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.
Casually shuffling down my street trying to score some wifi. Don't worry, I'm wearing my good pajamas.
“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?
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.”
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.
This just in: Family Games a Day took a dark turn when the 4YO was eliminated in a round of Spoons.
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.
“I’m pretty sure he’s saying ‘frog’,” my kind-hearted friend said.
Before I even fully turned around, I was quite certain he was not saying “frog”. That’s not typically the word that gets spray painted on a slide. At least I’ve never seen graffiti that reads “Frog U” or “FROG”.
Nope.
He was definitely reading graffiti and sharing his new found knowledge with his other brothers and random park-goers. And it was definitely not “frog”.
I called my naive son over and asked him what he was saying. Don’t worry, I played it cool. He proudly announced his new word. And no, he’d never heard it before.
So I called over his older brothers, too and we quietly chatted about appropriate vocabulary. I don’t know why I was surprised that they already knew the word, but I was pleased that they have chosen not to use it. I informed them that Daddy and I know all the bad words and we choose not to use them (most of the time) and we hope they would make the same choice. Never mind how many bad words there are, the point is the we don’t say them.
As I was explaining this, I could see the five-year-old quietly sounding it out to himself, so I knew he was not getting the message. That’s when I told him, “you aren’t in trouble for saying it tonight, you didn’t know, but if you say that word at school THEY WILL SEND YOU HOME IT’S A REALLY BIG DEAL.”
There, that should do it.
All is well, he knows that it’s a word we avoid using and that it can hurt people’s feelings. Nicely done, Mom. Go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back. Yup, no kid of yours will be a swearer.
We drove home separately, the five-year-old excited to have Daddy all to himself. Later, as we wrapped up the bedtime routine, Bearded Husband casually turned to me and said, “On the ride home, he told me he learned a new word at the park. He was pretty proud of how he sounded it out and demonstrated it to me three times.”
I thought perhaps they were playing a game of chicken with me or had colluded to see how long I could stand it. But I was wrong.
After eight days every male in this household said, “what cup?”
But I’m getting ahead of myself, especially if you weren’t following along during the whole debacle.
What Cup? I don’t see any cup
One morning as I tidied up the breakfast mess I noticed a blue plastic cup under the slight overhang of kitchen cupboard. This also happens to be the highest traffic area in our house. My first instinct was to pick it up and return it to its home with the other colourful kids dishes (after a wash, of course, rest easy, it’s safe to eat here). But then I thought, “No.”
“No, I’m tired of picking up random things the boys leave around. No, I have gathered up enough dirty socks left on the coffee table, Lego on the bathroom counters, hoodies on the steps. Enough. The boys have walked by that spot no less than six times already without bothering to pick it up, so I won’t either. Because principles.”
And there it sat.
One full day.
Two days. That’s when I started to document and fully committed not to pick up that cup.
Clearly visible to the naked eye.
It hurt. Trust me. It took all my self-restraint not to pick it up. BUT I HELD ON.
Walking by like there isn’t a cup RIGHT AT HIS FEET.
My Facebook community started chiming in, with some asking for my home address to take care of this business themselves. But I WOULD NOT BE MOVED.
And there it sat, collecting dust and missing its cup friends.
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
They were all within ten feet of me when I set up this shot.
Day Six my friend was over for coffee and in less than ten minutes of being here she said, “hey, this was on the floor” and had the cup in hand. To which I gently replied, “PUT THAT CUP BACK I AM DOING SOME SERIOUS SOCIAL SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH.” She may or may not return.
By Day Seven I decided to change things up a bit. So I added a Hershey Kiss. I thought this way I would know if the males in this house truly didn’t see the cup or were choosing to ignore it. And it was American Hershey, so you know I meant business.
Here, boys, come and get the shiny chocolate.
Nothing.
The cup remained.
Some friends on social media suggested upping the ante, perhaps with cash. My plan was to add something every day until it was discovered. So on Day Eight I included a loonie (that’s Canadian for dollar). Once again, I did this within the presence of my family. We left for the walk to school and then – EVERYTHING CHANGED.
Plot Twist
I returned home with Little who said he was thirsty. As we took our shoes off I said I’d get him a drink in a second. He was only steps ahead of me. “That’s ok. I found a cup right here!” he chirped and held up The Cup.
“Where did you get that?” I asked him, playing it cool.
“On the floor,” he replied.
“Was there anything else on the floor?” I inquired.
“Nope.”
Oh, the game had changed. Who could have removed the candy and money, but left the cup? My number one suspect was Bearded Husband. I determined I would not give him the satisfaction of a text asking him, oh, no, two could play it this way. I would Wait. Him. Out.
And then the game changed again. My friend texted to tell me that a coworker strode into the staff room, walked up to BH and said, “JUST PICK UP THE CUP ALREADY” and then walked out. BH was perplexed and our friend told him I was doing a social experiment and not to worry about it. “Was I supposed to ask her about her hair or something?” he asked.
No.
So it was not Oblivious Bearded Husband. The mystery prevailed. I thought I’d have to give up, but not before interrogating all the other males in the house first. Denials and confusion abounded.
Cup Resolution
Finally at dinner time we brought our various stories together and I explained what had been going on. “What cup?” all five of them asked. ALL FIVE OF THE PEOPLE WHO WALKED BY THAT CUP FOR EIGHT DAYS. Except Little changed his story and said, “Oh, yeah, the blue cup on the floor that had the money and the New Work chocolate.”
Hold on, New Work chocolate? Coin? This kid knew more than he was saying.
“Did you see those things in the cup?”
“Yup.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Where are they?” he replied. Then he seemed to have a flash of memory and started opening kitchen drawers. After a few minutes of baffling conversation where he repeatedly asked me where he had put them, we concluded that he snagged the treats, hid them, then forgot their location before he even asked me for that fateful drink. All because he wanted to eat the chocolate himself.
I surrender.
If you need me, I’ll be sobbing quietly as I pick up random game pieces and underwear off the basement floor.
Sure, I’ll take you boys to watch Dad’s games, but first…
Please raise your right handand repeat after me
You ate a full meal, stop asking for snacks.
I do solemnly swear to refrain from begging for snacks, especially right after I ate one.
Bleachers are for sitting. Not climbing. Not racing, not drumming. On or off, I will choose one.
If I must pee against a tree, I will do so discreetly and without spraying bystanders.
I’ll do my best to let Mommy watch the game.
I will not heckle my father mid-throw.
I will not heckle my father while he’s at bat.
I will not heckle in general.
All small toys I bring to the ball diamond are my sole responsibility.
I will refrain from using the following words: butt, butt crack, penis. I recognize that additional words may be included at the whim of either parent.
I vow not to give my brothers wedgies.
I will do my best to let Mommy watch parts of the game.
Again, I vow not to harass my mother for additional snacks.
Any and all clothing I choose to remove is as mentioned above, my sole responsibility.
I will let Mommy catch a few glimpses of the game.
When I was a kid, my dad would intermittently pop little notes in my lunch bag. “Daaaad. That’s so embarrassing” I would moan after finding one of his I love you, Princess! post-its. (He also liked to torment me by cutting my sandwiches into 8 or more pieces, but that’s a story for another day).
Confession: I acted like it bothered me to discover these written displays of affection, but I secretly liked it. You’re never too old to be surprised at lunch time. Who doesn’t appreciate an unexpected note of encouragement?
Recently I realized that although I occasionally send similar notes to my boys, I could improve my performance in this area. Pinterest will tell you that you should use hand-crafted paper, calligraphy, and flowery rhymes to create odes of love to your offspring, but I’m here to tell you that any gesture is valued. I’ve recommitted to speak love into the lives of my children on a more frequent basis. Won’t you join me?
Here are a few samples, to inspire you on your Affection Journey.
I like to have a theme, but it’s not essential. You be you.
The direct approach is always in style.
Above all, be specific.
Are you with me? Let’s do this.
Have an inspired note you’ve sent with your little angel? Share it over on my Facebook page and help inspire other like-minded parents. Alright, alright, commiserate, we can commiserate together.
It was after a sleepover trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I can remember where I was when I heard, time stood still and the moment was instantly ingrained in my memory.
My oldest son looked at me with bewilderment and quietly said, “I saw something at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They had this machine.”
Okay.
“Yeah, and it was so weird. She put the wet clothes inside it.”
I think I see where this is going. Did the clothes come out later on and they were dry?”
“YES! How did you know?”
Well, son, I guess it’s time you learned the truth. Some people in this world, yes even people in our own family, these people, they own “dryers”.
“What’s a dryer?”
(Big breath) it’s a machine that dries your laundry.
“Wait, they have a machine that is just for dryingclothes? Well, that’s dumb.”
Now before you judge your grandparents too harshly, a lot of people do that.Alright, most people. Most people do that.
“But why would you bother having a machine do that when you can just hang stuff up?”
Why indeed.
——-
Secrets. We all have them. I feel compelled to share one. Some people are privvy, and you might have pieced this together already, but others might be shocked to learn that…
We don’t own a dryer.
You read that right. Not “we don’t use our dryer much” or “we hang some things to dry”. We really don’t own one.
Missed a day? Look for alternate drying arrangements. Again.
I’ve hesitated to spill this somewhat little known fact because I didn’t want to seem smug. It’s kind of hard to tell someone “Oh, I don’t own a dryer” without lumping yourself in with those who tell you they “don’t watch TV” and sometimes “forget to eat.”
To be clear, I’m not ashamed, but I don’t feel the need to flaunt our “green-ness” or rub your nose in our energy efficiency.
We started hanging clothing to be more environmental. There was occasional use of the dryer for heavy things like towels and jeans that tended to get “crunchy” when exclusively hung to dry. Once we bought a front loader washer, the drying time was cut in half as was the crispiness of clothing. When we sold our first home and the buyer wanted our dryer, it wasn’t difficult to agree. I had intended to buy a cheap one for the new house, but we adapted to being dryer-less and never bothered.
I can hear you asking “Why?” maybe accompanied with an eye roll. Don’t worry, I get it. You’re not there yet. It’s hard to imagine life without the convenience of tossing wet laundry in a machine and an hour later poof! it’s ready to fold. It’s really not a big deal. Once you get a routine going, you’re all set. All you have to do is NEVER FORGET TO PUT A LOAD OF WASH IN AT LEAST ONCE PER DAY. Wet laundry takes a while to air dry, if you skip a day you are behind for a week.
What’s underneath this bed sheet? More laundry, of course.
After a while you get to know some tricks and develop effective strategies. For instance, jeans take longer to dry and will smell “off” if you don’t hang them near the top of the rack with room to breath. Socks and underwear take hardly any time at all. Same goes for sheets, sports shorts, and lightweight sports clothing.
A word of warning, if you put off hanging laundry one evening, you have guaranteed that someone will throw up or wet the bed. It’s a fact.
Do my husband and I always agree on laundry-hanging techniques? No. But that’s okay because even though he’s wrong, the laundry still dries. Eventually.
Yes, I have tossed a blanket over the drying rack when there is an abundance of underwear on display. And yes, there have been times it looks like I’m taking in other people’s wash to make an extra buck (please see previous note about not getting behind). But overall, it’s not that much extra work. And it’s worth it.
Try it, your clothes will last longer, your house will never need a humidifier, and the extra damp really opens up your pores.
I forgot to mention, we also used cloth diapers.
For nine years.
I’ll see myself out.
Please note the careful placement and spacing to maximize drying.
Spring has finally arrived which means tugging on our rubber boots and heading out for walks in the local “forest” after the morning drop-off at school.
“I’m just going to get that big stick.”
“Actually, it’s still in the ground, so it’s a tree, not a stick, we’ll find another one.”
“Ok. Hey! Look at the bird’s nest – another one! Another one! ANOTHER ONE!”
And so it went. We tromped around in the newly thawed earth, enjoying the sound of our boots sticking in the mud.
“There’s that green stuff! And there, and THERE!” Today we learned that “green stuff” is moss and likes damp, dark places. Followed by a timely reminder of why we empty our lunch bags every day.
“I can see that tree used to have three parts. Why is it on the ground now?”
As we discussed the possible reasons a tree might fall, I basked in the glow of the intermittent sunshine, the smell of the world finally waking up to spring, and the sounds of birds chirping. I might have even been feeling some pride at my laissez-faire approach to the day. I have no agenda, I’m just going to relax and savour this time with my little guy, look at me being so “in the moment I’m not even taking any pictures.”
My reverie came to a screeching halt.
“AHHH! AHHHH!”
On the path, less than one metre away was…
a
dead
duck
And it was HORRIFYING.
We both gawked in silence for a moment and then ran away. I mean RAN.
I don’t know why I was running, I’m an adult, but Little told me “I thought he was going to eat me.”
At this point, I tried to get back to our previously fun adventure mode. I suggested we take the long way home, maybe check out the creek. Little wanted nothing to do with that. Offers to go to the park were declined. “Let’s just go home,” he told me.
I could not get the dead duck image out of my mind and wondered how much it scarred my youngest until he chirped up, “I HAVE to tell the boys what we saw.” And moments later we spied a worm on the sidewalk that he concluded was “napping.”
Childhood innocence remains intact.
As for the duck? I took care of it. I left a long, detailed voicemail for the people who take care of those things. I’m sure they’ll have no trouble finding the duck corpse “in the forest behind the school right near the fence that lines the soccer field, not the field by the road, the one at the back of the school yard. On the mud path, by a tree.”
Now I know what to do if I come across a dead dolphin.
Nothing prepares you for being a parent of a house full of boys. You can read a multitude of online posts or buy all the parenting books you like, but reality isthe best teacher (and she’s merciless). Since I’m in the midst of raising four boys aged ten and under, I will try to help you out a bit and share a few of our house rules. Shake your head and dismiss them if you like, but one day you’ll discover your son cleaning his penis with a toothbrush and you’ll whisper, “She was right, about all the things.”
House Rules for a House Full of Boys
1. Pants are not optional. Ok, they are, but there are conditions. For instance, when we have company. If the doorbell rings, you find those pants and put them on as quickly as possible. Also, you are not permitted to suggest pants removal to any of your friends. Mommy doesn’t want to get arrested. And no matter how much you enjoy the “comfort” and “freedom” of wearing just your skivvies, pants must be worn for any and all meals. Especially in the dining room. Yes, even if it’s just pizza.
2. Change your underwear. Every day. Clean ones. They might look clean, they might smell clean, but no. It’s non-negotiable.
Clever, but seriously, stop it.
3. Potty Talk: There’s a Time and a Place. I get it, farts are funny. I can appreciate a well-executed burp, I’ll even join in. But you have to know when and where this is okay. Hanging out in our basement? Sure. But the grocery store line is not the place to announce that your “penis is sticky.” If you do let a silent and deadly one rip, don’t feel the need to announce it, especially in the middle of a restaurant…with your grandparents. Randomly tossing out phrases like “butt crack” and “poop” are only hilarious to you and your brothers, move on.
4. We only lick food. Preferably your own. Doorknobs, seat backs, and other people are not recommended. And please refrain from telling your brother he will get super powers if he licks the bottom of his shoe.
5. If the bathroom door is shut, walk away. I get it, you know I’m trapped and you’ll get my undivided attention, but your request for “more Netflix” or the need to tell me your pants “feel weird” will be better received once I’m done. Same goes for tattles about your siblings. I’m not willing to play Judge, Jury, and Executioner from behind a closed door. Go away. And while you’re at it, ignore any sounds that resemble candy wrappers being opened, that’s strictly your imagination.
6. Mommy’s appearance is off limits. Unless of course, it’s a compliment. Please refrain from observing that my arms are “floppy” or my bum is “fluffy”. I don’t need confirmation that I look tired or that my legs are “scratchy”. I have a mirror, I’m self-aware. Please resist pointing out my gray hairs or a new wrinkle. Those are your fault anyways. I’d like to blame you for stray chin whiskers, but let’s at least pretend they aren’t visible. And my tummy is squishy because of you and your brothers (possibly from apathy and chocolate consumption, but mostly from you.)
7. Outside Stays Outside. Water guns do not get used indoors. I don’t care how much you love and cherish the cricket you found in the garden, it’s not a pet you’re keeping in your room. Baseball equipment was specially designed for outdoor use, act accordingly. Snowball fights in the front hall would beamazing. No.
8. Listen to Your Mother. I might not have pinched my penis in a dresser drawer, but I have life experience on my side. If you drop a bouncy ball in the toilet, I recommend you just throw it out, but at the very least do not put it in your mouth. If you breakdance naked, you will get carpet burns. Just because you “tried it with Daddy and no one got hurt” does not mean it’s a good idea.
Parting words of advice: It helps, but saying “voila!” after you do something naughty will not get you off the hook.
Tough Bananas 