Cupid made me do it....

All week I've been seeing darling Valentine's crafts all over the internet, and I've mocked them to myself, because it was that or feel guilty about not doing anything with the Princess beyond the requisite class cards. Then, this morning, Cupid hit me with an arrow right in the middle of my jaded black heart. There's no other explanation.

It started when the Princess was playing with a set of paper dolls that some eejit (that would be me) bought her for Christmas. It came with all sorts of supplies for designing your own paper doll clothes, including a set of textured pieces of cardboard. It was these that the Princess came running over with, forcing me to abandon my coffee to peel a crayon, and show her how to do a rubbing over the textures. As she struggled to roll the crayon without crumpling or moving the paper, I decided that a better tool was needed. And that's when my heart gagged and bound my brain.

I got out our enormous box of crayons and while the Princess fished out all the broken specimens, I peeled them. Breaking all my fingernails in the process, I might add. We sorted them by colour into a heart-shaped silicone muffin tin, preheated the oven to 375 F, and picked 3 268 crayon fragments up off the floor. Twice. Thanks Bad.



I boiled the kettle, and made those crayons their very own little bain-marie.



We turned on the oven light to make it easier to peep, and after catching Bad opening the oven for the second time, I took up a guard post in the kitchen. About 20 minutes later we had this:


Pretty!

By the time lunch was finished they were hard again.



I'm such a sucker. But at least they'll be easier to clean up this way.

Oh! And yeah, they work great for the rubbings!

The Prodigal Chair returns!

Remember this? The world's ugliest chair?





It didn't make it home for Christmas, but better late than never. Now if we can just get rid of that carpet.....

The Longest Month

February may technically be the shortest month, but it's so spectacularly crap-tastic that the misery it inflicts on me makes it drag on forever. The days are cold and grey and ugly, and while they linger, so am I.

I've been trying to pull myself out of this funk, to make myself write to you about good things, but really I only want to complain. I want to complain to you that my husband refuses to fold towels the way I've shown him. Complain that no amount of expensive cream or Vaseline will stop my hands and heels from cracking. Complain that I've been putting on weight since Bad was weaned and I don't know how to make it stop.

I'd pushed all these half-written raving blog posts out of my head and started to list my blessings; but then, this morning, the unthinkable happened. We ran out of jam.

Now, I've never been big on jam before; but this summer, on the most beautiful June day, we took the kids to pick strawberries. We bounced along on the wagon ride out to the field, and the berries were tiny and firm, jewel-bright and bursting with forgotten strawberry flavour. Within minutes we'd picked 10 pounds. And if they'd bothered to weigh Bad along with our containers on our way in and out, they may have charged us for a pound or two more.

Strawberries are disgusting frozen, so 10 pounds of berries meant jam. I googled recipes, and then I googled for help understanding the recipes. And then the kids and I sliced berries and boiled them up with nothing but sugar and fresh lemon juice. We bottled it up, and printed some labels.



Just taking the jar out of the fridge made me smile, and the jam itself was amazing. Every time I spread a little on a fresh muffin or scone it took me back to that day. Like a little bit of sunshine for breakfast. Bad wanted to eat it with a spoon. And now it's all gone and I'm kicking myself for giving any away. I blame February.

Ow! That hurts.

Bad woke me up at 5:30 this morning with his usual refrain of "UP! UP! (pl) AY!" and the requisite accompaniment arm-yanking. I pulled him down for a cuddle and whispered, " 'morning baby. You're such a big boy now."

"Me two! EEgie (the Princess) 'ree (she's five, but whatever) Momma OLD!"

I don't think he's getting any breakfast.

art lessons

The Princess loves to draw, to colour, to cut, to glue, to paint. I love all of that too, but because we don't have a studio or even a corner where I can leave a project out indefinitely I don't do it very often. And I hate to be interrupted when I'm painting, which doesn't make for a very good mommy.

Sometimes though, I give in to the constant refrain of "let's do a craft Mommy! Let's make a picture!"; and on Monday I pulled out some old watercolour supplies and taught the Princess how to use them. She blew my mind.



" the sea " watercolour by the Princess, January 2009



Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? (Cheap frame from Ikea - fabulous for displaying children's artwork)

Watercolours are the perfect medium for children. The mess is minimal, and they are entranced by the way the paint glides and flows on the paper. Besides, the best results come with loose free strokes, which is natural for them. If you know a child who loves art, this is what you should get them for their next birthday.

A few tips: 1. buy a watercolour block, which is a pad of paper that is glued all around the edges except for a small section where you can slip in a knife and pull each finished painting off once it's dry. This keeps the paper stretched and flat.

2. And real paint. It doesn't have to be expensive, but get a student quality set from an art supply. Pans are better than tubes for little ones.

3. The paper can take a lot of water, have them brush clean water over the entire surface of the paper before starting.

4. The paint will dry lighter, so if they want vivid colour, have them load it on.

5. Give them some salt (I like sea salt best for this, but experiment!) to sprinkle in the wet paint to make a speckled effect.

6. Although some pigments are more permanent than others, sometimes paint can be removed from the paper by wetting and blotting with a tissue or paper towel (Q-tips are good for small areas)

Let me see your kids' best work. I love all of it.

11 minutes

That's how long the boy was dressed today.

It's snowing and it's cold and I had no compelling reason to leave the house this morning; so we ate breakfast late, and I puttered around for hours while the kids played. I finally hopped into the shower at 12:00, and to be honest, I only did it because I know I have to go out to the Princess' school this evening. As is his custom, Bad came storming into the bathroom the second the water started and stripped off his jammies to join me. (a warning: should you ever want to shower here, you're more than welcome, but don't think you're going to be allowed to do it alone)

He played in the tub while I got dressed and did my hair, then I called the Princess to come get dressed, threw clothes on the boy and made peanut butter sandwiches for their lunch. 2 seconds later Bad was covered in his chocolate milk. I took him upstairs and opened his drawer. I had a pair of jeans in my hand when I thought, it's 'snuggle-up and read' night at school, and all the kids are supposed to come in their pyjamas, so what's the point in dirtying another outfit? I dropped the jeans and grabbed some fleece pyjamas.

You've got to be kidding....

When I took Bad for his 2 year well-baby check in December, our doctor expressed some mild concern over his speech development and told me that she was going to refer him for a speech assessment. He definitely doesn't talk as much as his sister did at the same age, and he leaves the first syllable off a lot of his words, but I'd never really worried.

Today I got a call telling me that his referral had been received, and an information package had been mailed to me that I was to fill out and send back. "And then," said the chipper voice on the other end of the phone, "as soon as there's an available space, we'll have someone call you with an appointment. The waiting time right now is between 10 and 14 months."

10 and 14 MONTHS? I think Bad will catch up on his own, and I know my doctor likes to take a pro-active, early intervention approach with speech issues, precisely because the wait times are long; but that's just ridiculous. No child should have to wait that long for an assessment, let alone help. Methinks the healthcare system needs yet more tinkering. Preferably by someone not in government.