This is a week of transition, of return to routine. Our evenings are relatively quiet for most of the month, thankfully, as the soccer season ends and gives us a respite of a few weeks. This is good, because the kids are tired. And grumpy. (Oh yeah, I’m tired too.) Meanwhile, I want to keep track of what’s working, what’s changed, and what habits we’ve carried over from summertime.
Music practice: This happened quite rarely over the summer, when everyone takes a break from lessons. Lessons started this week, and so did regular practicing. AppleApple makes her own schedule and sticks to it, mostly practicing immediately after school (piano and French horn; no cello this year, as orchestra has been removed from her class’s curriculum, sadly). Fooey and CJ practice before school (violin and piano, respectively). Fooey goes first, and I accompany her on piano when she requests it. CJ is in his second year of piano and needs me nearby to help with finger positioning, musical details, and, mostly, moral support … and the will to continue. Yesterday, I tried combining his practice time with some light exercise (for me) because, frankly, it’s quite tedious to hang around calling out “quarter note!” and “check your hand position” and “sounds like a sharp!” (I am my father, good grief). Anyway, that whole exercise/musical instruction combo didn’t really work. I kept having to drop the kettle bell mid-lift and those things don’t drop well. Tangent alert, post-tangent. Sorry.
Chores: I have a list on the chalkboard of the kids’ chore categories: Dogs; Laundry; Dishwasher; Garbage; Set and Clear Table. Let’s break it down.
Dogs: AppleApple is supposed to feed the dogs. But they’re eating fancy food after a (let’s not talk about) bout of stomach woes, so Kevin has been doing that. She is also supposed to walk them from time to time, which happens occasionally. Fooey is supposed to keep their water bowls full. That happens only when I notice and remind her. She does clean the fish bowls regularly, however.
Laundry: I wash and dry a load or two (or three!) of laundry every day. Each of us have a labelled basket in the basement into which our clean laundry can be sorted. It’s each individual’s job to carry his or her basket upstairs and fold and put the laundry into drawers. Sorting the laundry into the baskets is the kids’ job. CJ is too small to sort effectively, so he is in charge of folding and putting away the leftovers that don’t have individual baskets: dishtowels, napkins, etc. A penalty is applied if the laundry is very poorly sorted: this requires oversight and judgement on my part. After all, even I have trouble figuring out whose underwear is whose. (The penalty is to have to sort the laundry again the next day, rather than it moving on to whoever is next in the line-up.) I also don’t pick up dirty laundry from the kids’ bedroom floors: if it gets in the hamper, it gets cleaned. This takes a great deal of restraint on my part. I hate seeing dirty clothes piling up! But I’m doing it for the team.
Dishwasher: Each kid has a designated quadrant of the dishwasher to empty. In summer, the rule was the dishwasher had to be emptied by 11AM; if you forgot, you emptied the whole dishwasher yourself the next day. I must say this method of setting child v child was enormously effective. Fooey in particular would gleefully announce at 11:01 that so-and-s0 had forgotten. On week days during the school year, the dishwasher has to be emptied before school.
Set and Clear Table: We’d meant for this chore to be shared equally, with the boys setting the table and the girls clearing every evening. But that never happened. Instead, what’s happened is that I ask whichever child happens to be around to set the table, hang the unfairness and griping. And everyone carries his or her plate to the kitchen after eating. It’s not much, I admit, but it’s better than nothing.
Garbage: Albus is supposed to sort the recycling, and carry the bins in from the curb on garbage day. That did not happen much over the summer, and I forgot to remind him about the bins when he got home from school yesterday. Yes, the thing about chores is, people need reminders until it becomes habit.
Breakfasts: We’re aiming for high protein breakfasts to get everyone off to a good start. Kevin is making a giant pitcher of smoothie in the morning: fruit, yogurt, kefir, almond milk. I’m also keeping boiled eggs in the fridge for breakfasts, lunches, or snacks.
Lunches: Albus and AppleApple have been packing their lunches for awhile now — it’s habit. Fooey decided to start this year too. She has been working on her “knife skills,” and can now slice up an apple like a pro. (On day one, the apple looked like it had been hacked apart with a hatchet.) I get the kids to write food requests on our grocery list, posted on the fridge. Anyone know where to find seaweed snacks for cheap? Everyone loves them!
Suppers: Our current routine involves me and Kevin texting back and forth around 3:30/4PM with meal ideas. Kevin can pick up ingredients on his way home. Obviously, these last-minute meals tend to be quick and easy. Last night we made pad thai with shrimp and tofu; it took us under an hour, and that was all we served, literally a vat of pad thai. Side note: Albus is excellent at making meal suggestions (that’s the hardest part of meal planning, IMO: trying to think up something different/healthy/appealing to feed everyone every single gosh-darn day). I also really like the Cookstr website for recipes, and I sign up for their weekly email newsletter, which is frequently inspiring.
Homework: This applies less to the younger kids, but Albus started high school this week, which comes with more homework and tests. He also gets home from school relatively early. I’m encouraging him to take the opportunity to do homework immediately on arriving home: grab a snack, sit at the dining room table, enjoy the quiet house. AppleApple sets her own daily/weekly/monthly homework schedule, and is diligent about making plans and sticking to them.
Exercise: I plan to continue running two mornings a week with friends, and doing one early morning boot camp, and one kundalini yoga class. I would love to swim one morning a week with AppleApple, but I’m not sure either of us can manage the early hour. I’d also like to run on the weekends and do a hot yoga class once a week. AND I’d like to start a mini running club with my kids (and any friends who would want to join), after school, running around our block in a 1-kilometre loop, so kids could decide individually how far they wanted to go. For this to happen, I will need to schedule times and dates.
In fact, for anything to happen, it must be scheduled. Inertia is a powerful force in our daily lives. Advance scheduling is the antidote. (I’m not against spontaneity, you understand; but the truth is that I’m far more likely to spontaneously watch a show on Netflix or scroll through my Twitter feed than I am to, say, go on a nature hike with my kids after school, or catch up on work-related emails, or grab two hours for myself to do yoga. You know? You know.)
And I’ve now spent well more than 15 minutes blogging … a spontaneous blogging spree. This will have to last a few days.
Oh yeah …
… it’s the last day of school!
A list of interruptions, on this, the first day of summer holidays:
– monitoring 1 disastrously neurotic dog’s behaviour while small friends are here to play all morning
– baking 2 strawberry rhubarb crisps (worth it!)
– finding the person who left wet towels all over the bathroom and reminding said person to pick up after said self
– 2 loads of laundry, washed and hung to dry
– morning snack for kids and friends, of marshmallows and graham crackers
– 1 dead bird discovered behind barbecue on back porch (+ 1 FYI text to Kevin and these timeless words: “Just don’t look at it. Dad will take care of it when he gets home.”)
– 1 teenager wondering what’s for lunch, when he can play video games, and why he has to take swim lessons this summer
– 1 box of macaroni and cheese
– the remains of lunch, all over the counters, including 1 pan in which 1 dill pickle was experimentally fried (“It basically tasted like a warm pickle.”)
– 1 lost key, needed for cat sitting purposes
– many many phone calls from friends and parents of friends
– 1 child requiring sunscreen application and opinions on swim suit choices
– 1 child requiring a thank you card which she could last-minutely turn into a birthday card, cleverly incorporating the words “thank you for your kindness”
– 1 child requiring a walk to a birthday party
– making a list in preparation for a girls’ night getaway
– fielding multiple logistical questions about scheduling, babysitting requirements, and plans for the afternoon
It’s 1:45PM and suddenly the house has gone quiet. I’m alone in my office. I’ve got about an hour and fifteen minutes to put to use. This reminds me of the olden days, when I struggled to string together enough coherent thoughts and unbroken minutes to make, say, half a poem, or a quarter of a short story. The key is to have a goal, even a small one, and a plan, and to stick with it when the quiet strikes.
And so, I’m off.
(But I do intend to write a follow-up post to my previous one, discussing the important distinction between being a writer and writing. It’s the former I’m wrestling with, not the latter. It’s not the act that I find problematic or difficult, but the acting.)
I’m in Bayfield at their writer’s festival tomorrow afternoon, where I will do my best to be a writer. Check my events page, above, if you’re interested in finding out more (about the event, that is; not about being a writer).
First of all, I have to tell you that I’m still sick! (This is because, when I’m sick, I have to tell everyone! It’s a sickness in and of itself.) Here’s where I’m hanging out (see photo above): on the couch by the fire, with crocheted blanket, tea, lozenges, laptop, book, cellphone, and dogs. The dogs look like they’re in heaven. That’s nice, dogs. Happy snoring to you. I, however, am remembering how grumpy being sick makes me. Which is very. I also tend to take a melodramatic outlook, announcing at intervals how awful I feel, how lazy I feel, how pitiful I feel, and generally presenting as a less-than-lovely human specimen. My family puts up with it rather kindly, I must say, even if their reaction is to basically ignore my general pitifulness. Or gently mock me for it. Thanks, family. I mean that sincerely.
So I finally finished reading A Short History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson, which is a book about scientific discoveries (and the scientists who laboured, sometimes futilely, to discover verifiable facts about our planet, our environment, the origins of life on Earth, the chemical makeup of the universe, etc.). Excellent book, easy to read, lots of great stories, plus I felt like I was getting reacquainted with the teenaged self who really wanted to study biology and chemistry in university, if only those subjects could have been coordinated with an arts degree. (I couldn’t figure out how to do it.)
I’ve been using the word “anyway” a lot these past few days, as a handy segue. I think it indicates how little energy I have to spare. My throat is so sore, people!
Bill Bryson’s book ends with a devastatingly sad chapter, titled “Goodbye,” detailing the efficiently destructive ruin that homo sapiens have inflicted on other species who come into contact with us. We seem to be unique in our ruthlessness, and pointless destruction. When we show up, species vanish. So much of what makes us different from all of the other species of life on Earth — our consciousness that allows us to plan and remember and create communities and construct stories and share information and move easily across vast distances — is also what makes us a force deadlier than any other species that has ever existed. It’s like we were made to destroy. Looking at humans from this perspective is deeply sad. To counter my sadness, I think of Jean Vanier, founder of L’Arche communities, on the the front page of Wednesday’s Globe and Mail, saying, “We are in a world that is rather terrifying. People close ranks and hide behind their factions. There is great insecurity. … [And yet] it is possible for humans to live together as long as you let down the walls that separate you.”
Yes. I’m part of this species, of course. We all are. We’ve got this little window of time here on Earth to share with those around us. How to be more open, more vulnerable? How to do no harm?
I’m putting this couch-time time to good use! Reading a lot. Resting. Meditating (although this morning’s session turned into napping — dreaming). Writing a bit too. It’s not like I can’t do my job while lying on this couch. Well, this part of my job. This other part of my job, I can’t do while lying on the couch. See below.
terrible photo taken from current position on couch, using cellphone, which explains terribleness
This is just the first basket of two — clean laundry! — that look like this. I carried this one up to the dining-room table this morning in hopes that a) I would feel inspired to fold it and/or b) kids would arrive home from school and feel inspired to fold it. LOL. No, seriously. Do you think I can guilt them into folding it? It’s probably my parental duty to try. I realize that if I were a better parent, my children would already be trained to fold laundry themselves. Somehow, this hasn’t been the kind of parent I’ve turned out to be. Okay. I’m okay with it, actually. I can’t seem to fight against the tide of what matters to me, and what doesn’t.
Weekend! March break! Wishing all of you, all of us, everyone: Health!
PS After posting, I lay down and listened to a program that ran on Ideas this past fall, called “How To Do Ordinary Things.” You can hear Jean Vanier and others who work/live in L’Arche communities talk about freedom from fear, and being vulnerable not just in body (which I’m aware of right now), but also in relationships. Here’s a quote I wrote down while listening:
“Who will love me in my brokenness? …
To love someone is not to do things for people but to reveal to people who they are.” — Jean Vanier.
I call this one “Clean Laundry in Basket on Dining-Room Table”
I got my teeth cleaned this morning. You might not categorize this experience under Traumatic, but then, you might not have receding gums and exposed nerves. I almost panicked when I saw it wasn’t the usual hygienist who has been kindly, gently trying to clean my teeth without causing me pain these past number of years. And by almost panicked, I mean actually panicked. I think my fingernails left marks in the arms of the chair. I had to keep reminding myself to relax my tongue (who knew a tongue could be so tense?). And to breathe. Remember to breathe, I told myself repeatedly. I would have confessed any number of things in order to make it stop. But I had nothing to confess that would have interested the new hygienist, who turned out to be kind and gentle and sympathetic too. I did consider begging her to stop early — like, how clean do these teeth really need to be? — but tried to stay focused on the big picture: that I was actually in that chair voluntarily, paying her for her services, because I would like to keep these teeth for as long as possible.
Anyway, I’m writing this post, so I clearly survived to tell the tale.
That’s all I’ve got today. Not a single deep thought appears to have surfaced post-dentist.
PS No cavities! So there’s that.
PS # 2 That illustration above is just a little something I need to get done this evening. Along with walking two chatty little boys home from school, violin lessons, picking up local food order from Bailey’s, making supper, and going to the 13-year-old’s final indoor soccer game of his house league season.
The gilt mirror makes this room, I think.
I’ve moved north and west, just a bit, walking distance from the previous hotel. This hotel wins at bathrooms. The last hotel won at laundry prevention. Let me explain. This morning I set my alarm and got up and ran on the treadmill before checking out. I did this almost entirely to take advantage of the hotel’s offer to provide guests with athletic gear, so you don’t have to schlep your sweaty mouldering running clothes home in a plastic bag, after several days of increasingly disgusting re-use. Nice touch, anonymous hotel. Plus, the offer goaded me to exercise.
Anything to shame me into the semblance of a routine, I tell you.
I did something fun today (aside from take selfies in yet another hotel room). I popped in on my brother and sister recording a video for their new song. Yes, Kidstreet fans, the band is alive and well! I think it’s still fairly hush-hush, so consider yourselves in on the ground floor with this intel. When I walked into the theatre space they’re using for the video shoot, I didn’t even recognize them. Rock stars! Also it was dark. (And I might be almost old enough to need glasses, suddenly.)
I can’t wait to share this video when it’s done. They’ll be there for many hours more, so I didn’t stay. In fact, I’m not typing this from my anonymous hotel room at all. I’m typing this from my lovely Canadian publisher’s office at Adelaide and Spadina: thank you for the company, the coffee, and the wifi, House of Anansi!
We’re going to the Writers Trust dinner soon; this is not where the winner is revealed, but the celebration the night beforehand, when we’re all still winners. I may change into a dress. Or I may show up in the identical nice black sweater I’ve worn all weekend (refer to previous post). It’s nice. Presentable. Rather like me. Or so I hope.
PS I have to tell you that I’m itching to get home to conquer the laundry. It’s mundane. But the thought of all those clothes in the hallway hamper waiting to be sorted, washed, dried, folded, and put away into their respective drawers makes me almost giddy with excitement. As I type that, it sounds weird. But it’s true.
Oh summer. Summer summer. Summer! I love you and you are killing me with your demands, with your late nights and early mornings, your travel time spent in highway traffic going to far-flung soccer tournaments, swim meets, and beaches, and I realize how privileged that sounds — and is — but I’ve been to Toronto (twice), Ancaster, London (twice), Kincardine, Ottawa, Sauble Beach, and Kingston in the last five weeks, and if I have to spend another kilometre on the road I might dissolve into genuine rage. Or tears. I might come undone. Oh wait, summer, you’re sending me to Elora tonight for a soccer match in a rainstorm. Okay. I will do it. There’s seems no other way but through.
Summer, there’s more. I know I’m putting this all on you, but I have to tell you. You are killing me with your lack of school. It’s my own fault that I have four children. I take full responsibility for that. But there’s no substitute for school. Despite no lack of planning and foresight, summer, these four children, or some combo thereof, have taken over the house all day long. And for large portions of the evening too. I’ve started going to bed before some of them do. They are right this second making themselves elaborate lunches in the kitchen. I can’t even discuss the state of the living-room.
And the laundry. I weep.
I have told my four children to leave me alone for twenty minutes, which, frankly, seems a lot to ask given all the elaborate lunch-making currently underway. I am going to my office, I cried, and you must pretend that I am not here for twenty minutes!
I see my time is nearly up.
I am about to get in the car and drive to another set of swim lessons.
I have a message from a publisher, waiting, regarding a book cover. I have a magazine pitch to work up on a story I’m really excited to dig into — on women in sports. I have an essay waiting to be finished. Not to mention the book-writing writing that is on-going, and that I try to make an every-day event, but which is suddenly — summer, this really is on you — a rare occasion, shoved into corners, typing away in a car at a soccer field behind a high school in Elora. You know? It isn’t ideal. I don’t think it’s conducive to top flight work, summer.
And what of the lounging with gin & tonics, summer? Can you slide that in somewhere, please? Could you give me an evening out with my husband to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary? Could you let me lie around and read a book?
I’m putting this all on you, summer, but I get it, I do. I’m the one setting the course, running the race, putting in the miles. While you while away. So maybe it’s not you; maybe it’s me. Whatever, as the kids say. What’s clear is this: one of us is killing the other.
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