All my life, I have been a terrible cook. I am not a foodie, and if I could get by eating Kraft dinner with chips on top for every meal for the rest of my life, I would totally do it. When I lived alone, I survived on spaghetti, white rice, bagels, and cheese slices (oh those Kraft guys owe me big).

I once set a stove on fire by boiling water. I was bad, people, bad.

Then we went and had kids, and eventually I was shamed by the internet into occasionally preparing vegetables. I bought some cookbooks and tried a couple of new things. The Captain’s allergies forced me to make a lot of things at home that I would have previously bought at a store.

A few years ago I even put together a monthly meal plan. With side dishes and everything. I’ve developed the confidence to mess around with recipes, to try new things, to make meals. But I can see that actual dishes are being assembled here, and I’m getting better all the time.

I wouldn’t say I’m a chef or anything, but I could probably pass these days for a short-order cook. If Sir Monkeypants ever gets laid off, I could probably get a job at Swiss Chalet, say, or maybe even East Side Marios as a stretch goal.

Last year at Christmas, Sir Monkeypants was complaining that I don’t pursue my hobbies anymore, and I pointed out to him that I have been forced into a new hobby called “Feeding the Family.” My gift wish list these days breaks into three categories — books, Etsy items, and kitchen stuff. I really want devices and cookbooks and cool gadgets that will make my life as a food preparer easier. It’s my thing now, like it or not.

Oh sure, they don’t usually (…um, often) eat the stuff I make. But you know, I always like it. And I feel something when I set the table and sit down to a delicious full meal that I made myself…I think it’s called pride.

God, I sound like a 1930’s edition of Good Housekeeping magazine, don’t I?

Tomorrow, it starts. All that walking. All that getting out of the house. Eeep.

You see, we have given up on the school bus.

We’ve learned over these past two years that the school bus is quite a lawless environment. Despite the fact that Captain Jelly Belly and Gal Smiley rode the bus home in the middle of the day, when only kindergarten kids are on the bus, there’s been incidents of hitting, shoving, kissing, stealing, name calling, and of course, being suckered into eating gum from the bottom of the seat.

I had my own not-so-good bullying experiences riding the bus to my Senior Public School in grades 6, 7, and 8. I started to type them up here, but it was all very Dickensian and all, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” and “God bless us, everyone,” and I just couldn’t stand it, so I took it out.

So let’s just say that I don’t know of anyone who actually enjoyed riding the bus to school, shall we? I mean, who needs all that who-sits-with-who drama, all that engine-noise-disguised name calling, all that stress of the entire group getting kicked off the bus because some jackass at the back tries to sneak a smoke? No one, that’s who.

This year, the Captain would have had to ride home at the end of the day, with all grades up to Grade 8 kids, and we’d have to walk a ways to get to his bus stop — and that’s IF he managed to get a spot. In the meantime, Gal Smiley would have to ride the bus, which she absolutely despises, without the comfort of having the Captain or Princess Charming aboard. So for sure it would have been dark times. So that’s the end of the bus.

This means that, this year, Little Miss Sunshine and I will be bundling up and hiking over to the school twice a day — it’s about a 40 minute walk, round trip. First, I’ll have to convince Little Miss Sunshine to stop whatever she’s doing so we can walk over for for midday kindergarten pickup time. Then, it’s home again as quickly as possible — hissing to Gal Smiley the whole way that we are NOT stopping at the park — so the Little Miss can get a nap in. Once she’s up, it’s back into jackets and over to the school with the Gal and the Little Miss, where we’ll fight our way through the crowds to try to find the Captain. Then it’ll be a long, long, long walk home, during which I predict at least two major meltdowns from and over tired and over hungry Captain.

All that, and wrestling in and out of snowsuits each time in the winter months, is going to be SO. MUCH. FUN.

Where did summer go, again?

I had forgotten how much it bugged me, during last year’s So You Think You Can Dance Canada, to hear the judges say, “Give it up for…!!!” about 50 times per show.

Jean-Marc Genereaux, you know I love you, honey. And I know, I know, English is not your first language. But BY GOD, if you do not learn some new phrases, I am going to have a seizure. There are CHILDREN’S LIVES on the line here. Be kind.

Here are some friendly suggestions:

“Let’s hear it for…!”

“Put your hands together for…!”

“Make some noise for…!”

“How awesome is…!”

“Rock the house for…!”

“Is !! the best, or what?”

“Can I get a ‘HELL YEAH’ over here?”

“Raise the roof for…!”

“Pinch my toes and call me a jelly doughnut!”

Well, maybe not that last one.

So! Here’s what happened.

Yesterday morning Sir Monkeypants suggested he take off of work early so we could take the kids swimming. It was supposed to be the last sunny, warm day of the year and we thought we’d hit the outdoor pool across the street from the Carl Sagans before it closed for the year.

Later that afternoon I called Mrs. Carl Sagan, and found out the pool was already closed. I hastily looked around and found out that an indoor pool we’ve been to a couple of times before had family swim from 1 to 4 p.m. But that would mean moving our swim from late afternoon to more mid-afternoon, and Sir Monkeypants would have to leave work extra extra early.

Sir Monkeypants thought about it for a while and eventually decided we should go for it. By this time it was already after 2 p.m., but if I got the kids ready and packed the swim bag so we were ready to race out the door the minute he got home, we’d make it to the pool for 3 and still be able to get in an hour’s swim time.

So I started rushing around packing stuff, and making last minute snacks for all three kids, none of whom had touched their lunch. When Sir Monkeypants arrived, I was still running around, the Captain was crying because he thought he wouldn’t get to go swimming because he wasn’t done his snack, and Gal Smiley was yelling from the bathroom that she needed help with her poop.

So it was the usual chaos.

We soothed kids, we wiped bums, we threw things in bags, we rushed out the door.

And…we left the front door open. Not just unlocked, but AJAR.

AND, we left the sliding door at the back of the house wide open.

Oh yeah.

This story could have had a very unhappy ending. Obviously, someone could have easily broken in while we were out. Actually, “broken in” is hardly the term — someone could have accepted our welcome invitation to please, come take our stuff and we probably wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.

However, that didn’t happen. And on any other day, we’d have been gone for an hour, come home and discovered our mistake, had a good chuckle, and sworn never to tell anyone ever how stupid we’d been.

But.

My mother happened to drop by.

Now, my mother lives in southern Ontario. A seven hour drive away. She is not usually expected to do the pop-in. Yesterday, she decided to pack my older sister, niece, and nephew in the car, check the dog into a doggie motel, and drive up to Ottawa.

That’s totally awesome, except that when they arrived — hopped up on several Tim Horton’s Iced Capps — they found our front door ajar, back door open, half-eaten food still sitting on the table, half-packed bags in the hallway.

My mom immediately thought that one of the kids must be in mortal danger, that we’d had to flee in a huge hurry to take them to the hospital.

Or maybe we’d been forced out of our home by armed kidnappers.

Or maybe we’d been EATEN BY ZOMBIES.

My sister ran over to Queen Charming to ask if they knew anything, and suddenly the Charmings were all worried, too. They checked my laptop and found “strange messages” on it (I can only guess at what they read — my Twitter feed, probably) and then there was mass panic.

I think they were probably mere minutes from calling all the hospitals in town when we got home. I was so excited to see them, but all they could talk about was the horror they’d walked in on. Doors! Ajar! Homes! Unsecured!

I admit, it was stupid of us. Dangerous, and idiotic.

But the worst part is that now, we have a lifetime of pre-bedtime calls warning us to lock the doors. Retellings of the story, over and over, at every family gathering, of our massive stupidity. Years and years of hearing, “I hope you locked your doors!” the minute we arrive at their house for a visit.

I guess we’ll deserve it. Like I said, it could have been worse.

Marginally.

When we were visiting my older sister recently, Captain Jelly Belly happened to catch a show his teenaged cousins were watching on YTV called In Real Life. It’s a Canadian game show for 12-14 year olds, in which they try their hand at various occupations, with the lowest performing team of two being eliminated each week. For example, one week they were “firemen” and had to put on gear, drive the truck, and fight a fire (with help). Another week they were “circus performers” and had to put together a trampoline routine, walk a tightrope, and ride a teeny tiny bike.

The show is pretty good family fare and it’s right up the Captain’s alley. He’s been looking for some new, big-boy shows to replace Dora and The Backyardigans in his repertoire, and we liked that this show was fun and interesting and showcased different jobs. So now we record it every week, and he watches each episode approximately 100 times before the next week’s new episode comes around. It’s nice he has a new passion.

One thing, though. There are commercials.

My kids watch a fair bit of TV, but it’s always Treehouse, Disney Family, or CBC Kids — all sources of completely commercial-free preschool fare. For a long time, they didn’t know that commercials existed. Then, on occasion, they’d catch some weekend sports with Sir Monkeypants or an episode of So You Think You Can Dance with me, and they’d see these weird sort of breaks during the show. We talked about ads, and what they were there for, and what they mean.

But at the same time, we always skipped right over them (long live the PVR!). So although they grew aware that these things called “commercials” existed, they rarely actually saw one. Thus, they became this kind of holy grail, this kind of semi-forbidden form of entertainment that they were highly interested in at all times.

If they happened to be around while we were watching some Boring Parent Show, they’d play in the TV room, just in the hopes of grabbing a peek at the commercials. When the ad break started, all preschooler eyes were suddenly glued to the tube.

For a while I would sit and watch In Real Life with the Captain and Gal Smiley so I could skip the commercials. Then I taught Gal Smiley how to work the remote so she could skip them herself, freeing me to work in the kitchen, keeping an eye on them from across the room.

But soon, things degraded so that I’d leave the room from time to time to tend to Little Miss Sunshine, or take out some garbage, or put away some laundry. And during these times…there was some pretty intense commercial viewing.

The funny thing is that In Real Life, while being a show aimed at teens on YTV, shows mostly adult-focused ads. There are ads for hair colour, room fresheners, and cell phones (the Telus ones with animals in them are a big hit).

The kids called me, very excitedly, when they saw their first commercial for “Mommy’s diapers.” AWKWARD.

One commercial in particular is Gal Smiley’s favourite. It’s for Charmin toilet paper and features an animated bear.

Last time we were at the Superstore I was amazed and appalled at how she has taken this commercial completely to heart. When we entered the toilet paper aisle she got VERY excited. She squealed to Captain Jelly Belly, “Look for the RED PACKAGE!!!” and then ran down the row until she’d found the Charmin. Then she said, “Mommy, we have to get THIS KIND.”

I explained that we would be buying our usual brand instead, and the Captain pouted, “But this one is STRONGER! They said it on TV!” The Gal nodded vigorously. They were both extremely disappointed when I refused to buy the Charmin.

Eeep.

I can’t believe that they totally got the message of the ad, actually remembered the brand name and look of the package, and worst of all, absolutely believed that everything said in the ad was completely true.

Next thing you know, they’ll be believing stuff they read on the internet!

I think it’s time for a little sit down to talk about marketing, and what it all means. About how commercials do their best to put their product in the best possible light, but that the things they say, while not exactly lies, are not always pure truth. About how companies want you to pick their product, but it isn’t always the best price, or the best value. About how things you see on TV are not automatically cooler just for having been on TV.

I think this will be a lesson that takes quite a while to learn.

[While we are riding in the car.]

Gal Smiley: When I grow up, I’m going to be an astronaut.

Little Miss Sunshine: Mommy! Mommy!

Me: That’s great, honey! I think you would be an awesome astronaut.

Gal Smiley: It’s very far away, but when I am grown up, I won’t be scared.

Little Miss Sunshine: Mooooooommmmeee!

Me: No, you will do fine. You’ll be great!

Gal Smiley: I will come home any time you want me to. Just tell me and I will come right home.

Little Miss Sunshine: Mommy mommy mommy mommy!

Me: That’s so sweet. I will want you to come home lots and lots.

Gal Smiley: I will bring my phone, so you can call me any time you want.

Little Miss Sunshine: MOMMY! MOMMY!

Me: Will you call me every day? Because I will want you to call me every day.

Gal Smiley: Yes, but will my phone freeze in space?

Little Miss Sunshine: MOOOOOMMMMEEEEEEEEEE!!! MOOOOMMMEEEEE!

Me: As long as you keep it with you in the spaceship, it will be fine. You’ll both be fine.

Gal Smiley: That’s good.

Little Miss Sunshine: MOMMEE MOMMEE MOMMEE MOMMEE!!!!

Me: Yes, Little Miss Sunshine?

Little Miss Sunshine: Um…what are you doing?

I was completely speechless for that one…Sir Monkeypants and I just had to laugh!

The Captain has always had a bit of a flare for math, but this summer something has really clicked. All of a sudden he seems to be doing math in his head all the time.

Here’s some things he’s said to me in the past two weeks, completely unprompted:

“50 plus 50 is just 28 less than 64 plus 64.”

“Paying $20 for something is the same as paying $25 and getting $5 change.”

“You can get to 128 really fast by doubling…1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128. See?”

“Why is 7 plus 6 the same as 10 plus 3?”

“I know 80 plus 50 is 130 because 8 plus 5 is 13.”

“When you count by 11s, it’s always the same number repeated again — 22, 33, 44, see?”

“Two dollars is two hundred cents, and 20 dollars is two thousand cents.”

“Gal Smiley goes to bed 45 minutes before me.” (She goes at 6:45; he goes at 7:30.)

“30 times 2 is the same as 20 times 3.”

When I explained that I had to pay $10 for parking three times while in the hospital with him, three more times while in the hospital with Gal Smiley, and five times while in the hospital with Little Miss Sunshine, “Oh my GOD, you spent $110 on parking??”

And, when Sir Monkeypants asks him about any particular square on the Snakes and Ladders board, he can tell you what colour it is, whether or not there is a snake or ladder, and if so, what number it terminates at. Without looking.

He is BLOWING MY MIND. I hope Grade 1 can keep up.

The other day when we were all out driving in the van, we rolled the windows down. Sir Monkeypants warned the kids not to throw any food out the window, and I added, “And don’t throw out any Boba Fetts.”

That was a reference to our friend TheRarGuy, who made the fatal mistake of telling us back in university about a time when he was playing with his Boba Fett action figure in the car. Suddenly, while they were on the highway, he was overwhelmed with a powerful need to see what would happen if he threw poor Boba out the window.

I think TheRarGuy brought this up because he figured just about every kid must go through this, must experience this need to throw stuff out the window. Sadly, instead of offering him empathy, we just laughed at him. And then went on to bring it up at every car-riding opportunity for the past 15 years.

We’re awesome friends. Really.

Anyway, after I said that thing about the Boba Fetts in the car with our kids, the Captain wanted to know what I meant. I thought it’d be hilarious if I told him this funny funny story, and then he could join in the RarGuy mockery for the next couple of decades, until it finally got old.

Yeah, that totally didn’t happen.

Instead of laughing…the poor Captain burst into tears. He was so sad to think of poor Boba Fett! Alone on the highway! Possibly being squashed by cars!

He cried and cried and cried.

Since we were riding on the highway at the time there was little I could do to comfort him except hand him a tissue and rub his leg a bit and try to keep the snickering to a minimum.

Eventually he stopped crying but continued to sniffle for another half hour. Then he asked, “Do you think that when TheRarGuy got to be a teenager, he took his own money and went out and bought a new Boba Fett?”

I jumped at the chance to say, “Of course!”

Then he added, “And do you think the old Boba Fett was found on the road by another little boy and he took care of him?”

And I said, “Of course, honey.”

I think he knows that both answers are not quite true. But they made us both feel better and we’re happy to live with that version of events.