Attack of the monster zucchini

Some of the kids are more scared then others.

Last days of summer

One of the great things about being married to a teacher is summer holidays. We have had lots of easy mornings with time for tea and books. But soon it will be back to school.  So we need to get as much in the next few days as we can.

How to Have the (almost) Perfect Camping Trip

With our tent-trailer in tow we set out to have the perfect camping trip. And we (almost) succeeded. Here is how we did it.

Step 1: Pick an awesome family to go with you. This is the most important step. Ideally this family will remember to bring all the things you forgot. Like sand toys, after-bite and forks. Of course you might remember a few things they forgot. Like beer.

Step 2: Pick the perfect campsite. Most people would think that months of research and booking well in advance is the way to do this. Our technique is to wait until a few weeks before you want to leave and then pick the only site left in the province that has two spots available. But we still got the best spot ever.

Step 3: Get good weather. It is best to time your camping trip for right after the worst fire season in history. This is handy because you can still have a camp-fire but there are almost no bugs.

Step 4: Spend most of the day at the beach: Best activities are swimming, boating, sandcastle building and laying in the sun.

A few things to avoid. Titre-totter accidents that involve nine stitches! Or one camper getting a violent stomach flu. But if you insist, make sure your camping buddies include two seasoned nurses and a clinic twenty minutes away. 

These are what summer memories are made of. 

Love Rebel

Spelling and writing have always intimated me. When at the end of grade two I could not read or write both my teacher and my parents knew something was a miss.  But it was not until grade five that I was officially diagnosed with dyslexia.  

Because of the loving support and hard work of my parents and some of my teachers I had a pretty successful school experience. But even in university writing was still very scary for me. I always had my long sufering sister read over my essays many times before handing them in. And later my cute, funny and smart boyfriend  (now husband, still cute, funny and smart) had to be my editor. 

I am still a horrible speller. My kids know to not ask me for help with spelling. Math, science, sure. Ideas on what to write, sure. But don't ask me how to spell anything. I'm not kidding - I am often stumped by grade three spelling words. 

So starting this blog a few years ago was a bit intimidating. The voice of some of my less-than-supportive teachers, and my inner critic are very loud and sometimes shout down great ideas. But they might not be able to shout so loud any more, as I am about to be published.

Yes, that is right, the dyslexic girl who failed grade two is now a published author. 

"Love Rebel", is a anthology of Catholic mom bloggers, available on Amazon and direct from me in Saskatoon. Anna Eastland has copies in Vancouver. 

Thank you to all of you for supporting me, for reading my blog, leaving comments and always encouraging me to keep writing. There is no way I could have done this with out you guys. 

Four year old logic

Four-year-olds have a special view of the world. 

This summer we have been playing alot of cards. It is a dying art and lots of fun, most of the time.

But today, during a game of Old Maid, tears and screaming was the result.  Little Miss four-year-old was refusing to accept the queen when it came to her.  Big seven year-old brother was very upset by this cheating. 

When we asked Little Miss about it, she said, "I am the special princess, and princesses don't lose!"

Oh my, I have a job to do, or she may be awfully shocked at life.

In Praise of mess

As many of you know I don't like to clean. I find it tiring and frustrating. 
But I have always felt bad about having a messy house.  I have felt that somehow I was less virtuous or less deserving then other people because of my mess.

 This became more obvious when we moved. I had this beautiful big house of my dreams but I could not keep it picture perfect.  I remember thinking "it is not fair that I have this house when neater more organized people are living in apartments"

But you know what?  Lately I have started to question these thoughts.  Don't get me wrong, I still think there is a lot of good in cleanliness and organization. But I might have some virtues in my mess.

Two different friends on two different occasions have commented that they could learn from my relaxed ways. And these are amazing successful woman and loving mothers who, truth be told, I am a little intimated by. They always seem to have it all together.  But I kind of see what they might be getting at.

Yes my house is a mess and I am frequently found chopping vegetables with my cutting board balanced on top of three dirty plates of various sizes. But I also let my kids walk barefoot in the mud because it feels good. We spend our evenings playing  cards as a family in a messy kitchen . And I would way rather dig in the garden with our four year old then do laundry. 

Ok, this means that my kids always wear miss matched socks but I does not bother me. To be honest I think it looks kind of cool. My kids are often seen around town with breakfast still smeared on their face. 

But on the other hand my kids are not afraid to play and get messy. They make amazing creations in the back yard or their rooms. And my oldest just make milk shakes for his siblings in the new blender all by his self. (He asked permission, but was not worried about making a mess and neither was I)

Lots of times I am frustrated this my messy ways but I can see that sometimes the mess is part of a fun-loving, creative, relaxed family. Maybe I have a gift under all this laundry. A gift of remembering what is really important and not getting upset by the small stuff.

So next time we are all out on the town and I notice that one of us is still in their P.J.'s and another has two different shoes on I will remember that creative energy has its price.

What happens when you leave Dad in charge