Random Bananas – Page 3

Poke-a-what now?

“Mommy, see this card I got. It’s an EX.”

“My skirnigorf has evolved!”

“I thought that was a good trade, but then I realized that mine had way more energy than the other one so I didn’t.”

Hold on – cards can have energy? They evolve? Tell me more no wait, that’s okay.

Pokemon.

I’ve tried. For years I have tried. I think I am a reasonably intelligent woman. I can hold my own in a conversation and can even watch movies with subtitles. But Pokemon is something beyond my comprehension.

And that, dear readers, is a problem because not only do I have four offspring who are all into Pokemon cards, our house is the trading hub for such activities. On any given day there could be up to nine or ten kids congregated on our front porch actively discussing and negotiating with these playing cards. They stroll over with their binders full of plastic sleeves housing these colourful and shiny bits of paper and huddle on the cold concrete for an hour or more. They only stop to pee or hydrate. And I teach in an elementary school so basically 75% of my waking hours have some element of Pokemon in it. I want to be an engaged mom and neighbour, but I’m struggling.

In an effort to be an invested parent and a teacher with a working knowledge of this craze, recently I agreed to let my son show me his Pokemon collection. It took a long time. A really, really long time.

What follows is a photo essay of sorts chronicling the longest 45 minutes of my life.

I am watching you and trying really hard to follow along, honest.

I mean, when did you get so many? WHO IS FUNDING THIS CARD-BUYING FIASCO?

No, I’m listening. Really. I am. Something about energy and wait, I’ll be right back, your brother needs me to move the van.

Do I want to see your Pokemon? Depends. Will you be serving snacks?

Me versus the Laundry Tub

I like to think that I am skilled at multi-tasking. And in many ways I am. But if you know me in real life you are keenly aware that I am also highly distractible. Do not sit beside me in a meeting unless you are prepared to engage in sidebar conversations and also willing to fill me in on the things I missed. I’m not proud of it, but that’s who I am.

Imagine what it’s like for me to try to clean the house, plan lunch for the boys, rotate laundry, and type in the password for an online game while listening to a podcast and trying to tweet my random thoughts. It’s a burden, guys, a real burden. So far I haven’t (permanently) lost any children or burned the house down.

What you are about to read is a real-life, mostly accurate recount of true events that transpired in our home.

The children were mindlessly watching something on Netflix. I decided I would blitz through as many chores as possible while they were occupied. I cleaned some toilets, tossed some clothes in the washing machine, and emptied out the recycling bins. Upon my return from the garage, I noticed Bearded Husband’s sandals sitting in the laundry tub needing a wash. He had been busy with school work and home repairs, and stinky footwear is kind of my specialty, so I thought I’d do it for him. However, the compost bin was in the way. I put the plug in the laundry tub, started the hot water and dashed to the kitchen to put the bin away (because everything has a home).

And that’s when things got dicey.

The bin needed lining, so I MacGuyvered some paper bags from the liquor store into a passable liner (it isn’t hard when you have so many bags at your disposal, but that’s another story for another day). Then one son needed help finding Mario videos on youtube and the other two required assistance to choose a show they could both enjoy. I sat down and scrolled through the options while sipping my lukewarm coffee. Once everyone was content, I tried to recall which task I had been doing prior to the interruptions and hey, what’s that hissing sound? Did someone leave the hose on outside because that’s weird we’ve been indoo–NOOOOOOOOOO.

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Steady, Jan, steady. You’ve got this.

The water was hot. Super hot. And even this psychology major knows about water displacement. Putting my arm in that tub would result in scalding of my skin and more water sloshing onto the floor. Not on my watch.

How was I to get enough water out of the tub so I could unplug it yet not make more mess? And then an unused science part of my brain kicked in and I thought “I will just dangle a wet cloth over the side into a pail and let physics take care of the rest.”

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At some point in my life, I learned about molecules sticking together blah blah blah. Attraction, sciencey word, sciencey word, something about gravity and affinity. I don’t know, I’m 100% bluffing. But I really did know that it would work, despite having never done it before.

Was is Sesame Street? That biology course I dropped in university? Casual conversation? I cannot recall. But I do know this: Science Works.

Maybe my brain just can’t actively retain information like the source of my knowledge, but apparently my brain is full of it. And I intend to use this knowledge for good. Like staging photos of me being poisoned by puffball mushrooms we found in the woods just so I could post them on facebook. TIME WELL SPENT. I REGRET NOTHING.

I think I was working on something before I sat down to write this. Meh, it probably wasn’t important.

Everything Has a Home

“Cleanliness is next to godliness” – ancient proverb

“Out of clutter, find simplicity” – Albert Einstein

“Clutter is nothing more than postponed decisions” – Barbara Hemphill

Oh, yes. I agree – clutter is the worst. Once upon a time I was organized. Everything had a place. What a sweet, sweet time that was. Counters were clear, laundry was folded and put away, recycling was taken out, and if something wasn’t needed then off to donation box it went. The floors were clear and end tables held only lamps and maybe a coffee cup (okay, definitely a coffee cup).

Glorious days, my friends. Glorious, tidy, streamlined days.

Then we had kids and our house became inhabited by these little people and all their little people things. But I was determined to keep our home clutter-free. We bought storage containers and decorative baskets. There was a Car Basket and a Book Basket and a shelf for puzzles. For a little while this worked, but eventually the grown-ups were outnumbered and the children were expected to take on some of the cleaning responsibility, and things changed.

“Clean” became “clean-ish”. Tidy meant that stuff wasn’t laying around on the main floor, but only a brave soul would venture into other regions of the house. And closing the basement door was all that was necessary for it to be deemed “put-away”.

Standards were lowered. But not forever and not completely. The anti-clutter side of me comes out every now and then. The family knows it’s coming when I start saying things like, “this is not preschool!” and “EVERYTHING HAS A HOME PUT THINGS IN THEIR HOME”. This generally results in me being offered some “quiet time” and Bearded Husband quietly ushers the children from the home amidst whispers of “she’ll be fine, everything will be okay, just get in the van boys.”

That’s when the magic happens.

Jackets are hung up on their hooks. Bedding is folded and placed on the correct shelves. Receipts are thrown out and library books are gathered for return. The craft area gets purged and all the art supplies fit in their decorative bins. When the house is tidied, I feel calm and smiley. It’s a great feeling.

And then the family returns and this happens.

(These photograph have in no way been altered or staged)

EVERYTHING HAS A HOME

PUT THE THINGS IN THEIR HOME

One day I will miss the clutter and chaos that a house full of kids brings, it’s true. But I wouldn’t mind being able to close a closet door all the way. Just once.

Dear Mr. Kellogg

Greetings from Canada, Mr. Kellogg!

You have some fans up here in the chilly north. Big fans. We really like your cereal. Not Corn Flakes. Yes, I realize that is the flagship cereal, but come on, it’s pretty bland. And Mini-Wheats is a bit of a toss-up for taste, but you get credit for trying to keep us all healthy.

I would also like to give you credit for correcting some of your questionable choices. My research indicates that at one point you produced Bart Simpson No Problem-Os and they are no longer on store shelves. Wise move. And while you do get points for trying, I commend you for discontinuing the Mr. Ts Muscle Crunch.

Lest you think my motivation is only to criticize, I will reveal my true purpose for writing to you.

Cracklin’ Oat Bran.

Three simple words (one slightly abbreviated I presume for the sake of whimsy – good one, marketing team) that would make Canadians so happy.

This sweet, crunchy deliciousness in a bowl can only be procured in the United States of America. It has now been added to the ever-growing list of food selections denied tax-paying, free-health-care-loving, apologetic Canadians.

Why, Dr. Kellogg, why? Are we not worthy of oats with a hint of coconut? Do our colons not deserve the 25% of our daily fibre? We would like the option of starting our day with the joy of eating distinctly shaped ‘O’s. WE WANT OUR TOUCH OF CINNAMON.

I long to see your crunchy, sweet, oven-baked product on our shelves, complete with both French and English languages. I will even help with the translation. Please, Dr. Kellogg, for the children. Si vous plait.

Listen, if you don’t feel that marketing COB to the Great White North is a viable option, I can support that – we are a very easy-going people. I can send you my mailing information and you can send me a private supply. No one else needs to know. Canadians are also very non-judgemental and can keep a secret.

You’d like to make my morning better? Great. End this lock-out and start selling COB to cereal-loving Canadians.

IMG_2166 (1) — “Sorry, kids this is the last bowl from the box we got in the USA.” *“But Mommy, I like it, too.”* “I know baby, I know.” *

Not to exaggerate, but this might be the saddest picture on the internet.

You have the reputation of being both an industrialist and a philanthropist giving me hope that the lack of COB in our country is just an oversight soon to be corrected. Thank you for your consideration. I have faith in you.

_______

*if you are wondering why there is no milk in the bowl, all will explained here.

Family Mascot

Every family has a mascot, right? RIGHT?

If you do not already have one, I highly recommend it. And pets do not count, neither do children. Maybe an uncle, but I don’t recommend it.

Nothing says, “togetherness” quite like a mascot. It fosters a sense of belonging, trust me. It’s like a modern coat of arms. And it’s portable.

The selection process is important. You don’t want just any old thing to represent your family. Take your time, make sure you find the right fit. You could put it to a vote, but democracy is highly overrated in family situations. After thoughtful deliberation, just announce your selection to your loved ones.

Sometimes fate steps in and the mascot chooses you. That’s what happened to us.

One day I was ~~angry-cleaning and muttering about not being the maid~~ tidying up after my appreciative family I realized we had a new resident. He’d been moved around from hallway to bedroom, back to hallway and then finally the laundry room. This guy wasn’t going anywhere. On some level I knew that this was the mascot I’d been searching for. That’s when I decided to make it official.

This bag of clothes to donate has been here so long, I'm adopting it as our mascot.

Welcome to the family, Keith.

— Jan Moyer (@moyermama) February 4, 2016

Our mascot has adapted well to residing in our home. The transition has gone very smoothly and now it’s hard to imagine life without him.

Meal prep isn’t so lonely or tedious. Plus, Keith never complains about what I am serving.

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In the past, if I was too tired to read at bedtime I just had to power through. No longer necessary when you have a handy mascot. Thanks, Keith.

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Keith is a great listener and he doesn’t sass back. His demands are few: change of scenery every now and then, an occasional dusting. He’s the lowest-maintenance member of our family by far.

Welcome, Keith. I didn’t know our family was missing someone until you came along.

Knit Two, Purl Two

“Come out to Wool and Wine – we can learn to knit together!” the invitation read.

“Hmmmm, wine, conversation, SNACKS? I’m game. Oh, knitting? I did that once or twice as a kid, so sure. Count me in. That’s like riding a bike, right?”

And so began my foray into the world of knitting.

Did you know that there are various sizes of knitting needles? It’s true.

I turned up to our first session with my fancy plastic shopping bag containing borrowed needles and two balls of yarn. Balls? Spools? Wads? Wads. I had two wads of yarn with me – I looked it up, that’s the correct term. No need to double check.

photo 1-5 — If you think this looks like tricky yarn for a beginner, you are correct.

Apparently you can’t just start looping yarn together, you have to “cast on”. Good thing there were some experts in this group. I guess my mom always did that part for me. Do you “cast off” too? I don’t know because I have never finished a knitting project. Time wool tell, I guess.

As a kind friend set up my project, I decided to unwind with a glass of red and a handful of M&Ms (this was my kind of gathering!). It was totally worth the needling I had received from my coworkers at lunch about joining a knitting circle. They didn’t realize that the point was to try something new.

Dear reader, I won’t bore you with all the knitty gritty details of our evening, but we did spin some good yarns. I was in stitches several times reminiscing about old times and shared experiences.

This novice knitter only had to start over once so I decided to call it a night before things unravelled. The time had flown by and it seemed we had already developed a close-knit feeling of camaraderie among us. I hope this pattern continues in future evenings because yes, I’m hooked. I went into this new hobby feeling skeptical, but darn it, I enjoyed myself.

I might even finish this project, you never know.

photo 2-2 — Just need an evening or two to finish up

Nutcracker Bandit Strikes Fear in Family

Local mom was shaken to discover her family home had apparently been the victim of vandalism.

“I love a good mystery. Scooby-Doo, Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown, Sherlock, I’m a big fan of the sleuths. So I thought I would be able to solve this easily,” the mother of four said. Unfortunately, she was mistaken.

The family recently put out their Christmas decorations, including a family favourite, the nutcracker, Bob. Days later, the family was horrified to find that Nutcracker Bob’s trumpet had been broken off.

“This was certainly not an inside job. I specifically told my boys not to play with the Nutcracker and they all promised they wouldn’t,” said the devastated mom. “I don’t feel safe in my own home.”

When asked about the vandalism, the oldest son declined to comment. The youngest son, however, speculated that the family home might be haunted.

Similar incidents have happened to the family in the past. Toilet paper strewn across the floors, lights mysteriously left on, and chewed gum hidden behind furniture.

Authorities have not been called in, but the parents are documenting the recurring vandalism. For the time being, the family remains hopeful that the mystery will be solved.

The Future is NOW

My children, it is true that we live in an amazing time. But sometimes I ponder what the future might hold for us. What wonders could be just a few years away?

For instance, sometimes I like to imagine that in my lifetime we will have the ability to create some sort of mechanism that allows you to suspend a towel off of a bedroom floor. Maybe it will be on the back of a door, who is to say? I’ll leave that to the engineers.

Occasionally I like to dream of a time when we won’t have to eat food with our bare hands. I admit it is hard to wait, but I’m sure scientists are on the cusp of discovering the right formula to forge a device that allows us to deliver food directly from our plate to our mouth. Call me fanciful, but I think that could happen any day now.

If you’re like me, you might be wishing for an appliance of some sort that washes dishes for you. Wouldn’t it be amazing if all we have to do is load the dirty dishes into it and *poof* all the hard work is done? The dishes would come out clean with minimal effort from us. Sounds a bit far-fetched, but so did space travel, didn’t it?

When a drink spills on the floor it is such a hassle. You have to walk around it until it eventually dries up. But I have faith that one day there will be an absorbent material that can swipe up that mess in one go. I believe we have the technology, it just hasn’t been maximized yet.

If they can make a phone that allows you to hold the world’s knowledge in the palm of your hand, surely we aren’t far away from an apparatus that will pick up carpet debris with a suction action? And why stop at carpet? Perhaps this miracle-of-tomorrow will also be able to suck popcorn and dried gum from between couch cushions? Heady times ahead. Heady times, indeed.

I envy you kids, what a time to be alive.

Local Mom Disowned by Neighbours, Feels Bewildered and Betrayed

A Kitchener mother of two has been blacklisted by her neighbours and wants answers.

“One day we were sipping our soy chai lattes at the park, the next day I was pushed out of the group. I saw them scurry away after the school drop-off. They all claimed to have errands and appointments, but thirty minutes later one of them Instagrammed her banana bread and I could see the cluster of them in the reflection on her microwave. I just don’t understand what I could have done to upset them.”

“I thought we were friends,” said the confused mother.

Sources close to this baffled parent tell a different story. According to moms on the playground, this ostracism has been imminent for months.

“Just last week at a playdate she proposed handing out fruit cups decorated like jack-o-lanterns and bananas with ‘Happy Halloween’ scribed on the peel,” reports one exasperated mom.

Her former cardio-walker partner adds, “But the final straw was the plastic ring comment.”

She goes on to explain, “After we talked her out of the fruit and vegetable candy substitutes, she announced that she was handing out plastic spider rings instead of candy.”

Despite protests from her fellow parents that an overabundance of plastic rings and Halloween-themed pencils are more of a nuisance for moms and dads than dealing with a sugar high, this deluded mom suggested that parents could repurpose these trinkets.

“They could make a really fun mobile or maybe some DIY hair accessories.”

The other moms say that reentry into the group is possible, but that they need time to heal.

No Candy? No Thanks.

I love Hallowe’en. The candy, the costumes, connecting with neighbours, the candy.

But there is a darkness around this holiday and we can’t just pretend anymore. I know, I know, we can choose to focus on the fun and light-hearted side of All Hallows’ Eve, but some things cannot be ignored. PURE EVIL CANNOT GO UNCHECKED.

Let’s shine a light on this sinister interloper who tries to spoil this holiday every year. For the sake of the children, we need to work together to take back Hallowe’en. For the children.

It might seem harmless at first, perhaps even a nice substitute for some other elements of trick-or-treating, but I assure you, it is not. It’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing is what it is.

Halloween-themed plastic rings.

Oh, here, let me wear pure evil on my finger.

Rest assured, I hear your points in favour of these trinkets:

They are a great alternative to all that candy.

No one is allergic to plastic jewellery.

Parents appreciate candy-free options.

And here is my well-thought-out response:

Why?

True, but not a selling feature.

Parents appreciate having candy to steal after bedtime.

Bear with me as I deep dive for a moment. This is holiday that’s main purpose is to promote binge-eating chocolate, chips, and candy. Why would anyone want to interfere with that? Besides, you have to walk door-to-door, burning so many calories that it all evens out (don’t worry, if you believe hard enough, that’s mostly true). You know what else is nut-free? Money, McDonald’s gift cards, all those candies that say “nut-free” on the package. It’s covered.

A stash of candy will eventually disappear, but you know what never goes away? TINY PLASTIC RINGS. Children do not forget and they are miniature hoarders. They might forget the number of fun-size Twix bars they had, but they always remember how many spider, witch, and jack-o-lantern rings they own. Can’t eat those, Mom and Dad. You can’t eat those.

Some parents might appreciate candy-free options, but they also appreciate not stepping on small plastic rings in a darkened hallway. And here’s a fun fact: you cannot vacuum up a plastic ring, even if you run over it a several times. Even if you pick it up, turn it over, push the little spider legs down, then drop it back on the floor and try to vacuum it up again (I would imagine).

So let’s leave Halloween as nature intended – high-fructose, fun-sized, and delicious.

_____________

P.S. Fruit is also not a treat.