Oh yeah....

Now I remember one thing that sucks about working again: having to battle the crowds to do grocery shopping on the weekend with kids in tow. SO much busier.

Like Riding a Bike

Here's a paraphrased transcript of about 25 conversations I've had this week:
Me: Hey, how's it goin'?
Other Person: Oh, pretty good, how about you? You're back at work now aren't you?
Me: Yep.
Other Person: (sympathetic look) Oh, that must be rough... (or something along those lines)

The truth is...not really. I love my job, and doing it part-time is the perfect balance for me. For once I'm returning from a maternity leave to a familiar school in my old classroom and working with families who missed me. The teaching part was like riding a bike; I had a few wobbly moments on Monday morning but we quickly found our groove as a class.

When I'm working outside the home, I'm a happier person and consequently a better mom. I have a greater appreciation for the time I get to spend with my kids and I think they appreciate me more when I've been away for a bit. I'm also a bit easier on myself about the state of tidiness (or lack thereof) of my house because I've got other stuff going on. This being my third leave, I had much less worry about leaving the kids having been there, done that before. (Though as an aside, I wasn't preoccupied with Gavin while I was at work, but boy did I want to just gobble him up when I got home!)

It feels like the year of being home was really a dream that seemed like a year but then I woke up and it was actually only a couple of hours. It was lovely, but I definitely prefer the reality of my life humming along to the rhythms of my part-time work week and the school year.

Of course, it's only been three days. I might be singing a different tune when the end of June rolls around....

A Change is Gonna Come

There is a seismic shift about to take place at my house. I'm going back to work tomorrow! Not that being on maternity leave with three kids isn't a lot of work, but it can be done in pajamas if necessary, whereas being a teacher requires a bit more decorum.

What does this mean for us as a family? A new (and wonderful) child care provider, "easy" dinners at the end of my workdays, Sundays of frantically rushing around trying to get the family ready for the upcoming week. Just as busy as my SAHM life, but in a very different way.

There is also the tricky business of re-negotiating the division of labour of household work. Dave and I have a pretty good system and he definitely carries his fair share of the load...I'm referring more to the under-5-feet-tall set at my house. When they are home, the house generally looks like a tornado has followed in their wake. Which is fine as long as they clean up after themselves at some point before they go to bed. (Gavin gets a pass until he actually hits 12 months, then he's on the chain gang, too). Unfortunately, they've become accustomed to me picking up the slack while I've been home for the past year; this hasn't done them or me any favours as I predict it will be a challenge for me to get them to PICK UP THEIR JUNK ALREADY!

It's a big transition for the whole family. I like change. I embrace it. But it's still kind of stressful.

Why I Love My Dentist

I don't want to jump him or have a dentist fetish or anything, I just think my dentist is really cool. A few reasons why....

1. When I recently referred another family to his office they sent me a Starbucks card by way of thanks. (please note, Starbucks bribery will always get you compliments when it comes to me!)

2. When I had something stuck under my gum earlier this week, they got me in the same day and after much freezing and coaxing relieved my poor, inflamed mouth.

3. While I was there, I eavesdropped on the coolest conversation to EVER take place in a dentist's office. There was an older fellow just finishing up with his teeth cleaning in the room across the way from me. The receptionist told him that since he had recently had his 90th (!!) birthday and he had been coming to this office for such a long time, the dentist decided to give the patient a special rate as a birthday gift. His file dated back to 1964, so he got the rate he would have paid in 1964: a whopping $4.00! So cool, because that was probably actually worth close to $200. Also cool because I know for a fact that my dentist was only a gleam in his dad's eye in 1964, but he is honouring the practice and patients who came before he took over about 10 years ago. And finally, the coolest thing, the old guy still has his own teeth at 90 years of age!

I'm Moving Up in the World

You may recall back around Christmas time I got some very special hate mail from Amy. I'm all for purposeful writing for children in the primary grades, but a picture of a grumpy mommy with a big X over it was a little tough to take.


Turns out I've jumped a few notches in the opinion of my esteemed offspring. Check it out:

When she read it back to me she realized she forgot the word "favourite," so I added it in for her. Can you dig it? I'm the second favourite, baby!!

I didn't ask her who is her first favourite.

(Dave, obviously).

12 step program for baby carrier addiction

Do you know of one? Because I need one. First I spent all the money I made on Craigslist (a whole $35) on a Hug of Joy carrier that I found on....Craigslist! It's beautiful and simple, and is essentially the same as my Hotsling, but a bit stretchier. Did I need it? No. But I just had to have it.
Then I got a note on my FB news feed that the Babyhawk page now has a blog, which took me to see their new fabrics, which took me to trying out different colour combinations with the straps, and the next thing I knew, my memorized-credit-card-number was flying into the order section and I will soon be the owner of ANOTHER Babyhawk. Did I need it? No. But it's soooooo gorgeous. And I love my other Babyhawk.
I hope Dave isn't reading this.

Wherein I Get Chills

I feel like I just got a phone call from a long-lost friend and we picked up almost right where we left off.

I shudder to think of how abominably I've cared for this piano. We got it when I was 12 and it was my go-to friend, my confidante, my punching bag through the perils of adolescence. Having said that, I think we only got it tuned once as it sat in our chilly basement in my parents' old house. Then I took it with me when I moved out, and moved again, only getting it tuned one more time. That's twice in about 25 years. Somehow setting aside $100 for a tuning just never figured in as a priority.

The kids have started piano lessons; Trevor last year and Amy this past fall. And it was becoming downright painful to listen to, especially when Trevor started practicing chords. CRINGE! I finally called a piano tuner and he worked his magic for a couple of hours. He told us things I never knew about our piano, such as it was manufactured in the mid-70's in Quebec, and was later sold in a store in Manitoba (we got it second-hand from another family when we lived in Portage la Prairie). I started feeling like it was a neglected and misunderstood old dog or something; I had started to take it for granted as a heap of wood and strings in the corner of our living room. I hardly ever get to play since we had kids. When I did play it just didn't sound so great...but it wasn't the piano's fault, and I wasn't THAT rusty, we were just out of sync.

Once he finished tuning it, I thought I'd try it out to hear the difference. I picked out something easy and tonal: Imagine by John Lennon. Just the first few bars. It was warm and delicious and was ringing around in my ceiling and my head long after I finished playing it. I can bring up the sensation just thinking about it. It made me resolve to get my old friend tuned up annually and to sit down and practice a little bit more regularly so she never gets so run-down again.

p.s. Did you know not everyone gets chills from listening to music? I was SHOCKED to learn this from my husband while we were dating. He looked at me like I had sprouted an antenna when I showed him my goosebumps from listening to a particular passage or chord. His family is all the same.

More's the pity for them.