One more week of school.
I am so glad. I’m tired of keeping track of reading folders, signing agendas, sunscreening the kids before they leave, coming up with lunches that don’t involve nuts, and trying to get children to sleep at an hour when they can still function the next day, despite the fact that it’s warm, sunny, and lovely outside until 9pm.
I’m tired of last-minute school things that cost me money. Two field trips next week? Money. Selling carrot sticks & dip for $2 per order as a fundraiser? Shoot me. Harry’s outdoor sneakers suddenly disintegrated around his feet with only three weeks to go so I had to buy a new pair because he still needs the non-marking indoor sneakers until June 30th? AAAAGGGGHHHH WHYYYYY.
Ron cried twice this week when it was time to get up for school. I just don’t want to go anymore! he wailed. It’s just the same thing over and over again, every day! It’s just colouring shapes and I already KNOW all the shapes and I just DON’T WANT TO COLOUR SHAPES ANYMORE!!!
I hear you, buddy. I don’t want to colour shapes anymore, either.
Now that preschool is over, we’re back to taking long walks to burn off the kids’ energy. Yesterday we went 3.4km. We’re working up to 4.5km, which is the round-trip distance to the lifeguarded lake beach just up the road. If we can make that trip once a week it should help preserve my sanity, and give the older kids a chance to bump into their friends from school.
I’ve had exactly zero response to the resumés I sent out. I’m a little disheartened. OK, well, a lot. I was hoping to at least get a “thanks but no thanks, please fuck off now”. Intellectually I know that when the dayhome closes it will be a few months before I find something, but emotionally I can’t help thinking oh my god, I’ve been out of the work force for too long and I’ll never be employable again except in retail. I’ll be one of those women who works at Reitmans, asking people if I can bring them another size and processing returns on crappy jewelry made in China. I borrowed $28,000 to go to university for nothing.
(Note: There is nothing wrong with retail and when all the kids are in school it would make financial sense as long as I could work around their school hours. It’s not off the table. It’s just requiring a readjustment of my self-image.)
Louis is currently menacing the girls with a loaf of plastic bread. I don’t know whether to step in or to just let them fight it out, Lord of the Flies style.
We took the kids to the Halifax Citadel on Father’s Day. We stayed for FOUR HOURS. Every year I think “this is it, this is the year that Harry will refuse to do these things with us anymore” and every year I’m wrong.
There was a lot more to this post, but it was the ill-tempered whining of a woman surrounded by preschoolers while deep in the throes of a Shark Week-induced migraine. After careful consideration I deleted large swaths of it because oy, I hate listening to whining and I’m sure you do, too.
So! Funny story. Back when Gangnam Style was popular, the kids used to ask for it every day. If they cleaned up the playroom without too much chivvying , I’d oblige. Arthur & Daisy’s mom was horrified, because of the “hey, sexy lady” lyric. “We replace ‘sexy’ with ‘chubby'”, she said, in a move I’m still extremely puzzled by.
Anyway, Daisy learned from her parents (yes, the same parents who objected to the word ‘sexy’) that when she dances, she’s not dancing; she’s shaking her booty. I never bothered correcting her when she said it to the other kids. It seems pretty harmless, and generally if Daisy’s parents are OK with something, everyone is! Just the other night, though, Louis’ mom asked me where on earth he heard about a ‘booty’ and how to shake it. She was not impressed.
And this, friends and neighbours, is why I don’t censor much of what my kids say, as long as it’s basically respectful. My standards are not your standards. There is no rhyme or reason to why certain people might object to one thing but not another. And trying to keep up with it all will leave you in a world where it’s better to call an attractive lady “chubby” instead of “sexy”.