Today I have thoughts but not too many, don’t worry.

The title is a little mis-leading. Almost every day I have thoughts. But today, I have the presence of mind and the resolve to torture others will them, so here we are. Random thoughts, up for grabs. Since we no longer have pennies in Canada, I’ll take a nickel for them.

First:

I generally do not blow dry my hair. This is probably less to do with the wash-and-wear habits I formed when I was under time constraints juggling four babies aged five and under and more to do with sheer indifference. However, I find myself with a daughter who is blessed with a head full of gorgeous, yet unruly curls and ringlets, which, left alone quickly become a tangled, matted mass of dreadlocks. So I decided to try to find a proper hairdryer in order to be able to (occasionally) tame her hair (the mini travel dryer just makes the chaos worse). Now, I am not sure if I have mentioned this a thousand or so times before, but I LOVE online shopping and hit up Amazon before ever setting a foot outside our front door (always keeping in mind that the best price will trump all else). So that’s what I did and this is what I was met with:
DUUUUUUDDE! I just wanted to buy a hairdryer with a diffuser (for her curls). I wanted to choose from a maximum of FIVE, reasonably priced, limited fire-risk hair dryers. When faced with 831 potential options, my commitment to the purchase (and by extension Miss Moon’s hair), wavered and I felt the need for either a strong drink or a good nap (spoiler alert: I had neither, go figure). I do not want, need or care to look through 831 products in order to buy a hairdryer. Honestly, we spent hundreds of thousands of dollars buying our house and did not even look at five of those. Long story short, spoiled for choice, I folded like a cheap lawn chair and thus we still do not  have an appropriate hairdryer. Just thinking this through now and it occurs to me that she does look adorable with dreads…

Second:

Reading. Oh how I have missed you. In the past month, I have read TWO for real adult (not that kind of adult) novels and it has been marvellous. While I used to read five or more books a week, for now I must be satisfied with two books a month. I have now started two more and find that it remains so much more satisfying and therapeutic to lose myself between the covers of a book than it is to watch television, surf the internet or follow social media drama. For me, a good book wins, every time. Now that my children are older (youngest is almost eight – *insert crying face here*), I can sit in a room with them and read my own book while they read or do other activities and it is no longer considered neglectful or CAS reportable. I remain available to mediate my kids’ disputes, listen to their fart jokes and referee the inevitable outbreak of wrestling when one of them sits too closely to another, but for the most part, I can get a chapter or two read before any major wars erupt. This month, I read The Nest which, while not a challenging read, was enjoyable and well written. Family dysfunction is always entertaining, yes? I also read Two Steps Forward by the author of The Rosie Project (which I devoured and was completely obsessed with about a year ago). Two Steps Forward is a bit more intricate and challenging than The Nest, which I truly appreciated. In a nutshell, it is the story of two people, strangers to each other, who each choose to walk the Camino de Santiago, a Catholic pilgrimage from France to Spain, and how their journeys intertwine along the way. I plan on sharing more about this book in a later post, but for now, suffice to say, I was enchanted by this book, the story, the writing, the very idea of the Camino. Sign me up!

Third:

Thinking that one is funny and smart (in a witty, humorous way, rather than a brain surgeon way) while also suffering from a poor self-image and almost crippling shyness, is cruel and unusual punishment for someone who really, truly wants to entertain and share with others. Any thoughts around dealing with this one?

Fourth:

With five kids ranging in ages from 8 to 24 years-old, why am I still carrying around a purse the size of a diaper bag? I have so many cute purses to choose from (not a lot by hoarder standards, but I am not deprived of choice), and yet here I am tethered to carrying what is basically a suitcase with a shoulder strap. Just in case, I tell myself. In case of what? I have no idea. Has my purse become my security blanket? This is not good news. I am regressing. Maybe I truly did take the “Let’s Make a Deal” game show of the 1970’s/1980’s, that I grew up watching, way too seriously and somewhere in my subconscious I really do think that I will be out somewhere and a Monty Hall wannabe will walk up to me and offer to make a deal IF I can produce three blue elastic bands, a toothbrush, a toy car and a stick of gum from my purse, at any given time. “Um, I think I’ll choose what’s behind Curtain Number Three, please Monty!” What a numpty.

LET’S MAKE A DEAL, Host Monty Hall, 1963-76

Fifth:

Words and music swirling around inside my head like one of those kaleidoscopes children so enjoy. Day and night, night and day, awake, asleep, alert, distracted, always swirling, twirling, and spinning. So many stories begging to be crafted and told with those words. So much music waiting to be written. It is all *right here* inside my head, inside my heart, permeating my soul. And yet, here I sit. Stagnant. Helpless and hopeless. Neither creating nor creative. Powerfully powerless. Watching the words fluttering around my mind. Feeling the music, so clearly, that it turns my skin to goose-flesh. So many good intentions. So many plans, ideas, notes. So many days that pass with not so much as a journal entry to show for them. Why do I prioritize vacuuming, cleaning, care taking, above all else? Who will remember that my stairs were vacuumed this week? No one. Who might remember a shared experience, a shared moment in time or glimpse into the mind of a kindred spirit? Potentially many. I wonder what force will be great enough to propel me forward, to achieve the goals which I harbour within.

And those are my thoughts today. What’s on your mind?

Join me on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Sometimes, I post info, ideas or photos get everywhere, other gems (and duds) only get posted in one place. Some things are totally worth skipping, occasionally there are things well-worth sharing. Either way, I’m happy for the company (as long as we can both stay in our own homes, in our jammies, with no actual face-to-face contact. #IntrovertProblems).

~A.

The Imperfect Parenting Advocate

Everyday we are all inundated with tales of perfect children being perfectly parented by pristine, perfect parents. As much as I may wish that I could claim even one of those stories of perfection as my own, alas, perfection in any form was not my destiny.

Tonight was a typical Tuesday evening. The kids and I tumbled out of the house juggling Thumb Chucks, bouncy balls, keys, sweaters and whatever else they managed to smuggle into the van and off we headed for an appointment with the foot doctor for one of the boys.

We navigated our way through town and got there with two minutes to spare. Everyone piled into building and the kids all gathered around the water cooler. Moments later, we filed into the examination room and everyone crowded around the patient chair. The kids bickered over who got to sit in the other chair, who got to play with the skeletal model foot until the one kid who was actually there to be examined said “everybody stop looking at my foot!” and the foot doctor kicked the offending three out into the waiting room so that she could continue her job in relative peace.

Once back in the waiting room, two of the boys started to wrestle, so I stepped out and tell them to take it outside. Conveniently, “outside” just happened to be completely visible from the examination room windows, so we were all treated to a shoving match, some screaming, and a tongue-out-spitting finale. Sweet.

Then, my youngest son decided to share this with us: ” ‘K, so at school, I had this plan to get out of doing work.” He pulled up his sleeve to expose a previously skinned elbow and continued. “I was going to pick the scab and make it bleed so that I could go to the office and get a band aid. Buuuuuut Madame had band aids in the classroom.” He shrugged.  “So my plan didn’t work.” He shrugged again and smiled sweetly, clearly having no idea how devious the plan he just shared might sound to the average listener. The foot doctor and I looked at each other and I could tell that she was unsure how I was processing this admission of attempted deception. As usual, wherever possible, I chose to laugh. Because I try to refrain from crying in public. It tends makes people feel uncomfortable and then things are just awkward. And today was one of the few days that I remembered to wear mascara.

Our lovely foot doctor had now been witness to a bar-style brawl in her parking lot and heard a thwarted, yet diabolical plan of a third-grader to avoid doing his school work, and this only represented 3/5 of my children.

Time to head home, our work there was done. I re-arranged the bodies in the minivan for the ride home with the idea of limiting the opportunity for further brother-on-brother violence. This time, I was mostly successful. Only one primal scream for the entire eight minute drive home. #winning.

Needless to say, by the time we pulled into the driveway I was 88 years-old and they were back to laughing and being ridiculous. Good times. Always good times.

And that, my friends, is how a typical half-hour outing goes with my crew. Please form the line up to babysit my babies on the left…