Long Time, No Post!

Hello folks!

I'm still writing...just posting everything at a different spot. If you'd like to catch up on Past Deadline, visit www.sgraycomm.wordpress.com - it's all up to date!

Past Deadline: Mid-Year Progress Report

Here is Past Deadline from the July 11/13 issue of The Perth Courier.
Mid-year progress report
 I am famous for making self-improvement pledges/resolutions that often fall by the wayside. You may recall such classics as: 1. I am going to get up early and exercise! 2. I am going to eat less! 3. I am going to exercise more!
Gah. A resolution that wasn’t on the list this year was: “Replace entire wardrobe with clothes that fit!” Perhaps I should add that so I can feel as if I have accomplished something.
Anyway…something that has been working out a bit better despite Mother Nature’s best efforts to “dampen our spirits” is a resolution to spend more time outside with the kids.
This resolution has morphed a little, though, to combine with another one that was contemplated but unspoken. It may sound a bit odd coming from someone who works from home, but I want to try to spend more quality time with the kids.
I’ve long gotten over the fact that working from home automatically means I will be a Domestic Diva and Super Mom. (Ha.) My house is definitely not the cleanest on the block. In fact, I think that being here most of the time actually turns me off of making things spotless.
I can live with that. (Sort of.) Something that truly bugs me, though, is that even though I have excelled at seeing the kids off to school in the morning and greeting them when they come home, sometimes I am not really “here.”
Computer games and the TV have been babysitters over the years whilst I slave away at work deadlines in the home office. While I know there is value to having been physically here for them, it hasn’t always been quality time.
Summer is here. (It is. Really. Don’t let the monsoon rains fool you.) Yes, there will be times when I have to tune out the kids and get some work done, but I’ve got to make time to do fun stuff.
When the kids were babies, I worked weird hours – e.g., when they were sleeping. Chopping up my day so that we can spend time at the beach or on a hike or playing badminton or going to the playground or traipsing around in swamps isn’t far-fetched.
It has become increasingly clear over the years that, sometimes, kids don’t know how to play the way my generation did. With all those screen temptations, why bother going outside? So, I’ll continue to teach them.
We have a provincial park annual pass for day use – look out, Murphys Point, here we come!

At Hogg Bay Beach, Murphys Point.

Once exception to the “outside” rule is the Perth indoor pool. There is public swimming Monday through Saturday from 1 to 3 p.m. (free on Wednesdays thanks to Tim Hortons and Saturdays thanks to the Perth Fire Fighters Association). The kids and I went for our first summer excursion last Friday.
It was great. The day camp kids were there so Girlchild knew a whole pile of girls. They were having a blast – there was music and they were singing and even dancing – great entertainment at a low price!
Aside from the day camp counsellors and lifeguards, I was the only “adult” in the pool. My kids can both swim and they immediately migrated towards their friends, so they didn’t really “need” me there.
No matter. I did scissor kicks for a straight hour! (Exercise! Yes!) I enjoyed the music. I could definitely make a habit of this – and the kids had fun.
Time is marching on. The kids are growing up so fast. It’s never too late for quality time.
Next stop: the swamp!

Past Deadline: Which Way to the Beath?

Here is Past Deadline from the June 20/13 issue of The Perth Courier.
Which way to the beach?
 As I write this, there are 10 more sleeps until the kids’ last day of school.
Gulp.
I mean, “Yaaaay!”
(No…I really mean gulp.)
There are lots of things to love about summer, such as the warm days (or, in our case, the memory of such things because spring certainly hasn’t set the stage), the ability to sleep in a few minutes later (for those people who aren’t waging a hideous war with their alarm clocks in some ridiculous effort to trick their brains into thinking they should get up earlier and exercise) and…hmm. What was I talking about?
Oh, yes. I am desperately seeking the silver lining for the kids being home for the summer. Er…I mean…I am listing the top-of-mind happy reasons why I am totally psyched, as a work-at-home mom, for the kids to be around me 24-7 for a couple of months.
Right. So I think I left off at the part where I don’t have to make bagged lunches every night. Yesssssss! Seems like a simple thing but, man, I get tired of that job, and I know the kids get tired of eating what I pack as my imagination wanes for lunch ideas in the dying days of the school year.
And, of course, there’s vacation to look forward to – that week or two when the whole family traipses off on some sort of awesome adventure and Mom gets a total break from domestic drudgery. I mean, except for the packing. And, if a cottage is involved, the meal prep. Oh, and the avalanche of laundry when it’s all over.
But it’s totally worth it!
What else…what else…. Oh, yes! The promises! Each summer I make a mental note – and even sometimes commit it to paper – about all the cool little things I’ll do to make summer vacation more fun for the kids. You know, such as trips to the beach at Murphys Point or to actually take our canoe out on the Tay or go fishing or hiking or walking or biking. We’ll play more games and fly kites.

Murphys Point Provincial Park. S. Gray photo

Did I mention I have flexible hours – but that I work all summer?
Maybe I’ll put a little note at the end of the list – whether it’s a mental or paper one – to try not to feel the usual guilt when September rolls around and I realize all the things we didn’t get around to doing.
Time really does fly and it’s hard to catch – even with a bug net.
The silly thing is, every year the same thing happens. I dive into summer with grand plans, and end it saying I have to do things differently next year. The thing is, each year the kids are another year older, so a strategy that might have worked last year may not apply this year.
What I need is a plan.
Clearly I must win the lottery. Obviously this would solve all of the above issues. Without the need to work, the kids and I could hang out at the beach and/or fly kites and go fishing whenever we want. In fact, we could just purchase a “summer home” and be done with the whole commuting to a lake issue. This is the way to go.
If I don’t win the lottery for some reason (e.g. never buying tickets), then the obvious answer is to get up earlier. I’ll get my work done at the crack of dawn and free up time later in the day for the beach.
Yes! It’s a good plan!
(At this rate I will be getting up for the day at 3 a.m. Pass the coffee, please.)

Past Deadline: Looking for Meta Bolism and Will Power

Here’s Past Deadline from the June 6/13 issue of The Perth Courier:

Looking for Meta Bolism and Will Power
Once the weather started warming up, I hauled out my summer duds.
Something went terribly wrong.
Some capris didn’t seem to fit as well as they did last year. The blue ones were a little tight. So were the beige ones. And…oh dear.
I couldn’t even blame the new washing machine since those clothes had not yet been introduced to it.
No, I knew exactly who to blame: Groom-boy.
Okay. Not Groom-boy. Just because he does the vast majority of the grocery shopping for the household doesn’t mean I have to reciprocate by eating the vast majority of it.
What it boils down to is a combination of long-time bad habits and a lengthy winter of sitting and eating, during which time my dear friend Meta Bolism packed up and left town. I will have to get moving – and I mean really moving – to recover this friend. While I’m at it, I should look for Meta’s crony, Will Power.
Will Power used to stand beside me and convince me not to snack so much – a mental hand slapper. I’m pretty good at leaving junk food in a store, but not so good at ignoring it if it’s in the house. Or on my plate.
I’ve thought a lot about how to incorporate more exercise into my schedule. Very recently it occurred to me the time I seem to have the most control over is early in the morning. (You know, when I am sleeping.)
Eureka! I should take advantage of this! (As if this is the first time I have ever had this thought.)
I wish I could tell you I love getting up early and that this Grand Plan is not doomed to failure. I am MUCH better at staying up late and getting things done, but exercising too close to bedtime wakes me up, which means I don’t sleep well, which is bad news for everyone near me the next day.
So, the Grand Plan was to work on going to bed a tiny bit earlier each night and waking up a wee smidge sooner – a process stretching over several weeks until voila! I have enough time to do some exercise before the work day starts.
Such a good, logical plan, but why is it so hard to implement? Probably because the routine has been around for a kazillion years or so.
Anyway, baby steps have been taken and minutes are being won incrementally, but it’s hard to prevent pessimism from overtaking this contest.
And then I went away on a conference.
I love conferences. I learn lots and someone feeds me, takes away the dirty dishes and makes my bed. Truly awesome.
But it’s not home, so sometimes sleep is tricky, and when the alarm goes off it’s, well, alarming. And it can seem super early.
Plus there is all that sitting and eating and sitting and eating. As proud as I am that I skipped dessert for all but one meal and I watched portion sizes, it was still more than I would normally eat. For instance, you won’t find anyone eating a full breakfast of bacon, eggs and potatoes at my house every morning. Even a little of that is a lot.
Needless to say, that didn’t help me to fit comfortably into the dress I brought for the last day.
Anyway, this is a new week full of lots or mornings and evenings to work with, and there is always the possibility of a positive outcome.
Besides, for all those times I wake up before my alarm to stew about things, I might as well make good use of the time.

Past Deadline: Bows and Snaps and Bathrooms, Oh My!

Here is Past Deadline from the May 30/13 issue of The Perth Courier.

Bows and snaps and bathrooms, oh my!
On Friday night I was standing in a girls’ washroom at PDCI (my old high school) waiting for some very short people to emerge from the stalls. The woman beside me, asked: “Are you going to write about this?”
It’s a tough call. Sometimes the best stuff really can’t be written about here, especially when it relates to bathrooms in small towns.
I was there as a volunteer for at the annual recital held by Arts in Motion: Perth School of Dance. This is the fifth year my daughter has been involved, and every year it is an absolute delight to watch the culmination of months of work by the students, teachers and organizers.
The orchestration of show nights never fails to leave me awestruck, mostly because coordinating events tends to give me the “no” feeling and I prefer to leave that task to others. I’ll happily volunteer, as long as someone else is telling me what to do.
This year I helped in the cafeteria, where a crew kept the primary students amused while they awaited their turn on stage.
By default, the primary team always spends long periods of time in the bathroom. The wee students (pardon that pun) are escorted to and from the bathroom, and often the smallest ones need help with their costumes. Invariably there are unreachable snaps or tricky buttons or bows to be tied. Sometimes this can be an issue in urgent situations involving the youngest students!
When you have a group of raincoats or reindeer all needing bows tied or antlers adjusted simultaneously in the bathroom, things can get a bit busy.
After one particularly long spell in the bathroom, I emerged and took a deep breath. “That bathroom kinda stinks,” I said to one of the volunteers.
“Should we get one of the janitors?” she asked.
“I don’t think it’s something the janitor can fix,” I said. Ironically, there are signs in the bathroom warning against using scented products. It’s working!
I love my old school, but parts of it are showing their age, which is waaaaay older than I am.
It’s interesting to watch the way the dynamics of the group unfold as the show progresses. The primary area is always busy and noisy. The kids are excited and one of our jobs is to try to keep the dancers relatively calm. Running and over-exuberance are kept in check.
As each different dance group (there are about half a dozen or so) has its turn, though, the excitement changes in tone. The groups return, the pressure is off and the dancers relax.
Now, when you and I relax it might mean grabbing a juice box (or some other fruity adult beverage), putting our feet up and chillin’ with a good book or to read the latest wacky headlines about the Ford family.
Not so with tiny dancers. When they relax, they kick it up a notch. There is more running and squealing. “We might as well just let them snack on a bag of sugar,” I said to another volunteer.
“Good job! Have a cup o’ granulated sweetness!”
Of course I am only speaking for the Friday experience, which is the first show night. It’s quite possible that on Saturday night everyone is much more refined and sitting around quietly sipping tea. I don’t know because that’s my night to watch the show.
“Back in Time” featured wonderful music and costumes and, of course, dancing. Girlchild and her highland class performed “Brigadoon Wedding Dance,” and all that leaping around in the living room paid off!
Congratulations to everyone for another excellent show!
I’ll see you in the bathroom again next year.

Past Deadline: Avoiding "Hoarders" Bin by Bin

Here is Past Deadline from the April 18/13 issue of The Perth Courier.

Avoiding “Hoarders” bin by bin
After reading this column you may not want to come to my house. Ever. I understand – sometimes I don’t want to come to my house either.
I have never professed to be anything remotely like Martha Stewart. I would not be profiled in a Good Housekeeping article. When it comes to domestic prowess I have only one publicity wish: to never be the subject of a Hoarders episode.
Fingers crossed.
It has been a busy few weeks, so my usual lazy approach to housecleaning has become, well, an Epic Tale of Unproductiveness.
Things kind of came to a head with the whole dryer issue, which you may recall from a couple of previous columns. The last episode contained a statement full of hope that by the time y’all were reading about it, the dryer would be fixed.
Not exactly.
My theory that it would be faster to have the dryer repaired than replaced was torpedoed by the fact when the repair lady returned with the replacement part, the dryer still didn’t work. The new diagnosis had something to do with the electrical harness, which could take a few weeks to come in, etc. blah blah blah.
Long story short, the replacement dryer was delivered a few days after that and, thankfully, it appears to be working.
This is a happy thing because it appears good clothesline weather continues to be evasive. Our dryer woes had necessitated a return to the use of drying racks and draping laundry around the house. As much fun as it was to reminisce about being newlyweds just starting out, it quickly lost its charm.
With the dryer issue seemingly resolved, it was time to put things back in order. This weekend I knew I had to start a house recovery mission.
I had slacked so long it was a daunting task.
I started by resolving the dryer-related mess. Items that lived on top of the dryer were removed from the dining room table. Manuals were filed. Related clutter was sorted. Drying racks were returned to the back of a storage cupboard.
Now what? Where to start. The house is a disaster!
I looked around and figured I might as well start with the worst of it: the den. Oh, the den. Keep in mind that a “den” is defined by Oxford as a “wild animal’s lair.”
I have been glossing over the den cleaning for a bit too long, particularly under the futon. Did you know there’s hardwood flooring under there?
See, that’s where there are three bins belonging to Boychild that have been collecting toys and debris for many years. Purging them has been on my list since about 2009. Lately, I have been hurriedly shoving stuff further under the futon in the vain hope it would just jump tidily in the bins.
Wrong.
Time to face the music.
I pulled everything out from under the futon. I found 756 Nerf guns accompanied by 5,799 Nerf  bullets – about a third of them busted. There were approximately 698 toy vehicles in various states of repair and 6,755 plastic toy soldiers, not to mention the 88,765 assorted pieces of Lego, K’Nex and Bionicles.
I loaded all of this into the largest of the bins, and then Boychild and I methodically sorted through it. There will be donations.
That one task (complete with vacuuming, dusting and washing something weird off the wall behind the futon) took up the better part of the afternoon – and that was just one bin and a few square feet of space.
I haven’t even told you about Girlchild’s bins. Or the basement. If any Hoarders execs see the basement, we’re doomed….

Past Deadline: Do You Need a Cat Scarf?

Here’s the latest Past Deadline, published March 28/13.
Do you need a cat scarf?
 I have inadvertently taken up knitting. It’s because I need more things to occupy my time. (Not.)
Back about a million and a half years ago, my Nan taught me how to knit. She also taught me crochet, rug hooking, needlepoint and baking. She was talented. I miss my Nan.
The baking definitely stuck with me, needlepoint eventually morphed into an interest in cross-stitching, but the rest kind of fell away.
Many years later I came to regret my abandonment of knitting. You may recall me writing in the past about a beloved knit toy that had been passed on to Boychild from my brother. My Nan made “Ducky,” who is bright yellow with an orange beak, for my brother. It must have been almost 30 years old when Boychild got him, and over the years he required some, shall we say, maintenance.

Ducky

On several occasions my bestie, Cindy, has knit odd-shaped “patches” for me to then sew onto Ducky’s thin, worn areas. Over the years he has acquired, essentially, an entirely new patch-worked skin (see above).
Recently, Girlchild has expressed an interest in learning how to sew. This is another skill that has fallen away. I haven’t touched a sewing machine since about Grade 8. I can manage buttons and can sew patches onto things, but beyond that I need to turn to others. My dad, actually, is the sewing machine expert in the family, while my mom is the go-to-person for hems.
Girlchild asked about knitting. I suggested we bake. No, she wanted to learn how to knit. Ask Cindy, I said.
So, sure enough, when Cindy and her gang were over for supper last Friday, Girlchild ambushed her. Cindy was glad (or seemed glad?) to oblige.
Fortunately I still have a craft bag filled with long-neglected items, including samples of abandoned knitting and several balls of yarn (particularly yellow for duck repairs).
I found two sets of knitting needles. I grabbed one seriously warped pair and said, “You’d better teach me, too, because if you’re not here and something goes awry, I am going to have to deal with the Wrath of Girlchild.”
(Shudder.)
And so began the great knitting projects: cat scarves. MacGregor, our indoor cat, has been coveting a knit scarf for years. (Ahem.)
The next day we trooped off to the craft store to acquire a couple of pretty balls of colourful yarn, along with a set of larger, wooden needles that might work well for small, learning hands. I managed to cast enough stitches onto the new needles to commence a third project: a blanket for a small stuffed toy.

The new projects.

I see dishcloths in my future. Seriously.
Over the last few days I have been able to rescue a few stitches and come up with creative excuses when mistakes are made in the knitting of cat scarves and toy blankets, such as: “That’s a peephole” and “We can cover that with some sort of fun patch.”
MacGregor won’t mind. I’m sure of it.
Girlchild wouldn’t let Cindy leave the house until they had scheduled another knitting lesson. I will be attending, too, since I have to learn how to cast off once these scarves and blankies reach their desired length.
The good thing is, when our crews get together, which usually happens weekly, her boys and mine can all go off and do guy stuff, and Girlchild, the lone female kid in the bunch, can bring her projects and we three ladies can convene the Knitting Club. After all, the world is sadly lacking in cat scarves, toy blankets and dishcloths.

Past Deadline: A Super Awesome Snow Fort

Here’s the latest “Past Deadline,” published in The Perth Courier on March 7/13.

A super awesome snow fort

I have been a pretty good sport about winter, I think.

When it snows I shovel and then have some exercise to share with my fitness buddies on Facebook. I cheerfully look out the window and think, “How wonderful! More snow for the kids to enjoy!”

Last week, though, I kind of hit the wall with winter. I think it was a February thing.

That big storm that featured shovelfuls of 11-tonne goopy snow was just…unappealing. And wet. (When I was a kid I used to call it “applesauce snow.” I didn’t eat it. I also didn’t have to shovel the horrible, heavy stuff.)

When my kids come home from school and peel off their snowpants, they leave a soggy, gritty mess on my kitchen floor. No matter how much I try to pretend that I am walking on a beach, it just doesn’t work. There are no margaritas to be seen.

The kids’ gloves and mittens are getting worn out. The boots are getting religious (holey).
Replacements at this time of year take a lot of searching, and we loathe buying things now when we know everyone will grow a bunch by next season.

I’m tired of snow days and the chorus of “Maaaaaaaawm…do we have to goooooo? No one will be there! Are you working at home today? Maaaaaawm!!!!!”

And that part about there being more snow for the kids to enjoy? That’s just bullpucky. Everyone knows, because I told them in this here space, that I practically have to pry my kids out of the house with a crowbar to get them to play outside in the winter.

Back in January I waxed poetic about how I forced (with threats about screen removal) my kids to go outside one beautiful winter day and they reveled in the joy of building forts and climbing snowbanks. Why go around a snowbank when you can go over it? They had snowball wars. In fact, for a couple of weeks, they actually went outside on their own accord several times!

GASP!

That silliness didn’t last long and soon we were back to screen addiction.

A few years back I helped organized some outdoor programs with the Friends of Murphys Point Park called Super Kids In Parks. They are designed to get children outside to have fun and learn something – to battle the nature deficit. Basically I got involved with it because of kids like mine.

Anyway, we’ve been running some this winter, starting with snowshoeing, then ice fishing. This past Sunday we did one on campfires, outdoor cooking and building a shelter.

You guys. We built a quinzhee. It was so cool! (Check it out here.)

Quinzhees are shelters made by piling up snow, letting it settle for a period of time and then hollowing it out. They have ventilation holes and an entrance.

They are a totally fancypants snow fort. (You just have to make sure to do it properly so that it is safe.)

It was awesome. The kids got totally into it. We also learned about building campfires and cooked some maple popcorn. When it was time to go, I had to call and call and call for my daughter and her friend to get out of the quinzhee and come home.


THAT is what it’s all about. That’s what I remember about childhood – staying outside all the time, ignoring our mothers calling us until our fathers “roared” for us to come home (and then we knew we’d better get moving).

I figure if Mother Nature dumps on us again before spring, I can probably make a quinzhee for the kids in the backyard. And maybe I’ll make a margarita for myself.

Past Deadline: Losing Sleep Over It

Here’s the latest Past Deadline, published Feb. 28/13 in The Perth Courier.

Losing sleep over it

Sleep, or the potential lack of it, was on my mind last weekend.

See, both children had sleepovers on the weekend. My hairdresser calls them “stay overs,” since not much sleeping takes place.

Boychild was off at a friend’s house for his late-night adventure and came home a little bleary eyed.

Girlchild’s event was at our house. It was the first time a friend has stayed over, and it was the first non-family sleepover for Girlchild’s friend, so it was a Momentous Occasion™.

Since the girls amassed more than eight solid hours’ sleep, which is several hours more than I’d counted on, I am going to call it a success.

As usual, I got less. I think I subconsciously anticipated being awakened at all hours, so I stayed up later than I should have reading a good book. Staying up late didn’t stop my silly busy brain from waking me up too early in order to toss and turn.

What is UP with that? I mean, as parents we survive the sleepless years of feedings and diaper changes and bad dreams and barfies and cats doing stupid things (Buster, may he rest in peace, was famous for yowling around the house, while MacGregor loves to rattle metal window blinds) – and for what?

Just when the kids can find the bathroom on their own in the night and no one needs to be fed at 3 a.m., the adult brain decides to start goofing around and preventing sleep. Frustrating!

I have always preferred to get things done before going to bed rather than getting up early to finish a task. I always figured my alarm wouldn’t go off or I would hit snooze too many times. Now it seems I have finally developed an internal alarm clock that I kind of wish I didn’t have.

It appears I am turning into my parents. I could never understand why, even when my brother and I were teenagers and slept in on weekends, my parents would be up at the crack of dawn as usual – like any other regular work day.

It’s not that I want to sleep in until all hours. Sleeping too long feels like a waste of the day and then I have trouble sleeping the next night. But waking up two hours before the alarm goes off is just…well…annoying, especially when I already stay up too late. I shudder to think of what time I would be up if I went to bed earlier.

Sure, as a “grown up” there are lots of things to “lose sleep over.” I mean, we probably all think about money and work and kids and volunteering and things that could go wrong and falling pianos and committee meetings and the elderly cat and that thing you did when you were 17 and genetic mutations and funny sounds and where the lost things went and so on. Right?

(Have you seen that TV commercial for the nighttime pain reliever? “What if the hokey pokey really IS what it’s all about?” Hehehe.)

Most of the topics that wake me up seem so much worse before the sun rises and the first coffee is had, but sometimes it’s just too darned early to get up despite the fact tossing and turning is unproductive.

Once I am upright, mobile and caffeinated, however, the world seems much more manageable. Well mostly. At least I can start doing something about it instead of lying around fretting.

For now I will gladly take whatever sleep comes and will seek inspiration from peeking at the kids and the elderly cat when they are blissfully snoozing. Some herbal tea probably wouldn’t hurt….

Past Deadline: I Don't Hear Anything

Here is Past Deadline from Jan. 31/13 published in The Perth Courier.
I don’t hear anything
Saturday at my house is laundry day. Sometimes I like to squeeze in a load or two during the week, but in this particular week I saved it all up like any good hoarder and made Saturday an official Laundry Event™. My life is exciting that way.
Ahem.
I loaded up Ye Olde Clothes Washing Machine and was somewhat alarmed as it kicked into gear. It was making a strange noise. I stood there for a couple of minutes, hands on hips, scowling, and listened. Oh, dear.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t used it for a week and it was feeling sluggish? Maybe the water was a bit more frigid than usual (quite likely!) and it was complaining a little?
What to do? Do I stop the machine? Call upon Groom-boy? Call upon someone who might actually know what to do? Panic?
So I did what any high-functioning adult does these days – I turned to social media. I posted: “If I pretend I don’t hear the funny sound my washing machine is making, it’ll go away, right?”
I had a variety of responses, such as “Yes” and “Think positively.” One suggestion was to give it a “good kick” and another was to “stop doing laundry.”
My favourite by far was from the Rising King of One Liners, my little bro: “Turn the radio up. It works with my car.”
Yessss!
I may be regressing into my teenage years because more and more I am finding loud music to be a tonic for a lot of things. I have always liked to listen to music while working. When I need to do something terribly cerebral I turn to classical, but lately I have been relying on my running playlist to get the job done.
Back when my Stupid Foot™ wasn’t so stupid and I was happily engrossed in the adrenalin rush/stress-release that was running, I compiled a great collection of music on a playlist I call “Run Forrest Run.”
The title is inspired by the movie Forrest Gump – the part when Forrest decides to run across the country. See, running was never effortless for me, so sometimes 5K felt a bit like a marathon. “Run Forrest Run” is quite a mixed bag. It includes nostalgia stuff from the ’80s and ’90s, some unusual stuff, songs that remind me of dancing up a storm with friends at university and enough new stuff that if my kids stumble upon it they might say, “Hey, Mom’s not as dorky as we thought!” It has a lot of fast-paced material and a smattering of slower stuff in strategic spots to enable one to catch one’s breath as they pound out a 5K.
These days it is good walking music and also decent for the stationary bike, but I find I am turning to it often as I toil at my desk. If I am working on a big deadline or a large document, sticking in the earphones and playing “Run Forrest Run” is an excellent way to pass the miles. I mean time.
It also works well if one is trying to meet a deadline while a boisterous play date is happening elsewhere in the house, but this is only recommended if there is another competent adult in the vicinity who is paying attention to the chaos.
Just as I was about ready to crank up the tunes on laundry day, the washer stopped making the funny noise and all was well.
Phew.
For at least the foreseeable future, it appears my Laundry Events will carry on as usual. Given the sheer volume of the task, however, I might do the loud music thing anyway….

Past Deadline: Resolutions Revisited

Here is the latest “Past Deadline,” published in The Perth Courier on Jan. 10/13.
Resolutions revisited
As I write this, we are about a week into the new year and I feel inclined to provide an update on how those fantastic New Year’s “Revolutions” are working out.
Or not working out, as the case may be.
I decided to do this in part because it is snowing again. See, last week I wrote about snow and how much I like it in the winter. One of the brilliant gems I uttered was this: “Another reason I prefer snow is because it’s easier to get the kids outside. It has been awesome lately for fort building – those chunks of snow make great blocks.”
It all sounds very good, and the theory is solid, but the practice is proving to be, well, let’s just say my kids rarely decide on their own to just go outside – they usually have to be told. This is especially true for the oldest one, who sometimes needs to be pried away from the computer. (To her credit, Girlchild recently built a beautiful snow girl and snow dog who gaze happily at me when I am at the kitchen window.)
On a bright sunny day near the end of the Christmas break, I herded the youngsters outside by suggesting we build a snow mountain in the back yard that they could slide down. This led to a second snow pile that Girlchild used to make a fort. Suddenly the magic and versatility of snow was revealed and they spent two hours outside. You’d think they’d been living in Florida for the last decade.
I saw something on the Interwebs recently – can’t remember where – that said: “When I was a kid I only had one toy. It was called ‘outside.’”
So true. This is such a lost generation. It is up to us to teach our children “the Old Ways,” and that means opening the back door and gesturing broadly to the back yard. “Look, little ones! Grass! Trees! Flowers! Birds! Fresh air! Take these sticks and build something! Take this broom and pretend it is a horse and ride it! Stare at the clouds! Climb a tree! Make a mud pie! Ride a bike!”
I know I have no one to blame but myself for letting it come to this, although I also know I am not alone. Many parents are tackling the “nature deficit.”
That all said, I am inclined to add an addendum to my resolutions: “Get the kids outside!” My goal is for them to want to choose to go outside – not for it to be a chore that Mommy makes them do. And maybe that means unplugging a few screens around the house and meaning business about it.
Wish me luck.
As for the rest of the “revolutions,” my progress on that front has been…well…poor. I am going to blame the holidays because, as I write this, the kids are still off and routines are disrupted. Our sleep patterns are weird and we are still confronted with a variety of Christmas goodies lying around. It would be a crime to waste them.
Still…my pants are shrinking. I have to do something about this because a new wardrobe will break the budget. By the time you read this, I hope I will have done some form of decent exercise every day this week – something other than shovelling.
Also, here’s another addendum that was glaringly omitted from the list: “Eat less.” Seriously. Get a grip, woman! The number on the scale is startling!
The remaining resolution was “Don’t freak out in the face of change, conflict or difficulty.” Perhaps I should amend that to add: “but DO freak out about not going outside, not exercising and not eating less.”
Okay, everyone! Let’s go make a snow fort!

Past Deadline: The Great Goop Storm of 2012

Here’s this week’s “Past Deadline,” published in The Perth Courier on Jan. 3/13. Does shovelling count as exercise for my New Year’s resolutions?
The Great Goop Storm of 2012
“Snow. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the shoveller Stephanie. Her continuing mission: to uncover old, existing pavement, to seek out various porches and sweep off satellite dishes, to boldly go where she always goes after it snows….”
I’ve said it before – I don’t mind winter, even though I am not an avid winter sports person (“avid” and “sports” seldom go together in a sentence for me). I live in a part of Canada where winter is winter and I’ve come to expect snow. It brightens up the place and makes it pretty in the dark months.
The shovelling part can kinda stink, though.
As I write this, snow is gently falling on what undoubtedly would have been a snow day if the kids were in school. It is the second biggish winter storm, but the snow is about 500 times lighter than the first one.
Y’all remember the first storm before Christmas? The one that featured all manner of goop falling from the sky?
That was heavy stuff!
I loved how the first layer was freezing rain and water with a top layer of very wet snow. As you dug down to scoop up a small shovel-full (because a big scoop would either a. weigh 245 pounds and hurt your back or b. break the shovel), you were greeted with that layer of sticky watery goop at the bottom that actually stuck to the shovel.
Clearing porches and driveways and sidewalks (oh my!) was no easy feat. My shoulders ached for a good two days. (Thank you, ibuprofen.)
Foliage also needed rescue. Cedar hedges that withstood the Great Ice Storm of 1998 fell victim to the Great Goop Storm of 2012.
In a typical winter, we shake the snow off the cedar hedge that surrounds my in-laws’ backyard once or twice as it builds up, but this storm required urgent action. Boychild and I went out, armed with rakes, and clawed huge chunks of frozen goop off the hedge.
After that, my hands ached for about four days. Jeepers, it stinks getting older!
My other favourite part of that particular winter event was the next day. The town plows came through in the night and the temperature started to drop, so the next task was to remove the frozen ice boulders from the end of the driveway.
I felt as if I were working in the Silver Queen Mine – chopping away at icy rocks and hauling them off a bit at a time. Black powder might have been more effective.
Despite the achiness of the occasion, I’m still happy to see snow instead of freezing rain. I worry that as our climate changes, we’ll see less of this brightness and more freezing rain and darkness. Given my history of falling and busting my butt on indoor stairs, I’d rather not take chances with icy ones.
Another reason I prefer snow is because it’s easier to get the kids outside. It has been awesome lately for fort building – those chunks of snow make great blocks.
I am also trying to groom (mostly unsuccessfully at the moment) a pair of assistant snow shovellers. Seems they were much keener to shovel when they were younger, but I haven’t given up. Boychild tried to help with the Great Goop, but it was pretty heavy and he didn’t last long. (I felt his pain.)
I wonder how I will feel about snow in a decade or so when the assistant shovellers are grown and I’m that much older and achier?
Hopefully I will still view it as that frontier to be explored. Best to live in the moment I think….

Past Deadline: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas. Hope you enjoy my annual contribution for the season! (Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 20/12).
’Twas the Night Before Christmas
Christmas is mere moments away, which means it’s time to butcher a classic poem once again and conjure up my favourite seasonal sprite for the 2012 version! My apologies, as always, to Clement Clark Moore….
’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Mama searched for a rhyme that was not the word “grouse.”
“Galldarnit!” she cried. “There is so much to do! What’s with all these deadlines? I need a whole crew!
“There’s writing and marking and editing – oh my!
“December’s so busy I might break down and cry!”
She gazed all around at the state of the home
And as the clock ticked she started to moan.
The Christmas cards waited, the presents weren’t wrapped
It might have to be done while everyone napped.
The groceries weren’t purchased, the eggnog not bought,
And without all those goodies one could be overwrought.
There were stockings to hang, some garland to string, a turkey to thaw and carols to sing.
At least with a Girlchild whose patience was low, the tree was a-glitter and ready to go. (Thanks to ample nagging in November.)
And just as the panic started to rise,
A wonderful sight came to Mama’s eyes.
In the kitchen she started to see a small glow,
And as she looked on it continued to grow.
Mama smiled. “Could it be?” she asked the thin air.
“Has my fairy returned? Do I hope? Do I dare?”
And with a loud pop her wish became true:
The Stress-Free Holiday Fairy™ in a kitchen near you!
With a wink and a grin she tapped Mama’s arm,
“Your annual struggle never loses its charm!
“I do like to visit and help you all out,
“But your ability to learn leaves me in doubt.”
Mama looked puzzled and felt slightly perplexed.
“But what do you mean? I hope you’re not vexed!” (Cool! Perplexed and vexed!)
“Not at all!” said the fairy, “I’m just trying to help
“Because your annual problem is as common as kelp.
“The issue, you see, comes down to routine. I see that you’ve got one, but it’s far from pristine.”
And with that the Fairy brandished her wand
And conjured a date book for now and beyond.
“You see in October your workload is steady,
“But not so busy that you cannot get ready.
“Plan ahead, my dear, so when December comes,
“You won’t have to panic – you won’t have the glums.”
“Pshaw!” Mama said. “I’ll never succeed
“In thinking of Christmas when it’s autumn indeed!
“Besides,” she said smugly, “there’s something about
“All those early shoppers that gives me the gout.”
The Fairy just stood there. “You’re being a goof.
“You’re just being stubborn, and I’ve had enoof.” (Sometimes the Fairy has a Scottish accent, you know.)
“I’ll help you this time and I’ll be back next year,
“But it would be a nice change if it were for some cheer!”
With that the Fairy lifted her wand
And before Mama knew it she’d already gone.
The presents, the groceries – everything was ready
And suddenly Mama felt a lot more steady.
She smiled when she heard the last call of the sprite,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Boychild, Girlchild, Groom-boy and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and all the best in 2013!

Past Deadline: Fratricide Averted

Here is the Dec. 6 edition of "Past Deadline," published in The Perth Courier.
Fratricide averted
The other day I phoned my mom and thanked her for not killing my brother and me when we were kids.
It’s not the first time I have said it. I don’t know how she did it.
Boychild, almost 11, and Girlchild, 7, have been fighting like the proverbial cats and dogs these days. They can’t seem to be in a room together for more than 14 seconds before some sort of ridiculous squabble erupts.
Often it is screen related. Someone is invariably watching something the other doesn’t want to watch. Or maybe they will agree to play a game together, and then start screaming about a) the choice of game or b) the particular strategy employed or c) the rules of the game, etc.
I have already had to set up a schedule about which days which kid gets to choose which game, and they know the next step is for the screen-related items to be declared off limits for both.
The frustrating thing is, I can relate. It is often the Way of Siblings to disagree about pretty much everything merely on principle.
When we were kids, my parents had to set up a schedule for my brother and me when it came to doing dishes. We started off doing them together, but when it devolved into arguments about who was doing what and who could inflict the most skin damage with a tea towel, we were soon segregated to doing them individually on alternating nights.
I was mean to my brother (sorry, Doug). I was four and a half years older than he, and for a long time I was bigger and thought I was smarter. The physical part of our sibling rivalry ended fairly quickly when he got bigger and started pushing back.
No problem. I always had the psychological warfare thing going on, so I just leaned a little more heavily on that. (Girls often excel at this.)
I think I have related the Darth Vader story, but here’s a recap to illustrate a point.
Picture it: Sicily, 1947. Wait…wrong rerun. Picture it: Perth, circa 1980. I am about 10, my brother is around five. Star Wars is popular. I hadn’t seen it, but knew who the good guys and bad guys were and that Princess Leia’s hair looked like earmuffs.
At the time our basement was only partially finished, and I was down there playing with my little brother. The furnace tended to make weird, gaspy, rumbly sounds, and I thought it would be fun to scare the bejeebers out of my brother by telling him it was Darth Vader. I told him to hide under a desk in the dark, then I crept upstairs and rolled on the floor laughing as he came screaming up the stairs, terrified, a few minutes later.
(Yes, he still speaks to me.)
It backfired. He claimed to be “afraid” to go downstairs for what seemed like years afterward, so basement-related errands had to be done by me. (Well played, little bro.)
Anyway, I remember this as I listen to the shrieking and clamour around me as Boychild and Girlchild navigate the world of sibling rivalry. I see the trickery and the power plays and the supposed “hatred,” and as much as I sometimes want to set up schedules so that they are never in the same room together for anything, ever, I know this is all part of a complex social something er other.
Besides, when I see things like Girlchild being sad about something that has happened at school and Boychild offering to go and “talk to the kid” or “keep an eye on things,” I know everything is going to be fine.

Past Deadline: Practical and Consumable

Here is “Past Deadline” for the Oct. 4 issue of The Perth Courier.
Practical and consumable
I celebrated a non-milestone birthday recently. I am telling you this not because I want to be showered with gifts and well wishes and congratulations for surviving thus far, but because it gives me something to talk about in this here space.
I’ve reached the age when birthdays are stuck on that ambiguous line between “Pay attention to meeeeee! It’s my birthdaaaaay!!! I’m speshuuuuuullll!!” and “I don’t want to talk about it because apparently I am many, many years older than the 17 I wanna be.”
The one thing that is for sure is that I get picky about gifts. (I know. It sounds utterly ungrateful, but hear me out.) At this stage in life, when I am living in a smallish house surrounded by too many things, I tend to cringe whenever another object enters the building. Thus, gifts that don’t take up much or any space make me happy.
I remember once many years ago having a conversation with an older couple about wedding gifts. They strongly believed that it was in poor taste to give newlyweds money or gift cards – that a gift should be purchased that demonstrated some thought had gone into it. I politely disagreed.
I’m sure there is a whole etiquette book or 500 written on the subject, but having been fairly newly married myself at that time, I remember being just as grateful for the cash and gift cards that filled in the blanks for things we needed as we set up our household, as I was for the things received from our registry list and the other beautiful and thoughtful gifts. It all balances out.
When it comes to birthdays beyond the fourth decade and in an age of consumerism, you get to a point when you feel you have everything you need – within reason, of course. Or at least that’s how I feel.
I mean, I’m sure I need an exotic trip somewhere or a bigger house, but I was not expecting those things for my birthday. At least not this year. Ahem.
I’m also at that dull age when I like gifts to be practical. For instance, Groom-boy and I just bought ourselves an early Christmas present when our vacuum went and died. Wheeeee! (I know. We are the ultimately romantics.)
This year, I have to say, I got some dandy birthday presents: practical and/or consumable.
Groom-boy watches me leave the house at any given time carrying different bags for different meetings. I have one or two Algonquin bags, one for volunteer stuff, another for police services board stuff and then I gather miscellaneous materials together for various other consulting meetings. I am drowning over here in bags filled with folders and files.
So…he got me a bag – a nice one with lots of pockets and divisions that will be quite handy. I could stash most of my life in that bag, I think, and still find surprise compartments.
My bestie cooked me a birthday meal (well, it fed other people, too) with some favourite foods and the added bonus of me not having to cook or clean up afterwards. Practical (because we all have to eat) and consumable!
Another friend stopped by with a tray of goodies – homemade bread, preserves, mints and a little bottle of tequila with a lime in case of an emergency (not that there is anything stressful going on, but that tequila could come in handy). Again – practical and consumable!
I was taken out for drinks on a couple of occasions and given cash in cards….practical and consumable!
The only thing I didn’t get that I could really use is a clone. Possibly people were afraid I wouldn’t like the clone because it would take up space? Oh, well. The tequila will take my mind off it.

Past Deadline: Hey! Look! A Distraction!

I'm old school. And I am easily amused.


When I go on car trips I like to look around. Yes, I have been known to play with my phone when I am a passenger, but other than that I prefer to scope out my varied surroundings.

That's not the case with some of the short people I live with. When we go on long car trips we go armed to the teeth with amusements. Various electronics, books, dolls, etc. I've probably mentioned before that I used to watch for white horses (they were worth a nickel if spotted) and I kept a long list of licence plate numbers. It was my collection.

Okay. Yes. Maybe I was a bit odd (see "easily amused" above).

Anyway, every time we travel with the kids this variance in amusement levels becomes quite evident.

Picture this. Sicily, 1932. Oops, wrong sitcom. Picture this. We're travelling along Hwys. 7 and 401, 2012. I am in the front seat yakking like a tour guide. "Ooh! Look at that cliff of feldspar! Say, these swamps aren't as dry as at home. Look! Turtles on a log! Hey, there's a whole heard of running horses! Wow - look how flat the face of that cliff is! Oh - there's a big hawk!"

Meanwhile, the audience in the back row is watching a flick or taking figurines and pretending they're voodoo dolls or playing elaborate pretend games. Okay, well, the pretending stuff is okay because they are using their imaginations, but hey! "Look! There's Lake Ontario!"

Do you remember years ago when the province had a wildflower-planting project happening in medians and along the edges of Hwy. 401? I spent a great amount of time watching flashes of occasionally recognizable colour flashing by and trying to identify flowers. (I'm telling you, easily amused.)

"Oh and here comes the Northumberland County Materials Recycling Facility!" I say, taking a picture with my phone to send to my friend who used to be the waste management coordinator at home. I start babbling excitedly about that time way back when I worked at the paper and I went on a bus trip with a whole bunch of Lanark County councillors to that MRF and the landfill site to see how their waste management system worked.

"It was a great field trip!" I say.

"Maybe you should just keep that information to yourself," Groom-boy mumbles.

"And we ate at the Big Apple restaurant and there were bunnies hopping all over the place outside!"

I never get tired of looking at scenery. (Maybe I would feel differently driving through the prairies, but I doubt it.)

Now, to be fair, when we passed the nuclear power plant and I pointed it out, there was some interest and a number of questions from one of my worryworts about nuclear safety. My response that everything would be fine "as long as it doesn't blow up" was unhelpful, but then a handy eastbound freight train came along.

"Hey! Look! A train!"

I suppose that's what it all comes back to, actually - distraction. We had no choice but amuse ourselves on car rides in the '70s, which was a distraction from the fact that, for example, it was a very long drive to see our grandparents in Elliot Lake. If I remember correctly, I got a lot of licence plate numbers collected on that trip. I also wrote down the name of every, single community we passed through and followed along with a road map. Remember road maps? They were made of paper!

And can we say: "Hey! Look! Canadian Shield!" much?

Published in The Perth Courier, Aug. 16/12

Past Deadline: Gone Buggy

I like snakes and turtles and frogs and toads and salamanders and such, but I readily admit I have trouble with the insect world.


I try not to pass this squeamishness on to the kids. I have seen the effect this can have – for instance, children notice when parents who loathe snakes kill them on sight. Not good for snakes.

My dislike of insects has mellowed a little over the years, so I am not as likely to squeal when a bug creeps up on me. This was not always the case, however.

When earwigs first invaded this part of the country, I was a kid. I think, actually, earwigs are to blame for my squeamishness. They were everywhere. They didn’t bite (at least not me), but those pincers made it look like they would.

Earwigs love to be under things, so I had a ritual of inspecting my bed – even under the mattress – before climbing in. If I ever found something, the neighbours heard me shriek.

That was a long day ago, though. Now I am more likely to gasp, and perhaps curse, if an unwelcome insect surprises me.

Up until recently, my six-year-old daughter has been fine with creepy crawlies. She likes to keep earthworms and caterpillars as pets and has been known to commune with frogs and water snakes.

This summer, however, she has shown some distressing “girlie” tendencies. She worries about swimming with fish in lakes. She won’t get into our wading pool if there is any sign of an earwig (there are lots) or spider (yes, I know they’re not insects, but they still fall under the “Ew!” category) or any other bug – even though they are usually drowned.

Our wading pool is located under a very old apple tree. We love this tree – it’s shady and fruity and quite pretty. It can also be messy, though. We’re constantly fishing apples and leaves out of the water. Because it is old and because it isn’t sprayed with pesticides, it can also be a bit buggy. Woodpeckers love this insect haven.

Girlchild is convinced the little pale worms that fall from the tree are maggots. Somehow telling her that they are worms – not to mention dead – does not improve their appeal. I cannot imagine why. There is much shrieking.

Perhaps her issues will be restricted to watery things. After all, she has been known to pluck and dispose of the little green worms that devour our rose bushes with nary a qualm – which beats my track record.

The first summer I worked at Murphys Point Provincial Park (about a million years ago), one of my tasks was to help with the gypsy moth monitoring program: the invasive species du jour.

A few different species of trees had burlap sacks wrapped around their trunks. I had to check the trees at a certain frequency and count the number of gypsy moth caterpillars under each sack and record them. I think this was to determine which tree they liked best.

Oh, how I loathed this task – purposefully seeking the buggy surprise. I cringed each time. Then, to top it off, I was instructed to kill the caterpillars. After all, they were devouring the forests.

The study area was located in a hollow next to the in-road to the gatehouse. I can still remember the strange look on the faces of one couple as they drove in and saw the skinny girl in a park uniform standing in a gully, beating a tree with a big stick and squealing when caterpillar guts flew in her face.

“Yes, I’m fine. Nothing to see here. Move along, please.”

Bugs. Just one more thing that brings out the best in me.

Published in The Perth Courier, Aug. 2/12

Past Deadline: Take Cover Immediately

I understand why people might not want to watch or read the news.


I am not one of those people. I like the news or, more accurately, I like to be informed. I like to know if it’s time to evacuate.

You may have noticed the news isn’t always good. In fact, it seems to be usually bad. Bad news gets the most play. There are many reasons for this – all coming back to what humans respond to and what sells the advertising and makes the money, of course. Not to mention the fact people can’t seem to get along, which makes for plenty of bad news.

My empathy for people who don’t bother to watch/read the news has grown a little since becoming a parent. It’s hard to reassure children about this big, bad world after they’ve wandered through the room and heard a snippet of bad news about movie theatre shootings or tornadoes or droughts or bush fires. I can understand why there would be news blackouts in some homes.

Frankly, I have found it to be much nicer to eat supper on the patio and listen to the birds and have conversations about non-violent or non-scary things than to have the news droning in the background.

When I was growing up, my parents always had the news on during supper. It was mostly just background noise, but when the weather came on we would have to hush. I’m not sure why – maybe because Dad was a conservation officer and worked outside a lot.

The news was bad back then, too. There was, after all, a Cold War and acid rain and the Middle East (always). But the world was a little different.

I don’t think we “felt” the news with the same intensity as we do today. Things that were far away were usually really far away. Now, with Twitter and Facebook and other social media, we can instantly know when bad things happen far away to people we don’t know. We quickly learn what those strangers think about the things that have happened. Sometimes we get told how we should feel about these things.

I don’t think the news affected me in any profound way when I was the age my kids are now. It droned in the background. We didn’t have to evacuate. In fact, I don’t remember my parents looking particularly concerned over anything except the weather. (You’d think we were farmers.)

To this day, though, I find myself desperately wanting to listen to the weather when it is presented on the news, only to glaze over during the report and promptly forget it. I suspect this is some sort of residual effect from my childhood.

I am much more likely to just look out the window and deal with whatever weather is happening.

Besides, if I need to know how the weather is expected to change in the next few hours, I can always go online.

On Twitter, I have subscribed to @OntarioWarnings (see “knowing when to evacuate,” above). It frequently issues weather warnings – in ALL CAPS. They always say something like: “SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING ISSUED FOR EAR FALLS, PERRAULT FALLS, WESTERN LAC SEUL, PIKANGIKUM, POPLAR HILL, MACDOWELL. TAKE COVER IMMEDIATELY.”

I keep watch for our area and I wonder if I should go hide in the basement if I see “LANARK COUNTY.” “Take cover” is not really defined – it could mean “Don’t stand under a tree, dork” or it could mean “Head for the storm cellar, Dorothy,” which would make for a fairly unproductive day.

The ALL CAPS…so intimidating and shouty.

Maybe I should just unfollow and go sit on the patio.

Like I say…I understand why people might not want to watch or read the news.

Published in The Perth Courier, July 26/12

Past Deadline: The Trouble with Giant Teeth

When babies grow teeth, it’s a big deal in many ways. It opens the door to changes in diet, as in you can immediately introduce things like steak, hard candies and whole apples to your toddler. Don’t forget to provide steak knives on their high chair trays. (Sarcasm alert!)


Good mothers dutifully record the arrival of baby teeth in special books, and also make note of their departure. Mediocre mothers do so for the first child for a while, remember to do so occasionally for the second child, and casually wonder what the Tooth Fairy could possibly do with all those teeth she collects. Jewellery? Castles in the sky? Buttons? Does she...uh...keep them forever?

Anyway, this mediocre mother watched with interest (and occasionally recorded) as Boychild’s adult teeth started to emerge. It was a bit like looking in a mirror 30 years ago.

“Groom-boy,” I said one night as the children sweetly slumbered or read with flashlights or plotted their next bedtime-stalling tactic, “Boychild’s teeth are too big for his face. Mark my words, there will be trouble.” Or something like that.

Sure enough, the dentist confirmed my suspicion. Some baby teeth were hauled out to make room for adult ones and, before long, a referral to the orthodontist was made.

Long story short, Boychild will be getting braces, and soon. One of the most memorable comments by the orthodontist was about one particular adult tooth that is ready to bust through and line up with all the others. It’s 7 millimetres wide, and there is a 2-mm space for it.

Oy.

One look at his X-ray demonstrates the calamity of teeth just waiting to jostle into line. Without braces our Guy Smiley would have teeth on top of teeth. This crowding could lead to cavities, not to mention bite problems and, possibly, a smile phobia.

When it was first suggested that Boychild might need braces or appliances, he was...shall we say...less than overjoyed. I explained how I had to wear appliances to expand my jaw when I was a kid to make room for my giant chompers and how it really wasn’t so bad. He is, of course, thrilled to inherit my teeth. I expect he will soon be thanking me for the wonky ankles, too.

Anyway, once we got to the orthodontist’s and she explained what would happen and he saw how happy the smiley children with braces were in the pictures, he was okay with the concept.

In a helpful turn of events, his six-year-old sister thinks it is the ultimate in coolness and awesomeness that big bro is getting braces. In fact (don’t tell the orthodontist) she has braces envy and hopes to someday have them, too. (Get a job, Girlchild, then we’ll talk.)

So I have been spending time in the orthodontist’s waiting room, where there is an interesting collection of vintage circus artifacts on display. There are giant antique-framed black and white photographs of circuses from pre-World War II, along with a variety of artifacts under glass or behind ropes.

Have you read the book or seen the movie Water for Elephants? The story is set during the Great Depression and centres around a travelling circus. In those days the circus moved from place to place by train, and part of the story involves something called “redlighting.”

See, the unsavoury circus owner would have certain workers thrown off the train in the middle of the night (redlight them) rather than pay them.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the vintage circus motif in that waiting room as I pondered our new braces expense – were they sending a subtle message about prompt payment?

Gulp.

Nah...I just have an overactive imagination, right?

Published in The Perth Courier, July 12/12

Past Deadline: Working on the Beach

“What are you doing with the kids this summer?” I have been asked numerous times.


“I have no idea,” I usually respond.

As I write this, there are only two days of school left. The good news is that’s only two more bagged lunches to make!

The bad news is that’s about 69 days of hanging out with Mama, who works from home.

There will be swimming lessons, play dates and possibly some day camps, but a lot of our summer is unstructured.

The cool beans this year is that Mama has wheels! This means if an unexpected pocket of time opens up, I may be able to be spontaneous!

“To the beach!”

Because I work from home, sometimes I can adjust my schedule a bit and just pull some all nighters while we go to said beach. (Haha funny joke about the all nighters. Ahem.)

Kids are always at a new stage of development – they are cute that way with this “growing” thing. I’m never really sure what summer is going to hold for me, so I often approach it with trepidation. Somehow, though, the freedom of wheels is making it a bit less daunting.

Often my work is portable. I can edit on the patio. I can write at the beach.

This year, because the kids are a bit older, I am optimistic they will be quite helpful at home so I can get some work in during the day – because we won’t always be going to the beach.

But – you never know. For instance, on those days that were really super disgustingly hot recently, tempers flared and tiffs predominated and I thought to myself, “This is going to be the longest summer ever. Omigod.”

On one of those days, Girlchild brought home a flyer from a box in front of a home that is for sale on the way to school. “Here, Mom,” she said. “This place has a backyard that is big enough for a pool.”

Seems the wading pool only has so much charm.

There always comes a point in the summer when my last nerve gets frayed and exposed. I’m not there yet – which is darned good considering vacation hasn’t even started as I write this.

I am reminded, though, that a few years ago Groom-boy and I invented a magical place called “Lost Harbour Summer School and Military Camp.”

Lost Harbour is a faraway place where kids stay for many weeks and where the program consists of four hours of school each day followed by lots of marching and building walls out of heavy rocks. Probably they have to do laundry and dishes and tidying there, too.

The kids are on to us now, I think. You can only threaten to send them to a place like that without actually making it happen so many times before they figure it out. I definitely dropped the ball on the classic parenting advice to not make empty threats and to follow through on whatever you utter.

Besides, I never did get the Lost Harbour flyer designed to leave casually on the kitchen table.

Instead, I think I may have made a deal with our neighbour down the street to send the kids over to help him with some renos on the outside of his house. There is scraping and painting and digging and fun stuff like that. Har har.

Actually, I think I have finally come up with a concept that will work. I told the kids just the other day that during the summer, the more they help around the house, the more time Mom will have to take them to the beach.

Could be good! Thank you, wheels!

Published in The Perth Courier, June 28/12