T-Bot: Mommy I am going to paint this paper, all over. And then I will put it on the windshields of all the cars. When it rains it will turn into a rainbow! Then it will be really cool!

The Mommy: T-Bot, I don’t think it will turn into a rainbow, it will just be a big slushy mess.

T-Bot: But that’s Art, Mommy. You don’t understand. It’s Art.

Artistic ambitions seemingly thwarted, he proceeds to the back yard, where experiments with a cardboard box and a hosepipe soon create a huge pile of brown pulp.

Later, the Wictor wanders out and with a “OOK Mama! Poopoo!” transforms the experiment into another, more squashed, work of art, which we are then prohibited by all from clearing away.

Until it dries and starts to smell like its namesake, then the Daddy gets mad, ignores all protests and washes it down the drain. 

With parents like us, none of them will likely grow up to be the next Damian Hirst. But in the meantime, we don’t have a yard which smells like poopoo. I think I can live with myself. 

On Saturday afternoon, while The Wictor was taking a nap and Baby Sister and The Daddy were at Blockbuster choosing yet another installment from the Fairytopia Franchise, T-Bot and I were pleased to be able to sit down for the first time in weeks and complete one of his building projects. For this one, I supplied the tape in appropriate lengths. 

I should not have to explain it, but just in case you, Dear Reader, are not very bright, here is what you are looking at: 

This is an undersea city. There are three buildings, one on top of each other, and when you take one off - surprise! there is another, different, one in its place. 

Two finger person friends, walking side by side, have found a special lamp which lights up the buildings. Another finger person is in the swimming pool watching an advertisement on the big screen (and no, that is not pubic hair, it is a bikini). The last finger person is just very very happy to have scaled all those stairs (hidden) and made it to the very top of the building. 

So there you have it. 

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In other news, it is Monday morning and I have accomplished exactly one task from my list of Things to Do Over Memorial Day Weekend: 

Paint over the last remaining brown wall in the dining room

Attach the Grandfather Clock to the wall so that it is less likely to come crashing down on the next child to play at slamming its front door (not that that wouldn’t be karma, but… you know)

Prime the peeling exterior boards above the bay window. 

Paint the peeling exterior boards above the bay window. 

Repair the Accugreen 1000 so that it will, once again, dispense fertilizer. 

Use the Accugreen 1000 to dispense fertilizer over the lawn.

Tidy Baby Sister’s bedroom

Obtain gift cards as end of year presents for the teachers.

Track down and purchase a new table pad and tablecloths for the dining table (which The Daddy insisted on lengthening last weekend so that hundreds of dollars worth of table coverings don’t fit).

Cut The Wictor’s hair

Tidy away that pile of stuff teetering on top of the washing machine, which always falls to the floor with a crash! during the spin cycle.

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Although it was not on the list, we did make it to the Museum of Natural Science yesterday, for our yearly visit to the butterfly exhibit. Last year we traumatized Baby Sister, as we had not grasped the full extent of her Butterfly Phobia, but this year she took it all in stride: 

The T-Bot had fun too: 

And The Wictor was ecstatic. Here he is with butterfly wings: 

We also managed to fit in some of the permanent exhibits, including the dinosaurs, gemstones and stuffed animals killing each other inside giant glass cabinets (thankfully last years mauled zebra seemed to have disappeared so we avoided the tearful questions about how it had obtained its big boo boo). By this stage the children were starting to get overexcited and bounced from one corner to another without really seeming to see much. 

On the way home, as they crashed in the back, The Daddy and I debated as to whether it had, in fact, been a worthwhile investment of circa a hundred dollars. But once fed and suitably reposed, Baby Sister answered that one for us: 

“Mommy, I liked the Museum, I liked the butterflies and dinosaur bones and all the dead animals”. 

 She likes dead animals. I’m taking that as a positive.

Last night I got four hours sleep. 

The Daddy and I had the brilliant idea of letting T-Bot and Baby Sister camp out in the tent in the yard. It was all going to be so cool. The Daddy would get an early night in the tent with the kids and wake up refreshed, while I would have peace and quiet holding fort in the house while The Wictor slept. 

So at around 8.30pm The Wictor and I tucked the three of them in, each with a green glow stick, a sippy cup and a look of pure glee on their face. Then I took the Wictor to bed. So far so good. As expected, there was some commotion as the dark set in. They activated their glow sticks and ran crazily around the yard. Yes, even The Daddy. There was some confusion as to whether the tent was broken, but we ascertained that the zip was just stuck. And then they all fell asleep at around 9.30. 

I worked solidly until 12.10, and as I was turning in, The Daddy came in to use the bathroom. Apparently Baby Sister was awake and had woken everybody up. I was dispatched to offer harsh words and threats of discipline, and all was calm. Or so I thought. An hour later The Daddy came to get me. Baby Sister had been spending the intervening time bouncing uncontrollably around the tent. The Boys could not fit a wink of sleep into the schedule and they were getting understandably frustrated. So I dished out a Last Ultimatum, listened to The Daddy whine about how he had already given the last ultimatum and I was supposed to just take her inside couldn’t I because he had had enough, and went back to bed.

Of course, once back in bed I decided that it was only a matter of time before I was summoned again, and it was therefore probably not worth sleeping. For the next hour I didn’t. At some point afterwards I did, only to be woken up just after 4 by The Wictor.

And then at 6 o’clock, as day broke, the Happy Campers came stomping indoors, the two younger ones enthusing about the Great Camping Experience while the elder one just collapsed silently onto the couch. 

And that, I think, is the end of our camping experiments for at least the next decade. 

We managed several activities with the kids this weekend, which made time flow quite nicely. 

First, The Daddy found a Victorian recipe for gingerbread requiring about sixty steps and six hundred different ingredients, and we spent hours and hours as a family making gingerbread men and icing them. Then finally, on Sunday afternoon, we managed to finish construction of the piece de resistance - the Gingerbread Shack: 

Can you tell somebody was getting a little fed up by this point?

That poor gingerbread man tried hard to get into the shack, but as it was so awfully small and we had neglected to provide a door, so he settled for standing outside smiling inanely. 

On Sunday morning we took a trip to Target for a cheap 4 man tent, which proved only moderately easy to set up. Totally worth it though, even if we are going to have to take it up and down to save the grass, because it immediately became Base Camp Alpha and we hardly heard a peep out of them all afternoon. To clarify - they were making plenty of noise but we just didn’t need to be there to hear it. 

And of course, the recurring theme of the weekend continued to be this: 

Except it !popped! somewhere around Tuesday evening, so we are now using it in conjunction with this: 

And you know what? The fun just tripled! 
 

Last night we performed the Butterfly Release ceremony. In theory we could have kept them confined to their compound for a few days more, but the T-Bot and Baby Sister specifically asked to let them free, worried that the butterflies would miss their Mommy. Secretly I was rather pleased. Gratified that my kids are empathetic enough to care about an insect’s feelings… but also thankful that I would no longer have to live with the frantic beating of tiny wings against the mesh.

So we took the hamper outside (for that is what it is, a very expensively decorated miniature laundry hamper, such as you could probably pick up at a dollar store if you kept your eyes open), and we took turns at letting butterflies sit on our finger before they flew away.

They weren’t with us long enough to acquire names, so Goodbye, Butterflies 1,2,3 and 4.

I hope you found your Mommy.

Every time I am in France (which hasn’t been for a mindbogglingly long time, please feel free to send checks), I eat crêpes. French-style pancakes, lots of them. Sweet or savory, in restaurants as part of a 4 course pancake meal or furtively on street corners, crêpes are one of my many weaknesses. Sometimes I dream of crêpes, and for some reason I am always standing in a dark corner near Beaubourg, hurriedly swallowing great chunks of nutella-laden treat, while pigeons rustle and trash blows around my feet. 

Then at home, every 6 months or so, I get a random mental image of crêpes and start drooling uncontrollably. And the frying pan comes out… Ten minutes later I have before me a mixed plate of burnt and soggy pancake pieces. The poor results may be down to not having the correct equipment. But more likely it is just because I am such an awful, awful cook. 

Still, I never learn. Today, since we had time on our hands (no car line to sit in due to the T-Bot being - excuse me while I stifle a sarcastic grunt - sick) I roped the children into production. With great talk of pancakes! with maple syrup! and we’ll make home made lemonade! 

All I can say is, much fun was had by all. And… the lemonade was a success. 

P.S. See the picture? See that measuring cup? I really and truly bought that because I thought it would make me a good cook.

Last weekend we made a trip to Petsmart to buy goldfish.

We didn’t come home with goldfish, we came home with Bettas. I am always wary of these big box stores, where you generally find uninspired and/or young staff who might direct you where to go for what you asked for, but heaven forbid you actually want any advice. 

This time was different. The first staff member we met was young, but she immediately told us what we didn’t want to hear: 

“If you get a goldfish you will need a 12 gallon tank. For one”.

“Then you’ll need to set it up 2 days in advance before you put the fish in it”. 

Apparently this is why goldfish are getting flushed down toilets across the country. Not welcome news for two children who have grown up reading books and watching TV programmes featuring goldfish in minute bowls, and who were looking forward to taking home their own in a little plastic bag. 

Thankfully this store clerk didn’t stop there. She pointed us towards the bettas. And the little plastic aquariums - they need one each but they don’t need to be big and they don’t need heating or aeration - then loaded us up with the best food and water conditioning drops that money can buy. She was good at her job. She had us buying and she had us leaving the store with what we wanted - a fish each for Baby Sister and the T-Bot, in individual plastic tubs. 

Meet Charlie: 

and Goldie: 

A week later, they are still a source of excitement and fascination to the whole family. Charlie is a boy (hence the beautiful plumage). He likes to puff himself up. He is not a big eater. He just nibbles his food and then hides behind his plastic plant. Goldie is a girl. She likes to gulp! She isn’t as impressive but she can sure swim fast. 

Best of all, you can feed them, a little bit, one to three times a day (no fighting with the kids about overfeeding), and clean their tank out once a week. And that is it. It doesn’t seem complicated and they hopefully won’t have an ultra-short lifespan, like other pets we have had.

I don’t know why I had never heard of these little fish, but I sure am enjoying taking care of them.  

… No, that is not all. Friday did not stop there. Fate was truly smiling on me that day!

Around one o’clock, having just arrived home and found more suitable attire for Baby Sister (if I remember well, this Little Mermaid dress) I received - and failed to answer - four calls on my cellphone while trying to convince The Wictor that horizontal was the best way to fall asleep in a comfy comfy bed (oh so comfy! Look! Mommy’s sleeping!). One call was from the school, and three calls were from The Daddy to let me know that the school was calling. Turned out Friday was early closing. I should have been in that car line at 12.30. 

That blank page in my agenda? A total lie. By 1.15 I had all three children at home.

One who was sick but wasn’t and wanted to watch TV while I dressed and undressed her Barbies to her whims.

One who would usually have been napping but wasn’t and spent the afternoon running around getting progressively more cranky.

And one who would normally have been at school but wasn’t and came to me with endless requests for boxes and tape and balloons and string and please cut a hole here in the top of my robot/box and can I put water in it because it’s an underwater world now and well then which box can I have to put water in and can I cut a hole in it? No, right here in the kitchen. No the water won’t fall out, it won’t Mommy, I wanna stay in the kitchen! Oh OK, I’ll go sulk in the yard. 

(Oh and for the record, he wasn’t at all traumatised at being forgotten. He appears to have talked the ears off the lady in the office, until she gave him a bulldog clip so that he could pretend it was a robot). 

So this is how I came to be blowing eggs - lots of them - at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I remember my mother blowing eggs for me and this was the first time I had attempted it with my own brood (If you have never blown an egg and would like to try it, instructions can be found all over the web including here. There are more high tech ways to do it but lacking syringes and dremel whatsits I just stuck to the tried and true). 

By the time The Daddy arrived I was on the verge of hyperventilation, but we had a satisfying collection of colored eggs, painted eggs, crayoned eggs … and lots and lots of egg shells in the trash, thrown by the T-Bot against the concrete “to let the baby dinosaurs out”.  

And we were all, for a few moments, the picture of domestic bliss.