Can I Handle The Seasons Of My Life? Uh huh.

Although there are now less than three weeks left in the school year, today we had a PD day. At first I thought it would be nice to have a lazy day at home, but I casually mentioned “renewing our zoo passes” and the kids lost their minds. The zoo! The zoo! THE ZOOOOOOOOOO! Even though they were just at the zoo last week, it seemed that it would be the answer to all their dreams to have a zoo day.

How could I say no? I hadn’t been to the zoo myself since before the flood last year, so I spent some frustrating minutes registering my car for the “easy online parking” and off we went, armed with sandwiches and snacks. And what a great day it was! Honestly, I feel like I could make an entire growth chart based solely on my declining levels of anxiety at the big play park, or my diminishing levels of exhaustion post-zoo-trip. It used to be that the play park, with the structures netted so that children don’t fall to their deaths, was immensely stress-inducing, what with each child going in different directions and inevitably getting stuck somewhere in said netted structure that was set up so that no one larger than age 12 could access it and hence, I would have to calmly talk the stranded children down, amid the shrieking and excited hordes of children. IT’S OKAY, HONEY, JUST PUT YOUR FOOT THERE…YES…YOU CAN DO IT…IT’S OKAY…hey, where’s Jake? Now I just sat on a bench that was our designated meeting place and stared pleasantly into space while the boys climbed and slid and checked in with me. Lately I’ve been a bit Landslide-y about the fleeting nature of time, but today I watched a several women wrangle a tantruming toddler with a running-away preschooler, and that, along with the exhausted looking stroller brigade, made me cheerfully click my heels as I walked with the kids and their backpacks which held supplies for the entire day.

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Hooray for kids that carry your water bottle for you.

Seriously, this is such a fun age. The kids were interested in reading the signs that went with the exhibits, that detailed habitats and diet and where the species lay on the “endangered” spectrum. Grizzlies are on the “to watch” list.

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Mark finds grizzlies terrifying.

 

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Penguins in all their formal wear.

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Moar penguins plz

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Red haired penguins.

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Remember Jake’s sadness with the passing of Foggy the hippo? Well, Foggy’s grandson, now at the zoo, is the bomb. We watched the sleeping hippo open his eyes, wiggle his ears, yawn, and, ultimately, honk and Jake was so sure that it was all for his benefit. If you tell Jake that hippos don’t actually telepathically communicate with him, then I will cease to be your friend. Because look at this happy face:

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Jake, the hippo whisperer.

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School and activities mean that we have so few of these days together, the three of us. We used to spend all our days together, and now it’s just enough to make such outings feel so special. I don’t know how many summers I have left, spending time with the boys in this capacity. I wish it could last forever, but it can’t.

Sex Ed, Who-Gives-A-Fuck-About-Volunteering, and The Simpsons

Today I realized that as of tomorrow, there are only three more weeks left of school! June is a bit of an odd month, isn’t it? On the one hand, I’m desperately ready for the summer to begin – lazy days, no more running back and forth to the school six times a day, no more volunteering (more on that later). I’m ready for sunshine, fun, and unscheduled days. But on the other hand, I’m really trying not to wish my life away since time flies quickly enough without me wishing for these beautiful, sunny, gardening-full days to be over. Also, I’m a little puzzled as to how I’m going to get all my work-at-home work done when the kids are home. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure, but at the moment I’m wondering how I’ll strike the right balance between “meeting deadlines in a reasonable manner” and “being a fun mom and creating summer memories that the children will cherish throughout their lives”. We shall see.

Speaking of fleeting time, Mark brought home the permission slip for me to sign for the study of Human Sexuality. Eeeee, sex ed! I instantly texted my husband the news, who was confused and thought that I had to sign the permission form for him to take it next year, in Grade Five. NOT SO. I know that in fourth grade they really mostly talk about body changes, puberty, and hygiene – which, to be honest, a lot of the kids could use, I say from my experience as Book Fair Lady. Deodorant and toothpaste, two very vital items in the Division Two world. But still, sex ed. It seems so grown up. “It might feel awkward and embarrassing, but you can always ask questions!” I said cheerfully, from the minivan driver’s seat. “Um, I think maybe we should ask DAD those questions,” Mark replied. YES. GOOD IDEA. ASK YOUR DAD.

Volunteering, though. I have what is known as “volunteer fatigue” which means that I have lost all enthusiasm I ever had for doing things for the school. I remember when Mark started kindergarten, and I was so thrilled to be involved in everything, with fresh ideas and plans. Now I’m just like fuck it all, who cares about school supplies anyway. I was asked to speak at the kindergarten orientation tomorrow night, which I’ve done in years past. Sure! No problem. I can come in and give a five minute speech about how volunteers are the backbone of the school community and education is a partnership between home and school, and please volunteer for the upcoming casino fundraiser, it’s awesome and we can buy SmartBoards. I can keep the cynicism at bay and put on my super fun enthusiastic face and all the cool kids are volunteering! But then I got an email asking me to come in at six, set up a table with handouts, and then be available for informal questions until 7:30. THE BEES ARE DOING WHAT NOW. I stewed about this for a bit, and wondered how on earth I could pull off such a thing, given that tomorrow the boys have karate and karate nights are a mad rush of everything. I grumped around feeling taken advantage of, until I realized that hey, this is a volunteer gig. I can change this. BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE, PEOPLE. I emailed the AP and explained that I could do as she suggested, but maybe it would be more effective to give a brief speech about the importance of volunteering and the casino fundraiser, and then I could leave a signup form, and that would be my strong preference. She agreed to it all, and I was reminded that, yet again, the squeaky, but honey-sweet wheel gets all the grease and bees. Or something.

Sugar

In America, first you get the sugar, then you get the power, then you get the women.

On Monday I was at a pie party, to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Rolling Spoon. If you’re not reading it, you should: it’s a fun mix of food and music. Also, they interviewed BLUE RODEO. Just like that time I met Jim Cuddy! Remember that? No?

Copy (1) of Jim Cuddy

Gratuitous photo of me with Jim Cuddy.

But a pie party! Even though I don’t actually like pie, it was a blast. It turns out that I am in the vast minority, here, and that pie is very popular. Look at all these pies!

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Can you tell which is my offering? It’s the vegan one. Made with 100% real vegans.

I have to say, I’m pretty disappointed no one put a slice on the floor and yelled “FLOOR PIE!”.

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Maybe next time.

Fashion Friday!

Here’s the thing about being a food blogger: today, instead of eating my usual healthy lunch of nuts and a green smoothie, I ate guacamole and a vanilla cupcake and I now feel like I’m going to explode. All in the name of recipe testing. It just so happens that the cupcakes are blog-worthy, but that wasn’t my main reason for making them. For lo, we have a birthday today in the Boyhouse:

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What’s a birthday? says Barkley

 

Our fuzzy baby is six, so welcome to middle age, Barkley! In the spirit of mid-life crises, Barkley festively rolled in something at the dog park last week that made me a) hate him and b) thank god that I had a bottle of no-rinse dog shampoo in the cupboard.

So it’s all cupcakes and festivity around here – well, the birthday boy does not get to partake in the cupcake celebration, but he will have a nice dog chew to work on.

The boys had a very pleasant trip to the zoo, despite the rain, and despite the fact that Jake was in a group with a “bossy girl who he DOES NOT LIKE” who – evidently – made fun of the animals all day long. How or why one makes fun of animals, I do not know, but it raised Jake’s ire enough to discuss this ad nauseam.

While they were at the zoo, I was at the hair salon. A new girl mixed my colour while my usual hair therapist got organized, and I kind of think I have a different hair colour now. I’m not sure, though.

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Maybe an extreme makeover! I’m not sure.

It seems darker, but maybe it’s just “first day” colour. In any event, while I was at the salon I chose not to feel out of touch by reading People magazine, and instead settled in with a copy of In Style. Now, I consider myself to be fairly aware of the styles these days. I try to keep up, and to wear fashionable-yet-classic-and-age-appropriate wear. It turns out I have no interest in the new styles, if this is what’s in fashion:

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Say NO to the sporty cinch.

 

I had pants like this. They were pale pink and had a matching sweatshirt. It was called a sweatsuit and it was 1984 and WE DO NOT NEED TO BRING THAT BACK. It reminds me of gym class, and let me tell you this, I was not an A student in gym class. I got the “Participant!” sticker and/or ribbon for every single sports event on sports day, when my friends were getting actual ribbons and stickers that showed athletic prowess.  I am certainly not about to embrace this style, not just because of the emotional trauma it stirs up, but because it’s unflattering.

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I’d wear these as PJ’s, totally, but not as actual clothes.

 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with a tapered leg, although it makes me think of the 1988-90 when my mother would sew the calves of my jeans so that they would be tapered. Thanks, Mom! I mean, it’s not a great look, to be sure, because nothing says “Large thighs and bottom and teeny little calves” like a pair of super-tapered pants. But I’m specifically saying no to the above pair of pants. People, horizontally striped pants are really best left in the jammie department.

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Wide crop, tapered leg, MAKE UP YOUR MIND, FASHION PEOPLE. Actually I don’t mind the wide leg look so much, but I’m not a big fan of:

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When I was pregnant I had the kind of maternity pants that went under the belly, even though my mother was scandalized when I got too big for everything and had a strip of belly showing where my maternity tops ended and my elastic-waist pants began. I owned that look. I would rather have that than the feeling of elastic waist ending just below my bra line, and that is how I feel about these pants. It’s just too Steve Urkel or that Martin Short character to me.

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Need I offer further comment?

I weep for all humanity.

It’s My Bag, Baby

I love my neighbourhood. Today, within a 45 minute span, I did the following: dropped off the kids at school, went to the bank, went to the library where I got a new card to replace the one I’ve had for probably 30 years, bought dog food, put gas in the van, and picked up a bag of groceries. I have to wonder that if the grocery store was less convenient, would I be less laissez-faire about shopping? If I had to drive 20 minutes to get a package of bagels and some corn, would I be more thoughtful about my purchases? Probably. In any case, my quick stop at the grocery store was a bit longer than it would have been, due to a backlog of shoppers at the U-Scan checkout. It was all due to an elderly man with a full cart of groceries, who should have probably just saved himself and others around him much agitation by just going to the regular lineup. Om Shanti. I zipped my purchases through and left while still hearing the “Please wait for an attendant” automated voice over and over, and the man himself bitterly complaining that there WERE no stickers on the potatoes, so how could HE know what the code was? Word. Regular lineup, sir.

But, we must be patient, because one day we will be the elderly people holding up the U-Scan line. One day it will be me, and I will be fumbling in my giant purse that matches my pumps, with my slacks and plastic jewelry, wondering what the code is for KALE because it isn’t ON THERE and WHY is it beeping?

Last night when Jake was writing in his reading log, he exclaimed that it was the last day of April, and to him, April went by really quickly. “Life goes so fast!” he exclaimed, Ferris Bueller-style, and I agreed. Time makes you bolder, etc. At this rate I’m going to be shopping for a giant purse in no time at all.

Speaking of giant purses, my friend Melissa Gaston at Yummy Mummy Club is having a Photo a Day challenge for the month of May, and today’s prompt is “In Your Bag”. Challenge accepted, Melissa! Not only did I take photos of the contents of my (non-giant) purse, I am also going to walk you through it. What could be more fun than snooping in someone’s purse? What’s that you say? Spring cleaning is more fun? Nonsense!

In My Bag

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The whole shebang.

 

The truth is that in the past few years I’ve really whittled down what I carry around; I’m not just talking about when I would pack like a Sherpa for a day at the playground when the boys were little. I mean, up until a few years ago I would have everything from winter gloves – no matter what the season – to snacks and water bottles in my purse, and let’s not even talk about how I had a compulsion to carry around every single “club card” from every store I ever frequented in my wallet, like George Costanza. As you can see, I’ve got the usual things: slimmed down wallet – no more club cards, except for grocery stores – sunglasses, car keys that have “in case of emergency” hair ties twisted around them.

pens

I also have an inordinant amount of writing instruments.

I don’t know exactly why I have a pencil and four pens in my purse. Well, actually, I do. Every time I go to a School Council meeting, I grab my notebook and throw a pen into my bag, never to be removed. Also: two nail files because one is not enough and also I get them free with pedicure. The toothbrush holder in the background holds no toothbrush. It is the perfect little compartment for a tampon. In these days of uncertainty, you never know when you might need one!

Lipsticks

I’m a lip product addict.

Yes, I have nine different lipsticks and glosses in my purse at any given time, but who doesn’t, really? Also hand sanitizer and a dog poop bag. These two are related. I also found a rock that one of the kids gave me for safe keeping from our recent trip to Maui. I should probably do something with that. (Why is your bag so heavy? Rocks.)

makeup

Not only do I have every lip product for every occasion at any given time, but I also have a powder compact, puff, and blotting papers, because while I like having a shiny happy personality, I do not like having a shiny happy face. Well, the upside of shininess is the lack of wrinkles…oh wait. I have those too.

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Survival Kit

Last, but never least, the “purse sized” package of tissues and a bag of bandaids. We don’t go through a lot of Band Aids in our house; I guess we’re not bloody folk around here. However, I have a plethora of cute, impulse purchased character bandaids. My children are now at the age that they would probably bleed to death rather than use a Spiderman bandaid, but dammit, I still have a full box of them. The solution, as I see it, is to keep them in my bag for playground emergencies as I am the Official Playground Bandaid Mom. Some child is always wiping out and nothing calms a sobbingly hysterical child like a Phineas and Ferb or Angry Birds bandaid for the teensy scrape on their knee. Just yesterday I supplied a Transformers bandaid to a little girl who had burst a blister while playing on the monkey bars; I had sold it as a Scooby Doo one but she was satisfied with Bumblebee.

I should note that my friend Lyn gave me Hello Kitty bandaids a few years ago and I share them with NO ONE. I love them so much, I’m practically TRYING to slice my hand on the grater.

This concludes the tour of my bag. Want to play along? What’s in your bag?

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Speaking of bags, I have a bag of goodies for the winner of the giveaway, Nicole Sandblom. It was hard finding a bag that would fit the 4L of vinegar, but I did it. I kid! I kid! Congrats, Nicole, and thanks for playing, everyone!

39 Clues…about being 39

Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 39. It’s the start of my last year in my thirties! Some people feel gloomy on their birthdays, but not me. I love birthdays, and also, I don’t want to be dead, which is the alternative to aging. Bring on the age, I say! One step closer to shuffleboard, slacks, plastic jewelry, and sexually harassing young male orderlies in the Home. I also think that birthdays are the day to party, caramba, fiesta, forever, and to also wear tiaras.

tiara

Thanks to my friend Rebecca and her girls for bringing it, tiara-style.

 

With the vantage point of being 39 and one day, I give you my list of 39 random thoughts about being 39.

1) I like the way “39” sounds. Not quite middle-aged, but old enough to OWN these forehead wrinkles.

2) I feel way more healthy and attractive than I did twenty years ago.

3) I’m confident enough to rock a bikini, which I didn’t do twenty years ago.

4) Still, I would like the girls to be more like they were twenty years ago, if I’m being honest. Gravity and age has been hard on my poor deflated rack.

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Ah, youth. Remember drinking before going to the bar? It was all about economics.

 

5) This would be why I’m a Victoria Secret devotee. I need all the engineering I can get.

6) I think I have better style now than I did twenty years ago, but that might be due to the fact that twenty years ago I was wearing high waisted jeans and bodysuits.

Pirate

And puffy pirate shirts.

7) Letting my hair go more than six weeks between colours is disastrous, not only for the inch long grey roots, but because the rest of my hair resembles orange straw.

8) Every morning I check my chin for long black hairs.

9) Despite checking every morning, every once in a while I will notice a one-inch black hair under my chin that wasn’t there the day before.

10) Although the whole world drools over Don Draper, the man I find most attractive on Mad Men is Henry Francis. And also, disturbingly, Jim Cutler.

11) In a similar vein, I find Mike the most attractive man on Breaking Bad.

12) I feel disappointed in a motherly sort of way when I think of Jesse. I do not find him attractive in the least.

13) I recently referred to Chris Evans as a “very nice looking young man”.

14) It’s been 25 years since my first viewing of Say Anything, and I still kind of identify with Diane Court. I AM a show pony, after all.

15) While at the salon on Friday, getting my grey roots and orange straw hair coloured, I read People magazine and realized – not for the first time – that I don’t know any of today’s hot new celebrities. Celebrities featured in People that I did recognize: George Clooney, Jennifer Aniston, and Boo the Pomeranian.

16) I am older than Sally Albright, Mrs. Robinson, and Princess Diana when she died.

17) Of all fictional movie characters, I most identify with Sally Albright, even if I have a few years on her. This is especially true of the way I order food in restaurants. “On the side” is a very big thing for me.

18) My husband took the winter tires off my minivan and put on the fanciest rims you have ever seen on a minivan. My ride has been pimped, as they say. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, minivan style.

19) Because of these hot new rims, I feel like I’m going to be the bitchin-est mom at pickup. I already kind of look like this guy when I’ve got the beats going, but with a minivan.

20) Damn. It feels good to be a gangster.

21) My husband says I am the easiest person to buy gifts for, because I’m hysterically excited at just the thought of gifts.

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Presents presents presents!

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PRESENTS!

 

22) This was exemplified by my squealing excitement at the receipt of a dish towel from my children. But then, it was this dish towel, so that’s pretty amazing.

 

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Easy as Pi! There’s even a graphic of a double cone. I’m sure there are some reading this who knew me in high school, and so “Conics Goddess” may have some meaning for those readers.

 

23) Last year I received a dehydrator and this year I received a juicer, and I am absolutely thrilled to receive kitchen appliances as gifts.

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But then, I guess I’ve always been excited about receiving kitchen appliances.

24) I am old enough to see not only fashions from my childhood back in style, but also from my teen years. I’m too old to wear them though, so I guess I will leave the bubble skirts and gladiator sandals to the young people.

25) I use terms like “young people”.

26) When I read magazines that have those “Beauty At Any Age” articles, I flip to “In Your 40’s” because the advice for “In Your 30’s” feels a bit irrelevant. I feel like my fertile years are greatly in the past (knock wood).

27) I cannot blame my children anymore if I’m tired.

28) I cannot watch movies that are sad, scary, or violent.

29) I did, however, recently watch Love Story on a plane, and was struck by my teenage resemblance to a young Ali MacGraw. It must be the eyebrows.

 alimacgraw copy

eyebrows2

29) I spend a great deal of effort plucking those eyebrows because these days, they would make me look less like Ali MacGraw and more like Martin Scorsese. See also: chin hair.

30) I can remember the song lyrics to practically every song I’ve ever heard, yet I need to write down “put out garbage” every second Monday.

31) I feel vaguely shocked when I hear of people going out at nine pm, even though I know I once did that too.

32) To me, a perfect evening sounds like watching Downton Abbey in my pajamas with a bottle of wine.

33) Only on weekends though, because I had one measly drink on Sunday night and my Monday morning yoga practice felt like I had turned into the Tin Man.

34) Speaking of which, I’ve never watched The Wizard of Oz the whole way through because it freaked me out as a child and it freaks me out now. Tornadoes, flying monkeys, general creepiness.

35) I actually said to my husband, when we were spring cleaning and getting rid of old toys, that “maybe we should keep that for our grandchildren”.

36) I don’t actually want grandchildren until my kids are 30 or so.

37) I point out pretty girls to my husband, who tells me that it is not normal to tell your husband “Look at that girl! She’s hot!”

38) I have friends who really get me, and every day I am awash in appreciation for them. You know who you are, you ladies who make me laugh and smile and think about things, you who I see daily and you who I only see a few times a year but it’s as if no time has passed, you who read my blog and you who try my recipes. I love you all! xoxo

39) Every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am. My family, my life, it all feels charmed. I’m filled with gratitude for every year and I’m excited for the years to come.

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Lucky, lucky me!

 

I still kind of hate The Diary of a Wimpy Kid though.

Anyone else exhausted this week? I would blame it on the time change but I was gently chided by a few people – including my husband, for whom time change is meaningless and unimportant, apparently, despite the fact that it turns his wife into a rage-against-the-machine crusader – for complaining too much about said time change. All right then, I will blame it on the fact that I wake up at 4:30 am, which is really 3:30 am by last week’s standards. I will also blame it on the fact that the children are now giggly and full of mirth and hilarity at 9:00 pm and are having trouble falling asleep and then are strangely and uncharacteristically snappy with one another all day, and have been since the time change. I am sure these are unrelated phenomena. I admit, my rage against this outworn and useless concept is completely impotent and futile, and yet rage and complain I continue to do. Some people complain about government policies, some people complain about attitudes towards breast feeding and home births, still others complain about Lululemon, the education system, parking fees, animal rights, rescue dogs, and icy walkways. I COMPLAIN ABOUT TIME CHANGE.

I’m so tired. The battery died in the clock downstairs, where my office is, and I keep forgetting to change it. The clock is stuck at 10:37, and as a creature of habit I continue to look at it every five minutes throughout the day. Each time I am startled anew that it says 10:37, and then remind myself that it is incorrect. But then yesterday morning it actually WAS 10:37 when I looked at the clock, and I was completely disoriented for a while.

Every year for Mother’s Day my mom and I go together to get pedicures at our favourite spa, and every year I forget that I need to book early or the whole month of May is completely reserved and we end up getting our Mother’s Day pedicures in June. Not this year! I remembered to book early – although Mother’s Day weekend is completely full, I did reserve us a time in May. While I had the receptionist on the phone, I thought to confirm my wax appointment for next week. It was all settled. “Thank you!” I said cheerfully, “See you next Tuesday!” I hung up the phone, realized what I had said, and wondered what the receptionist’s reaction was, if any.

I just looked at the clock again. I really need to change the battery.

Time change did coincide with some lovely weather: suddenly the frigid air has disappeared and the snow is all melting into giant, lakelike puddles and rivers. I take Barkley for a walk and when we return the top half of him is huge and fluffy, and the bottom half is bedraggled and soggy. The water runs like a miniature river down the pathway at the offleash, and in the mornings it’s frozen and treacherous. I’m leaving the house wearing my lightweight winter coat and lined rain boots, and it feels like a miracle.

It feels like the days when the kids were little and the weather would finally break and I could take them outside. We would walk around the block, the boys wearing rubber boots and warm layers, and they would puddle jump. After a winter of being inside, it felt like a miracle to be out and walking around; those long endless days that ended.

both Jake Mark

 

That was what we would do for fun, on an early spring afternoon. And now I have these big little kids who greet me after school and then rush away into the slushy school field to play some obscure game featuring battlefields and snakes, who get just as soaked as when they were small but the difference is now I don’t have to carry them home, their wet boots leaving mud on my jeans. Now I have these guys who argue about the correct word for a seven-sided shape, who talk incessantly about Minecraft at the dinner table, who ask me serious questions about being popular and what is my favourite gemstone, who want to be black belts and grow up and make lots of money to buy a flashier car than the one their dad drives, but who still want me to read to them from The Diary of a Wimpy kid at bedtime. They still want me to give them brief, man-like hugs before they head to their line-ups in the morning, and they fist-bump me to say goodbye. It breaks my heart just the tiniest bit, but it also makes my heart grow when I see what they’re growing up to be. And when I’m tired, so tired like this, they tell me to take it easy, maybe go to bed early, and not worry about them, they’re fine. They really are.

boys

I got 99 problems, but the book fair is not one.

I wrapped up my twelfth – TWELFTH – book fair yesterday and it was the most successful one I’ve ever had; we raised almost $4000 for the school library and home reading program. I feel like I should preen a little bit about that, but credit must be given where credit is due: Minecraft Handbooks and Annuals. Easily the most popular books in the fair, I found myself with reorder sheets and lineups of kids. My own house now has a copy of the Annual and the children have been spending much time doing whatever it is they do when they are on Minecraft. Also popular? National Geographic’s World’s Cutest Animals, and Paulette the Pinkest Puppy in the World. So, there’s a bit of a range there. The thing about volunteering for twelve consecutive book fairs is that one really develops an intimate knowledge of children’s reading habits. There are some girls that I remember choosing Pinkalicious and Barbie the Mermaid, and now they are reaching for the Whatever After series. My own children have graduated from the Hot Wheels Easy Readers to the 39 Clues and Spirit Animals. I could do a growth chart, just with Scholastic books.

bookfair3

Photo is PRE-rampaging by 530 elementary-aged children.

So it’s been a busy, but gratifying, week. There’s nothing like pure adulation from a whole lot of children to boost one’s self-esteem, not that I particularly needed boosting, but here we are. While at the school I attended an Olympic wrap-up assembly, which I sat through with a lump in my throat and blurry eyes. My boys’ classes were the assembly’s “hosts” and the assembly started off with Olympic music and the teacher calling out different countries, the children all coming in behind flags from countries representing their nationalities. The one boy from Greece started everyone off, followed by at least twenty other countries. Many children wore traditional clothing from their countries of origin, and all in all it was a wonderful display of multiculturalism.

I know what you’re thinking: what about the recorders? Well, both classes played the recorder, accompanied by the bass xylophones. Thank god for the bass xylophones. The recorders were pretty terrible, as to be expected, but happily the songs were short. Mark’s class then did an Olympic Alphabet, with his contribution being the letter M and a blurb about Mark McMorris, which was kind of nice. And then, making all my dreams come true, Jake’s class did a dance melange of traditional Russian dancing mixed with disco moves, all set to an instrumental version of Rasputin. It was just as amazing as it sounds.

I was an emotional wreck through the whole thing, as I realized one of the very first assemblies I’d ever attended was the 2010 Olympic kick-off assembly, when Mark was in kindergarten performing – oddly enough – I’m a Little Teapot. Kindergarten! And when the next Winter Olympics comes around, both of my children will be in junior high. Time makes you bolder, even children get older. I’m getting older too. I’d sing it mournfully, but unfortunately for my mental health, I have had Nights on Broadway stuck in my head for three days. I feel like Ralph Fiennes from The English Patient, but in a disco way. I have been singing this. For THREE DAYS.

I don’t even know all the words. I just keep singing the same lines over and over. Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway. Singing them sweet sounds. To that crazy crazy town. Remember that Seinfeld episode where George was convinced he was losing his mind since he went to see Les Mis and couldn’t get Master of the House out of his head? It’s like that. I’m pretty sure I’m headed to a mental institution. Not only that, but I’m disco dancing to the song in my head. Literally. I find myself in the kitchen, behaving as if I’m the lead-off dancer on Soul Train. I am not marching to my own drummer, I’m doing the hustle to the Bee Gees in my mind.