9:13 - Fire up van. Everyone’s buckled, head to school.
9:17 - 9:38 - Unload kidlets, walk them to school yard. Send them off with high fives for a good day. Meet friend (hi, Becky!) with littles, buckle them into boosters and drive Becky and her two to her house. Gab for a few minutes, then head to Mr Lannis’ company gym.
9:40 - 10:45 - Park at gym (yes, it’s stupidly close to our house), swipe in, change into runners, hit treadmill for 30 minutes. Wipe down machine. Change out of runners. Chat with a woman in the locker room who is there via mandate, working out on company time (yes, really—there’s a whole group of them who’ve been shuffled after years of driving tow motors and they’re not used to being on their feet to work so the company is paying them to get fit. Seriously. And each one feels the need to explain this to me the first time they encounter me, since I’m the only person any of them have met who’s there on a spousal membership—I’m unsure if they assume Mr Lannis doesn’t hear of such company gossip or if they assume our marriage is conversationless... but yay for special, I guess?). Head home to shower (again: stupidly close).
10:50 - 11:30 - Arrive home. Pull load of jeans from washer. Add new load. Hang jeans load on line (not holding my breath that they won’t need to be dryer tumbled later). Slip on ice (maybe there’s another reason other than COLD that people don’t hang laundry in April—but it’s 4c/39F, whee!). Change fish filter, and actually empty filter of sludge (instead of just switching cartridges). Find many scales (ew). Head upstairs and shower. Partially blow dry hair. Examine skin (a breakout NOW?! I fly out for JordanCon in ten days!). Open curtains and blinds in boys’ rooms, return to main floor.
11:30 - Remember I haven’t planned anything for dinner. Pull out slowcooker. Grab loaf of crusty bread and leftover turkey bits from freezer. Take bread from bag and wrap in tea towel to thaw on counter. Toss brick of turkey bits into slowcooker. Chop carrots and onion, add. Pour in 4c of water, a couple packets of chicken boullion, and two bay leaves. Tidy kitchen. Load dishwasher.
11:45 - noon - Start lower oven’s self-cleaning cycle (it was smoking yesterday when making dinner). Make salad for lunch (iceberg lettuce, baby spinach, shredded cheese, dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, balsamic dressing, and leftover chicken fingers warmed in microwave). Pour tea. Set oven timer for 45 minutes (lunch break).
Noon - 1pm - Dick around on the internet while eating salad (including updating this list). Read this post by Mogatos in regards to her prophylactic mastectomy journey (poor girl’s had a rough go, but she’s still in the game. She’s got a fabulous blog about her trials, and one of the many reasons I find her take interesting is that she’s coming at it from an American standpoint—having to traverse the gamut of insurance companies to have her girls replaced thanks to her BRCA mutation. She’s even got a breakdown of cost that blows my government-healthcare-covered mind).
1pm - Flip laundry. Resign myself to only having 3 loads on the triple lines (considering the weather, I figure we’re good). Make more tea. Turn on radio. Putter and tidy kitchen. Open windows to help oven-cleaning fumes dissipate (it’s 5c/41F!). Water plants on top of cupboard (missed them the other day and then needed to wait for the water to have the chemicals evaporate off before using).
1:15 - 1:36 - Decide to clean out fridge. Get water ready. Tidy kitchen sink to make space to wash bins.
1:36 - Dance to Inner Ninja (heh).
1:40 - Scrub kitchen sink. Because ew.
1:40 - 3pm - Clean out fridge, then scrub sink again. Because ew.
3pm - Sit down for a snack. Go online before getting ready to get kidlets (4) from school.
3:12 - Rest time’s over. Oven timer went off (I set it to make sure I keep track of time). Time to get ready to get kids from school. Change into jeans and head out.
3:17 - 4:20 - Run into neighbour while walking to Becky’s. Chat. Meet Becky, walk to school. Wait for kids to get out, walk home. Check mail, walk home to find Mr Lannis is home.
4:20 - 5:40 - Take laundry off the line, toss in dryer to warm up. Change from jeans back into yoga pants. Wipe kitchen table. Unpack boys’ lunches. Add rice and can of corn to slowcooker and turn on high. Fold laundry. Go over a page of math with R (subtraction with regrouping). Have boys put their folded laundry away. Watch fish tank for a few minutes, looking for three cherry shrimp—a twisted version of Where’s Waldo. Go Google Cherry Shrimp, discover they’re big hiders (cool cool). Wash hands. Dish out six bowls of turkey stew to cool. Set timer for 5 minutes and cut bread for dinner.
5:40 - Timer goes off. Have kids all wash hands and sit down for dinner. Eat.
6pm - Have kids clear table and tidy toy area.
6:15 - Daycare kids are picked up. Chat with client.
6:30 - 7:45 - Go online. Check Facebook. Update this list. Go over R’s spelling words (14/15 on the first go!). Watch YouTube videos with the family. Help Mr Lannis tidy kitchen. Start grocery list. Chat with Mr Lannis.
7:45 - 8:15 - Head upstairs with clean bedding and laundry. Make bed. Put summer quilt on. Put laundry away. Wash face. Say goodnight to boys (Mr Lannis is overseeing the bedtime routine). Go back downstairs to find another basket of folded laundry. Decide it won’t bite anyone if left in the living room until tomorrow. Go online and dick around on the internet until Mr Lannis comes back downstairs.
8:15 - 9:10 - Chat with Mr Lannis while he readies his bednight snack. Watch an episode of The Following. Lock doors, turn off lights. Go upstairs.
9:10 - 9:30 - Brush teeth, change into PJs. Check to ensure alarm is set for tomorrow. Read two chapters of Maggie Stievfater’s The Dream Thieves.
[Note: This post what originally published on The Mrs on November 19, 2011. Yes, we still eat these cookies. Pro Tip: if you freeze them, they last longer, because kids have difficulty opening the heavy freezer drawer...]
Some days it pays to look at the world through your kids’ eyes.
This particular, craptacular day, I picked up my kids from school. It
was dreary and cold, and as soon as the bell rang, the skies opened up
and rained all over us in that way that sinks into your core, cold
settling in your spine.
Ugh.
Once we were home, the boys raided the cookie jar (with permission). It was empty.
This is where I was surprised by my almost-six-year old, when he said
confidently, “That’s okay. Can you bake us some, please, Mom?”
Pardon, cowboy?
Bake them?
This is not to say that I am not a baker. I bake. Not too often, but me in my apron is not an unknown sight to my children.
What I realized, at this moment, was that my kids considered me to be
the kind of mom who was perfectly capable of producing cookies on demand
to brighten a rainy day.
Wow.
What I realized, immediately thereafter, was that barring having the proper ingredients on hand, there was no reason why I couldn’t produce the requested cookies.
I dug through the pantry. Lo and behold, I had the needed items. Only
enough shortening to do a half batch, but that would certainly satisfy
my rugrats.
Not long after, I had this —
In part because of this —
Pay no attention to what’s behind that bag of chocolate bigger than my
child’s head. It might be an antique radio. It might have a tape deck.
Maybe. Maybe dual tape decks, because we’re just that cool and up-to-date on techno-gear! You’re jealous, I can tell. And not just of the giant bag of chocolate chips, I know. (Wink.)
Anyhow. Also to blame for those cookies is this, the holy grail of cookbooks —
And more specifically, this recipe for chocolate chip cookies. (To which
we’ve deleted chopped nuts and added raisins and dried cranberries —
yum!)
2/3 cup shortening
2/3 cup butter or margarine, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup brown sugar (packed)
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla (I always add a touch more)
3 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (at least — but it’s your boat you’re floating!)
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup dried cranberries
Heat oven to 375F. Mix thoroughly shortening, butter, sugars, eggs, and
vanilla (this cookbook apparently doesn’t believe in the Oxford Comma.
We NEED the Oxford Comma. Hmff. Hereby abandoning “official” write up out of disgust.).
Toss in other ingredients and mix until your arm’s sore. Or it’s a sticky cookie-dough mess. Your call.
Use a teaspoon to dish cookie-sized lumps onto your ungreased baking
sheet. Sometimes I line mine with parchment paper, which, despite Mr
Lannis’ insistence, will not spontaneously ignite into flame in the oven
unless it touches the element. Trust. (I’ve had plenty of parchment
paper in the oven and nothing’s ever happened, except for that one time,
hence I know about the element...)
Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until edges are light brown. They need a few
seconds to set before you move them, and they taste much better when
cooled — that’s not just burnt mouth talking.
According to the book, this recipe makes about seven dozen cookies, but
apparently a hell of a lot fewer than that if you like big cookies or
are prone to eating raw cookie dough. (Just assuming, here.)
Quick to make, quick to bake, and quick to eat, too, unless they’re also magical vanishing cookies...
[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on July 21, 2012.]
Not gonna lie... sometimes I miss being kid-less.
Like, when grandparents take them for three days and one of my
favouritest people in the world comes over and we put on our drunky
pants and like true grownups decide to spend time reassembling Lego
figures—because what else do real adults do sans kidlets?!
And then one of the Lego figures decides to take a swim.
So... for the last, oh, six months or so our little Mya the Mango Sprout hasn't done a whole lot.
Same six leaves as the last post.
Okay, that's not true: I'm sure she's grown herself some fantabulous roots, but lord knows we haven't seen much new from her on this side of the soil.
Until now.
Yes, I've spotted a teensy tiny bud of new growth.
We has new leaves, ladies and gentlemen!
And if the speed at which she acquired the first set of six is anything like how these bad boys are about to come in, well, we'll have another four or six leaves by Christmas.
Yes, this is exciting to me.
Might be a stay-at-home mom thing: some people watch paint dry when they're bored; I watch plants grow.
Yep, it's an almost-but-not-quite-perfect implementation of this pin.
Almost-but-not-quite-perfect, but not train wreck enough to qualify for the nailed it Pinterest meme.
Boo. (Boo... Hallowe'en... heh.)
But the boys like it.
Okay, so... any guesses?
Despite the Sharpie scrawled faces, this is the Lazy Mom's contribution to the classroom Hallowe'en party.
My kids are fixated on the healthy food propaganda going around--and that's a good thing--so they were thrilled when I suggested I buy clementines and draw Jack-o-lantern faces on them instead of bake cupcakes for the class shindig.
Yes, my kids would rather mini oranges than cake.
I'm on the fence as to whether they're actually mine--Mr Lannis' for sure, as he's a health nut, but there's never a day I'll take fruit over cake... fruit AND cake, and (perhaps) we're playing ball...
But the answer to the riddle? Those're bags of laziness. Which is fine by me.
With all the other stuff I'm up to these days, taking a moment to scrawl triangle faces on clementines is less time than that needed to bake and decorate cupcakes...
And besides, it's Hallowe'en. There's going to be enough sugar floating around tonight that my hipsI don't need leftover cupcakes kicking around... heh.
Okay, so... this popped up in my Facebook newsfeed on Sunday and blew the feeble light bulb in my brain (which I just spelled brian three times... ::facepalm::).
I have been busy. Not real busy—and I abhor the current glorification of busy in our culture—but busy with projects.
I am painting the main living space of our house.
I am refinishing a 10+ piece dining set (depends on how you count the leaf) for our kitchen.
I am working on the health of our lawn, and basically keeping the house from dissolving into the grime that is apparently trying to lull us into complacency by its slow accumulation.
I am (apparently) searching for a lost cat (okay, truly? Two words: coyote fodder).
I have new daycare charges and I'm doing everything that the usual housekeeping involves (groceries, laundry, appointments, banking, baking, all items large and sundry that our small administration requires).
The "catching up" on spring cleaning (shush) is happening at such a leisurely pace that it's really just not. (Shut up: NEW BOOBS. If that's not a valid excuse I'll only have one year to milk ::snort::, well, I'm not sure what qualifies.)
My current goals of painting the living room, kitchen, and staircase, and refinishing the furniture set have a self-imposed deadline of Christmas. (I'd like them done by then. I don't expect them to be done.)
And back to the busy for a second... Yes, I have stuff I am working on. Happily none of it important enough that I don't have a handful of days to help a friend move, paint, and settle into her new place.
See, I'm busy, but with a lovely fluid flexibility that means I can do what I want to fill my days, providing I'm constantly moving.
It's wonderful.
And you know what I'm not doing?
Erm, well, blogging, for one—which is why this post exists as a weird apology-yet-not-really—and I'm not exactly writing in the non-bloggity sense, either, which isn't all that great...
(But that's okay. Shh.)
No, I'm not thinking.
It's blissful.
After two years of go go go worry go go over analyze go go get it done not enough time in the day keep going don't stop breathe breathe frustration heal breathe heal go go go don't lift goddamn go go go breathe hoop jump hoop jump heal heal heal don't lift dammit but there's stuff to do go go go catch up now go go go it all must happen at once get it dooooooonnnnne...!
After all that, I can do what I want and not think about anything in particular as I work my way through a task.
Again: bliss.
So yes, I feel I'm not on the blogging ball as much as I'd like to be of late, and I'll get back to my full spastic form, I'm sure (and I'm not even sure anyone but myself has noticed my step back at this point—such is the way of scheduled posts, the well of which shall begin to run dry, and this post is possibly a preemptive apology that is not even necessary... I smell a wager...).
Right now, though, right now? I'm enjoying just doing without restrictions for doing's sake.
[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on July 30, 2011. The sign works, folks.]
Remember when I said I can be a world-class jerk? Don’t knock on my door. Unless you know me, that is.
Solicitors, I’m talking to you.
It’s highly invasive when someone interrupts my day to promote their
Thing — even when I’m not looking after four kids, or scrubbing a
toilet, or chasing black wasps around the house because a certain
five-year-old mistook it for a mosquito eater and wanted competition for the four-year-old’s pet spider living in the bathroom (true story).
Basically, if I’m answering my door to a stranger over the age of
fifteen who is not obviously promoting a local educational or sports
endeavour, I’m defensive. Instantly so. Truly, I am a territorial beast.
Hackles rise, tension builds, my chest tightens as my snark settles at
ready...
(My apologies, but the stun setting is broken... I can’t promise it won’t be lethal.)
And we get a lot of solicitors. Plenty. Like, since our move
we’ve had our lifetime’s fair share and that of two others, kind of
plenty. When the nice weather hit, barely a day went without someone
knocking, be it for a child-sponsoring program, some spa promotion,
fencing services, knife-sharpeners, lawn care, a utility company...
(FYI: It’s highly satisfying to tell a man with a clipboard that you live in a two-year-old home and therefore are absolutely positive your hot water tank does not need replacing. They don’t like that very much.)
So imagine my face when for the third time in one day I answered
my door with a stranger on the other side. Not one, but two — this
40-something gentleman had a young man shadowing him, learning how to
barge onto people’s property and bully them into accepting whatever
not-so-necessary service they’re offering.
I, however, have not fallen victim to the horrific disease investing our
lovely nation (I’m looking at you, fellow Canadians). You know the one.
The one where we err on the side of self-deprecating courtesy and
(GASP!) have forgotten how to say no!
Me? I used to be a shy, malleable soul, but life forced me to eat some crap sandwiches and I decided not to care. Yep. This translated to learning (albeit late in life) the ability to say no.
And this is my philosophy it comes to solicitors: if I wanted your product, I’d be seeking you out, not vice versa.
Don’t worry, it’s not an excuse to be rude. In fact, Mr Lannis and I
usually have a little bit of fun with the poor souls who choose to knock
on our door (my gym rat has been known to stand shirtless and talk the
ear off uncomfortable puritan peddlers — he’s my hero!).
So yes, I answered the door — the knock that interrupted my
usually-unwilling five-year-old successfully stretching out words for a
thank you card he was writing — to find, for the third time in one day, a
solicitor. A pair, in fact.
And as it turned out, they were from the same paving company that had already visited earlier!
Whee. (Can you hear my enthusiasm? I can’t, either.)
Me [with a chipper voice]: Hey, guys. Stupid day for a walk.
Solicitor [smiling, probably assuming I’m referring to the blinding
heat, as we Canadians are wont to talk about weather]: Yes. Hi. We’re
here from [I-don’t-remember-because-you-were-jerkfaces] paving company,
and we’re doing a whack of driveways over there [he points], and the
more we have, the cheaper we can offer it, so we were wondering if you’d
like your driveway sealed?
Me [shocked to realize it’s a repeat, yet relieved for the easy out]:
Ah, someone was here this morning. Don’t think so. But thanks anyway.
Him: Oh, well, I’m just making the rounds, so I thought I could talk to you about it.
Me [flat tone]: Clearly.
Him [probably noticing the tone, therefore jumping onto concrete facts]:
Well, Miss, I see you’ve got a lot of chalk on your driveway. It dries
it out a lot. It should really be done.
Me [I had to give it to him for the recon
— the subdivision he’d indicated was in the opposite direction, and
he’d had to walk around the side of our house to see the chalk-slashed
driveway.]: Nope, that’s okay.
Him: It really is dry.
Me: Well, if it needs to be done, I’m sure we can do it cheaper
ourselves. [Mr Lannis has used bucket sealant and elbow grease in the
past.]
Him: Oh, see, our technique is far better. We use hot... [blah blah — I
stopped listening to him here. It seemed fair, since he’d obviously
stopped listening to me.]
Me: Nope, that’s okay.
Him [smiling in what I’m sure he thinks is a disarming manner]: Perhaps I should come back when your husband is home?
Yes, folks, he actually said that. So picture me, eyes widening, brain wheeling in mad panic as I attempt to remember being transported to the 1940s, and figure out how to claw my way back to 2011 before Mr Lannis barbeques dinner!
My broken verbal filter shuddered to life before I could snap something
truly inappropriate about people who don’t listen to the word ‘no.’
Epically inappropriate. A friend of mine told me I should have said,
“it’s okay, I am the husband,” and see what happened next.
Instead, I grinned: Nope, it’s cool. I have clearance for executive decisions.
He didn’t see the humour in the comment, but his younger cohort snorted a laugh.
So, jerk-muscle flexing, I added: Look, buddy [because unless you’re
under twelve years of age, ‘buddy’ is my passive-aggressive term for
idiots]. The only way your company will be sealing our driveway is if
you offer to do it for free.
Him [shocked]: All right then, thanks for your time.
Me: Yep.
I closed the door, and my brain exploded! Seriously. It chanted: the invasion is coming. The invasion is coming...
Our new town is fairly small, and — with creative geography — could possibly be considered the suburbs. As I said, we get a lot of solicitors. But three in one day?! Two from the same company?! And the last not knowing the meaning of the word “no?!”
I. Can’t. Handle. This. Time for signage!
I assumed Mr Lannis would give me a 24 hour pass until my mental
stability regained its footing, then remove my sign — which was a cheery
after-work surprise for him. The kind that prompts raised brows and
that head shake that means he doesn’t want to know what provoked it.
Usually, Mr Lannis errs on the side of invisible social conformity. He likes to blend. Some days I’m baffled why he’s with me, because I gave up blending years ago. Usually, a saucy sign would be removed promptly, lest our house be egged by local teens.
(To which I would remind him that I get along well with teenagers. Something something mindset something...)
And yes, this is really on our front door. If solicitors knock,
they either have a healthy sense of humour, or are duly warned and
better be braced for what’s coming...
And so far, it’s working. Three weeks and not one solicitor yet. Ha!
(For the record, it’s open season on telemarketers, too.)
We are not a perfect household, here at Chez Lannis.
Despite my stay-at-home-mom-ness, our house is organized chaos.
Between the boys’ schooling, running the household (meals, groceries, laundry, housework, pets), administrative tasks (bill paying, money-managing, tax prepping, and everything else), family appointments (doctors, dentists, specialists, physio, massage therapy, and more), family management (keeping the boys responsible for themselves, their chores, their belongings, and just plain parenting), costuming (which turns the house into a hot mess all on its own), as well as extracurriculars (Mr Lannis’ karate and working out), um... I’m not sure how anything really gets done...
We don’t socialize a ton—I’m perpetually wishing I had more free time and less geography between myself and my friends.
And in there, somewhere, I’m supposed to be writing... ::snort::
And our kids don’t have any extracurricular commitments (yet—aside from swimming lessons for three weeks in the summer). HOW DO PEOPLE DO IT?!
Yes, those people with two working parents, kids in hockey (or what have you), and 18 different places to be every hour—THOSE people?!
What’s your secret? (Is it speed? Because I'm not into that, and it'd explain a lot.) Because really...? I got nothin’...
And that’s all before homework!
My point?—because there is one, I swear—Mr Lannis and I share the philosophy that in order for our children to learn that education is important, we must show them it’s a priority. We must support the groundwork our kids’ teachers have set, and not leave the onus of their education on the school system alone.
In short: if there’s homework or practice to be done, as parents we need to make it a priority to get it done.
(Aside: I’m not picking a fight here about the Ontario school system, I’m discussing our family philosophy on education—that for children to get the most of what is offered to them, the parents must then support what is learned in the classroom. And I’m not talking big sweeping enrichment programs, either... if your kid is sent home with a book to read, bloody well read it! That’s all.)
Anyhow. We were struggling to make time for schoolwork. We, here, at Chez Lannis, with a kindergartener and a grade two student, were consistently dropping the ball on Snuggle Up and Read books, on extra math practice, on printing pages...
We, who had a stay-at-home-mom who, lord knows, in all the world’s opinion has NOTHING to do (ha!), could not make time to get around to schoolwork at the end of the day. (Mr Lannis got the pass, naturally, since working out, karate, and shift work—with its asinine mandatory overtime—ate his days away.)
And where’s the appeal? Here’s two burnt out kids who simply want to have dinner, play a bit, (maybe) have a bath, hear a story, and go to bed...
(Note: no TV mentioned because they don’t watch TV or play the Wii unless it’s the weekend—or a rainy day. They get suckered in the wintertime—ha!)
I didn’t want to disturb them, haul them away from Lego and force them to read... Yeah, because THAT sounds like a desirable task... Clearly, burnt out, exhausted children are highly amenable and receptive to the idea of abandoning what they want to do in order to opt for homework... and with that mindset they’ll learn a lot, too! Pfft...
So. Stacked with an empty reading log and a boy in grade two who desperately needed to catch up to his peers, I sat down with him and proposed theReadathon.
Yes.
The Readathon.
It’s where one day of the weekend, we drop everything on the hour, every hour, for eight hours in a row and read.
One book. At the top of the hour. And then we get to go back to whatever we’re doing until it’s time to stop again...
But the rules state: whatever we’re doing, we MUST stop.
And at the end of the day there’s a prize.
A Kinder egg, a Lego minifigure, something we’ve picked up previously at the dollar store to act as the day’s incentive...
Is it bribery? I read recently that the difference between bribery and reward is that bribery is luring someone to perform an illegal act, whereas reward is incentive to do something positive. So no, I’m not going to beat myself silly with guilt about bribing my kid to practice reading.
Besides, it works.
And the boys were so thrilled to have power.
Yes, power.
It didn’t take long before they learned to watch that clock and took delight in announcing it was time for Mr Lannis and I to drop whatever it was we were doing (cooking, cleaning, mowing the lawn) to hear them read.
They loved it. The attention. The short burst of focus. The ability to disappear back to their chosen activity immediately afterwards.
And of course: the reward.
They even asked to have another Readathon! Many, by now—we’ve been doing this since the beginning of the school year, in various reincarnations. Readathon, Math-athon, School-athon (any practice schoolwork—printing, spelling, math, social studies, science—or combination thereof).
Sure, it's a commitment... it's a day set aside where you read, read, read (or substitute another educational activity). But it makes up for all the missed evenings of homework, and your kids learn that school is important. We have a Readathon (or School-athon) about once or twice a month now... if there's a long weekend we'll fit one in.
We’ve since seen a lot of improvement in the boys’ reading levels. Our oldest has caught up and exceeded his peers. He won a book at school for being in the top five kids in his class for books read on his reading log, and is now reading well into the next grade level. Our youngest, the kindergartener, is well beyond the expected reading level for beginning grade one.
The best part? Our oldest has been bit by the reading bug—he figures he’s unlocked the secret code to understanding everything around him, and he lights up with the pleasure of being in the club. You know, the one where you get to spell words to others if you’re trying to hide something from a non-speller/reader...
(Yeah, Mr Lannis and I? We’re screwed.)
That nugget of confidence has had a huge impact on a kid with anxiety. The world is a less scary place when you can read street signs, or can delve into books and disappear.
When you have the ability to read directions and learn on your own, well, that's power in and of itself. And for a kid with anxiety, having the power to help yourself can be pretty freaking important...
[Note: This post was originally published under the title "The Commandments of Lannis" on The Mrs on June 7, 2011. And I still mean every word.]
I. Don’t. Care.
No, seriously. I’ve come to realize lately — lately being within the last year and a half, give or take — that I. Don’t. Care.
About a lot of things. My life (read: sanity) depends on my lack of ability to contain concern for every little thing, or even more accurately: worry about what other people think.
Sorry to break it to you, folks. It’s not you, it’s me. Seriously. That’s not a line, either.
Not that I mean to take this post into a dark, brooding, philosophical realm or anything (because trust me, this stems from deep, deep in my psyche at this point), but I think you can all relate to this, on some level.
And so, I’ve decided to write a manifesto. Hopefully The Mrs won’t mind me using her space to proclaim myself... actually, I think she probably follows some of this manifesto’s ideals, too...
The Commandments of Not Caring:
I will not care what my children are wearing, provided they are warm, dry, comfortable and suitably dressed for the weather. So what if it’s on backwards and maybe inside out? How is the person standing behind them going to see the pirate on their shirt if it’s on properly?
I will not care if I shame other adults with my approachability; I will err on the side of teaching, and not on the side of ignorance. I will explain to my kids that everyone’s legs work differently, and that some people have to use wheelchairs, and it’s okay to ask how fast they can go, and to not ignore those on wheels by necessity — especially if it’s a funky hand bike built for speed. (In fact, all those with funky hand bikes should be approached to discuss speed simply by principle!)
I will not care what other parents think. As long as I am looking out for my child’s personal safety, and mental and physical well-being, I will not care if I look crazy in my flip flops, PJ pants, and tank top that shows my bra straps, as I hang upside-down on the monkey-bars at the park, showing my five-year-old how to hook his ankles into the bars. I am not too cool to get involved.
I will not care if I sound like I’m bugnuts, when I’m at the stoplight with the windows open, singing kids’ songs along to a CD at the top of my lungs, apparently alone, since no one can see my children shielded by tint. Yes, the lyrics to Bananaphone will forever be housed within my skull.
I will not care if my house is a mess, or the yard full of colourful clutter, so long as both are full of laughter, as well as toys, then my daily chores are done.
I will not care if something is torn, broken, spilled, marked, lost, or otherwise in shambles as long as no one is physically injured. I will remember that sometimes the solution to bruised feelings is lack of drama. (And it doesn’t hurt to have photos of favourite things to remember the way they used to be...)
I will not care if my child’s face is covered in food — okay, I will attempt to clean it, if I remember — but I won’t stress if we’re caught at WalMart before I realize I haven’t wiped jam off his chin. We’re lucky to be able to fill our bellies, and have much to be grateful for, regardless of how we appear to others.
I will not care if I’m in ratty sweats for the third day in a row and you pop by for a visit unannounced, nor will I send you away, because you’re here to see me, not my clothes, nor my messy kitchen. Besides, there’s always a spot clear for the teapot.
I will not care about opinions that hurt my self-esteem, or that of my children, and I will shelter them best I can from the aforementioned words. And my children will grow up knowing that just because you can do or say something doesn’t mean you should.
I will not care what the world thinks, as long as I am doing my best, and what I feel is best for my family. Nor will I explain my choices to every ignorant soul who crosses my path and feels they can parent better than I, especially those who have never cared for a child. (Anyone who thinks they are an expert when they have never stepped, sleepless, into the trenches needs to wade through their own weight in vomit before I do more than listen politely to their advice.)
I will not care, nor apologize, for doing my best, for trusting my judgement, or for listening to my intuition — especially if the person making me feel guilty is my own self.
I will not care if adults choose to be cool to me, because the cup of my personality sometimes overflows. And my children will learn that a smile and a good natured, self-deprecating jest will at worst make the world feel a less lonely place, and at best spark friendships from unlikely sources.
I will not care if you’re big, little, curly, glow-in-the-dark, or upside down, as long as you treat me with respect, I will do the same to you.
I will not care if I hear from you today, but not tomorrow, or if busy lives keep us separated for years before we speak again. I will not care, but when we reconnect, we will gush and laugh as if no time has passed, for you are my friend.
Here’s a blatantly voyeuristic post about my fridge.
Yep. Once upon a time we’d occasionally empty our fridges for public consumption at The Mrs blog, and I’ve decided it’s easy post fodder a good idea to revisit.
So here it is, my fridge, jam packed and disgusting sorely in need of help:
Why, yes, those are feather boas in a bag on top of our fridge. Where do you keep your boas?
And here’s all the stuff that was jammed into it, now scattered on the table:
Yes, that is one lonely potato.
Here’s our dairy section, simply because it was a highlight the last time I did this, so I’m highlighting it again. Please note we haven’t been to Costco lately, so our wall of stock of yogurt is running low:
Those cartons? Egg whites. Yes. Mr Lannis goes through a lot of egg whites.
And because it’s a bizarre concept for some Americans to grasp, a closer look at our (yes!) bagged milk...
Yep. Milk. In a bag. BEHOLD!
Admit it Americans... you find it fascinating! How it doesn't spill out everywhere is a Canadian secret (sorry).
And lastly, the fridge... behold the cleanliness!
Erm. Yes, it looks rather similar to the original pic... and I swear my fridge is straight, in real life...
Today, for the very first time, after months and months of hemming and hawing and reasons why the timing isn't perfect, and despite the very real fact that I'm not allowed to get sick right now, I am... (ready? this is B.I.G... big...):
Volunteering in my son's class this morning.
Yes. I know. Me.
Me. Who, despite appearances and evidence to the contrary, is NOT A JOINER.
Me. Who, for all intents and purposes, could win awards for her impression of a hermit on just about any given day.
Me. Who covets her rare days when both boys are in school for housework, errands, writing, appointments, costuming, reading, napping, and dicking around on the Internet... (any and all of the above, really...).
Why? Why am I giving up this blessed peace?
Well, it's rather simple: it means so much to him.
And I believe in the power of hand sanitizer.
[Bonus funny: my niece calls it hanitizer... get it? Hand sanitizer = hanitizer? Hi, Mar Mar! Love you, my sweet girlie!]
Once upon a time back at The Mrs blog, we used to do this thing every once in a while where we'd document our day just because.
Okay, maybe not just because so much as we're total sickos who get off on a weird voyeuristic level by analysing the pieces that make up someone else's whole when it comes to filling their day. Whatever. Own it, I say.
And let's face it, when you're a stay at home mom, it's nice to document your hours just to remember you actually do something with them...
So here's my donation up for perusal...
May 9th 2013
6:42 - Wake up, shower, wash hair (this only happens twice a week, so yes, it’s notable. Uh... showers happen more often, though).
6:55 - Dress, wash face, brush teeth, make bed, open windows in master bedroom and bathroom. Lament that it’s rained, as there’s a perfectly decent load of laundry (the only one for today!) sitting in the washer ready to hang on the (newly rebuilt) triple clotheslines...
7:10 - Open windows in R’s (7.5 y/o) room, grab clothes for him for school. Head downstairs (he’s already playing Lego). Put water on for tea, make R’s lunch, set out juice for boys, make toast for R and myself.
7:20 - L (6 y/o) comes downstairs, begins talking about how the cats have sucked out all the heat from the air while we’re asleep because that’s what cats do. Um. Sure, kid. Send him upstairs for his housecoat (as clearly he’s finding it rather crisp this morning—it’s 18c/64F in here, but the sliding door is open in the hopes that the cats use their catdoor and it’s 13c/55F outside and creeping in...)
7:25 - Find grocery list and begin adding to it. Eat toast.
7:30 - Get online. Start writing this list. Check weather. It’s supposed to rain for the next three days?! ::headdesk:: Decide to wait until after groceries to see how the day is going and then maybe put laundry on the line...
7:39 - Gather L’s clothes for the day, tell him to get dressed. Get tea. Bargain with L as to what Wii games he is allowed to play today if it’s raining (Mario Party 9, MarioKart, and Just Dance are his options, though he’s currently addicted to Lego Batman—it makes me motion sick, so no, not when I’m kicking around). Remind L he’s getting dressed.
7:44 - Check email and blog. Remind L he’s to be getting dressed. Lament the number of blog posts begun and abandoned...
7:51 - Wander online. Discover favourite snobby sweater is now back in stock in the colour I was coveting. Oops, it fell into the virtual cart. (For the record, it’s a joint birthday/Mother’s Day gift already discussed with Mr Lannis.) Ooh... that book looks good. Uh ho, it jumped into the virtual cart, too! (No pre-purchase discussion here... heh. Hiding books is one of my superpowers. Shh...)
7:54 - Remind L he’s getting dressed. Celebrate Moghedien’s decision to finally use the cat door I installed in the screen two days earlier. Check Facebook news feed.
8:08 - Oh! Look! L’s finally dressed!
8:10 - Referee kidlets. Drink tea. Pin interesting shit on Pinterest. Dick around on FB (HOLY STUFF, BATMAN! Lego’s coming out with a Steampunk line! Steampunk Lego?! ::dies::)
8:30 - Referee kidlets. (Regardless of what you say, yes, your brother is allowed to use more than just the blue Legos. Stop making arbitrary rules to piss each other off!) Remind boys they’ll have to tidy up soon. Browse Twitter. Fall down a link hole and wander through the clickity-clicks...
8:40 - More tea. Read blogs. (This is my “relaxing” morning time, where I've finished a handful of kid-management chores and am waiting to take them to school.)
8:42 - Prompt kidlets to empty dishwasher. Referee kidlets (Stop arguing over which racks you're unloading! Just doooo eeeet!).
8:50 - Tell kidlets to tidy up. Remember to post the link to the blog post that went live almost an hour ago (whoops?).
8:55 - Interrupt kidlets tidying up to talk about the new Steampunk Lego. BECAUSE STEAMPUNK LEGO, YOU GUYS!
8:58 - Start mental To Do list. Have ADD kick in. Open document from last night and Google which phase is the resting phase of mitosis, because while my university biology has gotten me as far as remembering the terms for the different stages, I can't remembered what each phase does. That course was, what, $900? Clearly well spent. (In my defense, it was over ten years ago, and fulfilled the "general education" requirements of my bachelor's degree. Fascinating shit, too, which is probably the only reason my brain retains the word "telophase" at all... um, or that I managed to make even one of the three 9:30am lectures each week for eight months of the year. I think it goes unsaid that that Friday morning class was a joke for everyone. Heh.)
9:02 - Remind L to put marbles in his jar for emptying dishwasher. Remind kidlets to tidy up.
9:10 - Have R put lunch bag and agenda into his backpack and have boys get shoes and sweaters on for school.
9:12 - 9:35 - Get in van. Wait for boys to buckle up. Drive to school, park. Walk R to edge of yard. Drive to Tim Hortons for a mocha. Drive to Walmart (ugh). Park, wait in the van so L can listen to “his new favourite song” as it plays on the radio (who am I to deny the simple joys in life?).
9:35 - 11:27 - Lament spilling mocha on sleeve of current snobby sweater (this is why I can’t have nice things!). Pick up groceries and household items, argue entire time that L looks as if he needs to pee (he insists he doesn’t he’s simply wearing his dancey pants), only to have him exclaim at the checkout that “it’s almost an emergency!” (GAH!) Checkout, park full cart at Customer Service and take L to washroom. Walk to van and load groceries. Drive home. Hold discussion with L on ride home about how Adele’s song Rumour Has It sounds as if background singers are singing, “booger” instead of “rumour”. Reach house, have L pull recycling and green bins back into the garage (for marbles). Unload van. Put away groceries/new items. Make tea. Call two landscaping companies and leave messages to arrange appointment for quote (want front walkway redone). Crumble and switch load in washer to dryer and start it (it’s been light rain all morning). Scrub sleeve of snobby sweater with stain remover. Add sphagnum moss to the mango sprout’s new pot. Turn on laptop. read a bit of Kiss Chronicles while waiting for laptop to boot up. Mess around on FB. Update this list...
11:27 - Read this post by Sandi. Open glue stick for L.
11:33 - Listen to L describe his new craft. Listen to him dictate what he wants for lunch. Make tea. Make lunch for L (blueberry jam sandwich on brown bread, and orange slices). Remember I was supposed to buy orange marmalade because R has switched his morning toast-topper. Oops.
11:45 - Sit down for lunch. Salad: iceberg lettuce and mixed baby greens, shredded mozza cheese, dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, peanuts, and crunchy chow mein noodles topped with my second favourite dressing (Renee’s Asian Sesame). Because I forgot to buy my favourite dressing (Renee’s Balsamic) and strawberries (swap the chow mein noodles and peanuts for strawberries and it’s a completely different salad... both are delicious). Orange slices for dessert. Read more online while eating.
I swear it's tastier than it looks.
11:57 - Update this list. Begin composing blog post on Blogger (instead of simply a document file on my desktop). Add pertinent links, etc. Remember to (finally!) donate to Kiss Chronicles.
12:38 - Lunch break is over. Listen to L read.
12:41 - Time to start cleaning out the fridge (yes, if you’re keeping track, I brought home groceries this morning. Not exactly the order I’d recommend for these two activities, but then again, I am a doofus lesson. Learn from me). Put away dishes drying in sink, clear and wipe counter and table, load dishwasher. Scrub sink clean and fill with water for washing fridge shelves.
1:25pm - Fridge clean out is interrupted by phone appointment I’d forgotten about (oops). Toss cheese, milk, eggs, and yogurt back in the fridge, quick! (Erm... possibly late.)
1:52 - Phone appointment over. Start Mario Party 9 for L (there’s a lot of reading involved, it’s actually not bad practice for him, all things considered...) Continue washing the fridge.
2:30 - Finish putting everything away—the fridge is all clean! Whip up a quick post about it. Help L read words in his game.
2:52 - Sneak outside (it’s sunny now, OF COURSE! especially since the laundry is sitting in the dryer, DRY! ::headdesk::) and nail garden decorations back onto the fence—they’d been removed the other day while reorganizing our backyard gardens.
3pm - Recover from ADD and finish writing and scheduling fridge clean out post. Check bank accounts online and make mental notes about bills to be paid on pay day. Tell L to get himself a snack (granola bar) from the cupboard.
3:15 - Begin cutting veggies for dinner. Decided on stir fry. Tell L it’s 15 minutes until we need to leave to pick up kids from school.
3:30 - 4:45 - Walk with L to pick up the kids from school (including after school care charges). Walk home. Get mail. Get kids to pull our neighbours’ recycling and green bins up to their garage. Get in the house, have them wash their hands. Talk to R about the school’s book fair, allow him to access his piggy bank money for a book fair purchase. Toss the kids into the backyard and give them freezies. Eat a cheese string. Update this list. Referee kids with pool noodle light sabers (Not in the face!)
4:45 - Begin making dinner (chicken stir-fry). Referee kids outside. (You can't boss someone into playing with you.)
5pm - Mr Lannis comes home. Have him hand books out to the four kids outside (GAH! Why can’t they occupy themselves?!). Put on rice to go with stir-fry. Have R come in and practice spelling words. Discuss day with Mr Lannis.
5:25 - Sit down and update this list.
5:30 - Call the kids in to wash their hands. Dish out plates of stir-fry and rice for them. Grab plates for Mr Lannis and I. Sit out on the back step in the sunshine to chat and eat, while the kids eat at the table.
6pm - Clean kitchen. Sit down with Mr Lannis to go over property prices online and compare with our own house. Talk about possible upgrades and renovations.
6:30 - Sweep floor. Referee kids (why are we hiding each other’s Lego men?!). Have them tidy up the toy area. Fold laundry from dryer.
7pm - Send four kidlets outside to play in the backyard. Chat with Mr Lannis about how our new hot water tank is set at the hottest possible and is not hot enough. Google Chef Ramsay memes to share with Mr Lannis (he’s not online much and got a kick out of it. My favourite is here.).
7:07 - Plan to fertilize lawn this evening once after school care kids are picked up.
7:10 - Update this list. Read this article and be shocked that a racist tradition is still alive and well in a Georgia small town. (Seriously?! And thanks again for sharing, Uno!)
7:15 - Update the blog post for this list, including links.
7:21 - Go to garage and organize fertilizer gear. Tell kids to tidy up the backyard.
7:25 - After school care kids' parent shows up for pickup.
7:30 - Go to basement to discover Mr Lannis on the phone with the hot water heater company to get to the bottom of the not hot enough problem.
7:35 - Send boys upstairs to put on PJs and begin getting ready for bed. Discover Mr Lannis has set up service appointment for hot water heater for Monday (good).
7:35 - 8:14 - Fertilize lawn while listening to Audible'sThe Three Musketeers on the Kindle. Come in, change clothes, wash hands, wash face for bedtime. Wash feet (dirty feet on clean sheets makes me bugnuts). Say goodnight to boys—Mr Lannis has handled their bedtime.
Remember this? Yeah. It's still costuming season here at Chez Lannis.
The JordanCon costume is still going, and thankfully, my hands are mostly healed.
So here's a sneak peek:
Yes, it needs ironing. I'm acutely aware of this.
These violets? They take an average of 12-15 minutes each to bead... by the time I'm finished this year's costume, it'll be 183 flowers, over 5500 beads, and over 45 hours just hand-beading.
Yeah. It's a toss up between "lessons in patience" and "definition of insanity."
Regardless of which term wins, I'm pretty sure I'm the loser. Or at least the crazy person.
Especially since I have 36 violets left to go, and the handy dandy JordanCon widget keeps reminding me I have 23 days in which to finish these bad boys...
(Violets as bad boys. Heh.)
Where do I find the time? Well, that's part of being a spoiled princess—this would be that one thing I do just for me.
And well, I'm sure it comes as no surprise that Canada has a looong winter...
March break... she is done. Yes, today the kidlets go back to school, and I get to enjoy a string of uninterrupted hours cleaning the house without distraction.
Which is fabulous, because I swear there's a correlation between consecutive days off school and the how rough the kidlets play... they beat the crappit out of each other, but when I tell them to stop they insist it's fun.
(I'm becoming more and more convinced that ovaries hold all common sense...)
Other than that, March break was... long. We did some running around, did some socializing, got some costuming done, discovered Hamster had to leave us...
Did you know it costs $50 to euthanize a hamster in this town?!
He had a tumor between his forepaws and the poor jerk (shut up, he was jerk. I explained it all here) was walking like he'd had a beach ball strapped to his chest, and had stopped eating and drinking.
But it's par for the course, really... hamsters live 2-3 years, and his second birthday was on March 10th. (Yes, we celebrated. Who doesn't mark the calendar for their hamster's birthday? Pfft... he totally appreciated his extra chews and the rendition of "Happy Birthday" disturbing his daily slumber sung mid-afternoon).
Sorry, dude. You had a good run for a rodent.
Believe it or not, you'll be missed. (Antisocial bastard.)
Anyhow. Agonized over the decision on that one, because (let's face it) it's a $13 hamster and a $50 vet bill. I'd be lying if I said Mr Lannis didn't consider quick and humane "creative alternatives." Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of time to ruminate on said alternatives, as he was clearly done... (this holds true for both Hamster and Mr Lannis...)
When it gets down to the nitty gritty, though, I'd rather neither one of them suffer...
In other news, my apologies, as on Friday I discovered the Disqus comment system I'd installed was holding out on me, and when I went to tinker with it so it wouldn't behave so inanely in the future, I accidentally dumped all the comment love my readers had left... (thank you, Disqus! But thank you more, people who actually read my dribble!)
To recap: Disqus is the douchebag responsible, I just work here.
There’s heavy wet flakes coming down, the temperature is hovering around the freezing mark, and the roads are sloppy because of it.
I get that it’s a snow day. I get that it’s a right of passage for Canadian kids to enjoy this day.
(Aside: I love Rick Mercer’s rant about the snow day.)
The thing is, I send my kids to school. Unless I absolutely must avoid doing so, they GO.
We live within walking distance, so I don’t consider attendance an option—if the buses are canceled, it means nothing to walkers.
Some people might assume this is because I use the school as free daycare.
Well, I’m a stay at home mom, and my youngest goes to school only part time. So guess what? I don’t get 40 hours a week without kids underfoot. Not saying I want to go to work (the life of a spoiled princess treats me well, thankyouverymuch), it’s that if I have an appointment, there are only certain days when I can be absolutely sure that I won’t have kids with me... Mondays, Wednesdays, every other Friday—but that’s only if the Friday isn’t a Professional Activity Day for the teachers, and the Monday isn’t a statutory holiday.
So I get Wednesdays. Wednesdays, without a doubt, are the only day of the week I can schedule an appointment and know for certain that I won’t have a tag along...
And today is Wednesday. And a snow day. And an appointment.
So yes, today, it could be argued that I am using the school as daycare.
But I have my other reasons, too.
When I was young, I was a bus student. My mother was a teacher. We were NEVER allowed to stay home on snow days. She would drive us to school, and pick us up on her way home. Unless our father was off work, until we were old enough to stay home alone that was the way it went.
But I loved snow days!
Snow days are exceptionally fun days at school. They’re more exciting than substitute teachers, because even though substitute teachers mean a mental break from the everyday (regardless of the fact that the curriculum is still covered), snow days mean anything goes.
I even loved snow days in high school (gasp!).
Want to know why? Because I got to spend the entire day doing whatever I wanted!
Yes, if I wanted to hang out in the art room and do nothing, I could.
If I became a fixture in the library’s reading room, it was fine.
If all I wanted to do was sit in the cafeteria playing cards with my friends, nobody cared.
And because I was a good kid (read: boring as plain toast, but generally likable), the teachers didn’t mind if I was kicking around. In fact, I was probably helpful. I was that teenager who could actually carry on conversations with adults and enjoy it.
I was weird. I’ll own it.
But here’s what I hope my kids are learning today. Today, on this snow day...
I hope my oldest (the one with mild anxiety) is learning that school is fun. His reflexive response to school is a negative one, and if snow days give him warm fuzzies and remind him that school is a great place, I’m happy.
He’s also not incredibly social—I was shy when I was his age, too—so if today he gets an extra chance to talk to his peers, and play with his friends, and oh, hell, just smile more, I’m thrilled.
Because right now? On this day? When I checked the school board’s website and announced the buses were canceled, my boys’ eyes lit up and they began dancing around the living room.
Not because it meant they got to stay home from school. No, not that.
Because it meant adventure, surprise, and who knows what’s in store?!
School as a positive. THAT’S what I want them to learn today.
The snow day. Who knew it was good for a school's PR?
