DIY school picture timeline

Please note: This is the last Handmade Home column for a little while. I hope to be back at it as soon as possible.

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Without fail, we buy a package of our kids’ school photos every single year. Some years, the photos are really nice. Other years, the kids have an awkward smile or a wary gaze. It doesn’t matter to me — I’m ordering them anyway.

I love that we can easily adjust the timeline or swap out frames anytime we want. The S-hooks make it easy to lift the frames off and reposition them.

I dutifully give copies to the grandparents, but the problem was that I didn’t actually display any of the 8x10s I’d ordered for myself. I just couldn’t decide how or where.

Would I only keep the current year’s photo on display? Would I hang them all somewhere? A gallery wall of school photos wouldn’t be practical, since I’d have to update it every single year.

So I did nothing with my copies of the school pictures, except keep buying them and carefully storing them away.

Recently, I had an idea. What if I hung the school pictures in a way that I could show them all — in order — while also being able to add new ones?

Continue reading in my DIY column, My Handmade Home.

Thought work is going to be the key to getting through this

If you’ve never heard of “thought work,” don’t worry.

I hadn’t heard it myself until probably six months ago, when I really dug deep into working on myself.

Yesterday I listened to a special bonus episode of one of my favourite postcasts, Unf*ck Your Brain, by Kara Loewentheil. It was a virus dedicated to virus panic so I knew I NEEDED to listen to it.

Oh boy, not only did I listen, but I took notes the entire time (which I texted to my sister in 30-second intervals for a full hour) but I also just went to her website and pored over the show’s transcript.

SO MUCH GOOD INFORMATION IN THERE!

Basically, “thought work” is focusing on managing your thoughts. How we THINK controls how we FEEL, and how we FEEL controls how we ACT.

While I highly encourage you to listen to the full episode — and subscribe to the Unf*ck Your Brain podcast because there are SO MANY back episodes to catch up on — I’m going to summarize my main takeaways here. (Mostly so I can come back and re-read this post when I’m spiraling, but also for you guys, too.)

Ready? Let’s go …

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Breathing tips for when you’re panicking

If you follow my Instagram stories, you already know the unfolding Situation I Refuse to Name has put me in a very anxious state.

For example, I drove myself to the drugstore in PJs, late at night, panicking that I was having a food allergy reaction and needed antihistamines urgently. (I do not have any known food allergies — just imaginary ones when my anxiety is bad and right now it’s REAL BAD, GUYS.)

I bought the damn antihistamines and took them, even though I knew I probably didn’t need them, but because I needed SOMETHING to calm me down and convince me I (probably) wasn’t going to stop breathing because I’d stupidly taken a bite of my husband’s Hawaiian pizza when my anxiety was already off the charts and pineapple is a weird I-think-I-might-be-allergic trigger for me.

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Pre-plating = the ultimate dinner prep

It’s 11:30 a.m. and I just finished making dinner.

Well, it didn’t require much effort — let’s be clear. I shoved a frozen meatloaf in the oven, worked for the 70 minutes it was cooking (and forgot about it completely, thank God for timers) and then yanked it out of the oven.

I stuck some rice and water in the microwave and let that cook while I was slicing up the meatloaf and putting it onto four plates. Then I scooped the rice onto each plate and tossed on a handful of still-frozen vegetables.

Guess which kid hates green beans, which kid eats like a bird, which husband won’t eat cauliflower, etc.

I covered each plate in plastic wrap, used a sharpie to write each person’s initial (since portion sizes, veggie preferences, etc. are all very different), stacked the plates and shoved them in the fridge.

In the 5 p.m. panic to get some food into us all of before Taekwondo, I’ll just need to retreat the plates. Bingo bango!

I work steadily from about 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. every weekday, but afternoons tend to be the busiest time for me because it’s (maybe?) when people suddenly realize they need to return a call/email and now things are urgent, etc. Wednesdays, I have learned, tend to be REALLY busy — and that’s the day the kids need to be out the door at 5:10 p.m., having already eaten dinner and gotten dressed.

I HATE having to try to make something at 4/4:30 on these days because what I NEED is to be working, still. And so … pre-plating to the rescue!

(Darling Husband will heat his plate later, since he wakes up just in time to scoot out the door to Taekwando. #shiftworklife)

I’ve written about this before, specific to lunches. (You know, so I could eat an actual lunch and not just starve and work and type and then stuff in a bowl of cereal and/or a granola bar at bus stop pick-up time.)

I know making dinner at lunchtime is something I can only do because I work from home, BUT! This isn’t a hack just for work-at-home types.

I did the same thing two nights ago — cooked chicken and noodles at 7 p.m. and then stuck it all in these cute sectioned containers* I bought off Amazon — because I knew I’d never, ever have time to make dinner with a full workday, driving the dance carpool and getting the kids ready for the choir/band concert.

I hate, hate, HATE cooking and this is still cooking (which I hate, as I mentioned) but at least it’s making dinner prep slightly more bearable, if only because I get to feel relieved that it’s over.

When lice invade your home, and head

When lice invade your home, and head {Heather's Handmade Life}

It’s 10 p.m. and I’m crying in the bathroom with greasy hair hanging over my eyes, madly combing over and over like a modern-day Lady Macbeth in leggings and an old T-shirt.

I have head lice. I’m freaking out.

My husband combed me out earlier after I applied the treatment, but now he’s at work and the kids are finally asleep and it’s just me, swiping at tears with my greasy fingertips and fumbling with the comb I can’t seem to put down.

Because you can’t call the neighbours over to help with something as horrifying as delousing. It’s gross and contagious and I guess this is who I am now — disgusting and greasy-headed, with a scarlet L (or is it a white one?) on my chest.

Continue reading in my weekly parenting column, The Mom Scene …