In my ongoing series of posts on things-I-really-should-know-by-now-but-do-not, I recently had a chat with FameThrowa and our friend LuckySevens about the care and maintenance of long hair. This was after I met up with them on an evening when my hair was so frizzy I had no choice but to bind it into Pippi Longstocking-style braids. They told me the secret is actually not to wash it too often. Apparently long hair is much happier if you let a little natural oil build up.

Then later, I was reading this new book I got for my birthday called Because I Said So, by my celebrity crush Ken Jennings. Not that I want to mess around with him or anything – he’s like, Mormon, and married, so the mere thought of something physical is just too weird. Rather, I really want him to come to one of my pie parties and entertain us all with witty and odd facts of the world, and maybe a little tour through my atlas of the world, followed by a series of wickedly funny Alex Trebek impressions. And maybe between sets we can have Chris Hadfield come in for a little earnest discussion of how The View From Space Makes Us All One Planet, and maybe he could also throw in an Alex Trebek (mustache era, of course) impression, and then I could seriously DIE HAPPY, having my belly full of pie and my brain full of fun and funny facts brought to you by the Thinking Woman’s Ultimate Sex Symbols.

Aaaaaaanyway, I was reading Because I Said So, which is a book in which KenJen discusses the truth, or falsity, of various long-lived parenting legends, like whether or not it’s okay to read in the dark, or swallow gum, or run with scissors. I read a few of these out loud to my older kids, and they particularly enjoyed the entry on running with scissors, because apparently it’s much more likely for a kid to be sent to the emergency room for sitting on scissors rather than running with them, which led to excessive and intentionally hilarious use of the phrase “buttocks lacerations,” a phrase which still pops up almost daily in our dinner conversations. Although, if I were to meet KenJen I would argue that the only reason why buttocks lacerations are more common than running injuries is because Good Parents Everywhere have been super diligent about stopping the scissors-running for years, and if we were to compare the actual incidents to the actual number of running situations we’d probably be close to a 100% injury ratio.

And also, my need to actually discuss the nitty gritty of scissors injuries is exactly why my dream pie party guest is Ken Jennings. QED.

Aaaaaaaaanyway, one of the entries in the book is about hair washing, and it was interesting to me that as recently as 100 years ago, people only washed their hair perhaps twice a month. I remember an interview with Annette Funicello I read back in the 80s that talked about how once a week, no matter where she was in the world, she’d fly in her hairdresser for a wash and a set, and then I realized that she literally did not wash it or touch it the rest of the week, and that was a shocker. And yet, it gives so much more meaning and weight to the infamous, “I have to wash my hair,” excuse, don’t you think, when it’s such a rare and big deal, and involves rollers and product and the flying-in of a stylist.

So FameThrowa and LuckySevens taught me that not only should I consider a maximum once-every-three-days wash cycle, but when I do wash it, I need to bind it up with various clips and braids and things to ensure it doesn’t frizz out. It seems like a lot of work but the results have been encouraging so far, but really, now that poor Annette Funicello has passed on, I’m thinking her hairdresser is likely looking for a regular gig. So very soon after I get totally famous for…something …and throw fabulous parties featuring Alex Trebek impressions, I’m thinking I’ll give her a call. That’s how grown-ups do it, right?

Well, hi there! How are you? I’m cranky, nice to meet you.

Making me cranky? First up, it’s my not-a-resolution-dammit need to lose a few pounds, as I am currently experiencing a pants crisis in which the only pair I have that fit are my Pie Party Pants, supposedly meant to allow for massive amounts of buffet-style eating, and now barely zip up. I haven’t been able to get into my favourite pair of purple cords for months so I am trying to do something about it, but doing something about it means eating less crap, and since crap makes up a good 30% of my daily diet, eating less crap makes me CRANKY.

The other day my son accidentally opened the dishwasher while it was still running, and I sighed and gently explained about being more aware of our surroundings and how to listen for the sounds of rushing water and blah blah, and he nodded and was grateful I handled it all so well, then THREE FREAKING MINUTES LATER he did it again, and I was like MOUNT SAINT HELENS, erupting all over his poor little shoulders.

Warning: MAMA HUNGRY.

Also making me cranky? The state of my house right now.

This is my living room:

And here is my office:

And here is the playroom:

That’s happening because we are having our basement finished, starting today, and we had to bring half the stuff from down there up to the main level. Which is good! And I’m excited! I just wish it didn’t feel so much like an episode of Hoarders in here. GAH.

I’ll post some happier reno pics when I’m in a better mood. Which will likely be shortly after I break down and eat an entire tube of Pringles. IT’S HAPPENING, DAMMIT.

[* Title shamelessly stolen from Allison, who is sometimes surly but always hilarious.]

The other day I was saying to Tudor that I thought I’d have everything all figured out by now, and yet still, I am constantly struggling with seemingly simple household dilemmas. For example, we are having our basement finished starting on Monday, and I’m all in a tizzy about What People Do when they are having work done. Like, are you required to be here all the time that they are here? Or is it okay if I go shopping or to a business meeting? Should I give them a key, or should I be here to greet them each day? Should I offer them coffee/snacks/lunch? What if I’m not here to feed them?

Most importantly: do I need to actually get dressed each day? Or are my standard couture – pyjamas – acceptable?

It’s all just so awkward.

In other news, I am having a serious issue with our kitchen table, and what to cover it with. The entire time we have been in this house, it has been covered with a series of cheap, ugly, eye-searingly bright plastic tablecloths. They’re smelly and unattractive, but can’t be beat for table protection. Our kitchen table is the only table surface in the house – my office desk is perma-buried under a foot of stacked magazines and bills, our dining room is actually a big toy closet, and we don’t have a coffee table. So that means the kitchen table, on any given day, hosts three separate meals, does all the homework, is the site of many colouring and gluing type crafts, is a LEGO and Playmobil centre, and is our games table.

The plastic tablecloth is the only thing I have found that works in that a) I don’t care if it gets coated in glitter glue, b) it’s hard and flat enough for people to write on, but protects the table from pen impressions, c) doesn’t shift around, and d) wipes clean quickly and easily between events.

And yet, I hate the plastic tablecloth. I have earned the right, I feel, for a more grown-up table.

So this past week I threw out the tablecloth, but I just cannot get the hang of how to work the table without it. We’ve tried cloth coverings and placemats, but both don’t work well with the crafts or homework, and plus the table took a ton of damage in just a handful of days. I love the table so much – it’s a cheapy IKEA table, hence the quick damage and terrible, terrible lack of actual finish on the thing – but it’s the perfect size and shape for the space, plus has two leaves that store inside it so it can handle big events with ease.

So today I broke down and spent over an hour picking out a crappy plastic tablecloth at Bed Bath and Beyond. Now it is over there being crappy and smelly on my table and I hate it, and yet I can’t think of anything else to do.

Plastic tablecloths, oh how I wish I could quit you!

What do you keep on your main table surface, and how does that work?

Just a quick post to say my January column for Capital Parent is now up on their website.

Back during the holidays, Gal Smiley made her own lunch and was pretty proud of the care she took “plating” it (I should mention that Sir Monkeypants had a major hand in it by cutting the cheese into artful triangles). That led to a discussion of food bloggers and what they do, and she thought that was pretty cool, and asked if I would photograph her lunch and blog it.

So I present to you, Gal Smiley’s first ever foodie blog post – Ham and Cheese with Crackers, Juice with Umbrella. Featured on page 3 of her new cookbook, “The Best Snaks.” (Cooking: yes, Spelling: no.)

Happy New Year! I didn’t mean to completely vanish over the holidays, but we were busy having a really, really nice Christmas together. The kids were good, and traveled well, and got along with their cousins and were nice to their grandparents. Many, many treats were eaten (good and bad, I suppose), the kids loved their gifts and declared it to be the best Christmas ever, and our family activities were fun and funny and memorable, and all was well.

The Captain got some Harry Potter Lego sets that I had bought used online from a very nice teenage boy back in the summer, and he adores them, and I think I may be looking at buying used stuff a little more often, considering the enormous cost-to-adoration ratio. One thing I totally messed up, though, was that I completely forgot that Little Miss Sunshine was with me when I went to pick this stuff up, and after much, much dithering over who would be giving who what, I finally decided that the Harry Potter Lego would be the Captain’s “Santa” gift, and yes…I think you can see where this is going. About one millisecond after the Captain opened the Lego, the Little Miss ran over to me and whisper yelled that SHE WAS WITH ME WHEN WE BOUGHT THAT STUFF, and I said some very, very strong words of exclamation in my inner monologue. CRAP.

Later I tried to talk to her about it and I told her that Santa needed help with the Captain’s gift this year because the Captain did not write a letter or visit him at the mall. She told me that maybe Santa didn’t come to the Captain because he was bad, and she seems surprisingly okay with that – guess the news that her brother is lump-of-coal-worthy isn’t a huge shocker? Man, it’s tough to be the youngest.

Anyway, she seems to still believe for now but I believe in future therapy sessions she will be able to pinpoint this incident as the exact moment in time when her mother killed Santa. MOMMY WIN.

Speaking of the Little Miss, she got some lovely things for Christmas and she likes them all, but the one thing she loves more than anything else is this little plastic game thing that my niece was about to throw out, and the Little Miss rescued from the garbage while we were visiting. It’s kind of like a tangram only with about 12 pieces that you have to fit inside a square shape. There’s sixty different ways to get all the pieces in and the Little Miss seems determined to find them all. It’s super cheapy plastic and probably was a dollar store loot bag item and it has easily seen the MOST hours of use and play and enjoyment of all the new Christmas things. SIGH. Although, it does seem like there is a lesson to be learned here about Less being More and so forth. Double SIGH.

In any case, it was a lovely holiday, and I’m really, really looking forward to a few more days of not making lunches, combined with hiding in the house all day in our PJs with video games and movies and Lego because it is NEGATIVE THREE BILLION outside, and I’m NOT looking forward to Monday at all, but at least we’ll always have fond gauzy memories of Christmas 2013. Stay warm!

I just did a search to see when I last posted about my Capital Parent columns being up and um…it was in July.

So, catching up, then!

December: Home for the Holidays

November: Pet Peeves

October: Joyride

September: They Call Me Mrs. Smith-Jolie-Pitt-Pop

Or, see the whole shebang here.

Also, my January column isn’t up online yet but you can see it in the print copy, which is now in libraries and community centres.

We’re down to just one Santa believer in the house, and it’s a little sad, but okay too. Gal Smiley was on the fence this year – last year, she asked me about it point blank, and we had The Talk about how Christmas is in All Of Us, but yes, Mommy and Daddy leave the presents. But then, this year, she was all INTO Santa, and I thought maybe she was in denial, or didn’t understand me, or whatever.

But then, last night:

Her: Mom, I finally decided what I want for Christmas!

Me: [internal dialogue: SNORT, I finished shopping three weeks ago kid, and nothing could get me to the mall this week, but WHATEVER.] Really?

Her: Yes! I will write it in a letter to Santa.

Me: Um…okay.

Her, very quietly: And then, I will show it to you so you will know.

Me, very quietly: Okay.

Her: Mom? Will you ever stop putting a present under the tree for me and writing “from Santa” on it?

Me: I can if you want me to.

Her: Oh.

Me: But if you want, I can always and forever put a present there and write “from Santa” on it.

Her, very very quietly: Yes, please.

I know what I’m getting for Christmas – my babies, always and forever. AWESOME.

Our three kids each have a Special Friend, a stuffed animal that they sleep with, and they are like three extra members of our families. All our friends know the Special Friends by name. They come with us any time we will be sleeping somewhere else. They are the ultimate in comfort for our children.

All three are showing signs of deep love, from thinned out fur to floppy necks to a vague greyness that has taken over their original fur colour. But none has been loved more than Shearly, who is Gal Smiley’s stuffed sheep.

Shearly’s ear, in particular, has been rubbed and sniffed and worried so that it now looks like this:

Despite many repairs – even a complete reconstruction with new material at one point – we have decided that the ear is now beyond help. It’s very close to falling off completely and we explained very, very gently that there’s little we can do for Shearly at this point.

And so, again, very very gently, we have introduced the idea of perhaps putting Shearly out to pasture – she’d still sleep nearby, but we’d get a new Primary Special Friend, and let Shearly retire in peace. We’re just afraid of her falling apart completely, and what that might mean to poor Gal Smiley.

I went through this myself at exactly her age, age 9, when my original sleep buddy (a dog named Kelly) had been repaired for the umpteenth time by my mother. She was at the point where she was weaving threads in and out to create “fabric” over places that had worn away to loonie-sized holes. It took months for her to convince me it was time for someone new; then, she took me on a special shopping trip to the Eaton’s Centre in Toronto where I blew my entire savings (a massive $22) on a single soft, cuddly bear named Honey. Honey and Kelly shared the bed for a while before I made the transition and it was okay, but I’ve been there and I know there are tears to be shed in the near future.

This past weekend we were shopping and happened upon a new friend. It was love at first sight. Everything we wanted – a sheep, slightly bigger than Shearly, white, soft, cuddly.

She’s known as Big Shearly for the time being.

So far, Big Shearly sleeps beside Shearly and Gal Smiley. But there are tentative hugs at night, and snuggles in the morning. We’re not sure yet if it’s going to take, but there’s hope.

It’s the little things you need to help your kids get through that really matter, isn’t it? Moving from Shearly to Shearly is almost as tough for me as it is for her. But I know it’s going to be okay, for all of us. Happy holidays, Shearly dear.