There’s a new radio station in Ottawa – Jump 106.9. They’ve converted from some sort of rock station (they were called The Bear, I believe) to a top-40 format.

This has caused a problem for me because my kids love them some Top 40. In the car, when they’re with me, we’re mostly listening to Hot 89.9 – the biggest station in town other than CBC, and clearly they are doing quite well as they have been giving away $10 000 prizes on a weekly basis for the past little while, and when you have that kind of money to just throw around, you’re golden. No wonder Jump has tried to jump on board (ha!).

So sometimes on 89.9, they talk, or have commercials, or play one of the blacklisted songs that I cannot stand, including this one – have you heard it?

I WEEP FOR THE FUTURE OF ALL MANKIND.

So anyway, my kids would love to be able to flip over to ANOTHER Top 40 station during these intervals, and LO, their prayers have been answered with the new choice!

The problem is this: my radio buttons are maxed out.

There’s only six buttons in the car. They’re all spoken for. So to add Jump, I have to give something else up, and that has caused endless dilemma, when really I should be thinking about something more important, like world events, or illnesses in the family, or what’s for dinner, or DEAR GOD, taking a selfie.

Slot 1 is CBC Radio One. Definitely not going anywhere – I’m a total CBC fangirl.

Slot 5 is an unusual choice – Jack FM in Smiths Falls. They’re an oldies station – like, really old oldies. They play hits from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and I cannot count the number of times I have tuned them in and they are playing a treasured song from my youth – perhaps something from the days when we used to drag out all my mother’s 45 records and have a DJ night. Songs that I still know all the words to and can sing along with and bring back so many memories. I highly recommend their “60s at 6” hour.

DEAR GOD, I am so very, very old.

Slot 6 is Hot 89.9, which I cannot remove because there would be mutiny in the car, and plus, I kind of like Katy Perry, don’t judge me.

That leaves the other three, which are contenders for removal. Slot 2 is BOB FM – a “whatever” kind of mix station that is sometimes crappy but sometimes brilliant. They literally will play whatever and if you want to hear disco, or reggae, or 80s pop, sometimes all in one mix, you can! I like them. Slot 3 is Live 88.5 – although their alt-rock format was 100% my wheelhouse in my 20s, I find I don’t listen to them much as alternative music is just so TIRING sometimes, but I keep them around because this is Sir Monkeypants’ go-to station.

Slot 4 – oh, slot 4. That’s BOOM 99.7, the 80s and 90s retro station. I really, really want to like them. I am absolutely their target market. But I find that when I turn there, they are either playing a) something that makes me cringe in horror, bringing back memories of every terrible 80s trend like neon sweatshirts and lace fingerless gloves, like say, “Part Time Lover” by Stevie Wonder, or b) something I like, but actually own, because I was still somewhat music-aware in those years, so I’ve heard it a million times and can play it any time I like, like say, “Baby Ran” by 54-40. Unlike Jack FM, where I routinely hear songs I haven’t heard in YEARS and are SO TRIPPY, BOOM is usually playing something I have definitely heard within the last year, or never wanted to hear again.

So I guess that’s settled – slot 4 goes to the new station. They’ll have to prove themselves slot-worthy, though – so far, the jury’s still out, as their promised “90 minute segments of continuous music!” seem to be more like 90 SECONDS of music between commercials (trademark Gal Smiley). There’s serious slot competition in this town, Jump – get on with it.

I’ve been swamped this week with work (not that that’s a bad thing!), managing the basement reno (updates soon!), and dealing with a revolving door of sick children. I feel like we’re all just hanging on by a thread, waiting for spring. It’s a little warmer out there but the wind and the muck and the sniffly noses aren’t exactly making me feel like doing a Footloose-style dance routine through the streets. Just a little longer. You can do it.

Also overwhelming: due to some (overshare!!) digestive issues, my doctor has me trying out a new diet on a temporary basis. I have had to say goodbye to many foods I was eating on a daily basis, including pears, avocados, coconut, and – EEP – wheat. I’m pretty sure wheat is not a problem, and I will be running back to gluten at the end of my six week trial period (they will take my pie from my COLD DEAD HANDS). But until then, I’m doing the gluten-free thing.

Thank heavens I have already been through this once with the Captain, so I have some recipes and favourite store-boughts and a few tricks in my back pocket already, but it has been hard having to make two dinners every night. On the plus side, though, I think it has really helped me be more mindful of what I’m eating in general. When you work from home and the kitchen is six feet away from you all day long, it is far too easy to wander in there and pop any manner of cookies, banana bread, cereal, or brownies in your mouth while mulling over some-work-thingy. Now I find I am forced to reach for fruits and vegetables a lot more often, which is a good thing, and I do feel better.

Still TOTALLY running back to pie the second I can, though.

And while we are oversharing, I feel the need to mention this amazing video that has changed my life. I saw it over on Amy’s blog several weeks back and OMG, REVOLUTION. It turns out I have, my entire life, been wearing the wrong bra size. I watched the video and then went out and tried on a (SERIOUSLY, TOTALLY) different and new bra size and it was like the angels sang. You must watch this.

THANK YOU AMY.

My latest column for Capital Parent is up, on how to host a birthday party – check it out over here.

Our basement finishing project lingers on – we had to wait a long time for the new concrete floor to cure, and then our guys were busy on other projects, so bringing The Old Team back together again for One Last Job took a little longer than expected. Things are back in progress now but it’ll still be several weeks, I think, until it’s all done.

In the meantime, we continue to live with bins, boxes, and baskets of basement stuff all over the house. The office is the worst of it – it’s where I work all day, and where the kids keep all their craft stuff, and now it’s also the home to a huge central pile of food that would otherwise be shelved in our downstairs storage area. It’s driving me crazy having to pick my way through the jumble every time I check my email, GROWL.

One thing this whole exercise has shown me, though, is that I have become quite the little hoarder, especially in terms of food. When the kids were little, it was always an emergency if we ran out of one of their staples, and as the food allergy situation got worse, it became all the more important to have specific items in specific brand names on hand. Plus, there were so many things I always seemed to have plenty of, until I didn’t – like, I’d have half a giant bottle of canola oil one day, and the next day, suddenly empty. Or, I’d feel like there was plenty of flour for the week and then I’d make one loaf of bread and suddenly we were out.

So I started stocking up on these kind of things and keeping them in the basement. Not everything, but pretty close to everything. And if something went on sale, that was only a sign that I should do some extra stocking – pick up as many as I thought would fit on the home shelves and bring them home.

It’s saved me on more than one occasion (I’ve safely bridged the kids through more than one change-of-labeling-causing-temporary-grocery-store-shortages). I can’t count the number of times I have been mid-pie-making, and run out of a critical ingredient, only to find more of it buried in the back of the basement shelves, thus SAVING A PIE, which I think we can all agree is CRITICAL TO MAN’S SURVIVAL.

But with everything up on this level now, I’ve been trying to be more of a just-in-time type shopper, using up my backup stores with abandon (please God, do not send us any floods or famines right now) and not buying more of something until we are actually out of it. I mean, in theory, I could go to the grocery store every day – not that I WANT to, but it COULD happen, for an emergency. So why all the hoarding?

It’s been an adjustment for sure, but I think I’m getting used to it, and will hopefully continue in this mindset now that we have given up some of our storage space for finished space in the basement. On the other hand, next time we have a power outage you’ll probably find me at the Superstore buying 50 cans of soup.

Old habits die hard – but I’m working on it.

One thing I always try to do, as a parent, is not put too many expectations on my kids, in terms of their interests and what they might want to be in life. I mean, I do expect them to be kind people, and helpful around the house, and to work their hardest at school. But I also try not to assume that they will be doctors or lawyers or Prime Minister, or to dream that they will dedicate their lives to building schools in Africa before winning the Nobel Peace Prize, or to fantasize about them winning an Olympic gold medal (total fail on that last one, BTW). They have their own hopes and dreams and I want to encourage that, and support them, and watch them earn their own happiness.

Well – that’s the idea, anyway. Over March Break we went down to visit our extended family and there I saw my teenaged nephews, who are just at the age where they’re trying to figure out what to do with their lives. One of them is in Grade 11, and I asked him if he had started to give some thought to what he wanted to do, and he said he definitely wants to go into business. Which totally makes sense, because both his parents are in business-type fields, and he has a knack for it, and a real flair for entrepreneurship.

But my immediate reaction was: HMMMM.

Both Sir Monkeypants and I are engineers by training and it was in that very moment that I realized, with crystal clarity, that I have actually been assuming that my kids will do something technical. The Captain is good at math and really, really loves it, and his analytical mind makes him a natural for something like computer programming. Gal Smiley is all about the science – a few days ago at bedtime she spent a half hour excitedly telling me all the things they had learned that day in school about The Human Eye – and I picture her going into research, or maybe something medical. Little Miss Sunshine doesn’t have a clear cut preference yet but she enjoys school and works hard at it and I’m sure she will be able to pick and choose her future.

As long as it involves math, of course.

I’ve often pictured myself as being the gentle, benevolent parent, softly encouraging my kids as they pursue acting (and then thank me profusely at the Oscars) or supporting them through art school (where they respond by doing an acclaimed series of works entitled “Mother”) or cheering from the sidelines as they take gold in Olympic Freestyle Skiing. But it turns out, in the end, what I really want is for them to be just like me and Sir Monkeypants, to do what we do, to think like us and value the things we value.

Is it for validation, so we know they love and respect us? Is it because I really can’t put value on interests that don’t match my own?

I’m not super stressed about it – it’s just something to think about. And now that I’m aware of my own expectations – maybe I’ll be able to manage them a bit better.

The Little Miss is in a very, very annoying phase right now where she just will not decide anything. You ask if she wants a snack, if she’s ready to leave for school, if she’d like to watch a TV show now or do a puzzle instead – it’s always “I DON’T KNOW,” shrieked in a voice of extreme distress, like I’m offering her Sophie’s Choice. GAH.

I mean, I have lived through two older kids who were not always the most self-aware people in the world. Kids who could not for the life of themselves figure out why working on this homework sheet was SO IMPOSSIBLE, and yet, five minutes after having a glass of milk and a cookie, it magically becomes quite doable. Kids who I saw clearly doing the Dance of Imminent Pee, and who yet continued to deny needing to use the bathroom, and although we are all committed to “logical consequences” I made them go to the potty anyway, “just to try.”

But this is different. It’s like any single time there’s any kind of option, she’s paralyzed. And angry about it. And boy, am I ever getting tired of either a) deciding every single thing on her behalf, or b) allowing nothing to happen, then living with the “logical consequences” of having a kid who is too dumb to pick a snack, or weeping due to the stress of having to select a movie to watch on a sick day, to too whiny to actually say “yes” when asked if she wants to sign up for soccer and then freaks out when she finds out all her friends are going and the team is full.

It’s exhausting.

I remember the first time ever that the Captain came over to me – he’d be just over a year old or so – and actually asked me for juice, using the word “JUS!”, and I got him some juice, and he was happy, and I was happy, and OH MY GOD the heavens sang. And I thought to myself, once they can ask for what they want, everything will be so easy! Everything will be awesome! Parenting will be a snap!

But now the youngest one has all the words she needs, but none of the wanting. Do you want to go to the store, or stay home? Do you want to use the bathroom here, or at your aunt’s house? Do you want to wear blue socks, or yellow?

I DON’T KNOW.

I’d probably be a lot more sympathetic if I wasn’t already deciding a million different things for myself every day. In addition to my own personal needs I have to decide what everyone is eating for lunch and dinner, what everyone needs for appropriate outerwear, what the family errand schedule for the week looks like. I have to decide where we’re going to store everything, whether the garbage needs taking out immediately or if it can wait until tomorrow, what gift we’re getting for our nephew’s birthday next month.

I’m already at the max. It’s time for someone else to start picking some things around here.

This coming Sunday, March 23, marks a pretty big day for me – the 10th anniversary of my blog. Ten long years I have been writing in this space, creating a little nook on the big wide web where I can just be myself. Ten years, 1488 posts, and so many, many words about Dance Show.

It’s a milestone, to say the least. The traditional 10 year anniversary gift is tin, but the modern version is diamond jewelry, so you know, use your own judgement.

I’ve had times when I was very prolific, times when the words just flew out of my fingers. I’ve had times when I didn’t have anything to say (but it didn’t seem to stop me from blogging anyway), and times when I had lots to say, but no time to get it all down. I’ve had times when I wondered why exactly I did this, and what my goals were, and if I should be working on a brand; and other times when I’ve just written little stories for myself only and not cared if anyone ever reads it. (Well – you’re still under obligation, Sir Monkeypants.)

Somehow or other, I’ve kept it going and now it’s one of my biggest treasures. A place where I can instantly be taken back to happy times, sad times, great memories that might otherwise be buried under the day-to-day whirlwind of chores and obligations. A place where a small snapshot of my family is captured, a sliver of a history book that will show my kids who I was, who they were, who we were together.

A place where I feel comfortable speaking in my own voice, sharing my own thoughts. Free to write what I want, when I want, and because I feel the desire and need to tell stories with words.

Blogging is an odd thing, a publishing platform that can be used in so many ways. It’s sometimes hard to say what, exactly, it is, or what, exactly, it’s all for. But I know this: for me, it’s beautiful. Moments of my life captured in 300 word chunks. Perfect little phrases shared with others who also write perfect little phrases of their own lives. A base that launched me into a community of lovely, thoughtful minds sharing lovely, thoughtful stories and tales and comments of their own.

It’s the literature of my life. Happy anniversary.

The Captain found a 10 cent coin (or 10…somethings) from Hong Kong in his room. We have no idea where it came from or how it got there (worm hole through the Earth? STRONG POSSIBILITY), but between this and our recent visit to my friend Miker’s coin collection, he’s now all of a sudden enamoured of Coins of the World. He’s my junior numismitist.

I have a handful of coins from other countries that my grandparents brought back for me on their various travels (sadly, a much smaller collection than it was, as many were stolen in a break-in at my mom’s house many years ago, and that makes me SO angry, because I’m sure they got like, a dollar for my 25 cent Chinese coin, but it meant something to me, and thieves SUCK THE BIG SUCKAGE, so there). Anyway, I got out the coins at the Captain’s request so he could pour over them.

So he’s looking at the coins, then every three minutes or so I get this: “Mom, when you’re dead, can you leave these to me?” And also, “I mean, in your will, after you die, you will say these are specifically for me?” And this too, “I can have these, right? After you’re dead?”

Sure, buddy, although please try to remember I am currently still breathing over here. Memo to self: put poisonous cleaning supplies on a HIGHER shelf.

This comes soon after I was snuggling with Gal Smiley on this green chair we have in our family room, a few days ago. I warned her to be careful of the arms because the chair used to belong to my grandmother and it was special to me. So Gal Smiley asks if that means I will be passing it on to someone when I die, and if so, could it be her, and would I mind mentioning that in my will?

VULTURES.

My use of the bathroom door has changed. Here’s the history:

Baby in the house: Bring baby with you to bathroom, leave door open, you’re half naked anyway from nursing.

Toddler in the house: Bring kid to the bathroom with you, sit them on the floor, lock door to keep them from creating any disasters while you attempt to pee as quickly as possible.

Preschooler in the house: Pee with door open to reassure them you are not dead.

Age 5-6: Pee with door closed and locked, otherwise kid will freely enter and ask a lot of really embarrassing questions.

Age 7-8: Pee with door closed, but with child on the other side yell-asking if you have seen their blue socks, not the ones with Buzz Lightyear, but the Thomas ones, and also, can they have a cookie?

Age 9-11: Pee with door closed, then open it to find kid waiting on the other side with fresh bottle of juice they’d like you to open, and also, can they play video games?

Age 11 and up, I am guessing: Never see the inside of the bathroom again, as it is always full of some kid or another.

Remember when a trip to the bathroom meant some nice, quiet, private time? When does that come back? SIGH.

My latest column is up at Capital Parent – on the one true benefit of March Break. Enjoy!