Friday, June 12, 2015

Not Crazy About Crazy Hair Day


I was so smug about how organised I had been about Crazy Hair Day at Boy 4's preschool today. I'd taken him to the $2 shop yesterday and let him go nuts, picking out the horns (labeled Girls Night Out accessory) and some glow-in-the-dark orange hairspray. He could barely go to sleep, he was so excited about the head of super duper orange he'd be sporting the next day.

6 am: "CAN YOU SPRAY MY HAIR NOW? CAN YOU SPRAY MY HAIR NOW?"

I took him outside, wrapped him in an old shirt of mine to protect his clothes from the insane level of orange that would be coming out of that can. So I sprayed. Shook and sprayed, shook and sprayed. NOTHING. Nothing but plain old hairspray, not a speck of orange in sight. He is giving me the gleeful look I've ever seen, anticipating that he would be winning the Craziest Hair Award that day.

He scurries off to the mirror and I just wait for what's coming. 1...2...aaaaah, there it is, the wailing shriek whine that only he knows how to achieve. I'm going to save you from the 20+ minutes of tantrums and negotiations. He finally agreed to me using the green facepaint that's been sitting in the cupboard from last Halloween. He even agreed to let me take a photo, the photo I hoped would appease his utter devastation over the dysfunctional orange hairspray from the "you had ONE job" category.

He let me take the photo. Doesn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Here it is.

Enjoy.

Like a Grape


For the past 10 days, our house has been abuzz with Monarch butterfly fever. Boy 4 found a little caterpillar on the leaf of our swan plant out front. All summer, we'd eagerly count them as they got nice and plump on the plant, only to be picked off by the wasps. This time, we were determined to see the little guy through. We cut four healthy branches, put them in water and found him a prime spot in our kitchen. For breakfast, Boy 4 would even bring him to the table so that we could happily admire his striped pal. We tracked his progress and we even lost him at one point, only to find him chilling on a painting in the kitchen.

When we went to bed last night, he was still hanging upside down from the leaf. The kids were delighted when they saw that he'd formed into a chrysalis overnight! Not only that, there were eggs on the branch, and another wee caterpillar chomping away on a leaf. I carefully boxed it up and took it to Boy 4's preschool so that they could see the entire cycle and get to watch the miracle of a glorious Monarch butterfly emerge from its cocoon. Boy 4, classmates, teachers - all so excited, marvelling about how unusually late in the season it is for this natural wonder. Went off to work with warm fuzzies about the exciting day of learning ahead for the children.

Cut to pick up time, I practically skipped to his school, ready to hear all about it. I had sacrificed taking it in to my preschool to share with my students, because I knew how invested Boy 4's class was. I'd promised my students that I'd bring in a cutting with the eggs so we could follow their journey. I walked into Boy 4's centre, only to be greeted by his teacher's solemn face. Apparently, the children had gathered around the plant to start their lesson with her. 30 seconds in, a girl squashed the delicate little chrysalis between her chubby little fingers, like a grape. I was shocked at how disappointed I felt, and a bit miffed at the girl, even though I completely recognise the fact that she's only 4 and couldn't help herself. But geeeeeeeez girl, that caterpillar worked his butt off to get that far!

The kids actually did end up learning a valuable lesson about the cycle of life, just not exactly the way that the grown ups had hoped for!

Farewell, stripey friend, we'll always have Paris (or in this case, our kitchen bench.)

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Taking your children to a skate park is absolutely the least relaxing way to spend your time.
I swear, my children have a roster coordinating which one of them hates which meal to avoid them all liking the same meal at the same time.

Cooties

Bedtime chats with Boy 9:
Boy: "I don't like girls, girls have cooties."
Me: "No they don't."
Boy: "Yes, they do."
Me: Who told you that?
Boy: "It's ONLINE!"

"Oldies?"

It seems a cruel joke that I'm now having to endure songs by Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys all over again, but this time as "old school." Ah, the joys of having a teenager in the house.

Is there something in my nose?