Seven Quick Takes Friday

1. It has been so long since I have done Quick Takes that I almost forgot what it was called.

2. I and the four little ones went to Ottawa for the day yesterday. Jacob had his bi-annual eye appointment and we, (well, I) decided that a trip to the big city would also be a good opportunity to spend a little time at 40 Days for Life. Thank God Dave's sister agreed to meet me for lunch and accompany the five of us to the depths of the downtown core. We had a twenty minute walk from our van to the site and once we got there Joseph was almost finished his gargantuan bottle that his (now favourite) aunt had just poured. The kids were all a little tired and so they sat and lay on the stone wall across from the abortion clinic. The main aspect of 40 Days for Life is prayer, however, I am not sure how much praying I actually did unless crowd control can double as some sort of oblation. As I mentioned, the site is in the middle of the downtown and therefore attracts a bit of attention ... especially from the slightly disturbed. One man decided that he had some news which he needed to announce to those praying at the locale. These sort of public service announcements are nothing new to me but auntie and I circled the kids so that they didn't need to witness whatever breaking news was about to be reported. Turns out he had a well-defined understanding of the necessity of abortion (something to do with women being impregnated by animals) and thus, by praying, we were clearly transgressing biblical morality. Luckily the kids missed the gist of the argument and no explanation was required.

3. After our 30 minutes for Life we booted it back to the van, said goodbye to our auntie and made our way through a traffic jam and one wrong turn to our doctor's appointment. By this point Joseph had lost his rubber boots five times and I entered the office with Joseph in a winter coat and no shoes or socks. Obviously I was anticipating the "Please Remove Footwear" sign posted on the wall.

4. I then rewarded the kids with a trip to McDonald's where, whew, there was an indoor playground. There is also a Toys'R'Us next to this MacDonald's and Jacob (thank you phonics) kept asking if we could visit Toys ER Us.
"No, it's Toys ARE us."
"Yeah, Toys Er us."
Whatever.

5. By the time we left the restaurant it was dark outside and I was plenty tired. The kids now know what rumble strips are.

6. 'Tis the Season and clementines are back in the grocery store. Joseph is just now asking for his third "bapple".

7. As we set off for our morning walk Joseph and Benjamin began to rake and sweep the driveway. Apparently they really enjoy these activities as Ben yelled, "Just a minute, Mom" so that he could keep up the yard work. Joseph quickly caught on and has now taken to yelling full force, "Minute" whenever he wants to spends just a bit more time somewhere.

7.5. Dave was firmly reprimanded by the female staff at his school for allowing his wife to travel solo 2.5 hours to the big city with four people under seven. There is no need for conflict in our marriage; Dave's co-workers have me covered.

Old Fashioned Play

1. Every time the rooster crows, Joseph yells with great animation, "Daddy!!!".

2. We attended a "Pumpkin Party" on Saturday night. Please don't ask me the reason for Pumpkin and not Hallowe'en - I am not entirely sure; but we did have to carve a pumpkin for the judges and for the second year in a row we scored the lowest... Why I consistently feel that our failure to carve an adequate pumpkin is somehow a judgement of our marriage, I don't know.

3. Last year's Pumpkin Party was an adult-only affair (perhaps because we were the only ones with kids); however, some babies have been added to the mix since last October and, thus, the children were allowed to attend. Jacob and Hannah felt suitably vindicated as they were still smarting from their non-invitation of a year ago.

Anyway, our invitation included no specifications on costume wearing so I thought, "What the heck! The kids can wear their costumes." And they did.

When we pulled up at the party locale there were several kids climbing trees, playing on the lawn, chasing each other ... and none of them were wearing costumes. Suddenly our cowboy and angel felt a little self-conscious. (I did as well but I think that my feelings had more to do with the never-before-tried squash dish that I was carrying in my arms.) Joseph had wisely chosen not to wear a costume and our little Penguin/Bengolin was simply upset that he had been made to don a black and white affair over his preferred outfit. Nevertheless, our kids bravely de-vanned and joined in the play.

Shortly after our arrival, another couple who we had not yet met pulled up and joined the mix. I introduced myself to the husband and he said the following:

"Holy smokes! You guys have four kids!!" (This is not an unknown reaction.)

And then a "light" went on as he took in Jacob's cowboy outfit (a well-worn cowboy hat, grey pants, a vest and rubber boots) and Hannah's angel costume (a long white skirt topped by her winter coat - halo and wings were left in van): "Oh! You folks are Amish."

I think he failed to note the modern garb in which Dave and I had vested. Perhaps it's time that I re-evaluate my wardrobe.

Roosters, Rolls and Reverie

If life was not sufficiently barn-like around our house with four young children, of whom three are boys, we have now added a rooster to the mix. Dave is moonlighting as an on-line math tutor bi-weekly for two hours from 7:30-9:30pm. This entails the man of the house set up at his computer, along with some fancy gear on loan from his secondary employer, while students wait in an electronic line to tap into his mathematical knowledge. This service is available to any student in our province five nights a week for four hours.

Apparently some of the tutors needed a notification system to let them know of the presence of a waiting student; because, two weeks into Dave's tutoring, the computer began to crow. No one warned me of the new rooster notification system and thus, as I said prayers with the kids and read them a bedtime story, it was not only the kids who were startled from their reverie by a cockle-doodle-doo.

With the passage of time we have all become somewhat inured to the unnerving crow of the computer. However, tonight Daddy has an early shift with his rooster and apparently millions of students are now doing their math homework because the computer is crowing like a manic rooster at dawn.

But that's OK, because the early shift cut into dinnertime which, on account of my insufferable baking, needed to be drawn to a close. I had served beef and barley soup along with whole-wheat rolls. I am a pretty proficient cook ... as cooking does not necessitate the exact following of a recipe. However, baking does. My efforts to be somewhat like this lady resulted in empty tummies. (The only thing that ends up full after my baking attempts is the compost.) While halving the recipe, I somehow forgot to do likewise with the salt. I tried to compensate with extra flour in which to disperse the salt...

After the oven, I then tried to mask the odd flavour with loads of jam piled on top of the bun. The kids made their way through the jam and then held the rolls up and said things like:

This tastes funny.

Do I have to finish this?

Something's wrong with this.

(And other classic lines drawn from the endless wealth of childhood excuses to leave the dinner table.)

Joe just held up the de-jammed bun and passed it back to his father.

Dave laughed and quipped that if my relationship with baking came before the marriage tribunal I would be guaranteed an annulment because no valid relationship between me and baking has ever existed. I have to agree: I don't think I understood what I was getting into when I attempted to wed my skill with the intricacies of baking.

And there you go, I have somehow managed to make an awkward transition from on-line tutoring to my failure in the kitchen. And, believe it or not, the two youngest just came in riding horses. Neigh. Neigh. Cockle-doodle-doo. Someone take out the compost!

Back at it

Unfortunately, it is the TV by which they are transfixed. Our kids kick, punch and scream at each other (especially after practising the basic reel). They slump during mass, gladly accept chips for any meal and regularly balk at anything that contains spinach. We're pretty normal; I just try to make the pictures look other-worldly.

Branching Out

Jacob and Hannah are now 6.5 years old and we decided, at the insistence of their maternal grandparents, that it was high time they started music and dance lessons. So, Jacob is taking fiddle and Hannah is taking step dance each Monday during the school year. Their teacher is called Buster Brown and, when he calls, the display on my phone actually reads Buster Brown. He told me that he has trouble calling collect from the States. Apparently.
Jacob has had 4 lessons and has not yet played a note as he first must master proper bowing, picking up of the bow and holding the fiddle without the aid of his arm. I also have to master this as I am required to teach it to him between lessons. Below he is practising holding his fiddle without the use of his arm for 30 sec and 60 sec intervals. I do a lot of counting. Doesn't he look grown up?

One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand ...

And, dear little Hannah, our civilising factor. She is progressing quite quickly at step dance and has completed three steps of the basic reel. She, unlike her mother, is quite light on her feet and has good rhythm. Despite my inability to dance, I also have to learn the basic reel as who else can teach between lessons? (There will be no videos of me.) Of course, being Hannah, she must also contend with at least one brother while attempting to perfect her step. This time it was her twin. Nevertheless, she puts on a good show considering her shadow dancer and the action of gravity upon her pink pants. And kudos to anyone who can figure out to what use we have put the top of the train table.

Oh, the injustice ... Part II

Just so you didn't think that we had settled in for a long, cold one. The end of the day. Whew.

Oh, the injustice...

Oh, the injustice of a Canadian winter. This morning when I woke up something moved me not to immediately open the blinds in our bedroom. Instead, I went about my morning routine until the kids came flying in en-masse beckoning me to the window.
White precipitation. I don't even want to use its proper name.
Here we are, not even halfway through October, and there is #$@* on the ground. I realise that it will not last; at least Jacob assures me that it will soon be Fallish again. However, even the spectre of the long, cold and snowy Canadian winter has a way of wearing down the Canadian mother. Thumbs stuffed into mitts; mitts stuffed into sleeves; hats slowly turning around so that both eyes are covered on the youngest; snow in boots; snow on back of neck not covered adequately by jacket...
Yes, I think there must be a plenary indulgence for successfully surviving the Canadian winter with many small children and regular trips to the confessional.
Here is Joseph thoroughly scandalised by the straight jacket into which he has been placed. He kept staring down at those layers and then looking at me accusatorily. I'm sorry, little guy, but we're in this together.

And, yes, I kept them all home from school for the day.

Saturday Morning at Our House

King of the Castle

Benjamin has a little friend visiting for the day while his parents make a day trip to the big city to pick up some building supplies. These two little boys are very similar in temperament - easy going - and have played beautifully together for the last 7 hours.
Wow.
However, I have found it quite amusing to listen to them converse. They seem to be both at the same stage of speech: they express themselves in whole sentences and ask many questions. However, their speech is a sort of dialect at this point - easily understood by their parents, siblings and other aficionados of pre-schooler talk. Consequently, they are speaking a lot to each other but neither seems to completely understand what the other is saying.
Example:
Boy no.1: "Where's my banket?"
Boy no.2: "What?"
Boy no.1: "Where's my banket?"
Boy no2: "What?"
This goes on until one of the boys is thoroughly frustrated by the 'ineptitude' of the other or until I step in as a live-action translator. Very cute and somewhat fulfilling.
And ... that's all except for some pictures of Joseph at a birthday party at the park. Also very cute and somewhat fulfilling.
The above picture is particularly poignant in light of Joseph's potential latex allergy. Ahh, the forbidden fruit.

I'm Back

The Fall has proven only slightly less busy than the Summer and, thus, I have been more than lax when it comes to swimming upstream. As Dave wryly remarked, "Blogging doesn't pay the bills." Yes. But supply teaching helps and I've already completed my September and October quota. My two days in October were perhaps the easiest I have ever or will ever have. Dave's school hired me for two consecutive days to cull their library in order to make way for new texts. At the end of the day, I was allowed to bring home my choice of discarded books. My choice amounted to 7 cardboard boxes filled with texts. As one friend commented, "Do you know how many mothers around here would have paid to have that job?"
Apart from the normal rhythm of our days, we now have three members of the NET team staying with us for the week. Although this requires extra cooking, talking and later bedtimes for the wee ones, the NET team is always a blessing. And, since Dave, I and our marriage are rooted in NET, we feel more than obliged to host some Netters each year.
The kids were electrically charged as they waited for the NET arrival. Benjamin kept running around yelling, "I am so happy." Jacob immediately had to record their names on a piece of paper and then draw them a map of all the significant venues in our town (candy store was the first stop). Hannah remained quiet but absorbed their fashion choices with a studied eye. Joseph slept as we had put him to bed before the mayhem started.
That was Monday. Sunday was also busy with an open house at our local Catholic college and the annual Life Chain in the afternoon. Dave stayed at home with a napping Joseph and a reading Jacob and I took Hannah and Benjamin to stand for an hour on our main street while silently praying and witnessing for an end to abortion. Except, when surrounded by people that I know, I find it very hard to remain silent for an hour. So, I held a rosary in one hand (that turned out to be one of those rosaries that has no clear demarcation between the decades resulting in twenty plus Hail Marys per decade); and, between these decades, I updated my neighbours on family happenings and listened to their latest news. Grandpa Mike happened to be standing across the street so Benjamin spent some time staring at me from the other side of the street until a quivering lip and teary eyes brought him back to Mama.
We live in a very Catholic town so we received absolutely no opposition from passing motorists. Most locals were either taking part or beeping their horns as they went by. The rest of the motorists making their way to the provincial park either looked slightly confused or sunk a little lower in their seats. In the last ten minutes of the Life Chain, two cars of young men with hats turned backwards came barreling around the corner yelling:
"Get a job!!!" (Apparently they approve of working on a Sunday...)
"Pro Choice, Pro Choice, Pro Choice!!!!" while thumping their hands on their arm rests.
And the best was, "You're all going to Hell!!!" Oh, thanks.
The new president of the local Catholic college who also happens to be a very prominent historian and scholar of the pro-life movement (yes, they exist) dryly remarked, "I wish these protesters wouldn't be so ambiguous; I really find it hard to tell where they stand." Apparently prominent historians can also be quite humorous. Enjoy the pictures.