Summer brain melt is a real thing
The humidity has been out of control for weeks — maybe a month, who even knows anymore.
My hair is twice its normal size, and I have big hair so that’s really saying something. Everyone’s hot and sticky all the time. Our house doesn’t have air conditioning, but it does have warm, damp breezes whipping through the windows. They are not refreshing.
My brain is melting, along with the makeup I half-heartedly swipe across my face when I’m making an effort. Summer brain melt is a real thing, I’ve decided. It’s diagnosed when parents (and children) are hot and cranky and can’t seem to focus.
I felt like I had nothing to write about this week, really, so I asked my eight-year-old and six-year-old to pinch-hit. (I really must be dazed and overheated if I’m using a sports reference.)
I told them the topic was “summer vacation,” and even tapped out a few questions for them to answer. It kept them busy for almost an hour, since it’s hard for newbie typers to spell when the A, S, C, N, M, I, O and P letters are completely worn off your keys. (“Mom! I don’t see the M!” “Just skip it! Mommy will fix it later!”)
So, in the spirit of summer brain melt — and to celebrate that summer vacation is nearing the halfway point as I write this — here is what they had to say …
Hello my name is Dexter. This is Charlotte. I’m here to tell you how much fun summer can be for a kid. Summer for a kid has so much time to make new friends. One boring thing: math worksheets in the morning, but some kids like it. Some grown-ups don’t like summer because their kids get loud and rowdy …
Continue reading in my (or maybe now it’s “their”) weekly parenting column, The Mom Scene …
Our epic DIY fail
When we had our driveway paved, I was thrilled to see the grey gravel banished forever. Our driveway had been lumpy and uneven, with a rocky hill leading up to the stairs of our porch — which sat perched on a heap of gravel that kept slipping out from underneath it.
We tore off our old stairs, which needed to be replaced anyway, the day before the paving crew was set to arrive. It made total sense when the pavers explained they would need to even out the grade, giving us a flatter driveway and a nice surface on which to rebuild our stairs.
I didn’t care that it meant cutting into the front lawn a bit. I was getting a flat, paved driveway! They finished the work in just two days, and left us with a gloriously black, smooth surface. It was so beautiful, I didn’t want to drive on it and risk marking or denting the fresh asphalt.
Once the crew left, however, it was clear we were going to have to do something about the exposed chunk of earth that ran along one side of the driveway like a miniature cliff. As the yard got higher and higher, the drop down to the driveway got steeper — and crumbles of mud started rolling onto my pristine new pavement.
We built the new, taller staircase and that hid some of the ‘dirt wall,’ but it wasn’t enough. Despite having zero masonry experience, my handy husband decided he could manage a simple brick retaining wall. (Famous last words.)
Continue reading in my weekly DIY column, My Handmade Home …
My first blood donation
When you’re a parent, you’re always coming up with little teachable moments in which you show your children ways they can be good human beings.
It’s why we have discussions about homelessness when we pass the shelter in our town. It’s why I make a point of reminding them that not everyone is a “him” or “her” (it’s never too early to learn “they/their” pronouns). It’s why I take them to the food bank every December to drop off donations and talk about our family’s monthly donation to Feed Nova Scotia.
My latest idea for a teachable moment came when I realized I could take them with me to donate blood. I’d never done it before, but after a decade of low iron, I thought my hemoglobin levels were finally high enough to qualify. I signed up online (www.blood.ca) and also made an appointment for my husband. It was going to be a family affair!
The kids were intrigued when we entered the hotel conference room with its hospital-style chairs medical equipment. I rambled on about the importance of donating blood and how one donation can help three people who need it. We talked about how people who are sick need blood and people who are in accidents need blood. I was feeling pretty smug about being able to finally donate.
The kids waited patiently while my husband and I filled out questionnaires on iPads and had our blood tested in little cubicles. (My hemoglobin levels were too low on the first prick, but squeaked above the acceptable level on the second two tries.)
My husband and I scored side-by-side chairs for our “date” while the kids sat on the carpet between us. Our son was buried in a novel he’d brought along, but our daughter watched with fascination as we were hooked up and the blood started flowing. No, I assured her calmly, they’re not taking ALL of my blood.
My husband, who has donated many times before, finished filling his bag first and took the kids over to the cookies-and-juice table. I finished a few minutes later and lay back in my chair, holding a piece of gauze over my puncture. I felt exceedingly proud of myself. I was going to do this regularly! Maybe I could even donate plasma? I’d heard that’s … uh-oh.
The wooziness came on quickly and my vision started to darken. My chest felt heavy as I murmured to my phlebotomist that I didn’t feel very well. There was a flurry of people around me suddenly, calling for cold cloths and blasting fans on my face. They kept telling me to open my eyes, but it felt like the hardest thing in the world.
“What’s happening to Mom?” our son asked casually from the snack table, where he was popping Timbits in his mouth. Our daughter didn’t even look — she had discovered the jam-filled cookies and happily slurping her second juice box.
Fifteen minutes later, I was allowed to walk over to the snack table and gingerly sit down next to the kids. I nibbled a sugar-dusted Timbit and drank a little more juice, and felt much better.
The Canadian Blood Services employees were so nice and kept checking on me to make sure I was OK. They did, however, tell me I should probably not try to give blood again, since I have a history of vasovagal syncope (fainting). I felt silly for not realizing that might be an issue, but I’d never had a problem giving blood in the hospital — although, of course, that’s not as much blood.
It may not be the regular gig I had planned, but I still finished my donation and my blood might help three people, so that’s something. As we walked back out to the truck, I reminded the kids that what we’d done was important because our blood might save somebody’s life.
“Best day ever!” our daughter sang as she skipped through the parking lot. No, not because we might have saved lives — because of the amazing spread of cookies, Timbits and juice boxes. “Can we come back tomorrow?”
Well, at least I’ve inspired a future donor — even if she’s just doing it for the snacks.
xo
Go fly a (supersized) kite
*** The following post is sponsored conversation with Clay Cafe Truro. As always, all opinions and sweaty children are my own. ***
Yup, I’ve been singing the final song in Mary Poppins all day now. You might, too, now.
Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let’s go fly a kite!
Our friend, Jamie, the totally-awesome owner of Clay Cafe Truro, asked if the kids and I wanted to take some of their new kites for a spin to get the word out that THEY SELL KITES NOW, YAYYYY!
Of course, it didn’t take much convincing. We’ve flown piddly little kites in our backyard before, since it’s mega-windy up here on top of our hill. But when the kids saw the SIZES of these JUMBO KITES? Oh man, they were pumped! Read More
Checking out Chuck E. Cheese’s
Our son turned eight earlier this summer and his birthday fell during our family’s vacation to Ontario to see my dad and stepmother. We’d toyed with the idea of taking the kids to Canada’s Wonderland for the day but it felt too expensive — especially considering neither kid would be tall enough for any of the “good” rides yet.
Then I remembered my dad mentioning there was a Chuck E. Cheese’s nearby in Mississauga. I didn’t really know anything except there would be pizza and games — I kept picturing the Whack-a-Mole one. I also knew their tagline, probably from watching United States commercials as a child: “Where A Kid Can Be A Kid.” It sounded perfect.
I Googled a three-minute Chuck E. Cheese’s commercial and played it for the kids — they were enthralled. This place was REAL?! They were going to GO THERE?! They were as excited as if we’d planned a trip to Disney World. (Not gonna happen.)
They bounced inside, starry-eyed and could barely hold still long enough to get their kidnapping-prevention stamp. (Parents and kids have their hands stamped with invisible ink codes, so no one can leave without their proper guardian. It’s great!)
Instead of tickets or tokens, they were armed with plastic swipe cards called Play Passes that would work on any of the games or rides.
Once we were safely inside the gate, we turned the kids loose and they bopped around a large room from game to game.
And oh, there were MANY games!
There were classic arcade-style games where you shot basketballs or tried to knock coins into holes. There were ride-on racing games with cars and motorcycles. There were digital games like Crossy Road and Angry Birds. There was even a skipping game where you had to leap over a flashing jump rope projection.
The adults ended up buying Play Pass cards to share so we could play instead of just watching the kids have all the fun. I alternated between Skee-Ball and Deal or No Deal — and preferred the latter because it lasted the longest.
The kids were nothing more than blurs as they zoomed around the room. Sometimes I’d spot of one of them relaxing in a “ride” (the kinds of rides they have in malls) while the other was mercilessly beating plastic gophers back into their burrows. They’d appear at our sides whenever their cards were emptied, and I decided it was best NOT to ask my husband how much he spent reloading them.
After each game, the machine would spit out tickets — usually between two and five, depending on how well we did. The birthday boy actually won 500 tickets in a single game of Angry Birds, which was very exciting.
Even Chuck E. Cheese himself — a furry costume filled with whatever teenaged employee had drawn the short straw — made an appearance every half hour or so. He’d round up the kids for a quick dance and then shower them with free tickets. If you’ve ever watched children desperately scrabble for candy out of a pinata, you can understand how smoothly this went.
When it was time for dinner, we sat down to eat some sub-par pizza and sip pop from disposable cups. TV screens blared a constant stream of Chuck E. Cheese videos, and every few minutes — or so it seemed — we’d find ourselves groaning as we were treated to the surprisingly hip-hop tune “Chuck E.’s Happy Dance.”
“Put your hands in the air as you jump up and down,” we’d find ourselves singing under our breath as we watched the music video for the billionth time. “Then you bop side to side, then you turn around. Then give yourself a high-five! Just give yourself a high-five!”
When we were ready to leave — well, the adults were ready to leave, the kids would have happily lived there — it was time to redeem our tickets. All of our pockets were stuffed, so you’d think we would have cleared out the prize counter.
Um, no. Six people playing games for about three hours earned enough tickets for two bags of cotton candy and a handful of plastic mouse-shaped whistles. #facepalm
Chuck E. Cheese was pricey and somewhat annoying, but I can’t deny that our kids had an amazing time there and are dying to go back. I wouldn’t be surprised if Halifax earned its own location soon, and it would certainly be a good spot to throw a birthday party or just give them a special outing.
In fact, I could easily see myself going with a couple of friends and parking ourselves at one of the booths to drink Diet Coke and eat mozzarella sticks while our kids run around and play — content in the knowledge they can’t leave the building without us. That sounds pretty nice, actually!
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