I love chocolate. And peanut butter. Chocolate and peanut butter together. Whoever this Reese person is, I applaud him/her and the inspiration that is Peanut Butter Cups. Hands down, though, AMERICAN Reese’s peanut butter anything beat those found in Canada. It’s a fact. I have years of anecdotal evidence to support this claim. Not sure what it is, probably looser FDA approval processes or something, but those are so good.
Recently, I learned via Twitter that in addition to peanut cups and Easter eggs, PB Pumpkins exist.
Peanut butter and chocolate deliciousness wrapped up in the shape of a pumpkin. Be still my heart.
This is where true friends come in. One of my good friends was taking a weekend trip to the states. All it took was a quick text and another follow up explaining that they are pumpkin shaped, not pumpkin flavoured and then this happened:
If you happen to be the recipient of such plastic-wrapped delactabilityness, there are some things you need to know.
First of all, it’s best if no one else knows it’s in the house, but if that’s not possible, then never open one when small children are around. Or if you do, have decoy candy on hand. Oh, you don’t wantthis. Here, have some old jellybeans instead, aren’t they yummy?
The fact that it doesn’t look like a pumpkin is irrelevant. Who are we to criticize Reese?
Second, a treat like this needs to be savoured so wait for the right time. Brew some coffee (if it’s nap time) or pour yourself a class of wine. Light some candles, put on some music. It’s okay to wear yoga pants, PB Pumpkin doesn’t judge.
Coffee and PB are second only to wine and PB.
Third, take your time. Even though those little pumpkins are more than half your daily fat allowance, they are small. Take a moment to enjoy each little bite.
When you finish one, there’s a bit of let down. That’s when the second one comes in handy. It also helps if you tell yourself that the second one is the last one and then surprise yourself and crack open the third.
Today our second oldest and his two neighbour friends started playing a new game: Terry Fox.
One boy would run down the sidewalk with his foot rigged up in a skipping rope to simulate Terry’s prosthetic leg.
Don’t pull too hard, we’re going for authenticity
When he got close to our house “Terry” would call out, “I’m in Thunder Bay, ohhhhhh” and do a slow collapse to the ground.
The second boy would act as his support crew and call for an ambulance. Now it was time for the third boy to jump into action. He zoomed down the street on the kettle car, frantically peddling in the interest of saving Terry. He would jump out and rush to the scene asking, “who are you?” at which point the main character groaned and replied, “Terry Fox.”
Together, they loaded “Terry” onto the makeshift ambulance and brought him back to home. Roles were swapped, and the game began again, with a new “Terry”.
Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you, Terry.
At first I was little bit horrified. I stopped myself from interfering and decided to watch how it all played out and I’m glad I did.
These boys were acting out a piece of Canadian history. It is a story that is familiar to most of us, but they are experiencing and beginning to understand it for the first time. I chose not to say anything, but rather stood back and took it all in. However, I wondered about some of the liberties they took with their reenactment – I doubt Terry drove his own ambulance.
Terry Fox is a Canadian icon. He is a real life hero. I’m actually glad they were playacting someone who inspired and encouraged so many people with his Marathon of Hope. They weren’t mocking Mr. Fox, they were putting him up on a pedestal, among the ranks of Transformers, Superman, and Batman. This is what parents long for and I almost shut it down.
As we honour and commemorate Terry Fox this September with the run in his name, it was good to see things through the eyes of some six year olds. My oldest sister went through a very similar battle with cancer just after Terry passed away, but survived. She is a hero, too.
“Even if I don’t finish, we need others to continue. It’s got to keep going without me.”
No childhood is complete without a ride on the bus. The city bus. So being responsible and caring parents, we recently packed a backpack full of water, snacks, and spare diapers and hopped in our van to begin our latest family adventure: Moyer Bus Day.
It was raining quite a bit that morning, so Bearded Husband kindly dropped the five of us off at the depot while he parked the van. As I herded my crew into the main foyer, we got to see the security guard shoo away the “greeter” from the front door. Good times, I felt very safe now.
The Bigs were quite excited to note that we would be using an escalator. Anescalator. We might not need to take them to Disney after all. The thrill of riding the escalator was only matched by their anticipation of using it again upon our return.
With bus passes in hand and our route mapped out, we went to find The Number 7 (real bus talk, guys, that’s how you say it). Littlest was quaking with fear, but I reassured him and hopped on. We found six seats facing each other and waited and watched.
Stay with the group
I forgot. I forgot what it’s like to ride the bus. I forgot about the cross-section of society that you can observe on the bus.
First I spotted Vacant Staring Guy. I smiled at him since he was staring, but got nothing so then I had to focus on not looking in his direction (but I could still feel the stare, the vacant, vacant, stare). What’s your story, VSG?
Next onto The Number 7 were The Nails. These girls had the longest fingernails I had ever seen. Even though I knew they were fake, I was in awe and kept looking. Now who was staring awkwardly? How did they get such amazing texting abilities? How do you anything without hurting yourself?
The final addition to The Number 7 entourage arrived at the first stop. This was after our 4 year old took a short fall off his seat when the driver jackrabbit-started at the same time he peeled around the corner exiting the depot. Man down!
Bluetooth was having a loud and detailed conversation with who I hoped was his addictions counsellor. In our brief time together, we learned that Bluetooth really wanted to kick his habits and stop the methadone. Detox would help, but he needed a clean start so he wouldn’t fall back into old habits when he returned from up north. No Twelve Step program for him because he wanted nothing to do with any higher power. To his credit, Bluetooth kept his language clean and only raised a few uncomfortable questions from the boys. Mommy, what’s rehab?
Guys, this was only 4 minutes into our bus ride. FOUR MINUTES.
I forgot. I forgot what the bus can be like.
Boys, look! There’s the hospital where you were all born. Oh, I see a Tim Hortons. Yup, I saw that firetruck, did you? Well-timed questions can help diffuse awkward moments like full disclosure about substance abuse.
We had a great time schlepping through the rain and checking out some local sites. Another highlight of Moyer Bus Day was eating lunch at Taco Farm. Our oldest said, “Like, it’s not my favourite place ever, but I’d eat there again.” That is high praise coming from him.
We’re going to walk in the rain and you’re going to like it.
Fed and rested, and grateful the rain had subsided, we walked to the bus stop. The anticipation was still in full force and the boys kept craning their necks looking for The Number 7. It arrived and we all piled back on. This time the bus was fuller so we scrambled to find seats. And this time, if was the 6 year old who took a short fall on the steps when the driver peeled out before he was seated.
The boys gasped and grinned and I had a smile plastered on my face enjoying their excitement. We shared a seat with a young urban professional and I broke the ice by pointing out, “This is their first time riding the bus, in case it wasn’t obvious.” Awkward chortle, chortle.
He smiled back, looked at the two boys sitting with me and replied, “I vividly recall my first time riding the bus. It was so memorable.”
I forgot. I forgot what the bus can be like. It can be an amazing adventure and that’s exactly what I hope our boys will remember.
There is a closet in our basement that I believe was intended for linens or something, but has been repurposed into what I call “The Food Bunker”.
We have four growing boys to feed and that adds up. Our commitment to keeping our spending down involves savvy shopping. Bearded Husband is quite adept at keeping the costs down. He seems to have memorized the standard price of everything.
Me: Hey! Chicken is on sale. I can stop on my way home.
BH: If it’s not less than $3.00 per pound, don’t bother.
I can’t keep those numbers in my head. In fact, I had to check that price with him before I wrote this.
Me: I picked up Oreos, they were on sale.
BH: Less than $1.99? No? Hope you kept the receipt.
Living on a budget means you have to be patient.
Me: We’re out of apples.
BH: I know. I’m waiting for the fall when they go on sale.
I’ll just start taking some Vitamin C supplements for a while.
When there are sales, we stock up. And I mean stock up. That’s when the Food Bunker really comes in handy.
We’ll be eating vegetarian for the next while, boys.No one is allowed to be lactose intolerant for the next few weeks.You may have sliced black olives or French sliced black olives, but no kalamata – they weren’t on sale.You are in luck, natural AND processed peanut butter were on sale.
The boys have grown up with the understanding that very little is bought that is not on sale, or at the very least on for a reasonable price. But they use this knowledge to try to get non-essentials into the grocery cart.
Son: Oh! Can we get these? Look, they are on sale. I love those chips.
Me: That’s a featured item, it’s not on sale.
_______
Son: Can we get some Fruit to Gos?
Me: Not on sale.
Son: But that is a good price…
________
Son: Cheesestrings are ON SALE. Can we get some? You never buy us those.
Me: Nope, still a rip-off.*
_______
Living within our means and keeping to a budget doesn’t mean we don’t treat ourselves, though. In fact, look what we are enjoying today (please ignore the pink sticker).
I haven’t indulged in these because raisins are involved.They might be 50% off, but they are 100% delicious.
What do you do to save a buck or two? Seriously, I’d really like to know.
_____________
*More of my thoughts on Cheesestrings coming soon.
“Are you taking just the Bookends then?” Bearded Husband asked as I headed out the door. That was a new nickname he came up with as I got ready to take our oldest and youngest to the park. The Middles were happy playing Camp in our bedroom, so I opted to leave them be.
Off we went, the Bookends and me. Those two boys look the most alike of the four. Watching the toddler sometimes takes me back eight years to that special time I had with just #1. We don’t often have a lot of time together, just me and the Bookends, my babies.
As we walked to the park, Oldest asked Little if he wanted a piggyback ride because, “I can do that you know, Mommy.” I remember giving you all kinds of piggyback rides, baby, and am glad you still ask for them albeit less often.
Oldest raced to the swings, his main reason for coming along. He loves to scale the poles and climb. He is particularly fond of swinging higher and higher and then jumping off. I stopped myself from saying “be careful” and instead admired his abilities. I remember when the slide was too scary to try without me, buddy, now look what you can do.
“Watch me, Mommy! See what I did, Little? Want to come on the swings with me?”
Little raced over and hopped onto the swing beside his biggest brother.
“No high, Mommy, no high.”
“Go high?”
“Yeah, no, no high.”
“Not too high?”
“Yeah.”
You got it, baby boy.
And there I was pushing my Bookends on the swings. Memories of taking #1 to the park just the two of us came flooding back, followed by snapshots of each of my boys at that age. The giggles, the grins, grabbing their little feet.
“I want to swing at the same time as Little,” Oldest asked. So I changed the pace so they could swing side by side. They grinned at each other, swinging in tandem. But slowly, Oldest was going higher and faster again and they were back to their own rhythms. After a few moments, Oldest abandoned the swings and Little started to follow. I sat down and slowly began swinging on my own. And I thought, this is how it’s going to be. My boys are becoming their own persons.
Then my Oldest, my original baby boy, turned back and came to push me. And Little hopped onto my lap. And I could smell the sand and heat from his neck and see Oldest’s shadow as he gave us one last push before climbing a new challenge. I watched him scale the fire pole with Little cuddling with me and I realized: This is how it is supposed to be.
We walked home for dinner and Little decided it was okay to hold our hands. As we walked along, Oldest and I did “One, Two, Three…Wheee!” and swung Little repeatedly the whole way. Yesterday, I was the little one being swung, I blinked and I was the one swinging. Slow down, slow down.
“We don’t have time like this very often, just the three of us do we, Mommy?”
“Hey, Jan, are you willing to go shopping by yourself for a few hours on a Saturday and have various groups of youth leaders try to find you?”
Ohhh, scavenger hunt, count me in! Shopping without my usual entourage? Yes, please. Lunch is included? You had me at scavenger hunt.
(One of my dreams in life is to be the person who hands out the yellow envelope in the Amazing Race. You know, the one who stands on the mat, smiles and welcomes the contestants? That person. Might not win a million dollars, but that’s the role for me.)
Despite my big talk at all team-building games and events, I’m not competitive. I enjoy participating in things, not competing. Our staff recently had a car rally and our team was on fire! We were checking off the tasks in warp speed. And we had a blast doing it. Does it matter if we won or not? The whole point was to have fun and get to know each other apart from work. Winners, losers, those are just words. We all tried our best and demonstrated good sportsmanship.
Find a falcon. Check.Countertop pose was optional
Yeah, WE TOTALLY WON, SUCKERS!
Back to the Epic Waldo Hunt at the mall. When I agreed to help out, I understood I’d be shopping for two hours while the kids looked for me. I figured I’d be asked to wear a certain colour or they’d be given a picture of the Waldos. I did not anticipate props. I really didn’t anticipate itchy, wool props.
I’m smiling, but itchy. So very, very itchy.
It was ironic and a tad evil that I had never worn a “teacher” vest or sweater and was required to don it for an afternoon. The fact that they matched my cords is strictly divine intervention.
Being a good sport and not one to bail even when faced with poor fashion choices (I lived through the 80s), I dashed off self-consciously and ducked into the first store I saw. I browsed the racks feeling very conspicuous. I went to pay for my purchases, wishing I had a sign stating that my outfit was for a good cause and not my usual attire, when the 20-something clerk commented, “I really like your vest.”
“What? Seriously? I’m wearing this for a scavenger hunt, I’m so embarrassed.”
“Yeah, really, it’s like a new trend going around.”
“I’m very, very sorry to hear that, but thank you.”
And off I went with my head held a little higher. I was barely out of the shop when two senior gentlemen walked by and I heard one say to the other, “I really like that vest she is wearing.”
WHAT?
And then, not two shops away, a cluster of hipster clerks were milling around the entrance of their store and called out to me, “LOVE the vest!”
They were not being sarcastic. They actually thought I was wearing it by choice and I was feeling pretty good now. Itchy, but good. I started strutting a little bit. Yup, this kindergarten teacher, mom of four is alright. I held my head high and started smiling and winking at fellow shoppers. Check it out, I’m on the cutting edge, wearing my retro vest. I was the John Travolta of that mall, I was modifying the lyrics to the Saturday Night Fever theme to customize it to my new look.
Then I ran into a few people I knew and preemptively greeted each one with “I’m wearing this vest against my will.”
Musicals have always baffled me. I enjoy them, but remain baffled.
Do the characters all agree ahead of time that singing is acceptable? Do they make a pact to keep a poker face when someone breaks into song? Where are the musicians? In musical world, do they do their own choreography? Who decides who gets to sing lead?
Nothing brought these questions more to mind than “Glee“. I watched the first season, most of the second and loved their versions of popular hits. But despite my enjoyment (and watching with a like-minded friend helped) it took a lot to suspend my disbelief. I mean, I do sing in real life – I come by that honestly (thanks, Dad) but it’s mostly a bar or two of song with altered lyrics (“Someone’s pretty whiny in the kitchen, someone’s pretty whiny I knooooooow” that kind of thing).
Recently I had a life-changing moment and musicals suddenly became completely plausible.
We were in the van and #2 son asked, “Why did God even MAKE spiders? They are the worst.” And without missing a beat I turned around and sang the entire first verse to a song from my childhood (teachers, take note, singing sticks with you, I learned this song more than thirty years ago).
Tiny little spider swinging from a vine
Looking for a place to tie your line
Yes, both volumes can still be found at my parents’ house.
Making frilly webs wherever you may go
Oh, my busy friend, who made you so?
God the Father don’t you see?
Put together all of me
He made fox and fish and fowl
Frogs that jump and snakes that crawl
He made all.
The boys looked back at me with mouths slightly slack, shrugged, and went on to the next topic. JUST LIKE IN MUSICALS.
Haven’t made my case yet? Another example.
The boys were playing with a neighbour friend for a large portion of the day. Things were going really well – everyone was getting along, lots of giggles, a very fun afternoon. #2 Son asked if they could play inside for a while. The toddler was napping and it was so nice outside it seemed a shame to go indoors, so I replied, “no, we’re going to stay outside.” He asked me why not and again I burst into song:
They shrugged and went off to ride bikes. A few minutes later he asked again (that kid is persistent) and I began my song. I had just finished the first bar and his friend said, “oh, there she goes again.”
Ok, so not exactly like a real musical, but it could happen, it COULD.
The boys begged me to take them to a local farm that has some fun attractions, including a corn maze. So one morning we hopped in the van and took off in hopes of high adventure in a corn field. We were not disappointed.
Come see our fortress!
“The maze is ready!”
“This way, Mommy!”
“Come on, Number 3, let’s go see! We’ll show you around!”
“I wonder if they made it trickier this year!”
The Bigs could not wait to get going and rushed ahead, encouraging their younger brother.
“Don’t worry, Mommy, he’ll be with us,” they reassured me.
I was in charge of the littlest Little who was not going to let those big boys out of his sight.
The first time I took them in the maze I had Number 3 in the baby carseat and was hesitant to let them explore. The owner knows me and could see the slight worry on my face as I contemplated how I would schlep the baby and the boys through the mucky field. She asked her kids to take the boys through and they were thrilled. And I released my hold on my boys a little.
The next year the four of us went in together. Number 3 was toddling after his brothers while I stuck close behind him, catching him before he tripped on a rogue cornstalk or tumbled a little on some uneven ground. I could here the older boys giggling with delight as they tricked me, hiding between the rows. And I released my hold a bit more.
Wait for me, guys!
The third year, I had a newborn again, but had grown wiser and put him in the Baby Bjorn so I could venture into the maze with the three boys. Now the games included Tag, Hide-and-Seek, and racing back to the top. I lagged behind, but was able to keep them mostly in my sights. And my tether to them lengthened and loosened again.
Last year, our baby boy was a spunky one-year-old up on Daddy’s shoulders, then Mommy’s shoulders, then back to Daddy. He loved spying his big brothers from his perch way up high. There was no point in trying to hide with him on your team since his excited yelps gave us away every time. My baby was becoming a Boy. And I released my hold on them a little bit more.
This year, we had incredible fun together, me and my boys. The only rule I had was that if I called their name really loud, they had to reply so I knew they were okay. And I promised them that if they needed me or just wanted to know where I was that if they called, I’d stand in one spot yelling, “Right here!” until they found me.
You can learn a lot from a corn maze.
There are many different paths, some short, some long, some smooth, some a tad treacherous, and it’s up to you to choose which one you want to try. It’s okay to double-back and try another path because eventually you’ll get to where you need to be.
You can choose to run, walk, or saunter. Maybe do a little bit of each.
You never know when you might discover a hidden fortress, a secret lair, or an amazing spot for a fort. It’s okay to go off the well-trod path, but not forever. Someone made the paths for you because they knew the best way to travel through.
A corn maze can be fun on your own, but it is better with a friend, and even better with a group. Sometimes it is good to hold hands, but it’s okay to let go, too.
There are dips and bumps and mud and itchy things along the way, but the adventure is worth it.
And if you ever feel alone or afraid or unsure, stop and call your mom.
Tough Bananas 