Thursday, 23 June 2011

third grader

for TWO MORE DAYS. That's it. TWO MORE SCHOOL DAYS and.....

and I have a FOURTH GRADER.


ulp.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

first day of summer

The kids are sunburnt and happy, thanks to Beach Day at their school. (My kids' school has fifty-odd children in it, and for the end of term the teachers take the whole school to the ocean for the day. They're braver than I.)

Supper went like this:

"And THEN we built a sand-cake and decorated it with shells and I ate two hot dogs and a cupcake and"

and the other country chimed in:

"And I got sand thrown in my face once but it was an accident and there were these WAVES and I rode them like I was on a surfboard and we had hot dogs and juice and I couldn't eat all the snacks I brought and..."

"I got wet and it was COLD but then I came out and I got a mouthful of seawater and it made me SPIT, spit all over the beach and it was dreckful stuff and then I went in but it was too cold to stay long so we built ANOTHER huge sand-cake except it kept breaking and we'd fix it and it'd break again and"

"Mom my cheeks feel hot. Am I sunburned a little? I smell like sunblock too. Can we go back to the beach again?"

"And then the tide came in and my sand-cake got washed up and...yeah, can we go back?"

I think it's safe to say they had a glorious time.

Happy Summer, y'all.

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

dreams

Lucy dreams big dreams, dreams where she lunges, all panther-like and sleek, to rake the unsuspecting canine across the eyes and hisses triumphantly as he falls to the ground, mortally wounded. He expires slowly, twitching and peeing himself, as she aloofly licks a paw and wonders how long it will take the humans to clean up the mess in her house.

'Stoopid dog.' thinks Lucy, and smiles in her sleep.

Monday, 13 June 2011

chores

I swore, when I realized I was going to have kids, that I would NEVER be the kind of Mom who cleaned the kids rooms. My Mom didn't, so why would I?

(And a caveat here: I remember getting my bedroom door taken off the hinges for not cleaning it properly, and I remember trying to stuff more than God ever intended to fit under the bedskirt, and I remember staring longingly out my window while I had to FUSS with things,but I don't remember my mother cleaning my room.)

Rosey and Cass both put their laundry in hampers and bring them downstairs. They take their folded clean stuff up too, and put it away. They make their beds (okay, often.) They strip their beds on Sunday, and both can make them again, although R gets frustrated with the bottom sheet and C hates pillowcases. Rosey unloads the dishwasher when asked, Cass sweeps, they both love to mop. They take turns setting and clearing the table*. Cass feeds the dog, Rosey the cats.

Am I proud of them? Hell, yes. Am I an excellent task-master or an incredible parent or (oh, I laugh) some organized phenomenon?

NO.

My brother and I were taught from a very early age that we were part of the household, and that we were expected to do these things. So it made sense for me to carry that on with my kids.

Although, today, when I went into Cass's room and left with a bag and a half of assorted toys, old school assignments, crumpled paper, and bits of mystery plastic,  I thought for a minute I'd turned into one of those women who cleaned their children's rooms.

Then I realized I was just performing a vital safety service and making sure firemen could get to him should there be a fire, and left.

We'll see if he notices when he gets home.

Rosey's room will have to wait for a few days. But, Little Ponies? You're on warning.



*Which sounds like: 'Cass, it's your turn to....' But they DO it.

Saturday, 11 June 2011

the two


my gosh, they grow up too fast....

Cass needs his summer shearing. He keeps wanting 'cool-dude' hair, which I think is all well and good until the sideburns get too long and it all starts to look.....messy.  I think next weekend the reign of the Rockstar will come to an end. But wow, he's getting tall.

Friday, 10 June 2011

stanley cupping

Holy crap, I'm getting whiplash from watching the hockey game...

No. Usually I'm not a hockey fan. Or I am, but only in small doses. This year's Stanley Cup battle, though, has everyone gathered around, soda jolting out of cups and chips cascading over the floor (the dog is dee-lighted to help clean up, you betcha) when the puck goes wide and the players caroom off each other.

A study in aggression and motion.

How is this much testosterone legal? Seriously, I think the two teams would cheerfully hack each other to bits with their dull mouth guards given the chance.

But it's a good game. Lots of fast skating and swooping passes.

Maybe Canada will get their Cup back this year.