Author: Jan Moyer

Embracing my inner child since 2005.

Strep Breath and Juicy Talker

“I should just make the doctor’s appointment now,” I thought right after the spittle landed on my lip.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

For the past fourteen months I had been home full time to take care of various combinations of our four boys. It was glorious. And illness-free. Sure, the boys had some colds, stomach viruses, and even a incredibly strange reaction to the flu which caused our third born to be immobile for a few days. BUT I WAS FINE. No sick days for me. Feeling groovy.

Fourteen wonderful, healthy months.

Then the “incident” happened.

My first day back to teaching after my hiatus, I spent time with some young friends in a small group. I remember it like it was only three days ago. We were sitting down together having a picnic-style lunch. The conversation was flowing, they were adorable, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

“Mrs. Moister, could you open my juice box?” asked a little cherub. But it was more like “Missish Moisssster, could you open my juish boksh?” because she had her mouth half-full of sandwich. It was white bread and balogna, but I digress.

It was on the “Moister” and “boksh” that this young juicy talker let the spit fly. I could see it coming, but it was too late. It landed on my face, and definitely on my mouth. There was no where to go.

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“I am absolutely getting sick and will need antibiotics, it’s only a matter of time. I should just make the doctor’s appointment now,” I whispered to myself as I went to wash my hands. Hand washing was required because another kindie friend asked me to open his cheese string after swearing he didn’t try to open it with his teeth. He lied.

 A day passed and the incident slipped my mind. Until 5:30 in the morning a mere two days later when I woke to discover I had small rocks that had been lit on fire residing at the back of my throat.

Juicy Talker.

How do I know for certain it was JT? She had Strep Breath. It’s a thing and I can identify in less that two whiffs.

THE THIRD DAY OF SCHOOL. HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING?

After some deliberation, I called it in and booked a supply teacher. It hurt to do that so early on in the school year, but not as much as my throat of flames.

Thankfully, the doctor’s office got me in quickly. I love my doctor, but that guy laughed at me. HE LAUGHED. And he made some cracks about how we should be given facemasks, which isn’t as extreme as it sounds. He also told me that being home for a year made me soft, but he wrote the prescription. He’s my people.

One year ago I was making my second trip to Target, just because I could. Today I’m dodging walking petri dishes and taking drugs. Let’s reflect on the change of my status for a moment. It’s okay if you want to weep a bit, I understand. It’s horrifying. I’d shout about the injustice of first-week illness, but I can’t because my throat is on fire.

I love my job, but kindergarteners are gross. Cute, but gross.

And so the new year begins…

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Want to contribute to my hazmat suit fund? Details to follow.

The Mysterious Case of the Stabby Hydrant and the Zombie Mouse

Bad days. We’ve all had them. In fact, I have a had a few reaching epic proportions. There was Brown Tuesday back in 2003. And then the Perfect Storm of 2011, and then there was yesterday.

The Year of Jan is coming to an explosive conclusion. After twelve months at home full time, I’m going back to teaching in a few days. To maximize my school-prep efficiency, I went into school in the evening. I’m easily distracted so working at night is best for my time-management.

Sit back and I’ll tell you the tale.

It was a dark and stormy night. No, for real, it was. I spent an hour or two organizing my space and getting settled back in to school. There was no one else in the building, but I’ve been in after hours before and no longer jump when the lights automatically turn on. Knowing ahead of time that our sixty-year-old building has mice makes me a little less jittery when I hear the odd scurry in the ceiling tiles.

After a successful blitz of paper cutting and pencil sharpening, it was time to head out. But I really needed to pee. Curse you, Tim Hortons and your dark roast. This call of nature caused quite a conundrum: Pee with the door open? Close the door and get stabbed by an unknown intruder? Or wait until I get home?

I went with option C.

Next it was time to exit the building. This involves swiping out, and absolutely NOT setting off the alarm. I managed that successfully, but then of course had to wait and test that I really did lock the door.

Despite being an adult, the walk across the dark playground to the parking is terrifying. So the obvious choice is to run. Like a little kid. Squealing. Did I drop my wallet who cares there’s no time don’t go back just get to the car someone is lurking at the side ready to stab you at the first opportunity.

It was a fire hydrant. But a very ominous-looking fire hydrant. Also, your own hair flapping in your face does feel exactly like someone trying to kidnap you. And your reflection in the windshield does look like a serial killer. BUT I SURVIVED.

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Nothing takes the edge off a stressful drive home better than a few episodes of Breaking Bad. (I might start my own life-coaching business, stay tuned).

Around midnight I thought it was time to head to bed and at that exact moment I heard the snap of a mousetrap. I turned and saw a tail sticking out from under the stove. It was definitely time to go to bed. I am surprisingly adept at running through the kitchen with one eye closed and switching off the sink light all while squealing like a little kid. Do not look at the mouse corpse are you crying, woman, toughen up and get out of there it’s probably coming to get you.

Normally I would inform my husband about the dead rodent, but ever since the Buzzy Fly Burglar Incident, I’m not allowed to do that anymore.

The adrenaline coupled with the caffeine from my coffee (curse you, Tim Hortons and your revved up elixir) made sleeping difficult. But I lulled myself to dreamland by thinking peaceful thoughts like “what if it was a pregnant mouse and it’s dead but the babies aren’t and it’s all wiggling around?”

The following morning we were awakened by whispered shouts of “THERE’S A DEAD MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN IT’S SO COOL WELL IT’S NOT REALLY DEAD LOOK AT IT FLIP AND DO TRICKS”.

In case you’re wondering, zombie mice are real and I will never sleep again.

Be sure to PM about the life coach thing.

School Lunches Made Easy

The internet is buzzing with back-to-school lunch suggestions, organizational tips, and photo shoot ideas (so many chalkboards). Many of you found my Summer Calendar For Kids post a real lifesaver (it was pinned at least twice – my head is still spinning). So I thought I’d create a budget-friendly, simple, and nutritious meal plan for all those lunches we parents need to pack for our little darlings. Don’t worry, I snuck in a little treat each day, because life should be enjoyed, right?

Busy families do not have time or energy to create a new lunchtime meal every day. To maximize simplicity I’ve carefully selected four items that will keep your offspring nourished and ready to learn.

Convenient and affordable
Convenient and affordable

You might be worried that your children will become bored with the same items each day. No. You can keep things fresh and exciting by cutting the cheese sandwiches into triangles, then squares, and if you’re feeling really Pinterest-y, go ahead and try rectangles. Kids are easily duped.

Feeling a litte adventurous? Go ahead and swap out the apples for bananas. You be you.

Bonus Feature:

Breakfast for the parent on the go. All in less than ten minutes.

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Coming soon: Afterschool Snack Ideas

Crocs, S’mores, and Dirty Feet

Food, coolers, ice

tents

sleeping bags

Pack up contents of the house

Sunscreen

Matches

Wienie roasting sticks

Did we bring the pop and chips?

The kids!

We arrived with six, now only four

Search party

Breathe easy, they’re found

White rabbit White rabbit

White rabbit White rabbit

Stop adding paper to the fire

Seriously

Lost kids againIMG_0584

Where could they be?

Buddy system

does not work

Dirty feet

Unwashed faces

Relax

Camping is hygiene-free

Night falls

Fire’s out

Into nylon huts we go

Sleep

Hissing

My will to live seeps out

No

Air mattress has a leak

(Same thing)

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P.S. Camping is growing on me. I went willingly this year.

That’s Okay

Mission Impossible theme plays. You sense the tension mounting. It’s only a matter of time. This thing is going to blow. Take cover!

Okay.200-1

Okay? That’s it? This house is about to self-destruct in an epic way and you come back with “OKAY”?

Okay.

What does that even mean? Aren’t you going to intervene? DO SOMETHING!

Okay.

There you go again, just calmly sitting there. We want to see some action. Panic. Even a raised heart rate. GIVE US SOME REACTION, WOMAN.

Okay.

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It has taken me years to get to this point, and I sometimes still fall into the snare that those little tyrants set, trying to pull me into the dark abyss that is “Their Problem”. I am mostly certain that this technique evolved out of inertia, nay laziness, but it works. Trust me.

He took more chips than me.200-2

Okay.

He won’t pass the grapes.

Okay.

He called me a dummy.

Okay.

She’s breathing on me.

Okay.

It’s my turn to choose a show/use the iPad/sit in the front/

Okay.200

He didn’t take the one he touched.

Okay.

This mustard is too spicy.

Okay.

He pointed at me.

Okay.

He picked his nose.

Okay (but wash your hands, that’s gross).

He peed on the floor.

Okay. Wait, what? (there are some exceptions).

For added effect, just shrug without making eye contact. You’ll foster more resiliency, problem-solving skills in your children, and your wine budget line will decrease significantly. It’s science.

Okay?

Okay.

_________

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*This technique also works with adults, but with varying results. More testing is needed.

Let’s Unplug

Summer is a time for togetherness, to unwind and recharge. It’s also a great time to unplug from everything and be truly present. So that’s what our family did. We unplugged for four days. And let me tell you, it was glorious.

We played board games and baked cookies together. We hauled out the loom and made new throw rugs for our living room. We dried herbs and made decorative wreaths for the local senior centre. And we got a great start on our family Christmas cantata script. All with time to spare.

There was no wifi, no internet at all. That meant no Netflix, no social media, no Clash of Clans. It also meant no bickering over devices. But let me reiterate, no Netflix. NO NETFLIX.

Oh sure, there were some challenges. It is hard to be creative when you don’t have Pinterest at your fingertips. But I discovered that it is possible, nay, preferable, to make a sandwich without a theme. I couldn’t answer all the boys’ questions without my good friend, Google. But it turns out that kids aren’t all that hung up on “accuracy” and “validity”. They will accept just about anything you tell them if you say it with confidence. For instance, I know more about combustible engines than any of us thought.

We had to dig deep a few times to find new ways to entertain ourselves, but it didn’t take long for us to recall that the library loans out movies for free. You can make popcorn without wifi. Don’t need the world wide web to mix up lemonade from concentrate.

Yes, unplugging is good for the soul. I highly recommend it.

Not only can you connect as a family, this is also a great way to get to know your neighbours. If we hadn’t been without internet access, I would not have chanced upon our neighbours “tazzyzee32” and “wireless_mom” or the other one five doors down, “ruko-752”. What a time to be alive.

Give it a try, trust me.

Upcoming post – how unplugging can increase your fitness level.

Family Perseveres Through Tyke’s Reign of Terror

“I don’t know what happened. Everything was going fine and then the youngest brother was eliminated in a round of Spoons.”

Fear was ignited in a residential home Sunday afternoon. Witnesses say they had no indication that things were about to go so sideways.

A fun family game or a gateway to mayhem?
A fun family game or a gateway to mayhem?

Says one participant, “There was laughter and smiles and then suddenly things turned violent.”

The father of the alleged perpetrator said that although his son is generally even-tempered, he has been known to lash out when frustrated. “But never so quickly or viciously,” dad added.

That may explain this seemingly sweet preschooler’s reaction when he lost a round of a classic game.

According to his older brothers, the family was learning a new game their mother claimed was “super fun” and one that her “family played all the time on Sunday afternoons.” The boys added that she wasn’t allowed to watch television on Sundays growing up, so her idea of “fun” might be slightly skewed. They did admit that they were enjoying this new game.

“It was the second round, another sibling had already been eliminated. Mom got four-of-a-kind and quietly grabbed a spoon. The rest of us followed suit and that left the youngest one spoon-less. That’s the way the game works, we don’t play favourites or let anyone win in our family. Mostly,” the oldest brother recounted.

“As soon as he realized he was the only one without a spoon, he turned and hit Mom on the leg. And that’s when we all knew the truth. He was a poor loser.”

The chair in the middle of this domestic dispute.

In an effort to turn things around, the family moved on to another classic game, Musical Chairs. Sadly, this also ended in violence as the tiny ankle-biter turned his wrath to other members of the family when he was unable to claim a chair as the music stopped.

“He just couldn’t handle being eliminated. He kept promising to change, but finally we had to exclude him from a round. Then two,” said his dad.

Thankfully, no one was permanently injured in these attacks, but the family says they will be focusing on social skills development and sportsmanship over the next few weeks.

“We just don’t want him to be a poor sport to anyone else,” said the mother. “We aren’t that kind of family.” His mother was not available for further comment as she was busy tweeting about the incident.

Despite the family’s assertions that they are a peaceful group, the youngster’s grandparents tell a slightly different tale, describing their young grandson as “feisty”.

“We aren’t all that surprised,” said his grandfather. “His mother was very much like that at this age and used her cuteness for evil. We will just keep hoping for the best and keep our distance when it looks like he might be losing. There are no elimination games in our near future.”

As for the rest of the family, they have no plans to cease game-playing at this time.

It’s Just Preschool

Preschool graduations. I admit, I have always thought they were a bit ridiculous.

It’s just preschool. They are starting out their school lives. How can one graduate when one is just beginning?

They come in children sizes, but should they?
They come in children sizes, but should they?

It’s just preschool. Why do we need to have ceremonies for this? Not everything has to be a big deal.

It is just preschool. They basically played all year.

What was the curriculum? Painting, gluing, singing, counting.

They just learned to share, listen, take turns, develop fine motor skills.

They only learned how to make friends, keep friends, speak clearly, open their own snacks. Print their name. Be away from mom and dad.

Why are we celebrating this past year? It’s just preschool after all.

Just preschool, where their teachers invested in their young lives as they ate their playdoh cookies. It was one or two mornings per week where they were stretched to try new things and think outside of their own experiences. Sitting at the carpet taught them mutual respect and how to follow a new routine. Planting bean seeds in paper towels and baggies fostered wonder and a sense of nurturing.

Maybe graduations aren’t necessary, but big things happen throughout our lives and they need to be marked. I think we’ve gotten carried away with graduations in particular (preschool, kindergarten, grade six, grade 8, grade 12, need I go on?) but reflecting on a year of growth and learning? That matters.

Pausing to say good-bye to a season of education or a milestone of life, let’s keep doing that. Minus the formal wear.

Even if it’s just preschool.

(Thank you, teachers of all grade levels. What you do matters and we are grateful).

One Family, Two Worlds

I stood on the sidewalk between two worlds.

I waved my Bigs goodbye as my Littles waited at home, playing. This is the point of my life now, two worlds within our own little family life. And it hurts, and it is difficult, and it is exciting.

This year I have been home with our youngest son. A few weeks ago, his kindergarten-age brother was home with us due to an appointment. Bearded Husband waited at home with the two youngest while I walked the oldest two up the street to school.

The seven-year-old immediately put his hand in mine, while the nine-year-old was somewhat surprised when I took his hand. “It’s not often I get to walk with just you two,” I said as way of explanation. And I miss it.

Daily I’m torn between the needs of the four.  The youngest two need more practical help and they all crave my attention and time. It is challenging to keep a balance.photo-58

“You don’t have to walk us all the way, we’ll can do it ourselves,” said my firstborn and his brother nodded in agreement. It’s not far, this walk to school, but that day the distance across the field felt like a portal. It was the path leading to independence, self-reliance, and growing up. A world apart from me.

I was glad, and proud, and I was sad. I miss you.

I miss your little hand grabbing mine. I miss you needing me to help you with your zipper. I miss you running and jumping up to squeeze me around my neck.

I need to savor this time while they’re on the cusp of growing up, becoming too big to hold my hand. 

I returned home, opened the front door and immediately was transported into a different world. A world of of booster seats, endless games of Candyland, and snuggling on the couch with a picture book. Piggyback rides, and play doh, and bubbles.

I love that the Bigs start the coffee in the morning for me. I love when they empty the dishwasher without being asked. I love when they offer to push the youngest on the swings. Their sense of humour and the running jokes we’ve developed –  I love it. I love the young men they are becoming

But I miss it. 

I miss their small hands and the smell of baby shampoo. I miss the days when they could fit on my lap. But they are getting older. And so I will let go, but in increments.

That day, the day they decided to walk on their own, I stood on the sidewalk until they reached the school yard, waving every time they turned to check if I was still there. And I was, waving to my boys who were far enough away that they couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

Tears because I miss it, but I love who they are becoming.

It hurts, and it is difficult, but it is exciting, always exciting.