We’re back!

And first let me say that I’m really surprised at how many of you were freaked out by the happy face spider. I hate spiders, but I thought he was so cute! As long as he stays on his side of the Pacific Ocean, that is.

And second, let me say that I’m sorry if I caused anyone to fear for my life by not posting for days and days. When we got back from the big trip south, our internet lived just long enough for me to check my mail before it decided it had had the biscuit. Luckily I have a live-in IT guy who worked tirelessly for the past two days to figure out what was wrong, and to do all that high tech blah blah blah whatever to make it live again.

The internet lives!

So, the trip! I gave my mother the infamous mug. And…SHE LOVED IT.

I KNOW! I could not have been more shocked.

She not only thought it was adorable, she totally saw the humour in it, too. She actually chuckled. My mom is not known for her chuckling, people.

I guess you get a little more laid back when you hit 65. So I highly recommend getting your mother a mug that says “crotchrot” on it when she has a landmark birthday!

Although my mother is turning 65 this year, she isn’t considering retiring any time soon. She works as the head office secretary for a Senior Public School, which is grades 7 and 8. She loves her job, and she loves being a kind of surrogate mom to 500 extra kids — just between you and me, she has a special soft spot for the troublemakers who get sent to the office a lot. I really don’t know what she’ll do when she does retire, Luckily the school board’s complicated rules for maxing out your pension mean that she can continue to work for five more years, at least.

My mom often talks about work and you can hear the affection in her voice for the students and the staff (except for the principals — I can’t remember there ever being a principal at the school that my mom considered halfway capable of doing the job). For her 65th birthday, the staff got together and made a little book in which each of them could write some birthday wishes. I was totally amazed and touched while reading it. It was far from the one liners you’d expect from having everyone sign a card. Instead, people had written paragraphs about how much she had helped them, how instrumental she was to making the school run, how she was like a second mother to them as well as to the kids. Everyone had some story to tell of how she had changed their lives and the school for the better.

I think it’s very hard to imagine the impression your parents — or any family member — is making on the outside world. Although I always knew my mom loved the school, it was so gratifying to hear that they love her, too. As I was reading I couldn’t stop exclaiming about how wonderful the book was, and my mom agreed it was nice, but also said that she was just doing her job. Which is awesome.

Since my parents got divorced a million years ago, I’ve often worried that my mom is disconnected from the world, and I still worry about what she’ll do when she’s finally done working (who the heck is she going to hang out with? How will she fill the time?). But I must say, I was so very very happy to read that she is making a difference in the lives of others, that she is out there touching people and making positive changes.

I guess that’s why she loves her job.

Happy 65th, Mom!

Yesterday on Little Einsteins I learned about the existence of the Happy Face Spider:

Image by Spulch, whose flickr stream is amazing!

Isn’t that spider cool? I’d get one for a pet but it’s probably capable of killing me in my sleep. Happily, of course.

In other news, I probably should have mentioned this before, but on Tuesday we are leaving for five glorious days of car fights, emergency roadside bathroom stops, a thousand choruses of, “No, Nanny does not have any Froot Loops, PICK SOMETHING ELSE” and the occasional intergenerational bonding moment. That’s right! We’re off to Southern Ontario to visit our parents.

I’ll most likely be without the internet for five or six days, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me.

On the other hand, I’ll be giving my mother the infamous mug. So maybe you should worry!

It’s been a year now since we had to decide whether or not to put the Captain in early French Immersion. It was a very tough decision for us, and in the end, when we decided to go for it, we still weren’t sure what we were in for, or how it was going to work out.

Last week we had to make the same decision about Gal Smiley, so I’ve been thinking a lot about what has been good and bad about the program, and what has been harder than we expected.

First let me say that there were three things that swayed our decision towards choosing FI, even though neither of us has anything more than crappy high school Franglais and we knew that we were dooming ourselves, one day, to having a teenager who was able to have private conversations on the phone RIGHT IN FRONT OF US, OH GOODY.

Sway reason number one: Several of our friends who had been through FI gave us personal testimonials about how much they valued the program, how learning French had made it easier to learn other languages, which in turn had given them more confidence to travel and experience different cultures.

Sway reason number two: This one is kind of dicey, but we heard that schools with early FI, like ours, kind of become like a two-tier school. Any kid with behavioural problems is removed from the FI stream, which means that the FI kids are almost uniformly calm, obedient, and studious. That means that the FI classes get more opportunities for field trips and other enrichment-type programs. I’m not sure this is true AT ALL, mind you, but fear that our kid would be missing out on some educational opportunities made us choose FI.

Sway reason number three: The Captain loved French class in JK and was excited to learn new French words; he was also doing just fine in the reading and counting departments, so we felt a bit better about setting him back in those areas a few years to indulge his interest in learning a new language.

So we did the FI thing.

Now that we’re six months into the program, I will say up front that I’m happy with our choice. The Captain really likes learning the French words and has not had any stress or tension (that we can see) associated with having his classes in a language that we do not speak at home. He’s picking up the vocabulary easily and having no trouble adapting. In the meantime, I’m working with him at home a few times a week on his English reading skills and math skills, so they don’t fall by the wayside, which makes us feel better about keeping up with the Joneses and that sort of thing.

On the down side, however, many many people assured us that as parents of an FI kid, there was NO requirement that we speak French at all. I would have to say that that really isn’t true. Sure, I don’t have to be fluent or even know the vocab words that he is learning at school, but I would say that a basic understanding of how the language works, how certain letter combinations are pronounced, and some simple phrases is really important.

All communication sent home from the school is in English, so you’ll definitely be able to follow along with what your kid is doing — that’s not a problem at all. The tough part, really, is helping him with his homework.

First of all, once a week he brings home a French-language book from the library. He wants me to read him this book, and also to be able to explain to him what it means. Even though these are basic SK/Grade 1 storybooks, I find I have to spend a good hour with my English-French dictionary in order to be able to read him the book, and translate it for him. Plus, if I had no knowledge of the language at all, I would never be able to read it to him — as it is, at least a third of the time I’m not sure if I am pronouncing things correctly or not.

Secondly, he gets a new vocab list at the start of each unit and I’m supposed to go over these with him, and help drill him on them. It really helps if I know how to pronounce the words, so I can correct him if he gets them wrong.

Thirdly, he’s started to bring home an early reader for reading practice once a week, and I have to teach him to read this book. Again, if I did not know things like “eau” in French says “O”, and that “er” at the end of the word says “A”, then I’d be kind of screwed.

And lastly, on a couple of occasions he’s brought home a workbook in which he needs to write a sentence or two, in French, describing what he did that day, and WHOO BOY, let me tell you, it takes me hours of sweat over that poor dictionary just to be able to say, “I played Star Wars Lego.”

I want to be able to help my kid succeed in school. I imagine things will get much easier once he can read easily on his own, and I’ve heard that he’ll be pretty much self-sufficient by grade 4. Which is good, and we are absolutely committed to staying with the program all the way through.

But I would say that it is a little disingenuous to suggest that parents with absolutely no French can handle the program. I think that most parents who grew up in Canada and got the government mandated French classes can probably help their kid through SK. But someone who did not grow up here, who really has had no French learning at all, might feel overwhelmed.

In any case, we did decide to put Gal Smiley in immersion as well. We’re sold and we’re committed. But I’m learning that teaching does not happen only at school, it happens at home too…so if you choose FI, you need to be prepared to do a little French teaching yourself, too.

I woke up this morning and out of nowhere, I was the mother to a six-year-old boy! I’m still not sure how that happened.

It’s the Captain’s birthday and the poor guy is sick. Just a rotten cold, with cough and fever, but more than enough to keep him away from school. That means I’m left here at home with a giant tupperware full of egg and milk-free brownie cookies, that were meant for his class this morning. NOT GOOD.

I’ve got the cold too, and so does Little Miss Sunshine. Gal Smiley had it first, so she’s better enough to be back at school this morning, but I expect her to return home completely worn out by the effort of standing upright.

I thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing that we were all sick at the same time because we could just have a day of lying around on the couch watching movies. I tried that yesterday, though, when all the kids were home sick, and know what happened? They got BORED of the TV. They didn’t want to watch movies! They didn’t want to see any more Hi-5! They weren’t even interested in AMERICAN IDOL.

What kind of heathens am I raising?

So yesterday by the end of the day we were all pretty much ready to kill each other, but we made it though somehow. Today I’ll need to be a little more creative, I guess.

Thank goodness that we have a couple of new birthday presents to keep us busy. The Captain is currently really enjoying playing with his new Mousetrap game, a game I adored as a child and played many, many times myself.

Little Miss Sunshine likes it, too. Those marbles look mighty tasty.

My pregnancies with Captain Jelly Belly and Gal Smiley could not have been more different. With the Captain, I retained water until my legs looked like tree trunks. I was lethargic all the time and napped constantly, and I gained way too much weight. I carried low, and in the end I could barely waddle from the couch to the bathroom and back again. With the Gal, I felt much more energetic. I didn’t swell up — I have no idea why — and until my last month I still had the energy to take the Captain to various kid-related action activities. I carried her very high and had a pep in my step.

My pregnancy with Little Miss Sunshine was almost exactly like the Captain’s. I didn’t swell up as much, but I had the same lethargy and nap requirements. She also sat very low and in general, everything just felt the same.

So, I was very convinced when she was born that she would be just like the Captain physically. I figured she’d look like him, have the same shape of head as him, get her teeth late like him.

And that she’d have food allergies like him. I just so sure it was going to happen.

Around the age of 1, our doctor suggested giving Little Miss Sunshine some eggs, because the MMR shot is egg-based and we just wanted to know if we should expect any kind of reaction (the Captain had a very noticeable reaction to that shot). I was really scared to do it, but we let her have scrambled eggs two times, and know what? She threw up.

I KNEW IT.

The shot went fine, actually, but in the six months since then she’s only had things with eggs in it a couple of times, and every time, she’s thrown up, so clearly, allergy, right?

In the past two months or so, she’s developed bad eczema, just like the Captain, in all the same places, so we also took her off of milk.

Yesterday she went in for her very first allergy test and we expected to see the familiar hives appear in the slots for eggs, peanuts, and milk.

But you’ll never guess what happened.

She was negative!

No reaction at all, to anything. We even tested her with real milk, because the Captain only reacts to real milk, not the serum, and still nothing at all. Hell, the Captain is so sensitive that he even reacts to the control drop (which is just saline, I think). He goes crazy during testing because his arm is SO itchy and we won’t let him scratch. But Little Miss Sunshine? Sat there happily as we held her arm, listened calmly as we read books to her, DID NOT REACT AT ALL.

We are really, really surprised, but cautiously hopeful as well. We remember all those times that we took the Captain for testing and he tested “negative” to milk, when it turns out he actually is allergic, so we know better than to just accept this result and celebrate Mardi Gras in all its pancake-eating glory.

But it really is such hopeful news that I catch myself smiling with joy every so often.

Could it really be that we have not one, but TWO kids that can just eat stuff? Anything they want? Wherever they want?

That is SO AWESOME.

Last night we celebrated by letting Little Miss Sunshine have cheese on her tacos. This morning she got to have real milk on her cereal. We’re holding off on the eggs for a while yet.

But with a little luck, we’ll get there.

You rock, little lady!

There’s an older lady in my tap class, the totally awesome and amazing Frances.

Last night we got to chatting and it turns out that Frances is 72!

And, she only started tapping five years ago! Picking up a new skill, a physical one, at age 67!

Plus, I see her at the pool every Friday morning when I take Little Miss Sunshine for her swim lesson, because she also swims every morning with her husband.

I think it’s safe to say that Frances is more than up for a trip to Disneyworld with any one of her SEVEN grandchildren.

I’m thinking of starting some sort of public awareness campaign. What do you think of this:

“Old people. Not as decrepit as you may think!”

On second thought, I better not. If Frances finds out about it, she’ll kick my ass!

The other day I was cleaning out our fish tank, and holy crap! There was Jacques!

Jacques is our ottocat, which is a kind of catfish that never gets bigger than an inch or so long. It’s nice to have a catfish because they eat the algae that would otherwise completely coat the inside of the tank, so you can get away with cleaning it less often without looking like a total douche who can’t care for their pets. Appearances are everything when you’re a lazy ass.

Ottocats are the best kind because they never get big and ugly like other catfish. Instead, they remain little and cute and quite adorable. We love Jacques lots and lots and lots. He’s everybody’s favourite fish, the only one with a name.

But boy, does he ever freak me out.

The problem with Jacques is that he seems to have some sort of secret ninja ability to get out of the tank, go on vacation, then return at his leisure.

Either that, or he’s jumping through time like the characters on Lost. Hey John Locke, if you see Jacques, say hi for me!

At least 99% of the time, if you look for him in the tank, you can’t find him. That’s because he’s a dull grey colour and he likes to hide from the light in various nooks and crannies, so he’s very hard to spot. But if we search very hard, and check his usual haunts, we can usually confirm that he at least exists, and is still alive.

Sometimes, though…he’s just gone. We look and look and look and he just isn’t there. We clean the tank, stirring up the gravel and moving the rocks and digging out all his usual places, and still…no Jacques. We rap on the glass and churn the water and throw in fish treats, yet still…no Jacques.

This last time was the longest, I think — three weeks we had gone with absolutely no sign of him. We were completely convinced that he had died and the other fish had eaten him, or that maybe his broken body had been trapped in the filter. Or maybe his last will and testament had specified cremation.

In any case, we turned that tank upside down and seriously, I am not kidding, he was not in there.

Then, this week…pop! There he is, sitting on the bottom, all cavalier like, “What?”

I guess a hip, happing fish like Jacques likes to get out every now and again. Somehow.

Sir Monkeypants is training for a half marathon in May, and I’m rather cranky about it.

It’s not that I begruge him the time required for training. I’m happy to give him the time he needs to get Heart Healthy and to extend his stay on this earth as long as possible. And really, taking care of the kids for an extra hour or two a day isn’t so bad.

It’s not that I am bothered by the fact that he’s really excited about his new hobby, and wants to talk all the time about training schedules and running shoes and which set of earphones is the most ideal for fitting under his new running hat. I’m happy he’s got something he’s passionate about.

And it’s not that I’m worried about the extra expenses; these are lean times, sure, but running is a relatively cheap sport and my tap dancing classes cost at least twice as much as he’s spent so far on running supplies and gadgets.

No, my real problem is the eating. The constant, constant eating.

Sir Monkeypants and I use calorie counting software every day — me to help me lose those last five pounds of baby weight, him just to make sure he’s getting a good balance of all the required daily vitamins and minerals.

Every day, this software tells me I should be eating less, and eating less crap, and that in general, I SUCK. PUT DOWN THAT COOKIE. Hard news to hear, especially when you are STARVING TO DEATH. FUCK OFF, SOFTWARE.

Meanwhile, Sir Monkeypants comes home from work every day and enters the data for his training run, and the software merrily tells him to eat more! More more more! Have a big party, and don’t hold back when it comes to the buffet! And hey, why not have some chips, and cookies, and an entire plate of french fries while you’re at it? Something fatty and full of calories would be awesome!

So I am a wee bit bitter.

It’s not just that he gets to eat while I look on wistfully, cradling my cup of green tea for comfort. Oh no. It’s the GLEE with which he eats.

It’s all, “Look at that! I still have over a thousand calories today! I just don’t think it’s possible for me to even eat that much food!”

Or maybe, “Do you realize that I have more calories left to eat now, after dinner, than you have eaten all day?”

Or perhaps, “Where did you put that new bag of cheesies? Did you want any? Oh, sorry.”

Grrrrrr.

He keeps reminding me that I could be running too. I keep reminding him that I do run, run like a chicken with its head cut off after three kids every day. Ten minutes on the elliptical in the morning is just about all I can squeeze in right now.

Those cheesies do look mighty fine, though.

If only getting my hands on some of them wasn’t so damn sweaty.