Wii Buddies

Here’s how much my son loves video games:

Him: Mom, want to play Harry Potter Wii with me?

Me: Sure, but I have to get dressed first.

Him: Okay, I’ll set it up.

Me: There’s no rush, I’ll be 15 minutes or so.

Him: Why?

Me: Well, I have to wash my face and put on some makeup, comb my hair, and go to the bathroom, too.

Him: Okay. I will come up with you and see if I can do anything to help.

Me: Oooooooookay.

Then he hung around the bathroom door, asking every 30 seconds if there was anything he could do. Thanks honey – I can wipe my own butt, but how about you go downstairs and make me a gin and tonic?

SHEESH.

Gettin Crafty Wid It – Harry Potter Wands

It’s been forever since I did any crafting around here, because I’m way too busy freaking out over the state of the now-revealed lawn. Why, oh why, did I ever wish for spring, when I had all that lovely winter snow covering up the grub-infested carpet of weeds that is our so-called lawn? I am seriously considering astroturf.

Anyway! A couple of days ago, I did find time to do a craft, mostly at the Little Miss’ insistence. So that means blog! fodder!

We made magic wands, but not girly wands, the kind you can buy in the store with purple feathers and sparkles and ribbons. These are wands made for pure magic, the kind that would make Harry Potter proud. I actually first made one a few years ago, when the Captain was Harry Potter for Halloween. At the time, I also made one for Gal Smiley, and with the Captain’s new found love of all things Harry, they’ve been running around here with their wands yelling “Wingardium leviosa!” and “Expectro Patronum” and “Bringy Meith a Sandwichia!”

Here’s what one looks like (click to enlarge all images):

Harry Potter Style Wand

Sadly, Gal Smiley snapped hers in half last week (not all sad – she pretended to be Ron from book 2 most of the time), and poor Little Miss never had one in the first place. So it was time to get crafty with it. I am grooooovy, man.

Let’s craft!

First, you will need to gather:

  • a piece of dowel – about 3/16 to 1/4 inch thick
  • a glue gun
  • a saw, or perhaps some scissors
  • sandpaper
  • black paint
  • glitter glue

Now, take your piece of dowel and cut it to length. Somewhere around 10 to 14 inches is good, depending on the size of your kid. If your dowel is thin enough (thinner than 1/4 inch), you might be able to just snip it with a tough pair of scissors. If it’s a little thicker, it might take a few strokes with a hand saw to snap it.

Sawing the Dowel to length

The end will be all rough, so sand it down. You want one end flat, and the other end slightly rounded. If you were super creative and had a lot of time on your hands, you could taper the whole thing from base to tip, like the “real” wands used in the movies. But I’m lazy so I just filed off the sharp bits with some medium grain sandpaper.

Sanding

Now, heat up the glue gun. First, use the gun to put a ring of glue around the flat base. Then, put another ring about a hand’s width up the shaft. This forms the “handle” part of the wand.

Handle part

Then take the glue gun, and for shaft part above the handle, make a pretty pattern. What I do is spin the wand while applying the glue, then twirl around at the top and come back down, so it ends up making a criss-crossed pattern.

You’ll want to leave about an inch of bare wood at the tip to make it look good.

With glue

WARNING, this gluing part is pretty annoying. The glue gets everywhere and I’m not going to lie to you, there will be cursing. Luckily, we are going for an organic vines-growing kind of effect here, so don’t worry about making it smooth and even. Even slips and slops are okay. If you get some of those little thin stringy bits hanging off the sides like hairs, you can let them cool slightly and then snap them off with your fingers, or let them dry completely and cut them off with scissors.

In any case, once you have the glue on, use the tip to lean it against something and give it an hour or so to dry.

glue drying

Once the glue is dry, it’s time to paint it. Previously, I always made the wands black, but the Little Miss asked for purple, so I tried to mix up the most dark, badass purple I could, and used that on hers. Last time I made these, I used a satin finish black wall paint I had kicking around from another project. This time, I just used Crayola craft paint. Both worked well, but the satin finish paint made for a cooler looking wand and also a nice, smooth feeling to the handle part, and the kids definitely prefer that. So if you have access to glossy paint, I’d recommend that; otherwise, just use craft paint and they’ll never know the difference.

painting

You want to paint all over everything, including the glue. Really lay it on there thick; you might need to come back in half an hour and put on a second coat. Also you’ll have to come back to touch up the spots where it was resting as it dried.

Literal shot of paint drying

Here’s a shot of them once all the paint is dry.

dry paint

Time for the last step! Get some glitter glue – here the kids customized their wands by choosing their own colour of glue, and apparently various colours represent various magic and Reducto and blah blah. Squeeze a puddle of glitter glue onto a bit of newspaper. Dip your finger in the glittler glue and rub it on just the glue-gun-design parts of the wand, to highlight them.

adding glitter

Give the glitter a few minutes to dry, and voila! AVADA KADAVRA.

finished wand

Or whatever.

Immersion

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a while, but it always devolves in my head to a bit of a ranty, sad, whine-fest. So then I don’t write it, but my mind keeps coming back to it, so I’m thinking it would be a good mental purge for me just to get it all down, already. So warning: whining follows.

Today’s subject is French Immersion.

When the Captain was in JK, we had to decide if we wanted him to enter the French Immersion program the following year. Our school offers only early French Immersion (EFI), which starts in SK.

It was a really, really hard decision for us. On one hand, we don’t speak French and worried we wouldn’t be able to help him with his schoolwork. It seemed like a lot of stress and work to dump on such a little kid, when we didn’t even know yet how he would feel about school, how he would do in school, and whether or not he liked languages.

On the other hand, everyone and their sister was choosing EFI. That meant that all his friends were going into the EFI class, and so few were choosing English, it was almost unsustainable. At our school, about 90% of kids choose EFI, meaning the handful of kids in the English stream are doomed to split classes, less funding, less attention, and fewer opportunities than the EFI kids.

And worse, there’s a feeling around here that EFI is for “smart kids” while English is for “troubled kids.” It SUCKS, it is NOT TRUE, but that’s what his happening around here. It’s why so many choose EFI – because their kid is smart! And should be in the “advanced” stream! So there’s a ton, a TON, of pressure from all sides to go the EFI route.

And so we did.

The Captain is now in Grade 4, so I’ve been thinking lately about our EFI choice. I guess there’s good things about it. He’s with his friends, he has learned quite a bit of French. His spelling and grammar sucks in both languages, but apparently that’s expected for FI students, and works itself out eventually.

What really bothers me, though, is this: he hates school.

Perhaps hates is too strong of a word. He goes there happily enough and does his work without too much complaint. But the thing is, school to him is work. A terrible amount of work. He struggles to read and write. He often does not understand what the teacher is saying. He gets instructions wrong or misses out on deliverables.

Right now they are reading a Magic Treehouse book, in French, and they have to analyze it chapter by chapter. We happen to have the same book at home in English, and one day he was reading the English version and declared it to be completely, totally, different than the French version. News flash: they are IDENTICAL. But he was missing so much of the French, he literally did not understand what was happening in the book until he read the English version.

That makes me sad.

I try not to get too hung up on marks, but what worries me is how hard both the Captain and Gal Smiley try to get out of schoolwork. How tired they are at the end of the day. How much they equate “learning” with “hard” and “impossible” and “terrible torture.” I love learning. I love reading. I loved school. They most definitely do not.

There are almost no resources in the school system for kids in EFI who are struggling. There’s no reading help, no comprehension help, no math help in French. If a child is really hurting, they just switch him to English (which is really helping with the English stream’s reputation as the lesser of the two, NOT).

The kids’ teachers both say that what our kids need is even more immersion. Make them read in French every day, they say. Watch French TV shows, listen to French radio.

But such things are met with groans, even tears. It’s too much – they already have so much homework, both assigned and from things they have been unable to get through in class. They’re already tired of French and hate French and just want to spend their evenings being kids. I find it hard to deny them that.

Plus, the Captain has finally, FINALLY, discovered reading – he is INTO the Harry Potter books. I’m so happy I could weep with relief – I can’t risk snuffing out this new, tender flame by suggesting he pick up a French book instead. That would turn something fun into work.

So, would I choose it again? That’s a tough, tough question. All the pressures for choosing EFI still exist. The English stream at our school is just too small to make it an attractive option. And, fingers crossed, maybe they’ll be able to get tour guide summer jobs at a museum when they are teens, which would be great.

And maybe a couple of years from now, the Captain and the Gal will have figured it all out and all this fretting and worrying and hand wringing will have been for nothing.

But I can say this: I wish EFI did not exist. I wish middle French Immersion (which starts in grade 4) was the only option. It would give kids time to learn to love school. It would give them time to ease into full-days at school with joy and fun and creativity. It would allow those kids who truly love languages, or those who are really bored with school as-is, to choose French as an informed decision. It would encourage more people to stay in English, creating a better balance in the school and a less marginalized English stream. And it would allow all kids who need extra help to have access to it in the early years when it is most needed.

For now, though, EFI still exists, and peer pressure means we chose it once again for the Little Miss. We’re immersed now, I guess.

1400

Despite my grumpy resistance – actually, I think it’s fear of the rug being yanked out from under me, once again – it seems that Spring is slowly making its way to Ottawa. I can tell because the kids left this morning wearing a wildly divergent variety of outerwear: light jacket with snow pants for Gal Smiley, full snowsuit with rain boots for the Little Miss, winter coat and boots but no snowpants for the Captain. It’s the time of year when the mud room spews a thousand levels of warmth and wetness protection into the whole house.

Yesterday I picked up the kids from school in my usual massive parka and Frankenboots, but it was sunny and calm and there was that smell in the air, and the kids were all running around with open jackets and hair whipping around behind them (even the Captain, who has grown out his hair past the point of The Beatles and into the realm of Iggy Pop). And although I tried to give them all dire warnings that this Spring was fleeting, that snow would surely come again, they were happy and I smiled in spite of myself.

So today I broke out the cute ankle boots, and my still-a-winter-coat-but-shorter-and-sassier jacket, and hummed a little Adele as I shopped for Easter candy at the grocery store. I took the school-pickup sled out of the back of the van and stowed it away in the garage and I bought some sidewalk chalk at the store and even I had to admit, it seems Spring has Sprung.

I’ve been putting off writing this post because it’s the 1400. WordPress does this thing now where they tell you, every time you post, how many posts you’ve made. This one is number 1400 and that seems big and momentous and I felt like I should write something Important To Mark The Occasion, but I couldn’t think of what. I thought maybe I should do some sort of celebratory giveaway, but everything I thought of seemed lame, or else so nice I would want to keep it for myself, which kind of defeats the purpose. So I was stalled.

As it turned out, all I really wanted to do was write about how Spring is peeking its head up, and it’s about time, and although I tried to fight it, everything really does seem fresh and new and exciting and hopeful again. Even 1400 feels like a new beginning.

Introverted.

The Captain was home sick on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday this week, and yesterday after three days of having him at home I had a kind of weird meltdown. I wasn’t screamy or angry or even too bitchy; instead I just got kind of withdrawn. I gave up trying to fight with the kids to do homework and just let them run wild in the house while I lay on the couch, dozing in and out a bit, and generally feeling glum.

I thought maybe I was getting sick, but the Captain is back at school today and I’m frolicking around the house like a newborn fawn in Spring.

(Aside: we recently got Bambi from the library as our Family Movie Night film, and I had NO IDEA it was so wonderful. I’d been living in fear of the mother’s-death scene, but it is tastefully done and my kids were well prepared, so it did not overshadow the film at all. Instead, we were all incredibly charmed by the story and the characters and the nature preservation message. Totally still relevant and fresh today. Recommended!)

Anyway, I realized this morning that the problem is that I had been around people too much, for too long. Over March Break I had the kids full time, and also we had several visitors in and out, and by Monday morning I was ready for a little me-time. Having the Captain at home sick was actually very little work – he read quietly on the couch or played video games, only occasionally asking for a drink – but just having someone else in the house was short-circuiting my brain. I couldn’t get a lick of work done – I’d sit at the computer and just stare at it, unable to organize my thoughts or put anything coherent together.

Usually having a kid home doesn’t bother me like this, I can even get work done with the Little Miss playing by herself or colouring at the table in the afternoons. I guess it was the accumulation of March Break plus three more days of the Captain’s constant company that just overloaded the system.

I think being a stay-at-home-mom, now that the Little Miss is gone for a couple of hours each day, is amplifying my introvert tendencies. I’m not really complaining – I love my alone time! – but it’s interesting and helpful just to be aware of these sorts of things about oneself. As it is, I’m like a coffee addict that went through withdrawal, and now has been reunited with her beloved Joe. In fact, I think I’ll make myself a cup right now and curl up with a little work, and a joyful look on my face. Just me.

Ten.

Captain Jelly Belly turned 10 years old this week, the big 1-0, a whole decade, double digits. I tried really hard to get myself all worked up about it – my baby! getting big! getting old! – but I was strangely sanguine about it all. He is who he is, and I really, really like him just the way he is now, which I guess was the beginning and the end of it. Ten is pretty good, actually.

Especially when held in relief to my four-month-old nephew, who has been visiting this week, along with his three-year-old brother, and oh boy, am I ever out of practice at:
a) holding the dead weight of a sleeping baby while making dinner with the other hand;
b) engaging in an philosophical battle with a three-year-old about why he has to wear socks to go outside;
c) dealing with two crying children at the same time, and
d) just about everything else associated with babies and toddlers and preschoolers, EVER.

So yes, 10, with its ability to dress itself and feed itself and every carry the groceries for me on occasion, when guilted into it, is pretty good.

Instead, I find myself reflecting more on the changes in myself in the past decade. Sure, the Captain was a wee squawking baby a decade ago. But wasn’t I, as well? I was green. I was young. I had a head full of non-grey hairs and a face that was relatively wrinkle-free.

Everything seemed so dire back then. Every baby cry, the end of the world. Every poop, the biggest ever. Every trip, the most epic journey ever undertaken. Now I’m so much more casual about things – even the visiting baby and preschooler are no trouble, we just mop it up, nap it up, kiss it up, and it’s back to business as usual. TCB, baby, TCB.

I’ve learned so much about how to feed a family, how to comfort another person, how to share, how to grow. I’ve learned about my own strengths and weaknesses, I’ve learned what I’ll stand for, and what is off the table. I’ve learned the exact point where my patience ends and the exact reasons I’ll break into laughter.

I’ve figured out who I am and what I want, and you know what? It’s this, right here, right now.

That’s a pretty good decade, I figure.

Amazing and Amazinger

Did you know that The Amazing Race is coming to Canada?

I have a love/hate relationship with the show. We watched it quite faithfully for a few seasons but then started to really mind the bickering. Then we got back into it for a while when the kids showed some interest – we thought we could watch it as a family – but again, the bickering was kind of a turn-off. I certainly don’t mind the drama of teams that are lost, or blowing a challenge, or exhausted, or having a meltdown.

(LORD KNOWS that would be me every single second. I have often thought it would be HILARIOUS to go on the show myself, because I hate travelling SO MUCH, SO VERY VERY MUCH, and it would be sure to be an absolute gas for everyone watching.)

What I do mind, however, is teams that were selected because their relationship is already pretty dysfunctional, and so don’t know how to be nice to each other under otherwise good circumstances. That’s not cool, dudes, not cool at all. I’m sure you know of whom I speak.

(On the flip side: most favourite team ever, The Cowboys. Close runner-up: The Harlem Globetrotters. Which is why – shhhhhhhhh – have purchased super secret tickets to see the Globetrotters next month at Scotiabank Place, will be surprising Gal Smiley and the Captain, because that’s the one season they watched of The Amazing Race before the meanness on the show led to the meanness of Parental Censorship. It’s going to be epic. EPIC LIKE A CHEETAH.)

Anyway! My point here is that the show is going to be having a Canadian edition this spring, which means a) travel around my own country, which I am really, really interested in, because even a terrible traveller like myself can probably handle going to a place where they have the same food and speak the same language and the light switches work the same goddamn way, and b) people being really nice to each other, because hello, Canadian. Am I right?

Adding to the excitement around here is that two very good and very old friends of mine, Mike and Mike, are applying to be on the show. I think they’d be great on it, although I do fear that they won’t be selected because they are too awesome, and thus the obvious, everyone-else-go-home winners, and maybe that’s bad TV? They should really work on bickering a lot more.

In any case, if you’re curious about what kind of people might be trying out for this sort of thing, or just how nuts my friends are, you can see their audition video on YouTube here and you can see really embarrassing pictures of them on their Facebook page here, and really guys, have you no shame? This isn’t America, you know.

Oh. Just remembered I can embed a YouTube video. DOH.

Mondo Dismo

I had a Romancing the Stone moment this morning. I was working in my office and needed a tissue, but the box on the desk was empty. Then the box in the kitchen was empty, and in the downstairs powder room, there was no toilet paper left. All I needed was a piece of paper on the fridge that said, “Buy Tissue!” to complete the tableau. Unfortunately my fridge is not magnetic so I had to be content with getting a new box from the upstairs closet.

Man, I loved that movie as a kid. I’m sure I’ve seen it a dozen times, at least. Holland Taylor is THE BEST. “You practically puke on the escalator at Bloomingdales!” Awesome.

So in case you didn’t notice from the graphic discussion of tissue, I am sick, yet again. I am really having trouble accepting it this time. Back in the fall, I was so ridiculously healthy that I actually started to believe that my immune system had passed into a higher state of being. That I was moving forward like an X-Men mutant into a new dawn of the human race, where no one would get sick ever, and I was non-patient zero. Super! Lynn!

And now, since January, it’s been one thing after another, sick, sick, then more sick, with barely a break in between. Guess that new age of evolution has to wait a little longer. At least the kids have avoided the last couple of rounds (so far, knock wood).

Speaking of kids and sick and superhuman immune systems, do you remember that episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where a bunch of kids on a foreign planet had been specially bred by their parents to have immune systems that not only kept the kids healthy, but also attacked germs floating in the air around them? Only it turned out that their overly aggressive immune systems also attacked the healthy cells of other people, so they eventually killed their own parents, and had to be quarantined on the planet alone?

Huh. Now that I type that all out I guess it’s not a bad thing to be Not Non-Patient Zero. I kind of like life and my kids and everything. You can learn valuable lessons from Science Fiction, apparently.

So I’m off now to curl up on the couch with some hibiscus tea and a big box of tissues and a video from the library. It’s Easter Parade, my all-time favourite musical, and I could write a whole post on the dreamy way Fred Astaire says “Baby…baby” while knocking on Judy Garland’s door at the end, so you’re lucky I’m too sick to sit upright at the computer any longer.

Ah, Fred…you certainly are no Mr. Mondo Dismo.

What Do Boys Do?

Lately we have developed a problem around here with the Captain, and it’s this: there’s nothing to do.

Oh I know, all kids have down times where they are bored with the same old toys, there’s bad weather outside, and all their friends are busy. But with the Captain, this is turning into a permanent state of being, and it’s driving us all crazy.

He used to be really into Lego, but now that we own every single set ever created, BY GOD, he’s kind of growing out of it. He still likes playing with the minifigs from the various sets, setting up dialogs between them, occasionally recreating scenes from TV shows or movies. But unless Gal Smiley is available to imagine along with him, he’s bored. He is no longer into building for building’s sake, or creating for creating’s sake.

He is not an artistic guy at all – he still stick-figures his drawings for school and art class is like torture for him. He doesn’t want to paint or colour or glue collages. He is not interested in science – whereas Gal Smiley can spend all day creating elaborate experiments, or building solar cars, or testing electrical circuits, he just doesn’t want to bother. He isn’t curious or into learning new things in his spare time.

We had hoped he would be a reader, and while he has taken baby steps these past months into reading on his own, it’s clear it will never consume him, the way it does other kids who always try to sneak a book onto their lap at the dinner table, or under the covers at night. If we tell him to go read, he’ll read on his own for a half hour or so, but that’s it. Efforts to engage him in board games or card games are refused, unless it’s Sorry, where he can use his minifigs as the players, and DEAR LORD, if I have to play one more game of Sorry I may do something drastic.

He’s not a sporty guy, and he hates the outdoors. He has no interest in going outside just for the sake of it. We force him to take swimming lessons, which he despises, and he’s happy with his once-weekly soccer lesson, which lets him see his buddies, and isn’t interested in working on his skills or taking it any further. All other sports have been roundly rejected.

Of course, he’d play video games all the live-long day if we would let him, but we try to limit his screen time, so he’s on a very fixed income when it comes to the Wii. We tried to get him interested in other computer-like stuff – simple programming languages, say, or making stop-motion movies using his minifigs, but all that stuff was too much like school and he refused.

So what does he do with his time? Mostly he skulks. He’s an expert skulker. We’ll find him sitting on his bed in his room, in the dark, just sitting there doing nothing. We’ll find him wandering endlessly up and down the hallway, up and down, up and down, nowhere to go, no plans, just being aimless. We’ll find him lying on the couch in the TV room, staring at the ceiling. Just staring, for like, hours at a time.

It’s kind of freaking us out. I don’t know if it’s his age (nearly 10), his personality (he is generally fearful and quiet and withdrawn), or his gender (we have the opposite problem with the girls, who are both so interested and into EVERYTHING that we are constantly trying to limit their activities).

The other day I sat him down for a Serious Talk about this. I told him I felt he needed some kind of hobby. I started suggesting stuff he might like, and he actually cried from the stress of having to choose something. So I backed off, and he went back to staring at the wall. GAH.

What do your boys like to do? What did you like to do when you were 10? I’m all out of ideas here.

The Miracle of Modern Medicine

So, I’ve been sick this week. We made it all through the fall illness-free, and trust me, I was knocking wood and throwing salt and chanting prayers on a continuous basis to keep that going. We even lasted all through the holidays with no one getting sick, for possibly the first time ever, which was so, so amazing.

Then I got cocky and thought we were going to go through the whole winter sick-free, likely due to this miracle drug we had discovered, called vitamin C, perhaps you have heard of it? I thought our rock solid immune systems were ON IT.

So of course, January, and now February, has been one thing after another, and I feel like I should just give up already and buy my own Kleenex factory, because it would be cheaper, SERIOUSLY.

Last week I had a classic cold, along with the Little Miss, and I was just getting over it when, on Saturday, I got a little tickle in my throat, and although that seems like Impossible Karma, it was indeed the dawn of a new illness.

By Sunday my throat felt like a thousand tiny knives, swallowing was impossible, and my tonsils were actually VISIBLE bulging out the sides of my neck, which was pretty horrifying.

I have this thing where I have become really against going to the doctor. It’s partly because getting in to actually SEE the doctor is so hard. You can get an appointment that’s about a week out for important but non-urgent things, like say a funny mole or an ingrown toenail or a lazy eye. You can get an appointment that’s about six months out for things like annual physicals or yearly checkups for the kids.

Anything else, you need to come in during walk-in hours, which are only in the evenings, where you are stuck in a small room for, literally, HOURS, with dozens of other sick people, often waiting with three cranky children, only to see the doctor for five minutes. Walk-in hours have become an avoid-at-all-costs situation for me.

There’s also the fact that, as part of my continuing avoidance of walk-in hours, I’ve learned that 90% of things will Just Go Away. Wait it out! Everything will be just fine! Even things that used to send my mom racing to the doctor for meds, like a fever or an ear infection or a sore throat, are likely to just go away if you give them a good 48 hours of lying around on the couch with a trashy magazine and bag of cookies (mandatory germ treatments, of course).

So my point here is that I tried really, really hard to live with the Throat of Knives for several days, only to finally cave in on Tuesday night and go to the dreaded walk-in hours, where they warned me there was a two hour plus wait, and then I wound up getting in to see a doctor in 20 minutes.

Plus, she said it was strep throat, and gave me this newfangled medicine for it, called antibiotics, perhaps you have heard of it?

And then I went and got said antibiotics, and took said antibiotics, and LO, I WAS BETTER. Like literally, I was sitting on the couch drinking tea, one moment feeling like total crap, then suddenly, my tonsils were a bit smaller and things were a bit less painful and my ear canals drained and I FELT BETTER. I felt like I could win an Olympic medal, solve world hunger, AND catch up on the entire season of Parenthood which is still sitting on my PVR, all in one evening.

I was superwoman!

So the moral of this story is: modern medicine actually works. Who knew?

Postscript: Of course, now Sir Monkeypants is totally in Throat of Knives land, and our Valentine’s Day plans, which we NEVER would have made on any other year, are totally blown. But still! Modern medicine! Superwoman! All is well, people, all is well.