Shopping Online

" Hello, I'm calling from CIBC credit card division and we've noticed some unusual activity in your card recently."
   It was not even forty seconds after everyone had left when the phone rang and all the hard work I had done, getting the last pieces of our journey sorted out, fell apart. Apparently Fraud departments aren't accustomed to mothers like myself whose brains wake them up at 5 am with urgent requests like: do we have enough mayonnaise, don't forget to pick up dry cleaning and did you confirm that the hotel in Venice can take us the third night. ARGH. I call it being pinged.  One minute I'm unconsciously sorting through mundane items and the next I'm wide awake and fretting about some unfinished task. Over the years I've learned to just give into it and get up - do the task (quietly) and because it often means doing more than a few things to quieten my ping I just see it as an early start to the day. So after being awake since 5:30am and having an unsuccessful conversation with a desk clerk in Italy, finally sorting through all the requests of a booking firm and getting all the usual morning routine things done, like harassing Miriam to remember to return a game to school ( Where did you leave it, go put it in your backpack now!) remind my husband he's being me today ( It's your turn to make sure hair, teeth, lunches are ready) and my turn to be him ( putting out the garbage) that when they all left, I felt I had earned a nice breakfast and, with such a good start on the day, I'd just go downstairs and tackle a few other of those nagging unending tasks, namely more of the paperwork. Not likely.
   The conversation with Fraud Squad was relatively quick - I confirmed that in less than a week yes I really had paid for two separate camps for my children, purchased a hotel room for a single night in Venice and then booked a flight to Paris. Everything except the flight was fine but because of some funny stuff with entries they had declined to pay for the booking. " Sorry for the inconvenience - please let them know all is fine and they may re-enter the purchase. It'll go through now." Easier said than done. What had taken me merely a few minutes online then took over 2 hours and three phone calls to Spain ( huh?) and even then I ended up starting over and redoing everything. Argh. So much for breakfast.
 
   Planning trips with my family can be both fun and frustrating. It's a random thing. Which one of them will be the one who can't choose, or who gets an idea in their heads that whatever it is we're talking about is scary/expensive/hard or just plain dull.  Sometimes they're indifferent to the options - "yea yea whatever " or then the reverse  ' ooh look there's also this , or this, or ...."  I approach the summer season with dread knowing full well that the best camping sites for August were booked in February, that the few spots in the cool game programs disappear within hours once the registration opens and that somehow, despite all our efforts to figure out how to chill and relax - at some point I am going to be wound up and frustrated because someone is gripping about how this wasn't what they wanted.
    And I'm not finished yet. This week I need to finalize the summer plans and still need to book our activities in Rome. So yes Mr Fraud Squad man - I really do want to make those purchases. I wonder what they'll think when I add a campsite in New York State or book a space at Gemboree in Bancroft the same time I order tickets for a tour of the Vatican. I only hope it doesn't happen again at 5am.

Revised Plans

   How is this fair - no sooner than I have all my plans worked out than fate or God or Murphy's law kicks in. 12:30am on that Saturday I had just previously planned so carefully - and I'm running for the bathroom. You can fill in the rest. By 7am I haven't slept, I'm feverish, exhausted and despite all efforts to the contrary cannot get my brain to stop conjuring up images of food which simply sets the nausea off. My amazing husband, having spent the night on the sofa, got up early, stood outside the Shopper's waiting for them to open so he could get the Gravol for me, then called appropriate Messy church and Brownie leaders and co-ordinating how the day would progress without me. He even picked up my dearest friend, drove her directly to her farm and returned with KFC for the kids. With him I am blessed - but my health these days..... The only consolation came Monday morning when another friend called to beg off writing group - she'd spent the night in her bathroom too. I was at least able to reassure her it would pass quickly. I was now fine again (except for this chronic nasal drip.)
    So while I did not get out to an antique show and some shopping with my mother-in-law - Monday we set forth. Our goal - new drapes for the living room and pants for my father-in-law. he wears a size not commonly found. Now for most people I am sure that going shopping is a relatively easy task. But when I take my mother-in-law there is an extra component. She is not a tall woman and she's curious. So she likes to go looking for things just as you think you've finished and should be heading to the cash. In the first years of my marriage this had me in fits. I once lost her in an Eaton's store in Yorkdale Shopping Plaza. Because of her height she was easily hidden by the displays on the counters and it took me and my sister-in-law almost twenty minutes to find her. She was looking for something for her husband.  Now fifteen odd years later I have it down to a science. I tell what I'm going to do - like - "I'm headed to the back to look at drape panels" and then when I'm ready to go I enlist the help of the sales staff in locating her. " I'm looking for a woman in a bright blue jacket " and we seem to get through several stores without my blood pressure skyrocketing or her feeling like she's tied to my apron strings.  I think we enjoy ourselves - but you can ask her yourself for her side of things (because I know her friends are reading this blog).
   Today we set forth and returned semi triumphant. We found two sets of drapes and two curtain rods and not five minutes home , before the tea was brewed we knew which was the right choice and which ones \I would be returning tomorrow. But the pants defeated us. You cannot find a size 46-32 pant with a flat front, thin leg in Mark's Work Warehouse. So it's the Sear's catalogue for us next.  Unfortunately she also seems to be developing the same mucus drip down the back of the throat that preceded my own wonderful cold. Now that is one thing I do not wish to share with her. Please, Please, let your fickle finger of fate miss her with that. She's supposed to be on vacation. That would really not be fair.

Three places at once

   Sort of, kind of, just in time; the house is maybe ready. How's that for a definitive statement. At midnight last night my husband and I stopped trying to figure out where to hang the remaining pictures and just stopped. It had been a long day for both of us and it looks like this weekend will get crazy. In other words - for us, life is returning to normal.
  Have I mentioned I'm a Brownie leader? Brown Owl to be exact. A position of authority amongst the 7-8 year old girl set. It has it's perks, I am often recognized by one of my girls (or their siblings) while out and about and the sound of a piping little voice calling " Brown Owl!" can give me an instant smile. It also has it's down side. When Nichelle was flying up to Guides and Miriam was in her second year of Sparks I joined the Girl Guides like many many mothers before me. There's a kind of unwritten contract that when your youngest joins it's time for you to help out too. And most leaders kind of follow their daughters through the various levels. Which is fine but it doesn't make for a lot of consistency. So when Miriam (and I) went up the rainbow to Brownies and the then Brown Owl informed me she was soon moving on with her youngest - I decided that I would remain behind when Miriam flew up. And I have. This is my third year as an Owl and I'm starting to feel the rhythm of the position. And I've made another choice. To remain Brown Owl until Audrey and Shirley fly up to Guides. That means I still have 5 more years of meetings, crafts, songs, campfires and cookie selling.  
   Cookies Cookies Cookies! Twice a year we sell cookies - it's our major money making venture and we love to sell cookies! I ordered an abundance of cookies this spring. And this is the weekend we start selling them. There are several ways to do this. Tradition #1 - Door to door sales. A great way to get out and get fresh air and exercise along with saying hello to your neighbours. Tradition #2  Let a parent take a case to the office. (Very popular with leaders but less so with employers.)  Other ways to sell - find a group of hyper excited males (sporting events are good locations). They're in the mood to scarf down a box or two immediately. Stand outside a popular store and accost the incoming traffic. They always promise to get you on the way out. Or the tried and true - buy a case for yourself and use them for the next six months in the kids lunches. Regardless of how you sell them - a Brownie leader has to first collect them from her depot, count, organize, distribute the cookies; collect the money, count the money, lose someones money, find it a week later in a plastic baggie stuffed in back pocket because it was handed to you when your hands/arms/brain were filled with something else and eventually bank all the money in time to do it again next fall. This is not necessarily a part of the job I love.
   So this weekend I'm out at crack of dawn patrolling the street with a van filled with cookies while my Brownies move along the streets doing door to door sales. That wouldn't be so bad if I had looked at the right calendar when I agreed to doing it this weekend. Because you see it's also the first time our church is having a special Saturday morning event for the younger crowd. Messy  Church - something I agreed to participate in and (bonus) not be in charge of. Instead that honour goes to my sister-in-law Judy - and she's got it all under control - but she was counting on me to be there to help out (as all the parents are doing).
   But that's not all. Remember my in-laws. They arrived Wednesday and since last year's visit we have added a bathroom, redoing the laundry room in the process, repainted and spruced up the playroom, and of course just painted the living/dining/entrance and hallways of the house. My mother-in-law is chomping at the bit to see it. And she has to wait until Friday. I would normally invite them to dinner ( and have the day to finish cleaning etc) but Friday night my sister-in-law is throwing a Pampered Chef party which she timed so our mutual mother-in-law could attend. And heck I want to go too. So it'll have to be Saturday evening for dinner  I can't ask her to wait until then - so I'll invite her over before the party - except I have to collect the cookies from our designated depot and this time it's not a stay-at-home retiree, but a working mom - so I can't get the cookies until 6:30 and the party starts at 7, so that pushes my mother-in-laws visit to the afternoon cutting in on my cleaning time. Argh.
  As for the rest of the weekend - there's an antique show in Ottawa where a vendor who specializes in the pressed glass my mother collected is attending. It's a perfect opportunity to ask for their opinion on how best to sell my mother's collection ( and maybe arrange an assessment.) I had plans to go down on Sunday and I had asked my mother-in-law if she'd like to attend. Great she'd replied. I was thinking an afternoon just the two of us and my husband could get a little shopping in and drop in to see my mother. Maybe make dinner.
   And then the phone rang. It was my very best friend, my "little sister" Nancy. For some years now we have been separated by the fact she lives in downtown Toronto, and I in small town Almonte. We visit when we can, arrange weekends away in cabins, talk on the phone and exchange FB statuses to keep up with our lives. Last year she bought a farm not more than 90 minutes away.I'm delighted to have her so close by - but they haven't yet moved in. She and her husband are taking a year to wind things up in Toronto and prepare for their new lives in Parham. And apparently the last time they were at their farm they left one of their cars there and now need to retrieve it. So she was calling to ask if she took the train to Smith Falls, could I pick her up and drive her to the farm. And she's was thinking she'd arrive at noon on Saturday. This is my best friend. Of course I'm going to say yes - I just need to figure out how I'm going to do it.
  How to be in three places at once?  First I have to get Miriam to her cookie selling rondevous and that means she will come to mine where another mother who has both a guide and a brownie will drop off the brownie and collect my guide to deliver them to their spot and then return to sell with us. When asked which he preferred to do, my husband chose to come find me on the streets selling cookies, then he can bring my son, and we'll swap places. He'll sit in the van doling out cases of cookies  while Arthur and I head to church and then after I've done my activity at church, I will flee leaving Arthur there, return to my moving depot and swap back with my husband who will then collect Arthur at 11:30 and drive to Smith Falls to collect Nancy and return here with her. That way I get a visit with her, she'll stay to dinner and overnight, and the next day I'll drive her to the farm and then my mother-in-law and I can go to the antique show which is in the opposite direction. My dear darling husband, upon hearing the plans, offered to drive Nancy to the farm and do the shopping and visit to my mother on the way home.  I think that's how this weekend will work.
   Yep it looks like our lives are filling up with the usual craziness. Now if this stupid cold would disappear.

Zen and the art of house paint.

   Now that Camp Aunt is in rest mode - and before I have to get moving on all the other projects like the drama club presentation, the holiday in Europe, Stage Camp and Art Camp and what remains of my parent's possessions etc., I need to chill out my overactive organizing nature at little. I need some zen. In the past I have used various means to this end. I have happily enrolled in the Julia Cameron school of daily pages, I have learned new skills designed to get your brain to disengage like knitting (I'm just not proficient enough to truly disengage while trying not to lose stitches) or yoga (which I like even if my body complains afterwards) and a favorite failure - meditation. I just can't sit still enough, long enough to do it. I feel like Julia Roberts in that movie Eat, Pray Love. I'm useless. However I have found a few things that do work for me.
   Painting things is an activity I enjoy. It's one of those calming chores like ironing shirts, washing dishes or even shoveling snow. Something about the slow repetitive actions or the enormity of that huge pile of shirts/snow/dishes/unpainted walls forces my over active brain to drop down a few levels of hyper into something closer to zen. I get a little into my head and I stop worrying about all the other things I have to do - because for this moment right now I am doing this.
   Well the snow is melting away and despite a last ditch attempt on Mother Nature's part to give us a snow day at the end of March Break - there's no zen out there. The dishes are still good but I need something bigger but I'm not really interested in doing the shirts that have piled up over the past few weeks - so that is why I am happily crawling around on the floors at 10pm at night taping off the bottom of baseboards and sanding down patches everywhere. I can hardly wait to get the paint on everything. And why I didn't hire both my neighbour and his friend to do the job. I wanted in on the zen.
   Martin has been doing a great job. He's being meticulous about filling, scraping, caulking and even priming in spots. Which means I'll have a great looking house when he's finished.  But it starting to defeat the zen of painting. I need that quiet endlessness and prepping stuff is not zen. It's smart, it's good workmanship, it's professional - but the five year old inside me is screaming - "Paint now!" It is with extraordinary will power that I too take the time to caulk, and fill and sand. I even stopped twice to hammer the nail heads back into the wood where they had worked their way out. And the most astonishing chore - washing with T.S.P. before you do anything - well I did buy the bottle of prep liquid but even Martin hasn't got that kind of patience either.
   So finally I can get going - I'm dressed in my best work clothes, and ready to start when I check out the time - I have to stop now and take my mother to an appointment. That means getting changed, and driving down to her, getting her ready, there, back, stop at Timmies, back to the nursing home and finally home to paint - but now it's 4pm and Martin is practically done for the day. Tomorrow I promise myself - I can paint tomorrow - until I remember I have drama club - but it's just an hour.
   The next day I'm up and at em - and Martin isn't. he has an appointment in town - ( I knew that.) No problem - I will happily paint - and I do - all the trim in the front hall including two coats on my front door. It's wonderful. I stop and change for drama club - I'll be back soon and martin will be too and we can get some serious painting done - because we've done so much prep already. WooHoo - but once I get to the school life intervenes. And its 3:30 by the time I get back - and at 4 Martin has to leave - his boys have a doctor's appointment. " I might come back tonight." but I'm not holding my breath. His family have a pretty hectic schedule - I'm hoping his wife ties him down on the sofa for some quiet tv instead of letting him paint my hallway.  But my need for closure on this project is now starting to ramp up. My parents-in-law are arriving tomorrow and literally everything in my house is turned upside down. Thank goodness their staying at my in-laws instead of here. But still..... So at 10pm I am crawling around my baseboards, taping off and thinking to myself it's okay if I don't caulk that, or redo this the furniture will hide it all. And as for the T.S.P. (snort) as they text - ROTFL.
   Now it's Wednesday - I have drama club, a visit to my mother, a child home sick from school, and a to do list of calls to make. How on earth am I going to find the zen now. Maybe that's when I need it most. Well time to post this - Walls are calling!

The fish are still here.

March Break is officially over.
   The nieces left a few days ago. I can tell because the cats re-emerged from hiding. At first they wandered the entire house searching out every corner for fear one was simple lurking behind, ready to pounce on them. And once the cats figured out that their home turf was free of screaming three foot tall fans - they celebrated. For more than an hour the two of them chased each other, their own, tails, anything they could find throughout the house; careening off the sides of walls, leaping over each other or launching themselves from the tops of furniture or people unfortunate enough to try taking a nap. Eventually even kitten energy runs down and they returned to hanging out in my room - just on top of the bed instead of under it.
   The dog looks decidedly calmer. But I figure he is missing the attention. If nothing else the little girls spent a lot of time with him, patting him, brushing him, admiring him. His love of being loved was evident. However even the dog can have too much of a good thing and towards the end of the visit, there were yelps and an occasional growl. I rescued him with a treat and an hour on the deck. Normally he hates being outside by himself but the weather was turning nicer and the sunlight and peacefulness enough to placate him.
   But the fish are still here. They are class room fish. Creatures purchased by teachers everywhere to help instill responsibility and confidence and empathy into their young charges. However there comes that point when the class finishes and the fish need new homes. Since it had been Arthur's idea to get the fish in the first place - I was pretty certain they'd eventually end up here - but June is still a ways off - and yet there are now fish in my home. Arthur's teacher suggested the day before the break started -that perhaps the fish might not return to school - but I reminded her we'd be away for two weeks and the fish would need care. She reluctantly agreed to let them return. But now Arthur wants to clean their tank at school - so the fish stayed home with me today while my son spends his recess doing his version of spring cleaning. Great.
   As for the rest of my time - I have a grand total of three days off before my husband's parent arrive for their visit. And that usually means getting the house clean - so I of course took it just a tad further. And as I write this there are polyfiller patches on the walls where the pictures used to hang and all the furniture is in the center of the room so that the walls can be painted! Oh joy. ( Actually yea Martin - he's my neighbour and he's painting them with/for me.) I know most people just run the vacumn around and perhaps dust the shelves. What can I say - oh and guess what - the cold's back!

Homeward bound.

   Eventually everybody came home. After dinner the twins and I enjoyed the peace to choose what we wanted to watch on TV. Of course that meant a movie - and if it's a movie then it's got to be a Barbie movie. Out of the twelve or so Barbie movies ( ours and theirs) to choose from they want to see the one where there are two Barbies and the Barbies sing about "Two voices, one song." Drat Mattel for putting small singing devices in those dolls - I've been listening to nothing else for three days and now this movie is going to ramp that up another level.
   Oh well - I really shouldn't complain - it's not forever and it's not like I haven't listened to similar stuff in the past. Miriam was a huge Dora fan. In fact her third or fourth word was "Abba" which we finally figured out meant "abrie" or open in Spanish - something Dora says often. And I certainly survived all those " Come On Vamos" jingles, and even the seven different Dora dolls most of whom sang too.  And Arthur had one toy we came to dread. Chomper, a talking truckbot, that looked like a cross between a dinosaur and a construction vehicle. He could speak in both English and French and his sensor was so delicate that walking through the room would set him off. " Hi, my name's Chomper. Do you want to play?" It was forever going off at strange times. One night a mouse set it off and the next day I was using screwdrivers to get in at the speakers and disconnect them.
   Thus, by the time Uncle Robin had joined us at 6:30 the movie was well underway and they were singing happily if off key and off word - and I felt I had earned a brief escape. I went back to those piles of paper strewn across every surface in my office. Now I should explain my office. Right now you're probably picturing  a room with some kind of desk, a chair and maybe a table or cabinet. That's not my office - It is also home to a large and increasingly sprawling HO model train layout, a scrap-booking/sewing/summer camp materials depot and as Brownie leader, my kit and all the stuff for meetings also reside here. Finding a level surface is not easy - let alone finding an empty one. The walls are covered in shelves and hooks, the work surfaces are covered in tracks and miniature houses and every available nook is stuffed with some kind of organizer container holding some sort of supply. All that remains is my desk on which lives the computer monitor and too many pieces of paper.        
   So when I said I was down to sorting through that last three feet of paperwork - it meant I had to pull it out of the space it had been temporarily stored in and then separated into the various bills, statements, and records and then I had to pull out the older ones from the filing cabinet and merge the present with the past. I know you're supposed to save 7 years worth of past income tax stuff - but what's the rule for telephone bills and dental claims? I figure I have enough room to keep maybe three or four years of that stuff. After all -you can't claim it for a tax deduction and no-one's ever asked to see this stuff. So I pull out the shredder and start weeding through, eliminating 2005, 2006 in order to make room for 2009 and 2010. The pile of paper reduces but the bag of shredded scraps is growing. And it's boring - so I turn on the tv set I have here for just this purpose. And luckily a great show is about to start. A new episode of Glee!
   You cannot watch a great show like Glee and run a paper shredder. And now Uncle Robin is taking one twin upstairs to bed and none of the older kids have returned, so there's no  one to watch the remain three year old. Oh well paper will wait - I'll watch Glee in the main playroom and hopefully it won't be one of their sexier episodes. This is working well until someone opens their mouth to sing and Shirley looks up, grabs the singing Barbie and joins in. I can tell you that those two voices - Disney & Glee- do not make one song!  The cacophony is straining my head and that migraine is threatening to return. I give up Glee. And thankfully Shirley gives up singing.
   It's now past eight and more than twenty four hours since Nichelle and Maryanne left on their overnight. Could it be their hostess is enjoying their company sooo much? Nope - the phone rings and she's explaining to me how time got away from her ( I know what she means) - the girls will be home soon. They arrive in minutes. Strangely - this time she doesn't seem eager to stay and chat. Oh well - the timing means it'll take just a little longer to get Maryanne calm enough for bed so Uncle Robin takes Shirley up to her bed and in what feels like less than two minutes he's back. "All set - good night!" and he's gone. There's no noise coming from the twins and I don't dare open the door to check on them. Let 'sleeping?' twins lie is my motto.
  I get Maryanne to bed before too long. just me and Nichelle left up. I don't get to spend a lot of time with this niece. She's a pretty self sufficent girl and when ever I see her she's got her head in a book or a DS or of course she's playing with Arthur and Miriam - so I don't want to miss an opportunity to do some bonding with her. "How about a movie?" I suggest. "Okay" and we look through what I have on hand. She's seen them all or she's not interested. Then I spot the DVD my neighbour burned for me. "Ooh yes" she agrees to that one. We settle in to watch The King's Speech. I've seen it before so as Nichelle gets confused about who everyone is - sorting out the kings of England and why their names keep changing becomes a running dialogue. Eventually we've seen the movie and I send her off to sleep. But I've missed Glee - even the west coast airing - oh well thank goodness for the internet. I'll watch it tomorrow in peace and quiet. Time for bed for myself as well.

Day Five:  Not having Arthur home means I don't have to get up early to give him his meds. A Sleep-in! Until I remember that it's garbage day. Not having my husband home means I do have to get up and get the garbage to the curb before the pickup - and on our street - it's early. ARGH! No sleep-in.  I stumble around and pull on boots and coat over jammies and drag the stuff out. Now I'm wide awake - well I'll blog for a bit.
The noise of my efforts has roused the cats - I let them out and the ginger male pushes open the bedroom door and ounces on Nichelle. So she's up early too. She's in a chatty mood (not conducive for writing) so remembering how confusing last night's character list was - I pull up the list of Kings and Queens of England on my laptop and we sit together as I go through it with her. If nothing else - a child with Aspberger's syndrome has the ability to learn minutia if the topic interests them. I'm hoping she's interested. Her eye's don't seem to be glazing over - so I show her the mnemonic "Willy, Willy, Harry Steev" that children have used forever to remember the succession. Either she's inhaled the information and is now bored or she's being very polite, either way I release her to her DS and go back to blogging. Now the other girls are awake - oh well - time to get going any way.
   Breakfast this morning - Hmmmm - No one is interested in Ostrich eggs on alligator hide with frog egg jam. Instead we have scrambled eggs on cheese whiz toast. Happy they all ate it - I do the dishes, get dressed and leave all four to play together. But apparently without the presence of my kids these girls have reverted to their at home personalities and for the first time at Camp Aunt there is squabbling amongst them. Instead of intervening I choose instead to start packing up all their stuff in anticipation of their going home today. I start in the twins room and deflate the air mattress and gather clothes and toys up. I find a sippy cup wedged under the bed. It's been there since day one - and the milk is looking decidedly thick. Then I move on to Miriam's room and do the same with the air mattress there. I decide that the bigger girls are responsible for packing their stuff. things are quiet again downstairs so I figure I can get back to the blog.
  And again the morning has slipped away. I catch the arrival of a van out of the corner of my eye just as I finish writing. The teenager is here for her last round of helping. Where did the time go? But it turns out not to be her. Instead Miriam is home early from her sleepover playdate. "She banged her head at the swimming pool yesterday and this morning says she isn't feeling well." The mother looks a little nervous - but I know my daughter - she didn't tell anyone about the banged head for fear they'd make her get out of the pool early. So I'm not upset - but I do examine the pale purple bruise on her forehead and thank the mother and gather in her stuff. Oh well - it's not a bad idea that she's home this afternoon with her cousins. I go back to try and edit the blog and this time the vehicle that I spot at the end of our driveway is the teenager arriving. Oh well - I post and pray there aren't too many glaring spelling/typo errors. ( Forgive me the ones you found yesterday dear readers.)  
   Lunch is just underway and I'm thinking about that paperwork waiting in the basement and how to barricade myself in to get it finished -when Arthur calls. "When will you be here Mum?"  Okay - apparently he wants to come home now. "It'll be a bit - I need to put on socks" and I give up again on getting household chores accomplished. Oh well -Arthur's friend lives in the same town as my mother's nursing home - I can deal with a couple of bills, and pick up my son and then drop in to see her briefly. Arthur hasn't been to visit since Nana moved in so this is a kill-two-birds scenario. Alright - off I go again. The teenager has lunch and crafts and five girls - and I have some fresh air.
   Arthur and I get back around 2pm. The front hall is now filled with my children's incoming paraphenalia and my niece's outgoing accouterments. Thank goodness we did that reno years ago. Our home is a typical 1970's raised ranch style home where the entrance is actually the landing between the two levels. But that entrance is always the size of a postage stamp with only space for the door to swing and one person to stand before someone or something gets pushed onto the stairs. When my husband and I bought our house, my father (an architect) drew up plans for a small extension - 7x12  feet of breathing room and as soon as we could afford it - we did the work. The resulting space means I can accommodate a week's worth of groceries, schoolbags, snow suits, and myraid of boots when we throw our annual christmas party. I'm waiting until the teenager is finished her duties, is paid and sent on her way home before I call the older kids to the front hall.
"Nichelle- you are responsible for helping me get the sleeping bags rolled up."
" Maryanne - you get all the pillows and bring them here."
" Arthur - please take your stuff up to your room - but do not unpack before I get a chance to vacumn the floor."
" Miriam - take your stuff and put it away - and don't tell me you don't feel well - you've been bouncing around all afternoon."
"Then everyone is going to tidy up the playroom." I finish " Including putting away the Duplo, the Barbies, and picking up all the crayons!"
   Orders given and the work commences. The twins get a tad confused and try bring their stuff back into Arthur's room which causes loud discussions; but, by 5pm the entrance is sorted, the playroom tidier and everything ready for the return of the Newfoundland adults.
   My husband calls - they're on the road from the airport and due home within the half hour. Time to put the pizzas in the oven. I juggle the racks and figure if I put the bottom pizza on the tray then the top one can go in as is - and both should cook evenly. I set the timer, then set the table, and set myself down to read the newspaper until dinner. Somehow I missed the timer going off. Maybe that was when the screams from downstairs about whose turn it was on the Wii distracted me. Yes - after five days everyone's running out of nice behaviour. They've been very good - but I can't say I blame them. We're all tired of keeping our best foot forward. I turn off the oven and call the kids to do their dinner duties. Arthur complains he's can't find a sippy cup for the twins because I packed them all. Maryanne has taken the twins to wash hands, Miriam is putting napkins down around the table but arguing that we don't need cutlery for pizza and Nichelle is not here in the kitchen where I want her - I call for her- "Coming" she answers, but doesn't. I call again, " Just putting away my DS, " "Come now!" I answer, and still no Nichelle. Even my best behaviour has run out. "NOW!" I scream at the top of my lungs, whereupon Nichelle arrives looking terrified, and there's another pitching scream from the bathroom and Audrey is suddenly tugging at me telling me Shirley's hurt. She wouldn't let go of the towel they all like to use for drying their hands and Maryanne pulled at it and Shirley got pulled off the step stool and landed on her face. Great - the adults will be here in minutes and three out of the four nieces are in tears and everyone is yelling. What a way to end the visit.  I throw my arms around the littlest, hugs and reassurance - she's fine, then I tell the next one I'm not mad at her and send them to the table. I find my eldest niece, apologize for scaring her and get everyone seated. But the top pizza is stuck to the rack and I make a mess of it getting it out, Oh well - I cut around the dark brown crusty bits, making up plates of pizza bites for the twins and eventually everyone is happy. We say grace and I breathe. And that's when the adults come home.

Togetherness is over rated.

  When I was a child - an only child, it was my greatest dream to live in a large family. Every year I would carefully ask Santa for siblings, I would make friends with girls who did have large families and beg for sleepovers and I wondered at how the largest family on our street (14) managed in the smallest house.
When I went to camp and was surrounded by hundreds of girls for a month - it was wonderful to pretend that this was one huge family sitting down together in the dining hall. Alas - by the time my father remarried and I got a stepsister and stepbrother - it was too late - I was in my early 20's and away from home.
   When I grew old enough to contemplate having a family of my own - I pictured a busy home, several children with loads of friends in and out, neighbours who dropped over regularly and the happiness of large gatherings around a long long table laden with good food and drink. That is why I gleefully include family and dear friends for family occasions and extend my table into the living room with desks and folding tables and wooden boards every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
   So if truth be told I was kind of excited and actually looking forward to having a large family for a few days. But what is a novelty for me is not for the children. They all have siblings, whether it is just one or three. Any way you slice it - for them the fantasy family must be the autonomy of the only child. Ah yes the grass is always greener and all that.  Which is why at the first opportunity presented, each one of the older four found a way to flee the house for an overnight somewhere else.
   Nichelle and Maryanne each have as best friends a pair of sisters with the same age gap. Their mother was good friends with my sister-in-law and the two families often swap girls and pick up or drop off duties between their daughter's various activities and interests. My sister-in-law had told me that her friend was offering help and I gladly pounced upon it.
   Lets face it - My house isn't completely girl zone. Arthur commands the computer and Wii - dictating often the choices and those choices often include blowing up something - loudly, violently. He's 12. Hardly appropriate for six year old girls who love Tinkerbell. Miriam has long acclimatized to her brother's tastes and often happily joins in building forts and digging virtual tunnels on MineCraft or watching endless YouTube videos on how to adapt your Bionacle to become a bigger badder version of itself.  So other than the Duplo Lego, some crayons and craft supplies and a few Barbies that Miriam can't bring herself to part with - there is a limited amount of entertainment value at my house for four girls.
  Monday evening after dinner - Nichelle and Maryanne packed up their sleeping bags and a few clothes in anticipation of a sleepover with their best friends. Uncle Robin had arrived again to help with the twins and the twins had decided they were helping their older sisters pack. So I sent him in to supervise, thinking he as an adult would restrain three year olds from leaping from Miriam's elevated bed, over the bookcase and on to the airmattress upon which Nichelle was struggling to stuff her sleeping bag into it's case. "YAHOO" echoed down the hallway and I went to investigate. Apparently I was mistaken - as Audrey flew through the air narrowly missing the corner jutting out from under Miriam's mattress and landing face first on the now soggy airmattress.   Thankfully her older sister's weight had pushed enough air to the end she landed on and the child merely bounced and rolled off. I removed her for a brief time out and scowled at her uncle. I'm thinking perhaps I should have given him the timeout instead.
   Then their hostess arrives to pick them up. While she and I chat in the front hall - Nichelle is sent back to collect toothbrushes - and then socks and then her DS until everything is collected. Meanwhile Maryanne is introducing her best friend ,who had come along on the pick-up, to all the animals - and it takes a few more minutes to gather up those two girls. The mother is in no rush to leave and stands happily chatting and holding my ginger cat and looks like she'd stay forever but I can see the first of my writing group friends pulling up outside and so I reluctantly kind of push my nieces out the door for their sleepover playdate. They'll be back tomorrow at dinner time. maybe. maybe later, maybe not. They're fine.
   Arthur had spent the day at his friends house and that set of parents upon learning about Camp Aunt offered to take him for a sleep over as well. I agreed however Arthur decides he's coming home. And Miriam had fled quickly in the afternoon to her friend next door. But she returned at dinner time too. So this evening after the twins are put to bed - Uncle Robin is getting better at this and avoids being sucked into their evil lair and departs, it's just my two and my weekly writing group of four. Two of them are mothers so my brief interruptions to tell three year olds to stop jumping and go to bed, to stop singing and go to sleep, and finally JUST GO TO SLEEP - are not too disruptive and eventually they too depart. It's now practically 11pm so I let Miriam finish the tv show she's glued to - some silly thing called Splatalot where kids are running a obstacle course designed to make them fall into soap suds and goo and padded large objects. The latest craze in reality tv. And then it's bed. I fall into it and 7am comes way too soon.
  
   Day Four:  I have ambitions today. My head has finally stopped and the cough/cold is down to a dull roar. I don't have to take my Mother anywhere. The twins ask for a simple breakfast and my two are so slow to rise that I leave them to fend for themselves. I think I'll get some housework done - perhaps the bathrooms and some vacumning and then when the teenager is here I might escape and do a little shopping. Then the evening I can put away more of the piles of paper. Sounds terrific to me. But before breakfast is finished, I have discovered that Arthur was unable to resist the computer the day before when he was babysitting ( Miriam snitched) and I have to address this. " No computer today until after dinner. " He is devastated. ( He's often devasted so I take this in stride.) Half an hour of tears and self pity and I'm fed up. We'll do some homework review. Arthur has several issues he is learning to cope with -  a learning disability concerning how he inputs information and then regurgitates it and his high functioning autism and ADHD. So studying is still something of a new idea for him and we are learning the best ways to do it. Basically if he reads something and I leave him alone for day and then come back to it to review - he has it down pat. But if I try pushing a new idea through - especially one that requires manipulating a concept through several stages until you see the conclusion it is extremely hard on him. The frustration builds up a block and the block leads to more frustration and we end up in a vicious Catch-22. This morning is a review opportunity and he sails through the first seven questions giving me straightforward if still brief answers. It's the next question where things break down again. We are back to the tears in a few minutes. I cut him some slack and suggest he call a friend. By now the twins have gotten bored with the Barbies and little ponies they brought, and they don't want Duplo today and they've wandered into our study session demanding snacks and attention. This is the final straw for Arthur and he decides that only escape will do. So instead of getting any house cleaning done I'm now helping him with packing - he's heading out as soon as the teenager gets here and I can drop him off.
   Miriam is not going to be left behind with the three year olds. I can't blame her - They are now playing with a Barbie that sings " Two voices, one song " and they join in every time. Lucky for her her school friend calls and offers to take her swimming. "Can I?" - of course. I even give her some money to treat her friend. The time had fled by - it's now almost noon , lunch time and the teenager is here and I haven't done anything more than the dishes and make my bed. Argh - oh well - I'll do a little shopping when I drop off Arthur and then sneak back in the house and at least get a start on that paperwork.
   For one whole week my mother had no phone. Now it's finally working and she can find me. Oh joy, oh bliss. It takes several calls with her to convince her that her precious Globe and mail was delivered and that someone has misplaced it and she should ask one of the staff at the home for help locating it. Call three is to tell me she's found it. Yahoo. Then I too run into a friend - and with no real pressing business, I enjoy the chat. Then I realize I haven't eaten lunch - I treat myself to a guilty Big Mac and eventually I have the shopping I wanted, and I head home - but the time again has slipped by too quickly and the teenager's mother arrives too soon to collect her. There's a phone message from Miriam - Can she stay at her friend's over night? I pack her stuff happy that she is having a sleepover like the other three big kids.
  The house is surprisingly quiet. It's just me and the twins left and they have an appetite like a small bird. So much for this lovely big family time. To hell with the diet - Pop-tarts for dinner!

The Honeymoon is over.

Well it's now been two full days of Camp Aunt and the honeymoon is definitely over. They are no longer quietly playing fearful of disturbing my headache, sweetly sharing toys and helping each other open things or pat the cats nicely.  Now it Audrey full gallop through the house clutching a Dora figurine with a sombero and hollering "YAHOO" at decibel 11.  Or young Shirley, evil grin on her face as I catch her squeezing the cat's head and saying - "Kitty needs to clean her teeth now."  Nichelle found a Wii game she hadn't mastered and with the dedicated focus only kids with Aspberger's have - proceeded to play the same musical game over and over and over and over and over again. After 5 hours I pulled the plug.

Last night's bedtime did not go as smoothly as the first. Granted introducing Uncle Robin into the mix meant that the twins figured it was more like being home and so they proceeded to play their uncle like the master manipulators they are. Instead of Audrey in bed by 7:30 it was nearer 8:15, which meant that I rushed getting Maryanne and Shirley into their respective beds. Uncle Robin took the three year old and I took the 6. I'had tucked her in and promised her she could look at a book for a couple of minutes when I thought I check on the twins. Opening the door quietly I found both wide awake and their uncle asleep on the bed. I kicked him out and frowned fiercely at the girls. "Bedtime" I announced and shut the door. I had just retired to the basement when I heard the patter of feet along the hallway overhead. Up I go - whereupon I find all three girls bouncing around on Maryanne's bed. I pulled the outraged Aunt routine." Back to Bed " I bellowed. And the twins scurried to their room. I shut the door on the six year old and then firmly informed the three year olds it was bedtime and that was that and shut the door on them. I can hear singing from the six year old. " Quiet" I yell in the direction of her door. "Stop singing and go to sleep". Then I disappear again down the hall - pausing briefly to hear if they are in fact being quiet - and finally escaping once more in to my office.
   A while later one of the older kids comes to ask me if they can have a snack. " Fine with me but be careful about noise" I warn them. When they return it's to inform me someone is crying - they don't know who - but it might be Maryanne. It was. Apparently  the singing wasn't singing it was tears. She thought I would blame her for the twins getting out of bed. Note to self - lighten up on the fierceness around her.  We have a cuddle and a feel better cookie and I tell her how much I love her - how she's my very special niece because of all the times we've done stuff just the two of us, and I get her back to bed. Now it almost 10:30. Argh. I was hoping to get the nine year old in bed by now. I'll have to wait until Maryanne is asleep.  So when the clock strikes 11 pm I send the last three to their respective beds. The girls go quietly but my son is wired , first asking for another snack, then trying to tell me he can't read, but can he watch the tv?, etc etc. And I myself made the mistake of taking a night time cold med to help rid myself of the still present cold/cough. Non-drowsy my ass- the damn things have left me bright-eyed and perky. Which is why I'm still awake and typing the blog at 1am when my son is still awake too.

Day 3 has dawned and I refused to get up and give Arthur any meds - my best guess is that he slept maybe four hours. One day off the stimulants may get his sleep back on track. Today I have a meeting in the morning and will test out the twelve year olds babysitting skills. I know Nichelle took the town's course and so should have the basic skill set - and Arthur has been doing it for months now - granted just during the day and only himself and Miriam to watch - so tackling the crowd will be a new challenge. I'm confident they can handle it. but never-the-less I ban computer games to ensure concentration on the task.  They are fine. The house is still standing , the duplo is spread now from one end of the play room to the other and everyone seems focused on their individual games. "YAHOO"
   The Teenager arrived on time - so I happily left her with hotdogs to make, a craft for the afternoon and only the five girls. Arthur has phoned a friend and found a way to escape the estrogen filled house. I drop him off on my way to care for my mother.
   Up until very recently my mother was still living on her own - with help. Lots of it. We had PSW's in every day, sometimes two of them, and also myself. We were there to get her up, fed, bathed, to do errands, housekeeping, and take her for her many appointments, and every night I went back again to make her dinner. It's a routine that leaves you tired - not because the work is strenuous but the timing is tough. After a long day to have to go out again at 7 pm just when you want to be home and stopping was probably the toughest for me. And I couldn't bring her to live at my house - she's put that stipulation into her will and legal  papers, besides she'd have never managed the stairs. So we did everything we could to leave her at home safely - but time ran out. More falls, some confusion about taking pills, less and less ability to walk and more and more sleeping meant that I finally had to nudge her about applying for a bed in long term care. We only selected one place - but I already knew they had vacancies. And within the month she had a bed. It's not perfect - she wants a private room. And we always knew the whole idea of eating at standard times was never going to be acceptable to my mother who hasn't eaten her dinner earlier than 7pm for seventy years, but not worrying about her on her own is worth every conversation over this past two weeks when she's asked me again "Are you sure we couldn't just hire more people to come to my house and I could go home?" It breaks my heart to deny her - but I know she is now eating better, moving more, sleeping less, and in far far better care then even the best PSWs and myself could give her at home. So now I show up and take her for appointments and we always stop at Timmies for a snack before going back to the Manor. She's slowly coming to except it.
  Home just after 4pm and all is quiet - for approximately 3 minutes. Then a request for cookies means that three littlest ones are sitting at the kitchen table and they all want to dunk their cookies in milk. The cookies are way too big to dunk I point out, but Maryanne then snaps hers in half and shoves it into her glass where upon Audrey informs me that her sippy cup won't do, she needs a open glass too. And Shirley is waving her cookie around and has attracted the attention of the dog who moves in hopeful for an opportunity to get some of this good stuff. Now I have three girls all screaming about the dog - Shirley tries hoping off her chair to push his snout into his water bowl while still holding her cookie above her head to keep it safe. Of course the dog is tall enough and she is short enough that mere centimeters separate his mouth from successfully stealing it. Then Audrey has managed to twist off her sippy cup lid and is frustratingly trying to shove a huge sugar cookie into it to dunk and pieces are falling - the dog deserts Shirley and heads Audrey's way - she screams loudly. Maryanne now has the idea of banning the dog from the kitchen so she rescues her sister from impending dog and pulls him out the kitchen door, closing it behind him. He simply walks around through the living and dining rooms and in through the other doorway which has no door. The screams erupt again. Now Shirley is mad because she can't get her sippy cup open, Maryanne has finished and wants to go play downstairs and Audrey has crumbs everywhere upon which the dog is feasting. And throughout it all, I can hear the same song repeating over and over as Nichelle works systematically through that Wii game downstairs. I look at the teenager, whose parent has arrived to get her, and smile - "Same time tomorrow?"

Don't try this alone or how many sprinkles are too many?

  The first night went well. I guess the excitement and new rooms helped. I spaced out bedtimes for the twins and Maryanne at half hour intervals. My own Miriam wanted desperately to stay up with the twelve year olds so I  agreed. and the four of us snuggled into the huge sofa to watch tv. I was the first alseep. One minute we're watching Project Runway and the next I know some millionaire is giving money to a kitchen. It didn't take too long to persuade them into their beds. The last ones I turned the lights out on were the kittens and I locked them up in the spare room to save everyone from midnight pounces. Then I swallowed a last desperate two pain killers and fell into bed praying sleep would come quickly and the migraine would leave.

 Day 2 - Not only am I awake early to give Arthur his ADHD meds, but so's the migraine. I swallow 2 more Advils. They're the only ones making any 'headway' on this pain. Great now I'm wide awake, and it was also Spring ahead last night so my body thinks it's 6am but the clocks all say 7. Either way it's too early!
  Normally I would have made a cuppa tea and settled down to some Facebook time. But I gave up FB for Lent. It made sense - after all I couldn't give up anything food wise - we are planning a trip to Europe just before Easter and I'm sure as heck not missing out on any culinary opportunity so I needed to choose something significant and not impinge upon my european pleasures. Facebook it was. Besides - I could use that time for planning, packing, maybe even a little writing. I like writing. I even belong to a writing group. Not that I actually wrote a book - but I keep slogging away on a draft I did during a NaNoWriMo. The draft took 30 days, the edit is on year two now. Oh well.
  So I sat with my cuppa and pondered how if I hadn't given up FB I'd probably be on it telling my friends all about the spaghetti dinner fiasco and how I was looking after 6 children on my own and it struck me that it might make for a blog. So I started this one. I've never blogged before - felt I didn't have a hook - but what the heck. even if the only people who ever read it are my closest friends and family - I can at least accomplish a couple of things - I can getting a little writing in and still share with friends the craziness at my house this week. I'll just need to send out one massive email and let people know what I'm up to.
  Sometime around 9am there were stirrings and a couple of the girls emerged. Soon everyone but Miriam was awake and downstairs happily watching tv. Miriam loves to sleep in. She's made a nest out of her bed and her favorite thing is to curl up in her fuzzy blanket and turn around a few times and go back to sleep. We call her a dragon and her bed a lair. It certainly looks like one.  I finished the first post, checked it twice and then published. Then I noticed several typos and grammatical mistakes - oh too bad. I'm hungry and so are the kids.
   Most weekends my husband makes a fabulous breakfast of sausages, potatoes and eggs. My head is still pounding and the nausea from the pain means the idea of scrambling anything is right out. And I'm still not sure how much these kids eat. I know my own children's appetites, but the girls are a different set of likes and dislikes. i pullout the cereal, toast and fruit. That way they can choose. I burn the first batch of toast because I'm pulled away to change a wet bum and forgot to ask a twelve year old to take over. Not that that would actually mean they'd have saved the toast. They both have a tendency to be a little oblivious. It's the nature of their autism. So I madly scraped the worst off and and buttered them well. First meltdown occurs now. The very youngest - Shirley doesn't want to leave the toys and come back up for breakfast. Arthur tries talking, then promises to play with her afterwards, then calls for reinforcements. Nichelle is more practical. She picks her little sister up but the child wiggles and threatens to bite her so Nichelle lets her go again. Now it's my turn.
I get her to the table, and I put some toast with cheese whiz on her plate.
  " You have to eat some." I told her " Then you can go back and play."  Her scowl was classic. In the end I won, she ate two pieces of toast and drank her juice and Arthur happily went downstairs with her to build with Lego duplo. ( I kept all of it even when he outgrew it - it's a life saver.)
   So breakfast is over and other than Audrey who changes her clothes four or five times a day if she can - everyone else is content to stay in jammies. I declare it pajama day and  head for the dishes. Oh well - two bowls of barely eaten Captain Crunch are swimming in milk. I eat them. I love Captain Crunch and I can't bear to see it wasted. However I have no problems letting the remainder of the Koala Krispies go. And I made too much toast. I have 5 slices left over. It looks like I'm doing grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.
  The remaining time until lunch went swiftly. I find the spaghetti stained clothing of Maryanne and run it through with a load of laundry. It comes out still stained. I do a second round, this time using stain fighter.
  After a lunch I start working my way through the disaster in my office. Over the last year I have found myself taking on more and more responsibility concerning my parents' affairs along with an enormous influx of information concerning our son who was only just recently diagnosed, and of course the usual flood of reports, statements and bills and information that regularly comes addressed to us; until I had ended up with over 14 feet of paper. I don't mean laid out end to end - I mean a stack that stood 14 feet high. I went to Ikea and bought those magazine holders just to hold it all. It's taken me 9 months but I'm down to the last three feet. And today was the day I needed to dig out the stuff for the financial planner and the tax info for my husband. So keeping a ear open for any fights that might break out, I hid out in my office and started sorting the last stacks into smaller and more specific piles. It was a job I wouldn't see the end of until bedtime.

  Some time in the mid afternoon a request came for snacks. Then before I knew it the dinner hour was sneaking up on me. Something else had snuck up too. Peace in my brain. I realized the migraine was abating. Oh thank God for that. But what for dinner. I remembered vaguely mentioning something to my husband as he'd made the shopping list the day before and in anticipation I pulled open the freezer. Brilliant man had bought two packages of fish fillets and two bags of french fries. Yes - easy dinner. Add a few peas and carrots and we are laughing. Dessert - oops. I had planned to make cookies earlier but forgot to do it in the afternoon. Since no one had come whining about being bored - and my head hadn't distracted me - I'd forgotten. And it was too late to make a pudding or jello. Hmmmmmm ah we'll make them as dessert. oatmeal were fast - that's perfect.
  Oatmeal cookies are not what they wanted. It took several rounds to persuade some of the nieces to eat the fish. They're Newfies - they should love fish! Argh. The peas however everyone scarfed down. A few flew across the table, and I can't say they were pushed tidily up the back of forks but rather scooped, sucked, plucked and pierced ; but they were eaten. So when I announced we'd make cookies - there were screams of delight which turned sour when I said oatmeal.
" Mum - we have sugar cookie mix - lots of it - why can't we make sugar cookies?"  Sugar cookies mean sprinkles - and rolling, and cookie cutters, and they take a lot more effort. I remember well how incredibly frustrating it was to make sugar cookies with just two kids when they'd been little - the thought of six doing it overwhelmed me. I was about to try renegotiating when there came a knock on the door. Really - a knock - it was my sister-in-law's brother. or my brother-in-law's brother-in-law. Any way you look at it - he was the only other competent adult family member not in Newfoundland for the funeral and he was here to help. Yes!
Okay - we'll make sugar cookies!
  An abundance of sprinkles is important when you are three. So I have never complained when young cooks decorate a single cookie leaving no space uncovered. However when the sprinkles overflow and start to cover the cookie sheet I feel the need to surreptitiously remove a few. Otherwise the cookies were a hit. It meant that we were a tad behind getting to bed - but then their little bodies were still thinking it was a hour earlier than the clocks so I didn't mind. But the sugar content in even one cookie meant that it was a long time before eyes finally shut.  At last count only my son and I were awake and it is1am. Oh well - my migraine is gone - I'll sleep well if only for a short while. 

Spaghetti Dinner

  It's March Break - and for most mothers that means scurrying about to find child care options. Of course it's expected that the little darlings will return to their own homes and beds at night. But for our family it's a little different. This time around I have one dog, two cats, three classroom fish boarding with us, my four nieces and they're all my responsibility for the next five days.

 This March Break started two days too soon. We had a snow day, which meant keeping the kids home from school just when I was thinking I could get a few little extra errands in and maybe sneak in a little me time before the week started for real. Oh well, my kids are older and pretty independent - so it wasn't the hardship it was when they were little and easily bored and needing supervision. So I rose slowly and re planned my day with a few less chores. perhaps I'd treat us to pizza tonight - my husband is out on Thursdays so I like to make the evening a family one for me and the kids. We could get out those scouting and guiding books and perhaps pick out a badge or two to work on next week. And I could insist on getting the fish tank ready in preparation for the visiting classroom fish that were due home tomorrow.
  Tea in hand, I mused with myself and occasionally with my two computer addicted kids, what the week would be like. We could get in a little exercise - a preparation for our upcoming trip to Europe where we would be doing a lot of walking. Even if the weather was horrid ( and here in the southern Ontario that is a real possibility) we had the Wii. So I pictured the three of us taking turns doing our Wii fit programs and sometimes outside dragging the dog for a walk. Then there were those badges - an hour or so each day, around the kitchen table working on  my 12 yr old son's scout car for the upcoming races or  a paper mache mask with my 9 yr old daughter's theatre badge in guides - Perhaps a little music in the background - or some cookies in the oven.  Not too strenuous a program, certainly not one which deprived them of free time - but one designed to keep the computer gaming time down. Hopefully I could keep it reigned in to a few hours each evening instead of all day sessions.
  So when the phone rang I was in a pleasant state of imagined organization; a week of happy well rested diversity wherein I the perfect mother would have provided a happy holiday for my loving family.... and then I heard my sister-in-law say "Nan's dead."

The rest of that day was spent making phone calls, receiving phone calls - and realizing that my happy plans for the next 10 days had just been kicked out the window. First of all I should tell you who Nan is. She's the last living grandparent on my husband's side. A lovely lady - who had eleven children and a very hard life. My husband is the oldest child of her oldest child ( his mother) and there are aunts and uncles younger than he and I in the family. He has one brother who lives in the same town we do and I get along well with his wife and their four girls. It's been very helpful having family.
  I am an only child and have no experience with siblings, so my husband's clan often intrigue me. Last year when both my parents ( who divorced 30 years earlier) were ill, I found myself travelling a lot between them to help. My father was diagnosed with cancer and opted for surgery but did not properly recover and after a month died. My mother who suffers from osteoarthritis and Alzheimer's fell, then fell again and soon was unable to do much for herself and needed care. So the year previously, I had relied heavily upon my sister-in-law to take in my children at moment's notice and to help. In the midst of that craziness, my husband's very favorite grandmother had died ( his father's mother) and because of my parents, he opted to stay home and help with my mother and our children instead of travelling home to Newfoundland for the funeral. So this time around it was clear to me - it was his turn to go home. So far this made sense.
  But there was more. My sister-in-law was now facing the same situation as I had last year. Her father was battling cancer and he wasn't winning. I had been urging her to go home to see him before things progressed to death and so when her husband also decided he was flying home for the funeral she decided to go as well. Then she could see her dad and give her mum a small break. Then it became clear that with travelling time included the three other adults would be gone for five days and I would be alone with all the kids.
  Here's the breakdown - Arthur my son, who is 12 years old and has autism and ADHD; Nichelle my eldest niece - also 12 years old, also has autism ( Aspberger's), Miriam , my daughter, 9 years old,  Maryanne, the next niece who is 6 and very tiny, and then the twins Audrey and Shirley, my last two nieces, both three and potty training.

So by Friday evening when most families were relaxing and looking forward to a quiet night I was frantically moving through my house preparing for 4 young house guests and my husband was still at work trying to get ahead of the job he'd be missing the following week. That's when the migraine hit. A migraine that wouldn't let up. I was still harbouring a nasty cough rooted deep in my chest and between the sinuses and hacking I was ingesting cold meds every four hours so in an effort to not overdose I was sparing with the painkillers. It didn't work. The migraine took hold full bore leaving me with my head covered in writhing pain and the house still a tip.

Saturday: Day One of Camp Aunt. The other adults don't leave until later in the day - so my husband undertook the shopping - the migraine is still going full steam and I haven't yet been able to get in touch with any of the people my sister-in-law told me would help. I put in a call to a teenager I know for extra babysitting help.  By four oclock we are ready. I have planned to put the twins in my son's room which meant we spent the morning clearing out all the precious intricate cars and paraphernalia and putting up a barrier to the loft. Then I moved the bed and blew up an air mattress and hoped the remaining stuff was safe from inquisitive three year olds.  My daughter also tidied - she would be hosting the older girls in her room. All that was left was  prepping dinner. Spaghetti seemed easy. I swallowed more meds (the migraine now seemed a permanent part of my health along with the stupid cold/cough) and started making a sauce.
  Then they arrived. The bags moved in - all 15 of them - between toys and bedding and snacks and extra mittens - they overflowed my entrance spilling up the stairs towards the bedrooms. We got them sorted and then hugged the outgoing adults and waved on their way. I'm alone now with six children looking at me expectantly. Spaghetti dinner!  I organized the older ones - the 12year olds on serving food and milk, the nine year old on setting forks and spoons, the 6 year old getting hands washed and everyone to the table ( she's a terrific shepherd).
"Aunt - is there any cheese? "
" Why yes" and I reached into the fridge for the fresh Parmesan. It was a tad clumped so I gave it a shake and the lid flew - Instantly I have Parmesan cheese all over me, the counter, the floor, the stove and one of the plates of spaghetti. The cats and dog move in swiftly.
" Maybe I won't have cheese after all" says the twelve year old. and she takes a fresh plate into the dining room whereupon she trips and spills the hot dinner over the head of her six year old sister. The piercing screams penetrates through my head like a hot poker.
  Still covered in cheese myself, I rescue my niece, stripping her clothes and applying cold compresses to the bright red spots on her shoulder and leg where the dinner fell. She's okay, and returns to the table in her jammies to have a fresh dinner. I make some kind of joke about her and I being the dinner and she shakes her curls to show me the sauce still stuck in her hair. I'll give her a bath later.
So it's less than 20 minutes into this adventure and there's food on the floor which the animals have given up trying to eat, one child injured and filthy and I have small grains of Parmesan encrusted in my eyebrows. This bodes well......