A Post About The Weather (no, really)

It's spring here, and it has been for the last three days. Four days ago it was winter, because Canada changes seasons like a sixteen year old in a Mustang changes lanes.

I always learn a lot about strangers at this time of year. The optimists stroll about in regular shoes, with a light spring coat or a hoodie (or if you hail from Saskatchewan, a 'bunny hug') The more cautious among us switch to regular shoes, but keep the down-filled coat just in case of snow. Those with trust issues not only bundle up in parkas, but add a light scarf and winter boots for good measure. Then there are the crazy people (or 'college students', as I like to call them) who have stripped right down to shorts and sundresses, ballerina flats and sandals.

It's also pretty easy infer what a person's daily schedule might be. Wearing a scarf and carrying a heavier coat? Early morning commute, when it is still chilly. Long sleeves, no coat? Left the house around ten. Short sleeves, no coat? Headed out for lunch, or early cocktails. Sundress and heavy sweater? Wandered out at noon, and plans to be out partying until three in the morning.

Me, I am sticking with a spring jacket over my regular winter outfits for now. I'm an optimist, but I'm also too darn lazy get the summer stuff out of the closet. Also, I've seen snow fall in every month of the year in Canada, so maybe I do have some trust issues with Father Winter. Poor Pickle is an optimist too, but he doesn't even own a spring jacket, so it's goose feathers and bunny hugs* for him. I looked for one online, but apparently they are all already sold out. Normal people a) plan for spring, b) the season arrives on time in other parts of the world.

So here's to Spring, with the hope that she sticks around long enough for us to make it out to the cabane à sucre before the summer heat kicks in.

*I'm not from Saskatchewan, I just really like to say 'bunny hug'. Because seriously, how cute is that?

Sweet or Chicken? You decide! - (1/2) a Guest Post by S

Evidence as submitted by S:

"How I saved myself from humiliation in front of my children and a school friend.

Easter Monday: I have the kids home because school is closed and my wife has to work. I invite one of Panda's Gr 1 friends over because, as any parent knows, it's significantly less work to entertain your own kids (and keep the damn TV turned off) if one of their friends comes over for the day.

Around 11am, I corral them together to bake cookies, and they have a blast scooping, measuring, cracking the egg, mixing with the electric beater, etc, etc. Cookies are formed, fired into the oven, and I send them on their way. This, this, is my glorious day to catch up on housework. Oh yes, we've long reached that level of parenting glamour where you actually get excited to have time and energy to clean. But, I multi-task too much and burn the damn cookies. The timer was on but I ignored it. Might as well try one.. Hmm, just the bottom is black, still sort of edible...should I serve them? I consider this and immediately reject this dark path. She already never lets me forget the time that I biked her around on the child carrier seat without remembering to buckle her in. She'll never let me live this one down. I can hear her delighted voice at school for the next ten years: "...this one time, I had my friend over for a playdate, and my silly dad burned the cookies..."

HELL NO, am I going through that shit! The evidence of my crimes are quickly hidden away from view. Taking pains to keep them occupied outside of the kitchen, I made an entire second batch of cookies from scratch. Whipped by hand of course, the electric beater is too noisy and would certainly expose my sins... Lunch and subsequent cookies were served without incident, and my reputation was saved once again..."

As related by yours truly:

Panda had made a sign for our door on Easter, so that the Easter Bunny would know whose house he was at. She was very proud of it and wanted to show it off at school, but it had been kicking around the house for a few days (okay, fine, it was on the floor) and when it came time to put it in her school bag last night, it was of course nowhere to be found. After we'd reassured her we would look for it and tucked her up snug in her blankets, S shamefacedly admitted that not only had he recycled it, he'd crumpled it up in a ball, too. Once the kids were safely asleep, he fished it out and I ironed it - with mixed results. So this happened:

Yes, that is my husband painstakingly making an exact copy of her poster, so that she isn't crushed in the morning. Or to evade her wrath, I'm not sure which.


I can't decide if our kids have the sweetest Papa ever, or the most chicken. What do you think? Let me know in the comments!

I wonder what Sesame Street is like these days?

Because children's programming sure has changed.

And ...

Luckily, the Rescue Bots didn't have any call girls in it, and the kids were able to watch Monster Math Squad on my profile (which now keeps suggesting I enjoy an episode of Animal Mechanicals or two.)