Status Update

A busy month. Business trip to Halifax. A "summit", and various other-work related demands. March Break. The Experimental Farm. St. Patrick's Day Parade. The maple syrup farm. I've been in overdrive.

My New Year's Resolution was to teach the children about the world around them. Each month, we learn about other countries. So far, we've done Scotland, El Salvador, and China. Dan and I have not done a super job, but we've made an attempt.

Also, I have focused on teaching the children about farming. We have already started some cherry tomatoes, normal tomatoes, peppers, cucumber, strawberries, herbs, and pumpkins. I'm a little bit worried. I have lots growing and no where to plant these crops (I already have six flower gardens). I haven't even started the corn! I've decided to worry about that later...

The twinnies got their report cards the other day. I demanded an interview with the teacher, which surprised both Dan and the teacher. Turns out that most parents don't freak out when their children get straight As. Anyway, I went to the interview, and the teacher said that my children were at the top of the class. Brilliant in both language arts and math. Far beyond every other student with their general knowledge. And that they are bored. Perfect. I was just saying that I was running out of things to obsess about...

Oh. And I have one child who is eating weird things. Like the living room tables. And cords. And it's not the littlest child. Sigh.

And Then There Was February

I've been busy. January just flew by, and it looks like February will follow suit. Between work and home and the minor concussion that I received after bouncing my head off the cement stairs, the entire month is a bit of a blur.

I did, however, manage to start working on some projects that I am interested in. First, I want my children to realise that there is a big wide world out there beyond Ottawa's city limits. Each month, I decided to teach them about a new country.

I thought it would be fun to start with Scotland. I hung up a map of the world with an arrow pointing to Ottawa, and another one pointing to Scotland. Then I wrote some words relating to Scotland (like heather and haggis) and stuck those to my Word Wall. I even coloured the Scottish flag and stuck that on the wall. The grand finale was a "Scottish Dinner" to celebrate Robbie Burns Day.

Yeah, turns out I suck:

Dan cheered everyone up by producing grilled cheese:

This month, we're learning about El Salvador. They're going to love it!

I also started the first bit of our Victory Garden (the children are obsessed with WW2). Although most of our vegetables will be started indoors in March, we planted some herbs because we were too excited (ummm, actually Dan was not the least bit excited...he just humours us!).

I discovered this today!



And last, but most stressful, Dan and I have lost our minds and bought fish.

We named our fish Bella, Shrimp, Kitzy Fishy, and Chirp. They are all still alive, so I'm pleased. But I don't particularly like Bella because she harasses the other fish and I spend a lot of time trying to get Bella away from the others. Because I have control issues. Sigh.

The Year of Nature

I live in suburban Hell.

All the houses look the same. White front doors, two cars in the driveway, and a tree on the small patch of yard out front. Each house has a 7' fence, cordoning off their own little plot of land. It's a relatively new development, so there are only a few gardens. When I stand on my porch with my back touching my front door, I can see 64 sets of windows that over look me. SIXTY-FOUR!

It drives me crazy that the other four people that I live with have no issue with this suburban Hell. The cookie-cutter approach to life works wonderfully for them. Just do what everyone else does. Don't call attention to yourself. Your value is measured by what others think of you. Keep your mouth shut and your head down.

I have had enough.

In 2012, I am going to help my children to be less suburban. I have decided to teach my children about Nature. I want them to learn that their food doesn't actually come from the grocery store. I want them to learn how plants grow. What they need to survive and thrive. I want them to learn about farming. I want them to see a cow being milked, a pig in a sty, and chickens. Not like at a petting zoo. It's important for me that my children are exposed to agriculture. I told myself that I will do anything in my power to assist my daughters in understanding the world around them. Having compassion for, and an interest in, wildlife. I felt happy, and thrilled a little at the prospect. Kinda nervous about finding a farm to visit, but eager about us examining Nature.

And the Bethie ask for a fish.

She wants a fish to love and watch and occasionally feed, but otherwise ignore. She wants a fish so I have one more soul to worry about, one more soul to pick up after, one more soul to feed.

AND...fish ain't cheap. Well, the fish are, but all the stuff you need to maintain the fish are really expensive. Dan said that I need to buy a minimum of a 10 gallon aquarium. I'm not at all sure how much a gallon is, much less ten of them, but I'm guessing it's gonna be bigger than a fish bowl.

So, I'm off to check out fish. Because, apparently, having a fish is my first step down the road to "Nature". Not quite how I imagined it...

They're Winning

A sign that the children are winning:

After a day of working and taking care of the children, Dan and I sit down to watch TV ...I wake up to him snoring.

That's right, we both feel asleep within 30 minutes of sitting down. Sigh.

Stress

The leaves on my roses are turning yellow and falling off. I googled this. Google, in it's sanctimonious manner, responded by telling me that my roses are "stressed".

I'm not kidding.

I can't tell you how much this "diagnosis" increased my own stress levels ... until I realised that I don't care. The roses can sit out back, firing off their yellow leaves one by one. Mama has bigger problems. And Mama is taking the night off!

Clarity

OK. Based on some phone calls, emails, and comments, I feel the need to chat a wee bit more about this surgery.

When I first got sick on Sunday night, it occurred to me that I might have appendicitis. But I quickly dismissed that idea, and never gave it any real thought again. And that is why it took me soooo long to see a doctor.

When I was driving to work on Tuesday, I turned the radio on to listen to the news. Instead, "Alberta Bound" by Paul Brandt was playing. This song reminded me of Melissa (who really liked it when it first came out). I thought to myself, "Melissa got sick. She ignored the Google search results, and died because of it". And that was what made me go to the hospital.

I stayed at the hospital because of my mother. She had driven me there, and refused to leave until I saw a doctor. Even though I yelled at her. Even though we had to endure hours and hours of watching "1001 Ways To Die" in the ER waiting room (for real!). Even though the other patients were driving me crazy!

There were some "funny" moments. I know this because people all around me would spontaneously break out in laughter. I, however, did not laugh.

The nurse weighed me, and the shouted out my weight three times. I said, "Do you want to shout that again because I don't think all of the people in the waiting room heard you?!". Mum and the nurses laughed. I did not laugh.

The lady who shared the examination room with me laughed when the nurse walked briskly away from me....while carrying the bag connected to my catheter. I did not laugh.

Mum and the nurses laughed in the Recovery Room. Apparently (and this is a wee bit hazy for me), the nurses had asked Mum if she had wanted to see my enormous appendix which had been shoved into a tiny bottle. Mum said that she did, and walked to the other side of the room to have a peak. I shouted out, "BRING THAT SUCKER OVER HERE". I didn't laugh. Everyone else did, but I didn't.

The next morning, when I woke up in a room shared with two men, I needed to use the washroom, but couldn't find one. I went into the hall and encountered a nurse. She directed me to the washroom. I ended up in a broom closet. She laughed and redirected me. I did not laugh.

I did laugh a couple of times though.

I told the anaesthetist that I didn't want my tombstone to read "May 24 - May 24", he raised his voice and said "I have put 15,000 people to sleep during my career and everyone of them woke up". This gave me a giggle. But what really made me chuckle was when he asked if I could "give him a deal" at work, and I replied "That depends on how well this goes". He said nothing. I laughed.

I laughed at the surgeon because he was kinda sarcastic. After being paged for my emergency surgery, he came rushing into my room. He said, "So you got sick today?". I informed him that no, I became sick on Sunday. He said, "So you saw a doctor on Monday?". Ummm, no. I kinda just lay about on Monday. He said, "So you woke up today (Tuesday) and came to the hospital?". Ummmm, no, I went to work first. He sighed, and said "Good for you". But he didn't mean "Good for you". It kinda came out like "Good for you, you IDIOT!"...and it tickled my funny bone.

And it also amused me when Dan brought Sarah to come and visit me in the hospital. She likes to push buttons. She pushed the ones on the side of my bed, raising and then lowering and then raising the bed. That was cute. I giggled. When she found the ones that would fold me up like a taco, not so funny!

How I Celebrated the Anniversary of My 27th Birthday

Sunday evening, I got a stomach ache. Not badly enough to tell anyone. Just a general ache.

By 12:30am, I was in intense pain. I contemplated calling 911. Dan and I decided that I must be having a gallbladder attack. I popped a couple of morphine pills (doesn't everyone have morphine on hand?) and went to sleep.

Monday was Victoria Day, so Dan was home from work. I didn't feel any better and decided that I should continue taking morphine while supplementing with Tylenol 3. Mum took the kids for 6 hours, and I sat on the couch trying to figure out why I was feeling so badly. But I didn't like any of the answers that Google was giving me, so I dismissed them and remained perplexed.

Tuesday morning, I was still in a lot of pain. I took my morphine, and my Tylenol 3, and Advil. And then I went to work. Because I'm tough. Because it was my birthday and I didn't want people to think I was flaking out. Because I was sooooo drugged that I lacked the ability to think straight.

I left work at lunch time and went to the hospital. No, I didn't go to any of the hospitals in Ottawa. I went to a hospital an hour away. Because when one is beginning to think that they have a medical condition that is quickly becoming critical, one tends to leave the city (and some of the best hospitals in Canada), and head for the country.

I had to wait three hours to see a doctor because order is based on the urgency of the case. The lady who needed 3 stitches and the man who needed a refill on his crazy meds were, apparently, more urgent than I was. Sigh.

Once I was seen by a doctor, everything went rather quickly. The doctor thought that I had appendicitis but needed to do a CT scan. I complied when I was asked to drink 3 enormous glasses of water laced with iodine. I reacted negatively when I was informed that I was about to have an enema. I simply said "No". Over and over again. Finally, the poor technician whose job it was to perform the enema left, and Mum said, "They're going to send in the Big Guns now.". And indeed they did. The doctor came in and explained that this enema would help make the CT scan better and my appendix would be more clear. And I looked up at him, with tears in my eyes, and whispered, "But it's my birthday". And the doctor said, "OK, we can do the CT scan without the enema". And Mum's jaw dropped. She was shocked that the doctor had given up so easily.

Guess what the CT scan revealed? Yup, I had appendicitis. The surgery team was paged to come back to the hospital (because they were all at home). The surgeon expressed some doubt about whether or not I had appendicitis because I couldn't have possibly endured the pain for 3 days. I said that if he was having doubt, then maybe we should postpone the surgery until he knew for sure. This annoyed him.

I was wheeled into the OR. The nurses were getting everything ready. The anaesthesiologist got to work. He gave me some medicine which would make my sight become blurry. Then he administered something else, and said, "You will fall asleep... NOW". But I didn't. Because I was fighting it. He asked me not to fight the medicine, but I couldn't help it. I have had bad experiences with anaesthesia in the past. I lifted my head up, looked directly in his eyes, and said, "Are you going to make sure I'm asleep before the operation begins?". Yup, this annoyed him.

In case you're keeping track, I have now pissed off both the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist.

I wake up from the surgery, and you'll never guess who my nurses were. Their names were Katie, Sarah, and Elizabeth. REALLY! What are the odds?

The next day, the surgeon came to see me. Again, he express shock that I had gone so long before seeing a doctor. He said that my appendix was huge, and he contemplated taking a picture (I wish he had!) and that half of it was hard as a baseball bat. He seemed awed by how sick I had been and how tough I am. I was pleased. Because I am  pretty tough.

The surgeon gave me a prescription for OxyContin and sent me home. The best bit? After arriving home, the pharmacy called and said that they had not filled the prescription properly, and I am entitled to TWELVE more OxyContin pills! I thought narcotics were hard to come by, but I seem to be as well stocked as any pharmacy!

Anyway, that was my birthday. It sucked. I missed all the nice weather. I missed out on spending the holiday with my family. And I missed my kidlings. Oh, and I was gutted. That sucked, too.

I'm thinking about starting a petition. I'm going to try to get a "do-over" for my birthday.

Two Singletons

I have twins.

Identical twins.

It's funny. Some people swear that they can tell the twins apart. Some people swear that there are no differences between them. The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

I got a call from the kindergarten teacher this morning. She would like to put the twinnies into different classes when they enter grade one.

Not because they are suffering academically. They're doing beautifully, in fact. Not because they are suffering socially. They love to play with the other children.

The teacher would like to separate the twinnies because she, and the students, can't tell the twinnies apart. After almost nine months.

Being a twin is special. I don't think that we should be so quick to separate twins based solely on the fact that they look similar. I don't think the objective should be to create two singletons. To make them like everyone else. To make them "normal". Especially because my twins thrive on being twins. And they are doing exceedingly well in all aspects of their lives.

The teacher is a kind woman. A good woman. A clever woman. She has done her best to be fair and considerate and compassionate. I have the utmost respect for her, and her opinions. But my heart has broken.


Because when I look a the twinnies,

I see the child, not the unit.

I see a little girl who rages like a thunder storm, yet is instantly calmed when a cotton ball is placed in her hand. This child sees the world in black and white, right and wrong. And in case you were wondering, she's right and everyone else is wrong. The world is her stage, and she lives to perform.

Katie

I see a little girl who is ruled by loyalty and love. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and that heart bleeds for everybody. She is a thinker, and lies in her bed figuring things out. She studies the details. She's quick to laugh. She loves being outside.

Bethie

And it breaks my heart that people can't see beyond the unit to see the individual. The individuals are worth knowing because they're special. The unit is worth preserving because it's special.

I used to dress the twinnies identically because they looked super cute and they preferred to have the same outfits on. Now, (most of the time) they don't care if they are dressed identically or not. I let them choose what they wear. I figure that one day, they will want to be in separate classes and have different friends. And I will support them. Until then, I will allow them to remain together. Because I have spent five years with my twinnies, because I know both of them collectively and individually, because I know them best.

The End of My Rope

Things around here have been challenging.

1. Everyone in the house has been (or currently is) sick. Wake me up in the middle of the night kind of sick. Rush to the doctor's kind of sick. Arrive at the doctor's and act like a healthy kid kind of sick.
2. The roof blew off.
3. The insurance company is dodging my many calls. After two weeks of trying to get in contact with my adjuster, she said, "Climb into your attic and check for damage". Umm, no. Then she said, "I don't understand why you're so frustrated!". It went downhill from there...
4. The amount I have to pay in taxes is shocking. Double what it was last year, and last year I just about had a stroke when I saw the number. I'm pretty sure that Stephen Harper hates me.
5. I have to pay almost $40 so the twinnies can go on a field trip.
6. I also have to pay $4 so they can have a Pizza Day at school. I told the twinnies that they'd better extract that amount from Stephen Harper!
7. Sarah lost/hid her shoes at the museum...never to be seen again.
8. Mum bought Sarah replacement shoes, and now Sarah won't take them off, even to sleep!
9. All the brakes on Dan's vehicle had to be replaced to the tune of $750. I got the pleasure of taking care of this. Dan got to drive my car instead. I missed my car...
10. I need to get a part-time job to pay off the fines at the Ottawa Library. The children lost two books and I have looked everywhere and cannot find them. AHHH!

Throughout this, I kept reminding myself, "When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on". And that helped me muddle on.

And then I saw this:

And that, my friends, was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I yelled, and screamed, and pitched an almighty fit. I threatened my children to within an inch of their little lives, and demanded to know who had broken the curtain rod.

All three, who were very unimpressed by my wrath, said "Not me".

Funny, that's the same person who coloured the toilet with marker.

And painted the bathroom floor.

And drew a great big A on my kitchen floor with red marker.

And filled my bird bath with gravel and dandelions.

But what really pissed me off was when good ol' Not Me washed the outside of Dan's car with my (used to be lovely) white towels. To add insult to injury, the towels were left in a wet heap on the driveway...for me  to discover.

I swear, if I ever get my hands on Not Me, I will take that rope that I've been hanging on to and wrap it around Not Me's little neck!!!

A note to those who are worried about the welfare of my little cherubs: I'm not going to kill the darlings, but in 25 years I will go to their houses and do as much damage as I can. And I'm going to do it at 5am. While demanding ice cream.

My Assessment

Here's my "status update":

I don't have a roof...anymore.

But I still have these:

Who's the lucky duck?

Moi!

The Agony of Bonding

I like spending time with my children. They are really great people and they bring me so much joy. And the children like to be with me, too. They like to have little "adventures". All week, I dream up fun things to do with them. On the weekend, I grab my camera, load the kids in the car, and we go out in search of fun.

Some ideas I have are better than others. Sigh.

Dan and I took the children for a walk at Mer Bleue. The children were shocked by this "adventure". Did I really expect them to WALK???? Ummm...YES!

I had to stop three times by the time we got this far in order to deal with Dan's and the children's complaints.

There was a huge puddle blocking the path. Since Dan and I both have holes in our shoes, I had the brilliant idea that the twins should push Sarah through the puddle because they had boots on.

Turns out, both twins had holes in the boots, too (that was complaint #3).

I directed the children to the boardwalk, thinking that it would be fun for them...

...I was wrong.

Katie was annoyed because she was tired of looking at "nature".

Sarah had "issues" with the boardwalk. For the longest time, she walked like this:

I wanted a "group shot". I took about 20 pictures. This was the only one without anyone complaining. The other 19 photos are crap!

Sarah overcame her fear, and wanted to explore. The twinnies refused to walk any further. They had already walked for 7.5 MINUTES!

Even the baby was shocked that the twinnies wouldn't walk any further!

Bethie: "Please don't make me walk anymore. I'm soooooooo tired!"

Bethie: "No one loves me!" (she had a splinter)

Katie: "Just take my picture so we can GO!"

Bethie found something exciting to look at - a Tim Horton's cup tossed in the bog. She started shouting "Why did Daddy throw his cup in the water?!". I explained that it wasn't Daddy, but I'm sure that everyone who passed by thought that we were Litter Bugs. Sigh.

Sarah, too, was enthralled with the garbage.

 But she, obviously, wasn't pleased to see it.

Random "art" which my children broke into, and this attracted ALOT of attention. I headed back to the car and left Dan to deal with the children.

Another group shot. Again, I took about 20 pictures. Here's one where one child looked happy. Sigh.

Katie found the tiniest tree and asked to have her photo taken next to it.

The baby.

The best bit? Splashing in the puddle on the way back to the car. Only Sarah was allowed to splash, due to the rest of us having inadequate footwear. She had a great time, especially because we couldn't go in to retrieve her. We all had to stand around and coax her out!

So, Mer Bleue was not a hit. However, we drove by a farm. I stopped the car and let the children look out the windows at the horses. This is how they prefer to view nature: from a distance. Kinda like "Drive Though Nature".

One Hundred Years Old

Bethie is obsessed with death. We talk about it all the time. Not intentionally, but it seems to come up. Tonight, Dan said to the twins, "You can't keep waking your mother up so many times during the night because you're going to kill her". Bethie replied, "Is she ninety-nine, and is her birthday tomorrow?". Because, according to Bethie, only people who are 100 years old die.

My friend's father died. He was far too young. But we allowed Bethie to believe that he was 100 years old. She needed the security of knowing that no one she knows is going to die.

Then Melissa died. She was only 28. Again, we allowed Bethie to think that Melissa was 100.

The mother of a little girl in her class died. We reassured Bethie that this woman was sooooo much older than I am. Because Bethie lies in her bed and worries. I didn't want my child worrying about my death.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting my five year old girl. Saving her from her own worries. I thought that it didn't matter if I allowed Bethie to believe that people have to be 100 years old before they die.

The kindergarten teacher sent a note home. There is a little boy in the twinnies' class that has just been diagnosed with a tumor on his brain stem. My heart aches for this little boy, and for his family, and especially for his mother. I can't even begin to imagine what this family is going through. His mother is at the Children's Hospital praying for the life of her child. And I am not a good enough writer to convey my sorrow.

All I know is that I don't want to explain to my daughter that children can die, too.

Making Pizza With Little Helpers

I decided to make some homemade pizzas yesterday. Here are the steps I took:

1. Ensure that there is some background music. Something to get you moving. Nothing says "quality bonding time" like a pounding headache.

2. Use a clean bowl.

3. Add the ingredients. Warning: you Little Helper may get a bit excited and add the ingredients without measuring them or at the wrong time. If you quite suddenly yell "NO!" as loud as you can, the Little Helper might be so scared that she wets her pants.

4. For some laughs, allow your Little Helper to taste the dough. Little Helpers always assume that it will taste sweet and will be shocked by a mouth filled with flour. Have a quick laugh and say "I told you it wasn't cake batter!".

5. Knead the dough. Pick at it. Add little crumbs that fall off. Create dinosaur shapes. But whatever you do, try not to think about what the Little Helper may have touched between the hand washing and the dough kneading.

6. Add toppings. This is a bit of a free-for-all. Throw the toppings at the children (and your husband) and yell "Everybody has to SHARE!!!".

7. Take a photo of the end product.

Okay, that's not exactly the "end product". You have to cook it. But you can do what I did, and just leave. Because everyone is happy at this point and they hardly noticed that you've jumped in your car and left. Word of warning: don't come home until after the children are asleep.

If you have a hard time following my step-by-step instructions, try using this recipe. It's very good!

How To Get Children to Participate in Cleaning

Dan has took a week off from work to be home with us for March Break. During this week, he has been fixated on cleaning. I have been fixated on everything but cleaning. Mostly, Dan has been scrubbing the house, and I have been in charge of ensuring that our little hurricanes refrain from destroying the room he is currently working on. This has only been slightly successful. Why? Because I am happy when the children decide to bug Dan instead of bugging me!

The other day, Dan was cleaning the kitchen. The children started getting in the way. He called to me so I could offer assistance. Instead, I took pictures (I'm funny like that).

Dan said "Fine. Do you want to help me vacuum?". Bethie said "No, but I will RIDE the vacuum!". Big help, eh?

She yelled at Dan to "go faster". I laughed.

This was soooo much easier when they were little.

After I took about 200 photos, Dan said "Will you take the children NOW?". Ummm, no.

My Life Is A Cartoon

I was sick of my hair. It was long. Really, really long. So last night, while Dan was putting the children to bed, I went to have my haircut.

Before I left, I asked the twinnies how much hair I should cut off. Bethie suggested that I get my hair "buzzed". I said, "Do you think that would look good on me?". She replied it would.

I got my haircut, but I did not take Bethie's advice. I did, however, get an awful lot of hair chopped off. My hair hasn't been this short since I was about 12 years old. I also had my hair dyed. Brown. Because I'm fancy like that.

This morning, the twinnies wouldn't get out of bed. I said, "It's Pajama Day at school". That didn't work. I said, "It's Pizza Day, too!". No response. I said "I got my hair cut really short and I also dyed it". Both girls were out of bed and racing downstairs so they could see my hair in the proper light (ie not their dark bedroom).

Bethie said "Did you dye it orange?". No, Elizabeth, it's brown. "I think it looks orange!" she replies. Well, golly, I don't feel the least bit self-conscious now!

Katie said, "Mummy! It's wonderful! I love it! You look just like Dee Dee Doodle!". WHAT?!

Super.

That was totally the look I was going for.

I think I'm going to jump into my Big Red Car...

...so I can join my friends in their backyard.

The Tired, Old Hag

A two-pronged attack on my sanity.

First: After school on Friday, the twinnies were telling me that they had a supply teacher that day, and he was a man! I asked the girls if the teacher was older or younger than I am. They assured me that he was younger. But the twinnies always get things muddled in their little heads. In need of clarification, I said "Is the same age as I am, or is he Daddy's age?". Bethie got annoyed and "He was younger than you, like Daddy!".

Umm...just to set the record straight, Dan is older than I am .And the age difference increases with every one of his birthdays. Each year, Dan ages and I remain 27. Those are the rules. In fact, I insist on celebrating the anniversary of my 27th birthday every year. So, yeah, I'm younger than Dan.

I said to the twinnies, "How old is Daddy?". They responded "37". The follow up question was, "How old do you think I am????". Katie quickly replied "76!". Wrong! You lose! No dessert for you!!!

Second: When Sarah woke up this morning, it was still dark outside. Sarah, bless her little heart, is an early riser. When I heard her calling for me, I got out of bed and went to get her. She said "I'm hungry and thirsty and I want to watch TV".

I carried Sarah downstairs and deposited her on the couch. I went into the kitchen and put some milk in a sippy cup and got her a bowl of dry Cheerios. I went back into the living room, gave her the food, and sat down on the couch. Sarah said "I want to watch TV!". So, I got up again and went to turn on the TV (our remote hasn't worked in about a year thanks to the children). That's when I saw the time... 2:30am!

So, there you have it. I'm old and tired. And cranky.

Mixed Media: My Family Is Killing Me

My children do not have low self-esteem. They think that they are pretty wonderful, and they are confident that you will, too. I'm glad that they think highly of themselves (because I think that they are the most exceptional human beings that have ever walked this planet), but they tend to get carried away. This may be my fault, as I tend to get carried away, too.

When I was a child, if I had painted a pretty picture, Mum would put that picture on the fridge for a couple of days. And I was proud of myself. So when my kids started scribbling, I stuck their "art" on the fridge. The fridge became too full because I was never allowed to take anything down. So I moved to the kitchen walls. I covered every square inch of wall space with their artwork. It was silly, but the twinnies loved it.

Last year, Dan and I painted the kitchen. This involved taking down all of the twinnies art. What a relief! I had grown tired of random crap stuck to my walls. Dan bought 3 bulletin boards, one for each child. Art was to be displayed on their bulletin boards only. Well, that was the theory...

Of course, I have no control over my children. They do what they like. Apparently, Bethie likes to take banana and orange peels and sticky tape them to my walls. I don't always find them right away. Sigh.

I wrote on Facebook, "Why, oh why does Bethie feel the need to sticky tape orange and banana peels to the walls? Is this her way of telling me that my efforts to compost are not appreciated? Or is this her way of saving me from bending over and picking discarded peels up off the floor? Can someone PLEASE explain my 5 year old to me?????".

Aunt Carol responded, "Praise her for her artistic abilities. That gal is an emerging artistic genius. It's called "mixed media". :-) Actually, despite her obvious talents, it must drive you nuts. Give her a particular piece of wall space within which she may make her art. That way she won't be responding to negative attention and the "art" (read..mess) is confined. HA"

Aunt Carol lives in Toronto. She hasn't been in my house for about 2 years or so. Here's a guided tour:

The kitchen. See the 3 bulletin boards (above the toy kitchen)? See how those bulletin boards have failed to confine the crap?

You may have missed this, so here's a close-up. Bethie couldn't find any paper, so she coloured on painter's tape and stuck that to the wall.

Another wall in my kitchen. See the big empty space below the clock? That's where the latest orange peels were found taped to the wall. Above the clock is the bottom half of a Gap box that has been coloured. Most of the time, the children tape things to the wall. This time, Dan must have thought that I would really enjoy having my RECYCLING on display because he was the one who put it up there.

Moving into the hallway...we have two signs. Bethie made the one on the top left. I have no idea what she is banning, but whatever it is, it was really pissing her off. Katie's sign banned Sarah from peeing on the floor.

Here's the close-up. There's Sarah (the chick without the torso, duh). The "a" is actually an inverted "p" (Katie knows how to make letters but she has "issues" with the alphabet and refuses to abide by society's rules so she makes the letters the way she would like them to look...sigh....a story for another time!). And then a big honking "X" through it. Katie carefully explained the meaning of the sign to Sarah. Sarah, too, has a repulsion for authority and peed on the floor just to spite Katie. And that was just great.

 

The other half of the Gap box . And in case you're wondering, Dan hung those paintings on the wall. When I wasn't home. As a "surprise". I told him to take them down and do it again properly. He was most offended because he thought he had done a good job. His only criteria was that they didn't fall down. I wanted them to be hung nicely, and not as though a child has come and sporadically nailed paintings to the wall. And so I've looked at it for years. And it drives me bat-shit crazy! But now that the top of the Gap box is sticky taped next to the paintings, I feel more peaceful about the whole thing.

The front door. The picture just above the light switch was coloured by DAN. I kid you not. I guess he thought that he had done such a wonderful job that every person who comes to our home should see it. And that's why he taped it right at the front down and at adult eye level. You don't understand what an ass I feel like when I have to say "Yup, that one was coloured by my husband. He really did a good job, don't you think?".

And then there's the sporadic graffiti. Everywhere. Where you least expect it.

So, Aunt Carol and all of you, please forgive me when I lose my ever loving mind about banana peels being taped to my walls. Every mother must draw a line somewhere...mine is freakin' compost on the walls. Sorry. I forgot. Mine is freakin' "mixed media" on the walls!!!