Tag: #lol

Letter from a Homeschooling Mom

School moms, I don’t know how you do it.

You know, the rumours about homeschooling moms are true: there are days where I don’t get out of my pyjamas. On those days, my kids and I might snuggle up under a blanket on the couch with a cup of tea and our lesson books. We’ll leisurely read about kings and queens and islands and earthquakes and I will never once give thought to putting on grown-up pants. Of course, there are other PJ-filled days where I drink six cups of coffee before lunch and the kids binge-watch The Magic Schoolbus on Netflix and I count that as a science lesson. And also a geography lesson. The bus goes places, right?

Not us, though. We don’t go any where – at least, not first thing in the morning.

But you do! I see you all walking your kids to school while I’m drinking my tea. You somehow manage to drag your kids out of bed and then feed them and dress them and groom them enough to meet the generally accepted level of hygiene, and you do this all before 9:00am.

I can confidently say that this is simply beyond my skill level as a parent.

This past week was March Break and we put River in a local day camp. She had the most wonderful time hiking through the woods and sliding in the mud and roasting marshmallows around a fire. I’m so glad that we signed her up. But getting her there in the morning?

It almost killed me.

Every morning for the past week, I dragged my weary self out of the bed so that I could go give the equally bleary-eyed River her outfit for the day. Then we both kind of wandered around zombie-like, looking for coffee and cheerios.

While River picked at her cereal, I started to pack her lunch. Packing lunches is horrible. HORRIBLE. My daughter is a picky eater at the best of times, but trying to find foods that she’ll eat out of a lunch box is a special kind of misery. I suspect it’s punishment for all the times as a kid that I refused to eat my mother’s homemade Lunchables and insisted on the prepackaged kind that cost twice as much.

River wouldn’t touch a Lunchable with a ten-foot pole, so I had to come up with something else. Actually, I thought I had it nailed at first. I went to the grocery store on Sunday evening and blew our budget on all the things that I thought she would eat. Gluten-free pretzels. Drinkable yogurt. Gluten-free cookies. Gluten-free bagel chips. Gluten-free lemon loaf, which is as close to a sandwich as my daughter would ever eat. All daughter-approved and lunch box-friendly.

Then, late on Sunday night as I re-read the camp letter, I saw the words “nut-free”. HOW did I forget about nut-free? GAH! I was so annoyed at myself. We quickly grabbed all the packages. Nothing had nuts in it but several items were made in nut-friendly facilities. Which means THEY’RE NOT ALLOWED.

With a sigh, I took the wafers and the cookies out of her lunch and figured that I’d just make a big pot of popcorn in the morning. Popcorn is a grain, right? It is in my house. And at 7:30 in the morning, that’s about the best I can do. Besides, I have no illusion that my child is actually going to eat anything I send – when I pack lunches, it’s all for show. I want other adults to know that I’m a caring parent that provides the necessities of life for her children. Honestly, I should just buy a plastic salad to pack in her lunch bag for show.

Once lunch was finally packed and the fewest possible quantity of Cheerios were eaten, we were ready to go. At least, that’s what I thought, until I realized that I was still in my pyjamas. Ugh! I have to get dressed too? Fine, but I drew the line at brushing my hair.

Or my daughters’ hair. I don’t think I remembered to brush it the whole week. Homeschooled kids are notorious for their messy hair. Or maybe I’m the only one that notices? I always check out other kids’ hair styles when I’m out at events because I want to make sure that my kids’ hair isn’t the worst. It actually is – but not by much – and I’m happy to make the other moms feel better about their parenting.

Now, I should say that some kids in the group do have lovely, even braids, but I just naturally assume that it’s because the moms have three kids or less. I know, I know – I have three kids or less. But I’m practically incompetent sometimes, so that’s automatically like having seven kids. And anyway, half of our outings are to a forest of some sort. I figure that if my kids get separated from the group, coyotes will be less likely to eat a feral-looking child and instead raise her as part of the pack. Really, it’s a security measure.

So each morning I dropped my daughter off with squeaky-clean but crazy-messy hair. I’m almost certain that her socks matched every day, and I’m holding on to that small success.

Once River was at camp, I returned home for a nice, quiet morning. Or not. My two youngest were at home with my husband, waiting for me to return and actively destroying my everything in the meantime. No rest for me! And school moms, I know this is true for you. You have other kids to deal with all day long – some of you even go through this whole ritual every morning and then go to work! It boggles my mind.

Honestly, if it didn’t mean leaving the house before 9:00am, I’d be outside with little cups of Gatorade to pass out as you rush past my house during your morning marathon.

Because I can’t believe you manage to get your kids to school every single day. I’m serious – teaching long division is nothing compared to this.

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This post is linked up at A Pinch of Joy • Motivational Mondays • Weekly Wrap Up

March 20, 2016
4000 Tiny reasons the You Shouldn’t Take Advice from Pinterest

My house is covered in lentils.

There was an evening this past week where my toddler, Forest, howled with anger every time I put him down on the ground. My eight-year-old was fighting with my five-year-old and the noise was driving me crazy. I just wanted some peace so that I could focus on getting supper on the stove. Delicious meatballs, in case you were wondering. Sweet and sour and oh-so-good. The kind of meatballs that kids live for. Well, not mine. All three of my kids hate meatballs.

But I love meatballs and James loves meatballs and I was determined to get supper going. I was trying to be frugal by substituting lentils for a portion of the hamburger meat, so I had a bag of lentils on the counter. When Forest started grabbing for the bag, I figured that a handful or two of dried lentils might buy me a few minutes to roll up the meat. I put Forest on the floor with the bag and a mixing bowl and a measuring cup and he immediately started scooping the lentils out. Awesome. I turned back to the counter.

A moment later, I heard the distinctive sound that approximately four thousand lentils hitting the floor makes. Like a whooshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It was kind of soothing, actually. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Forest had emptied half the bag onto the floor. Meh. Lentils are super cheap. With my blessing, Forest smeared the lentils across the floor.

A mess, you ask? Try a “healthy sensory activity”. That’s what Pinterest tells me, at least.

Never take advice from Pinterest.

But back to the meatballs. I filled up two trays, popped them in the oven for 15 minutes, and then started on the sauce. I grabbed the vinegar, soy sauce and cornstarch from the cupboard, then picked some lentils off the bottom of my socks. I added brown sugar and ground ginger to the pot, then used my foot to brush some of the lentils on the floor off to the side so I wouldn’t keep stepping on them. What next? Water and orange juice, which I hoped would be a decent substitute for pineapple juice.

As the sauce began to simmer, I stopped to pick more lentils off my socks. Then I grabbed the broom and swept a lentil-free path alongside the counter. Forest had moved his lentil scooping operation to the dining area, which was helpful because I had to open the oven and get the meatballs out.

They smelled good.

I grabbed the cutting board, plus a few peppers, five carrots, and a stabby pineapple. Then I took off my socks because I was tired of lentils sticking to them. I could feel every tiny one pressing on the bottom of my foot like 4000 tiny massage stones — except annoying more than relaxing.

Next came the rice. When I pulled the huge bag out of the pantry, Forest immediately ran back into the kitchen. Do you know what’s better than dried lentils? Dried rice. Ha! Not this time, kiddo. I quickly measured out two cups and put the bag away. While the meatballs and the rice simmered gently on the stove, I grabbed the broom again and kept sweeping. And sweeping. And sweeping. And for the rest of the night, it’s pretty much all I did.

The lentils were everywhere. They were all over the floor. By bedtime, they had taken over every room in the house. They were against the baseboards. They covered the kitchen floor. They spread to my living room couch, the bathroom floor, and burrowed into all three bedroom carpets.

They were in my bed.

Every room had lentils, plus an abandoned lentil-covered sock or two.

My house looks like a confetti bomb went off. Or maybe a lentil-filled pinata, which would be the saddest birthday party surprise ever. Actually, it reminds me of grade nine, when my best friend turned 14 and I surprised her by dumping a bottle of glitter in her locker. Glitter, of course, is the devil. You can’t get it off of anything. Years later, we checked to see if the glitter was still there. It was. Looking back, I’m surprised I wasn’t billed for damage to school property.

And that is what I’m dealing with a day later. The pulse-equivalent of glitter. Forest and I spent an entire morning washing the floors, removing every lentil by hand — but they keep coming back. And every time I put Forest down on the ground so that I can sweep them up, Forest howls in protest. Though I might have some luck right now if I try. He’s busy playing with magic markers, so that should keep him busy for a bit. And what could go wrong with that?

March 12, 2016
Making Amber Wrap Bracelets (What NOT To Do)

Want to make your own? Click here to see the step-by-step tutorial.

I made these pretty beaded amber wrap bracelets for my friends for Christmas. Each one took less than an hour to make, so naturally making five of them took me … four weeks.

It started back in December when I decided that I would make matching bracelets for an upcoming gift exchange with a few of my friends. This was after those two evenings of reattaching doll heads, and I was excited to come up with another handicraft project to work on.

Given that I’m both green and cheap, I was happy that I’d be able to reuse something that I already had lying around in the house. As a family with three kids, we’ve gone through a lot of amber necklaces, and I always throw the outgrown or broken necklaces in a box so that I can reuse the beads to make jewellery for myself. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for eight years now.

Finding Amber Necklaces

Once I came up with the bracelet idea, I was eager to get started. I ran to my room to retrieve the beads. The necklaces, of course, were nowhere.

I looked everywhere I could think of. I looked in my craft supply cupboard and my jewellery box and my stash of shiny choking hazards that I keep hidden from both my one-year-old and my-four-year old. I looked through my knitting supplies. I looked under my bedroom dresser – the one that holds my clothes. I looked under my other bedroom dresser – the one that holds my yarn. You have one of those too, right?

I have no idea where all the amber went.

You know, some people believe that amber has magical properties. I can assure you that it does, based solely on it’s ability to completely disappear and then reappear months and months later – usually in the middle of your living room floor.

After a frantic night of searching, I put out a call on Facebook: does anyone have old necklaces that I could have? Several of my friends said yes — but they didn’t know where the necklaces were. See? More proof of amber’s magical ability to disappear. Thankfully I one friend was able to locate her stash of broken-necklaces-that-will-someday-be-made-into-something-else; she generously sent the bag to me and I was all set. (Thank you Tanja!) I had five whole days to make the bracelets. No sweat.

I knew right away that I wouldn’t have enough beads to do all six bracelets (five for my friends, one for me), but that wasn’t a big deal. I really love the look of bracelets that mix up amber with other beads. I headed over to the craft store and picked a bunch of beads at random. And I bought a bead design board for organizing the beads. And I wasn’t sure what kind of cording I’d need, so I picked out a roll of soft suede. My project ended up costing a touch more than I expected, but I figured that the kids would enjoy having any leftover supplies for their own handicraft projects. Why, that meant I could count it as a homeschooling expense. How could I not spend the money if it would enrich my children’s education?

Five Days until Gift Exchange

I was ready to start. I watched a quick video on how to do the ladder stitch and then I got out my supplies: suede cord, assortment of beads, all-purpose thread, sewing needle, and Season One of Downton Abbey on the computer.

First, I put my beads on the bead board and rearranged them a few times until they looked just the right amount of “randomly sorted”. I cut my suede cord and threaded it through a button, tying a knot to secure it. Then I measured out the 16 feet of thread that I’d need for sewing the beads.

16 feet.

Have you ever measured out 16 feet of thread? I pulled and I pulled and I pulled from the spool, counting out foot by foot. As I pulled, the thread pooled on the floor and tangled itself into a giant polyester tumbleweed. I picked it up and tried to find an end so I could start unravelling, but clearly it was a lost cause. I threw the whole mess in the garbage.

Again, I measured out 16 feet. This time I was more careful to stop it from tangling. Once the full amount was measured out, I threaded it onto the needle and slid the needle to the middle so that my thread was held double. This effectively meant that my working length was just 8 feet – much more doable than 16. I carefully poked the needle through the suede knot and then pulled all 8 feet of thread through. It immediately tangled together at the end, creating a riculously stubborn knot.

I put the project down and retreated to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Five minutes later, I sat back down with my mug and decided to tackle the knot rather than measure out another 16 feet of thread. It took a full episode of Downton Abbey to get the knot out. Finally I was able to put my first bead on. I pulled the needle through the bead’s hole, then looped it over the cord and pulled it back through the bead again. It snagged, but I was quick enough to untangle the thread before the knot got too tight.

From there on, I was able to put the rest of the beads on without much trouble. The further along I went, the more thread I used up and the easier it became. By the time I got to the end, I was feeling good.

I knotted off the cord and carefully examined the bracelet. The beads were beautiful. The workmanship was … well … uneven. Oh well, it was the first one. The next bracelet would be better.

At this point it was well after midnight, but I was so pleased with myself for finishing the first bracelet that I started a second one. I measured out 16 feet of thread and then put on the first bead. The thread immediately tangled together. Honestly, it was like working with leftover spaghetti noodles. Covered in super glue. In a bowl of molasses.

I packed up and went to bed.

Four Days until Gift Exchange

The next day I went back to the craft store and bought more beads. I figured that I had a better idea now of what size and colour would work, and I could always come back later on and return the beads that I didn’t use, right? I was confident that, in the end, I’d come in under budget. Or reasonably close.

That night, I pulled out my supplies again. I was more careful this time. I knew what I was doing. I gave myself more workspace. I was sure that everything would go more smoothly.

It did. I made it right to the end of the second bracelet before I realized that I had cut the leather cording too short and that the bracelet wouldn’t be long enough. I put it to the side to deal with later.

I started the next bracelet. The thread knotted up right away and when I tried to untangle it, I snapped it in half. I couldn’t figure out how to elegantly add more thread in the middle of the bracelet so I took the whole thing apart and started again. This time, I didn’t measure out enough thread though, so again, I couldn’t make the bracelet long enough. Why was this happening to me? I took it apart. Again.

I decided to call it quits for the night, given that it was well past midnight and all my bracelets had been failures. With a yawn, I slowly started to pack up my supplies and then proceeded to drop half my beads on the floor. It turns out that my hardwood floors are almost the exact same colour as amber beads. I spent the next 30 minutes as a broom zombie, sweeping them all up so that my baby wouldn’t eat them in the morning. Can you imagine if he had? “Here’s a bracelet, dear friend. The beads have actually passed through my son’s entire digestive system, so now they’re extra valuable. Just like kopi luwak, that really expensive coffee bean that is collected from cat poop.” It’s a thing. Believe me, I used to work at Starbucks.

I didn’t work on the bracelets for the next two days. I just … no.

One Night until Gift Exchange

On the night before my gift exchange, I pulled out my supplies. In a sudden epiphany (I’ve been full of them lately), I realized that the thread didn’t need to be a continuous 16 feet long – I really only needed two strands that were each 8 feet. If I cut two 8 foot strands and then held them each double with the needle in the middle, I would effectively have 4 strands of thread that were each 4 feet long. So. Much. Better. I was able to get one more bracelet almost all the way done before another knot appeared out of nowhere. It took another entire episode of Downton Abbey to untangle. At this point, I was practically in Season Three.

I left the last two bracelets and went to bed. Surely if I had this much trouble working on them at night in a quiet living room, it would go much better during the day with three children running around. Right?

As I climbed into bed, I noticed that I wasn’t feeling so hot. I lay down and immediately fell into a deep, satisfying sleep that lasted a good 20 minutes. Then I spent the rest of the night up with my one year old; he apparently came down with a cold at that exact hour and suddenly had a barking cough that reminded me of that famous seal that took up smoking. What? That’s not a thing? I was too tired to know what was real any more. By the morning it was obvious that all three kids were sick. I was too, but not as bad as them. I was just healthy enough to get up and take care of everyone else. Sob.

Halfway through the day, I told my friends that I couldn’t join them for the Christmas gift exchange due to my plague-monkey status. Then I tucked the bracelets away until after Christmas, knowing that I now had three more weeks before I’d see my friends again.

Starting Again

I waited a long time before I pulled the bracelets out again. When I finally laid them on the kitchen table, I gave them a careful once-over. The beads looked pretty but the sewing didn’t. The thread didn’t lay evenly from bead to bead. Sometimes it wasn’t pulled tight. It seemed to keep catching on the suede, which was square shaped. I looked at pictures of other bracelets online and I realized that everyone else used a smooth, round cord on the outsides instead a square-shaped suede.

I decided I had to start over. The next day, I went to the craft store and bought more cording. And more beads.

At home, I started my first bracelet with the round cord. I carefully measured out the thread and started sewing the beads. My instincts were right – the round shape of the cord made a huge difference and the thread was able to lie more nicely against it. I kept adding beads. Then the thread tangled. I found where I had left off on Downton Abbey and picked out the knot. After an episode or two, I finished the bracelet. It looked much nicer than the original ones.

Again, I started to feel the pressure of the deadline. I wanted to finish at least one more bracelet before going to bed, but it was 11:00 at night and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to tackle another length of thread. Then I remembered – totally out of the blue – that I had a kind of waxed polycord in the basement that I had purchased last year for a different project. But it would probably be too thick to thread through the beads, no? I quickly found it and gave it a try. It worked, and given how much thicker it was than all-purpose sewing thread, I wouldn’t even need to double it up. I measured out a scant 8 feet.

Working with the waxed polycord kind of felt like using dental floss. For a brief second, I thought about using actual dental floss because it would give the bracelet a festive pepperminty smell. Or not.

The bracelet finished in record time. There were no tangles of any kind. No snags. I was so pleased with how well it went and I couldn’t wait to start the next one … except that I couldn’t stop thinking of dental floss when I looked at it. I decided that I needed to find a brown version in the morning. Then I promptly knocked over my bead board and spent the next 30 minutes sweeping up beads before heading for bed.

I hate beads.

The next afternoon, just one day before I’d see my friends, I drove out in a snowstorm to the store that sells the waxed polycord. I picked a nice shade of chestnut brown and then drove home. I waited until the kids were in bed and pulled out my beads again. This time, the bracelet practically made itself. I quickly made a second bracelet, then left the final two the next day.

The following afternoon, with my girls gone out and my son down for a nap, I pulled out the beads for what I hoped was the last time ever. I made two bracelets in no time at all, and then, because I couldn’t stop thinking of dental floss, I remade the white-threaded bracelet as well. Five bracelets. Done. And they were pretty, and I loved them.

I love them almost enough to make one for myself too. Almost, but not quite.

Tomorrow I’ll post a tutorial on how to make the bracelets in case you have your own necklaces to upcycle. I recommend you find waxed polycord and round leather cording before starting. And at least a couple seasons of Downton Abbey.

Find my on Pinterest at www.pinterest.com/tea4tamara

January 17, 2016
My Epiphany

Thank you for visiting Unhurried Home! This is my post from last year (2016), when I first discovered the whole idea of Epiphany and our very simple, very last-minute celebration. Today I’m busy getting ready for our very first Epiphany party — we’ve never done this, so feel free to send me tips here or over on Facebook.

Yesterday was Epiphany, the day that we celebrate the three wise men visiting Jesus. We don’t know many of the details of that day – we don’t even know how many men there actually were. We do know, however, that they arrived much later after the birth than our Christmas cards depict – likely a whole year or two.

I reflected on their visit at our church service on Christmas Eve as my own 15 month old boy made a dash down the aisle for the third time in four minutes. Well, not so much reflected as commiserated with Mary because I can only imagine that the entire magi visit was exhausting.

I picture Mary getting Jesus’ lunch ready when the men arrived. She was carefully slicing the grapes in half lengthwise to reduce the chance of choking. Jesus was sitting on the floor near her, banging on some dishes with a spoon – the noise was annoying but at least it kept him occupied for a minute.

Then, out of the blue, a group of royal-looking men showed up at the door. Mary, pushing worries of a missed nap time out of her head, welcomed them in and frantically looked for a place to sit. Did they have chairs, lovingly hand-crafted by Joseph the carpenter? If they did, I’m certain that they all were laying on their side under a table to stop Jesus from constantly standing on the top of them.

You know how later on Satan tells Jesus to jump off a cliff because the angels will catch him? Toddlers don’t need the devil’s prompting; they will jump off of anything and everything, firmly convinced that if the angels are busy, a mother will be there to break the fall.

So poor Mary was busy putting all the chairs upright, muttering apologies as she dusted them them off. Jesus was not making matters easier because, overcome with shyness due to the strangers in the house, he was now clinging desperately to her legs. Mary didn’t get frustrated though – she seems like a very patient woman, based on the statues I’ve seen.

Once everyone had a seat, Jesus warmed up to the visitors and started playing peekaboo with them from behind Mary’s robe. At one point, they held out their gifts for him to inspect. Jesus immediately tried to eat the frankincense and then put the bowl of myrrh on his head like a hat, spilling the contents all over the ground. He immediately uttered an adorable little “uh oh” in Aramaic, which Mary and the wise men instinctively echoed back.

As Mary quickly cleaned up the myrrh, the wise men looked around for somewhere high up that they could stash the gold, safely out of Jesus’ reach. In the commotion, I can only imagine that Jesus snuck out the side door and started finger-painting on one of the camels with mud.

I guess we’re lucky that Matthew didn’t include any of the details in his gospel. It would have made the nativity pageant far too complicated to pull off, given how notoriously bad toddlers are at following stage direction.

Most nativity pageants I’ve been to have everyone visit on the night Jesus was born. I didn’t know that many Christians around the world celebrate the magi’s visit on a completely separate day from Christmas. Until last year, I never knew that December 25 was the first of 12 days of Christmas. For me, once Boxing Day hit, Christmas was over. And honestly, that was usually a relief.

Every year, I find myself more disappointed with Christmas. It just doesn’t seem Holy anymore. I want it to be a special time where we remember the birth of Jesus, but every year, the birth is overshadowed by presents and Santas and stockings and parties. I confess that I’ve become resentful that I have to share a meaningful holiday with people who couldn’t care less about the birth of Jesus.

And don’t get me wrong – I’m not the kind of Christian that gets angry when someone says Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. I don’t care how my Starbucks cup is decorated. In fact, I’d prefer that fewer people celebrate Christmas. Celebrate something else. Have your sleigh rides and winter songs and turkey dinners on the Solstice instead and leave Christmas for Christians. Don’t co-opt our day as an excuse to party. (I can get kind of grinchy.)

Last year I was ready to give up on it all. I thought Christians should get together and have a secret Christmas where we celebrate without the extra fuss. Maybe in February, so we could get great deals on the leftover decorations.

Then, this year, I read this on the Christianity Today site:

“We love to find—or even invent—spiritual reasons for various cultural practices related to Christmas. For example, we give gifts to one other to remind ourselves of God’s great gift of Jesus to the world or of the gifts of the wise men to Jesus. That may sound nice, but is it biblical? Or do we really give gifts because that’s what our parents did and what everyone else we know does (except the Jehovah’s Witnesses, diehard secularists, and some religious purists)? What kind of parent would you be if you didn’t give your child a Christmas present (or, in many cases, a whole roomful of them)? Or, just imagine, if you didn’t celebrate Christmas at all (like the Puritans)? Very little is intrinsically spiritual or biblical about these kinds of expectations. They’re almost entirely cultural. That doesn’t make them necessarily wrong, but we shouldn’t invent biblical rationales to justify them.”

When I first read that, I honestly thought it was totally backwards. And dumb. Everyone knows that we exchange presents at Christmas because Jesus was God’s gift to us. I think. Or it might be because of the Magi. Whatever, I was more confused as to why everyone else exchanges gifts.

But for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about that passage all day. Then sometime in the evening, my thinking suddenly shifted ever so slightly and I understood what the author was saying. Society hasn’t co-opted our holiday – we’ve co-opted theirs. We take the cultural traditions of the season – the Christmas tree, the yule log, the misletoe, the candy cane – and we try to give them Biblical significance. And we’ve been doing it ever since a Pope picked December 25 to be Christmas Day, replacing the pagan winter festival of the time. It all worked beautifully for a long, long time as much of the Western world identified as Christian, but now that society is becoming more secular, we’re stamping our feet and pouting that “our” holiday is being taken away from us. Was it ever ours to begin with?

Somehow, the thought that Christmas doesn’t belong to Christians was very liberating for me. I’m not obligated to participate, just like I’m not obligated to set off fireworks on Victoria Day or barbecues on Labour Day. I’m also invited to enjoy it for what it is – a cultural celebration. And I think I can embrace that.

I do wish that we had a different name for the two distinct celebrations – the cultural Christmas and the birth of Jesus. A different day would be even better. As I thought about that, I remembered hearing about Epiphany and decided to look it up on Google. I learned that Epiphany is the day when Christians celebrate the wise men coming. I learned that some people consider it a second Christmas and hold it in high regard as the day that God officially introduced himself to the Gentile world. I read about how people celebrate – taking down the tree, throwing Epiphany parties, eating cake with three beans hidden inside to decide who will represent the royal wisemen at the royal feast.

I knew that I wanted to mark the day but I wasn’t sure how. I asked my wise friend Jenny if she celebrates it and she replied:

My home school mentor celebrated by marking the holy nights (12 days of Christmas), when they were very introspective as a family, and kept things spiritually based. Basically, she said it’s a time to shed off the materialism of Christmas, and to really delve into focusing on Christ. … They also keep the tone of their home reverent by clearing out the old, and making quiet plans for the new year. … It’s been really lovely to just sink into it, and I feel this real relief of the “holidays’ and now it’s time to spend contemplating Christ. It’s like all the bustle and chaos is over, and it’s a simple, reflective time. Since she introduced the concept to me, I’ve really cherished it quietly.

And that right there is what I’ve been looking for. I love it.

Because it works, doesn’t it? For the rest of our society, Christmas is over on December 26. On Boxing Day, we shop. On New Years Eve, we party. On Jan 2, we see Valentine decorations on the shelves.

But as Christians, we can keep the Christmas party going. We can keep singing carols. We can feast some more. We can focus on Jesus. It’s like a secret Christmas that’s all ours.

Yesterday was our first time celebrating Epiphany. We tried our best to incorporate some traditions in a rushed, last-minute sort of way. We had a feast with the nice table cloth and wine glasses of grape juice and apple cider. We had a roasted chicken – well, rotisserie takeout – and we had cupcakes with (coffee) beans shoved inside two of them to determine who would represent the royalty at our feast. We read the bible story and we took down the tree. We had ice cream. Then we cobbled together some pretty star decorations to put on the walls, which helped make the room seem a little less dull now that the Christmas decorations are gone.

In all, it was a lovely evening. I can’t tell you how relaxed I felt as I ate dinner with my family. It was such a nice way to formally mark the end of the Christmas season, rather than our usual mom-couldn’t-stand-the-christmas-tree-taking-up-half-the-living-room-one-moment-longer-and-took-it-down-while-everyone-slept tradition that we usually follow.

What a blessing this second Christmas turned out to be. I love the days that I’m discovering in the liturgical calendar year – celebrations that I knew nothing about, that have been left untouched by the world. I feel like I’m discovering a whole secret side of my faith, rich with symbolism and beauty and even a touch of whimsy. And the Holiness that I’ve been craving.

Look for my post in the following link ups:

Think Tank Thursday / Mama Moments Mondays / From House to Home / WholeHearted Wednesday / Shine Blog Hop

Find me on Pinterest at www.pinterest.com/tea4tamara

January 7, 2016
How My FitBit Helps Me Slow Down

About a month ago, I discovered that I somehow had earned enough points on my credit card to get a FitBit Charge. What?! Cool! Wait – how much have I have been using my credit card? Whatever – I pushed aside any concerns and ordered my FitBit on the spot.

A FitBit is a fancy step counter. My Charge counts the number of steps I take, how far I’ve walked, how many flights of stairs I’ve climbed and even how many times I was restless during the night. It’s supposed to calculate the amount of calories I’ve burned too, but I don’t see how that’s possible given that it can’t tell when I’ve got a 20lb baby strapped to my back.

I’ve wanted a FitBit for ages because I want to know if I actually spend all day on my feet like I think I do. When I swear that I’ve put in miles and miles just returning toys from the living room back to the bedrooms, am I exaggerating? Because if feels like I never, ever stop. I’m sure you know the feeling.

Take a typical 15 minutes from some random day: we finish breakfast and I start clearing dishes from the table. Forest is still happily sitting in his high chair playing patty cake with the yoghurt that now coats his tray, so I take this opportunity to dash down the stairs to throw a load of laundry in the washer.

When I turn to leave the laundry room, I step squarely in a pile of cat puke. Now I have to hop up the entire flight of stairs and all the way to the bathroom so that I don’t accidentally leave a trail of kitty vomit covered with bits of kibble and tufts of cat fur. I get to the bathroom and wash off my disgusting foot, then rush back to the kitchen table because Forest is getting antsy. Oh, and he’s covered in yoghurt.

I rush back to the bathroom to grab a cloth and then run back to the kitchen table to wipe down his hands and his face, which is apparently one of the 53 recognized ways to torture a one year old. My normally chill baby screeches in protest, flinging his head from side to side, but I’m persistent and I get the job done. I put the baby down on the floor and – what was I doing? Right, the dishes.

I take a quick lap around the house to find any stray dishes from the night before and then realize that I’ve left the dishwasher open, which means that a) Forest has climbed up on the door and is now jumping on it or b) he’s chosen to forgo his favourite trampoline and instead he’s made a beeline for the cutlery tray. Why oh why do use so many knives in this house? And forks?

I run back to the kitchen to find that it’s actually: c) he’s systematically pulling the glass bakeware out and throwing it to the ground. I move him away from the dishwasher and he howls with rage for 2.8 seconds because now he sees the pantry door has been left open. I let him run over to the pantry while I make myself more tea and start washing the dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher. Forest happily plays with vinegar and I figure that’s the best possible thing for him to mess around with, because if it spills, it’s like cleaning the floor by accident. Win.

OK, the kitchen is looking good and the baby is happy – I run out of the kitchen and up the hall to tell River that we’re going to start math soon, then run back to the kitchen to find that Forest has opened a bottle of Worcestershire sauce and is dragging it into the living room. I run to the bathroom to wet a clean cloth and I try to wipe the thick sauce off his hands before he can make it to the couch. It’s much harder this time around because he’s not strapped in a high chair and he thinks this new game of tag is hilarious. Do I look like a fun mom that plays tag? No – I cut him off and then hold him down between my knees so that I can clean his hands.

Then I wipe the floor and run half way to the kitchen before I realize that I left the bottle of Worcestershire sauce in the living room and, yes, Forest has it again. I grab it from him and then head back to the kitchen for another cloth to clean the floor with. In the kitchen, I find Harbour stuffing dish towels into the drawer. She tells me that she spilled all of her milk but that she cleaned it up herself life a big girl. Using every single towel in the drawer, of course. Despite this, I shower her with praise because this really is progress, and then I gather up all the towels in my arms and carry them straight to the laundry room. Where I step in cat puke. Oh, right. That.

Sigh.

While, not always in this order, all these things have happened to me so many times that I’ve lost count. The worst part is that I never, ever stop moving long enough to rest or regroup or realize that keeping the Worcestershire sauce in the bottom drawer of the pantry is stupid.

But I decided that FitBit was going to fix this, because it would actually confirm that yes, I spend all day running around. A FitBit would to justify my exhaustion at the end of the day. It will give me tangible proof to wave in my husband’s face that I did not spend all day on Facebook – well, ok, I did spend all day on Facebook, but it was from my phone while I chased the kids down the street and not sitting in front of the computer.

The FitBit will give me permission to take a break.

Because these days, I don’t even know how to take one.

I’m not very good at taking breaks. I have a hard time sitting down and doing something I enjoy, like knitting or blogging, when my house is a mess. And, yes, I know that having a clean house isn’t the most important thing in life (save your comments), but right now I have a newly minted ONE year old (sob) that wants to put everything in his mouth, and if I stop for a second, he is going to find that tasty Barbie shoe hidden under a towel or the meatball that Harbour stashed under the living room chair or the cat barf in the laundry room. Crud – have I not cleaned that up yet? Seriously, why do we even own cats when we’re already outnumbered by kids?

But listen – I need a break. I’ve been reading so many great books lately about the need for rest and I’m sold. We need to rest. Mothers need to rest so much more than we do – and I have some thoughts on why that is. If I’m ever going to get around to writing about them, I’m going to need to find some time to myself.

With that in mind, I have set two goals for the next two weeks. First, I want to try and get my 10,000 steps by the kids’ bedtime, and then I want to stop, guilt-free. Second, I want my Sundays to be different from the other days of the week (another thing I hope to write about as soon as I have a chance) – I want to see a noticeable decrease in my step count on those days as proof that my days was not spent rushing from room to room to room. I think those are both reasonable goals, no?

Today (a Sunday) has gone pretty well so far. Forest had a good 90 minute nap and I was able to work on this post. My step count is under 5000, which makes me happy – that’s a lot of sitting! And to top it all off, I know without a doubt that I don’t have to worry about the Worcestershire sauce spilling today, because Forest hid it a week ago and I haven’t found it back yet. Except that I might need it for dinner tonight so I suppose I need to find it.

Huh.

I guess I better get moving.

October 25, 2015
A Day in the Life of our Homeschool

Earlier this year, I tried several different times to do a “Day in the Life” post because I love reading these kind of posts on other homeschool blogs. I kept putting it off though – partly because every day is so different from the last and partly because I’m afraid that people will judge me because the kids aren’t memorizing the periodic tables or writing their third concerto. I’ve read your blogs, people. Your kids are superheroes. Mine have trouble finding matching socks.

I finally managed to scratch this out shortly after my husband finished his parental leave, when Forest was about six months old and I was getting used to being with the three kids on my own. I’m not sure why the post was never published, but I came across it when I was updating my blog and figured I should share it.

I picked a Monday to feature because Mondays are my favourite day of the week. I find that I’m refreshed from the weekend and I’m excited to start learning with my kids. Tuesdays are good too but then on Wednesdays we visit with friends and family and on Thursdays I lose steam and start to wonder if I’m jeopardizing the girls’ futures and by Friday I’m seriously considering public school. It’s good to have a consistent weekly routine, right?

So here we go…

Goals for a random Spring Monday

✓ Math: Games to Learn Math Facts from RightStart
✕ Copywork: Lesson 16 from Pictures in Cursive
✓ History: Chapter 3 of A Viking Adventure
✓ Literature: Finish Chapter 16 of A Little Princess
✓ Life Skills: Bake Bread, Clean Bathroom with the girls
✕ Nature Study: Readaloud from a Nature Reader, start seeds

Today, I woke up at 5:30 to make sure my husband got out the door in time for work. It’s his first day shift since he’s gone back from parental leave and I was nervous that he’d sleep through his alarm. I couldn’t fall asleep after that so I laid in bed and daydreamed and browsed Facebook and watched my kids sleep and prayed for people that I know and love.

The baby woke up around 7:00 so we spent the next half hour make faces at each other. Well, I made faces and he just smiled with varying degrees of dimple depth. He’s a one-trick pony.

At 7:30 I decide that there is no chance I’m going to fall back asleep, especially with a six month old that keeps stabbing his pointy nails in my face. After I change his diaper, we wander off to the kitchen so I can make tea. At this point I decide that I should finally do my “day in the life” blog post since it’s going to be an “average day”.

8:00: River walks into the kitchen with a huge grin and announces that she’s been awake for hours. Sure. Then she asks if we can watch the Roar, the music video by Katy Perry. I’m immediately embarrassed that I’ll have to include this detail in my blog post. It’s likely the only music video that my kids have ever seen and the only Katy Perry song I know. We’re normally much cooler than that. Or is Katy Perry cool? I have no idea. Honestly, we usually just listen to classical.

While River watches her video (twice), I start my morning routine, which loosely consists of making tea, loading or unloading the dishwasher, starting a load of laundry, and cleaning up the kitchen floors and counters.

Rivers tells me that she’d like to write a book for her cousin in New York and gets to work. It’s going to be completely written in rhyme, she tells me. This could take a few days.

Harbour kind of wanders in and says hello. She’s confused when I tell her that Daddy isn’t home and she goes downstairs to check that I’m not lying. Once there, she is quickly distracted by our vast collection of LEGO and doesn’t return until breakfast time.

8:30 – I start cooking up some steel cut oats for breakfast and clean up the counters so that we can bake bread. At 9:00, we eat the oatmeal and at 9:30 we start school by kneading some dough.

I love kneading dough. It is exhausting though, so I decide to count this as Phys Ed as well as Life Skills. Today is the third time we’ve made bread and I’m not sure who enjoys it more – River or me. We split the dough into two and knead it together while we quietly look out the kitchen window, commenting a bit on the buds growing on the trees and the house sparrows that live in a little nook of my neighbours’ house, right outside our window.

We leave the dough to rise and then head off to the bedroom. River begs me to finish off a chapter of A Little Princess but I decide that we need to do a History reading first. We read a short chapter of The Viking Adventure and I ask River to narrate it back to me.

(Narration is used extensively in a Charlotte Mason education – it essentially means that I read to my daughter and then ask her to tell me what I just read. I’m always blown away with the amount of detail she can recite, even when I’m positive that she’s not paying attention at all. She often uses voices and gets swept up in the story as she tells it back to me.)

Today River works on a cross stitch project as she listens to the story. She just started cross stitching yesterday and seems to be growing more confident. I hope she doesn’t get bored – so far, she has a low boredom threshold for the Handiwork projects that I love.

After 15 minutes or so, we finish the History reading and start reading A Little Princess (Literature) while Forest nurses in my lap. We’re only a few chapters into the book and the story is exciting. When we finish off the chapter, River begs me to start another chapter but at this point I’m getting tired because I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. Forest has fallen asleep so I pull up the audiobook recording on Libravox and we listen to the next chapter together. River works on her cross stitch and I work on mending a pair of jeans that are full of holes.

Once the chapter is finished, we return to the kitchen to punch down the dough. Then we shape it into loaves and let it rise again. River goes off to play with Harbour.

Forest soon wakes up and starts to fuss. Ugh. A short nap. I decide to take a shower while the two girls are occupied and I cram the playpen into the bathroom and stick the baby inside.

Once I climb in the shower, Forest immediately starts to cry. I sing to him the only song that comes to mind, which is, of course, Roar by Katy Perry. Harbour wanders in, because children are inexplicably drawn to closed bathroom doors. She announces that she needs a bath right away so I promise to be quick. I get out as soon as I can but of course by that point she’s lost interest.

Once I’m dried off and dressed, I offer to play a Math card game with River because I’m concerned that she’s not recalling basic math facts as well as she used to and I want her to practice. We choose Go to the Dump, which is a game by RightStart math. Go to the Dump is just Go Fish, but instead of finding pairs, we find numbers that add up to 10.

It’s 12:30 now and the bread is done. I know we’re supposed to wait for the bread to cool down but we’re hungry and it smells good. I cut in immediately and we eat half a loaf.

After we’ve eaten, it’s 1:00 and I decide that I’m ready for our quiet time. For some reason, this sets River off. She doesn’t want a quiet time all by herself. She’s bored. Everything is boring. Reading is boring. Playing is boring. Colouring is boring. I finally convince her to work on the book for her cousin while she listens to Sparkle Stories on the iPhone.

We just started quiet times on Friday so this is only our second one. I need them. I want to see if I can cope better in the evenings if I have a break at some point during the day. My hope is that Forest will eventually nap at this time too. Today I am lucky, he naps and I am able to keep my eyes closed for 30 minutes. Harbour spends a good portion of that time trying to pry my eyes open with her fingers.

Finally I get up. It is now 2:00 and I ask if anyone wants to go outside. The girls are enthusiastic, so I start to get Forest dressed and tell the girls to get themselves ready. River suddenly turns on me, angrily yelling that I’m a grouch. Which is kind of funny because I haven’t lost my temper at all today. I was a total zen master. I’m kind of at a loss on what to do. Clearly my kids need to get outside but I decide that I need to deal with this attitude first. River gets a time out.

Once the time out is finished, we move outside for Nature Study. It takes forever and a day to get the kids dressed and even though they are excited to go out into the yard, I still have to bribe them with a chocolate to actually get them out the door. Seriously, why is leaving the house so hard???

When we get outside, it is raining a tiny bit but not enough to worry about. We happily walk/skip/run to the end of our street, which is a long way for Harbour’s little legs. On the way, River finds a snail shell and gives it to Harbour. We spend the rest of our trip looking for more snail shells.

When we get home, Harbour buries the shell in a bit of leftover snow and then digs it up and again, and then buries it in the snow and digs it up again. River and I look through the old leaves for signs of spring growth. For some reason River, my nature girl, suddenly goes inside but Harbour, my nature hater, stays out for another 20 minutes until her hands were too cold to dig any more. This gives me such hope for the summer.

We come inside and find River playing with some dolls. Harbour tries to join in but River wants time to herself, alone in her room. “Well, that’s what quiet time is for. So that we each have time to ourselves everyday,” I explain.

“Can we do quiet time again now?” she asks. Right.

I tell her that I have something even better. It’s 4:00 and I want to squeeze in our daily clean, another new thing we’re trying. “We’re going to clean the bathroom” I say dramatically. She rolls her eyes.

I go to the kitchen and fill a bottle with vinegar, water and a few drops of lavender. Then I fill a bowl with baking soda and drag the girls to the bathroom. Because can anyone resist fizzy bubbles, or as I think of it, science? My family certainly can’t. The two girls happily took turns sprinkling baking soda and spraying vinegar while Forest cries bloody murder in his playpen beside us. Fine. I pick him up and we all scrub the counter, sink and bathtub. The girls clean the mirror and then I put Forest down in the Exercauser and I clean the toilet while he screams some more. I tell the girls that it’s time to take a break because I need to calm him down.

While I nurse him and he bites me, the girls tried to play Go to the Dump themselves, which doesn’t really work at all because Harbour is way too young for the game. I decide to do supper a bit early and I suggest toasted waffles. The girls are confused – what are those?! It’s yesterday’s leftover waffles, reheated in the toaster. OK, it’s hard to make that sound good but it’s a novelty and they both agree.

2.7 minutes later, dinner is on the table. Booyah.

After dinner, the girls play until it’s time for River’s kids club. We walk her there and, later, we walk back to pick her up. At this point, it’s past everyone’s bedtime and I unceremoniously put them in bed. Because I. am. done.

These days, half a year later, our days have a bit more structure and and a bit more school work and a bit less Katy Perry. But back in the early days of spring, our days were intentionally light on lessons because I knew that we had to be flexible as we adjusted to my husband back at work and our baby. I figured that as long as we did some reading and some math each day, we would be okay. After all, no one has ever been turned away from university because they didn’t learn the parts of a flower in grade two, right? Meh. I’ll have to remember to delete this post when River fills out her first university application.

If you’ve got a “day in the life” post on your blog, please be sure to link it below in the comments. I love seeing how different families do school!

Follow me on Pinterest at www.pinterest.com/tea4tamara

August 21, 2015
My Misadventures with Chalk Paint

My husband and I took the girls to a frog exhibit a few weeks ago. When we passed by the gift shop, the girls noticed the small aquariums with the African Dwarf Frogs for sale. They of course asked if we could buy one and I of course said no and my husband of course said yes and so, of course, I vowed that he will not be coming out with us anywhere ever again.

Luckily we didn’t buy a frog right then – my husband figured they’d be cheaper at a fish store and that we could use one of the five aquariums that we have stashed in the basement. Perfect, I thought. Everyone will forget about buying a frog by the time we get home.

Never underestimate the determination of a man with five empty aquariums.

The next day, my husband wandered from room to room, trying to find an acceptable place to set up. We finally agreed that it would go on top of the credenza that’s behind the couch (and by credenza I mean the old dresser that was passed down to us).

Picking a Paint Colour

You might remember this dresser from my kitchen, pre-reno. White. Kind of boring. I’ve been meaning to paint it for the last year or two or seven but I never had the time or motivation. Suddenly I knew it had to be painted immediately or I wouldn’t get the chance again until we upgrade to a larger tank. And goodness knows I’m going to fight that with every fibre of my being.

When I saw my husband hauling aquariums up from the basement, I knew I didn’t have long. I pulled out my collection of chalk paint sample jars and started holding them up to the couch, squinting at them through one eye and then the other. My husband looked at me with disbelief, certain that I was just looking for ways to stall his aquarium set up.

I promised that if he would just let me paint, everything would be done by the next day. And that it wouldn’t even cost anything since I already had everything I needed. I even had clear wax for finishing.

But first I had to decide on a colour. I knew I had to pick fast – no time to paint sample swatches. I turned to Facebook instead.

I got some good advice and lots of encouragement and one perfectly-timed quip:

The general consensus was that my favourite, the light aqua colour, wouldn’t look terrible. Good enough. That I needed so that evening I grabbed a brush and started painting.

The paint went on beautifully and the colour was gorgeous. But when I stepped back to admire my work, I realized that the aqua was somehow different than I expected and I was pretty sure I hated it. It looked terrible with my couch.

Uh oh.

Also? I was running out of paint, which was going to put me over my budget of “spending nothing.”

The next morning, I sat on a chair and stared at the dresser. The morning light was more flattering but I still wasn’t certain that I liked it. Then I threw a chartreuse-coloured table runner over top and suddenly, like magic, it was perfect. The table runner colour matched both my couch AND my new turquoise dresser and I was much happier.

Sealing the Paint with Wax

As soon as my husband woke up, I left him with the kids and drove across town to buy more paint so I could finish up. I also decided to switch my clear wax for dark wax after an hour or two of looking at chalk-painted projects on Pinterest.

The dark wax adds more depth and an aged look and seemed easy enough to use. Thankfully, the store was kind enough to exchange my clear wax for dark wax. I asked if I’d need supplies, since most people used fancy wax brushes in the YouTube tutorials that I watched.

“Nope, just a cloth, like an old t-shirt.”

Perfect. I went home with my paint and new dark wax.

We finished up the painting that afternoon. The drawers were painted a slightly different colour, a green/turquoise blend, on the suggestion of my seven year old and over all, the dresser looked fabulous. I love chalk paint.

My husband wasn’t convince though. “This stuff scratches right off?! It’s useless!”

“Well that’s what the wax is for,” I assured him. “It seals the paint.”

That evening, I was set to wax the dresser. My husband was raring to get the fish tank set up so I had to finish my project ASAP.

“Are you going to do it in the living room?” he asked. I thought I would. I mean, the wax has virtually no odour; I specifically asked about that when I bought my can of clear wax a couple months back. The sweet girl working at the store assuring me that it hardly smells at all – she even let me smell an open can and I could barely detect an odour. After all, it’s wax, right? That word makes me think of happy bees.

My husband looked at the can. “It says you need a layer of clear wax first.”

“What? No it doesn’t.”

“Yes, right here.”

“Nobody told me that!” It was 5:30. The store was closed for the day.

The next morning, as soon as my husband woke up, I left him with the kids and I drove across town to buy more wax.

When I got home, my husband asked once again if I wouldn’t prefer to wax it in the garage. Sigh. Oh, fine. We (okay, he) hauled the dresser downstairs and into the garage and finally I got to work.

As the World Turns

The wax actually did have an odor once you start to work with it, but it was tolerable. I happily worked on the six drawers, and then I stood up straight the garage suddenly tilted a bit to the left.

Whoa. I attributed my shakiness to the sudden change in temperature – the garage is way colder than our living room.

Just to be safe, I closed the door from the garage to the house so that they wouldn’t smell it upstairs.

I began to work on the dresser body. My head started to feel terrible. I opened the garage door, despite the fact that it was 15° below zero. I worked as fast as I could so that I could get away from the wax. What kind of sadistic bees made this stuff? Probably the petroleum-based, man-made kind of bees.

Finally I went upstairs and casually mentioned to my husband that I didn’t feel so good.

“Because you’re as high as a kite?” he asked.

Um … what? I was confused. I definitely wasn’t as high as a kite – maybe a telephone pole, but certainly not a kite. And the thought of a kite spinning through the air was making my head feel worse. Do kites spin? I don’t know. I leaned against the refrigerator.

My husband walked to the back of the house to open the bedroom windows.

“We can smell it back here,” he called. “I was just coming to open the garage door.”

I sank to the floor, still leaning against the fridge. “I opened the door 15 minutes ago, but I didn’t know it it was that bad.” I responded weakly.

This was actually comical – I’m always complaining that his model paints stink and opening the windows dramatically while my husband swears he doesn’t smell a thing.

I closed my eyes. “Some of the YouTube tutorial videos were inside. Nobody mentioned the smell in them.”

My husband came back to the kitchen and opened both windows wide.

“One video even had a kid making faces behind her mother. And another one had a baby laughing adorably somewhere off camera.” I continued feebly.

“Maybe they used a different wax.” he suggested.

I lay across the floor. “No, it’s the same name brand and there are only two options, clear and dark.”

“Well then maybe the laughing baby was high too.” he responded.

“That’s a terrible thing to say!” then suddenly I realized my three children were all exposed to this horrid stuff too and immediately began to cry. Because, you know, I was pretty loopy.

“I’ve damaged our baby!” I blubbered. “Can he breathe? Is he okay?” And then I whispered “Am I going to die?”

I should probably mention at this point that I have the same reaction to fabric softener and perfume and scented room plug-ins. Walking down the detergent aisle at the grocery store is akin to torture. I might be a teeny bit sensitive to chemicals. And a touch hypocondriac.

My husband looked at me and gave me an encouraging hug. Because sometimes the only thing you can do when your overly-sensitive wife is sprawled across the kitchen floor crying that the baby has just caught cancer is to just humour her as best you can. And hide your laughter.

“No, Tamara, people huff turpentine and paint thinner and stuff like that to get high. On purpose.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but it was encouraging.

We left the garage door open for the rest of the day.

The next day, I woke up with a sore throat but a clear head. My husband asked me if I was planning to do coat of dark wax. Are you kidding me? I told him that I wanted that stuff out of my house as soon as possible.

For some reason, my husband decided that he would do it himself. He assured me that he would wear a mask and gloves and have the garage door open and even seal the door between the house and the garage with duct tape before he started. I told him that I wasn’t certain that I wanted to sacrifice my husband in the pursuit of pretty furniture but he didn’t listen and off he went to the garage.

An hour later, he came back inside and had a coffee. He wasn’t bothered in the least. That’s annoying.

We left the garage door open all day again. The next day, we brought the drawers up to the living room, but even though I tried to pretend they weren’t bothering me, my husband brought them right back down with barely a word and opened the garage door again to air them out.

The next day, we brought everything up and admired our work. It was over zero outside and I figured this might be out only chance to throw open all the windows if we needed to (clearly I had no idea today was going to be so nice).

Anyway, it’s done. Isn’t it gorgeous? I love the colours so, so much.

I don’t know if I’m ready to paint anything else though. I might try something small and using a different brand of wax. I’ve heard of a Canadian brand that uses actual beeswax and is supposed to smell amazing. I might even try my own concoction. Or I might just wait until a windy summer when I can be sure the breeze will carry any offending odor quickly away. From my husband. I’m not touching that stuff again.

I’ve had a sore throat for a couple days now but I’m not sure if it’s related to this adventure. I’m not seeing double anymore, although I suppose that wouldn’t be the worst thing. This dresser turned out so well that I wouldn’t even mind seeing two of them, spinning around above me with a kite or two as I lay on the kitchen floor.

March 10, 2015
Unexpectedly TV-Free

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My four-year-old and I do not see eye to eye on the value of potty training, and she reminds me three to four times a day that I have no control over the situation.

No control? Oh, we’ll see about that. A couple weeks ago, after yet another accident, I finally decided to Assert My Authority and to Create Concrete Consequences (I’ve been reading parenting books again): I told her that there would be no more television until she’s figured out the toilet thing.

So now I’m locked into a battle of wills and my opponent is a four-year-old child. It’s difficult to predict who is going to win.

This is the kid that asks if she can watch TV before she opens her eyes in the morning. This is the kid that nags us all day long because there is nothing she likes better than passively being entertained. Of course, I don’t give in right away. I tell her 463 times that it’s not time yet – we don’t let the kids watch TV until 3:00 at the earliest.

Why 3:00? Because that’s when I need a break. I kick the kids out of the kitchen, pour myself a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and start cleaning the kitchen and prepping dinner. I listen to the radio or some podcasts and poke around Facebook for awhile. 3:00 is mom o’clock, and TV makes that happen.

And now I’ve gone and taken it away.

But here’s the thing: it’s going great.

The day I told Harbour that she had lost her TV privileges, she just said OK and went on her way. The next day, as I changed her, I reminded her that TV was off limits. She listed off the shows that she wasn’t going to watch and then ran off to play. On the third day, I changed her and reminded her that there would be no TV. With a look of utter exasperation that would befit a teenager, she replied “I know, mommy.”

And that was that.

Huh.

I thought it would be hard. I thought we’d give in after days and days of relentless nagging but our days have been better by far. Even River has grudgingly accepted that books are the new Netflix.

On most days, the girls play for hours, sometimes together and sometimes apart. I hear so much less “I’m bored” – I suppose that’s been code for “can we watch TV” but I didn’t pick up on it.

They’re not completely free of screens. River has been playing on the Wii and doing a lot of math games on the iPad. Harbour tends to sit and watch her, but somehow I don’t mind as much. Because really – watching your sister answer math questions? How long can that possibly last?

Famous last words, I’m sure.

Almost two weeks into our TV-free life, I backed down a bit and agreed that we would do a movie night once a week, regardless of the progress made in the bathroom.

The first movie night featured popcorn and donuts and hot chocolate and Megamind. I was afraid that I would undue all the progress that we made, and it took a few days for my four-year-old to get that movie night isn’t a daily ritual but we more or less survived.

I can’t say we’ve been perfect though. A week or so ago, we all got sick and I sent the girls downstairs to overdose on Disney while I stayed upstairs with the baby to catch up on Downton Abbey. A few days later, once the worst of it had passed, we all turned off the screens, emerged from our rooms and let our eyes readjust to natural light. I don’t mind the lapse – movie marathons are a part of being sick, right?

Though I do have to admit that since that week, I haven’t been as strict as I was before. I’ve been letting Harbour watch a show or two on the iPad while she sits on the toilet. My hope is that an episode of Bubble Guppies will help her relax and keep her there longer, and she humours me by making grunting noises if I walk by the bathroom.

Which means she might have won our battle of wills after all.

Crap.

Update: I’m amazed at how many parents talked to me after this post about their own four and five years olds that had trouble toilet trained. I really felt like we were the only ones, but it is so much more common than I realized. The book that really helped me was It’s No Accident: Breakthrough Solutions To Your Child’s Wetting, Constipation, UTIs, And Other Potty Problems by Steve J. Hodges, MD, is a pediatric urologist. He believes that bedwetting and delayed toilet trained can be caused by chronic constipation — which I never would have guessed, given the consistency and frequency of my daughter’s bowel movements. However, he described my daughter so perfectly that I’m convinced that constipation was the culprit. I recommend it for any parents struggling with toilet training.

March 6, 2015