Monday, 28 May 2012

Loooooooooong Summer

Let me preface this post with an obvious, but need to state explicitly, statement:  I love my son.  I would do anything for him, I love him to pieces and wouldn't change a thing about him, because he is unique, brilliant, and oh-so-popular with others.  Girls included.

Last night, while cuddling with Sashimi in bed, I told him that he had to go to school today because this was the last week of kindergarten.  He was fine with that, and then Keesadilla chimed in: Yea!  And then Sashimi will be home everyday!  I could only weakly mutter: yeeeeeaaaah...

Because here is the honest truth: I am dreading summer. It may be a shocker to some of you, but Sashimi and I don't get along so well on a day-to-day level. We love each other fiercely, but somehow we butt heads at everything.  He hurts himself, he blames me.  He has to do chores, he yells at me and blames me.  When he asks for a snack and I tell him no, he gets upset and says that I can't control HIS body. I am somehow stifling his individuality and sense of being just by being his mother.

I never thought it would be this way.  One of my best friends has a very similar relationship with her nearly-10-year-old son.  When I met them six years ago, I saw the way he would get frustrated and mad at her, and I thought it would NEVER be that way with my as-of-yet unborn child.

Fastforward six years, and it's the SAME. Sashimi is an amazing kid. His teachers have nothing but glowing praise for him, he is very well-liked by his classmates, busmates, bus driver, and the neighbourhood kids.  Other kids' parents think he is soooo neat, and he is.  He is awesome. 
Somehow, his awesomeness and my natural awesomeness cannot be in the same house for too long or they create some sort of sinister reaction that turn us both into snarling venomous beasts.  We feed off each other, and it's just a whirling cesspool of yaksauce. 

School keeps us both on better terms.  He has a great day with his friends and comes home in a good mood, and it generally stays that way until he goes to bed.  Non-school days are another story. He needs stimulation outside our home, and I can't blame him.  I spend all day taking care of his train-loving brother and baby sister, our world revolving around her naps.  It's not exactly a 5-year old's dream summer. 

I have been trying to look at my summer options for operation: stay sane.  Thus far, my search for summer entertainment for Sashimi have come up short.  He is too young to register for our community's Summer Fun program (trust me, I called).  There's the library's reading program, but that still means I have to drag iBean and Keesadilla with me, which may be more trouble than it's worth.  To top it off, I feel guilty because if Sashimi knew that I was trying to find ways for him to get out of the house away from me, he would get pretty anxious. He doesn't like being away from his family for any reason other than school: he would even rather stay home and not play with his friends than go to a friend's house alone. 

So, if anyone has any ideas they want to share on how to keep both Sashimi and I sane and on good terms for three whole months, please let me know.  And in this case, alcohol is not the answer.  Ok, maybe it's one answer, but it cannot be the answer everyday. I have a figure to maintain...

Sunday, 20 May 2012

Real iced tea *face palm*

Sashimi and Keesadilla loves them some iced tea.  They love it at restaurants, they love it at the park, they love it at my parents' place when we roast hot dogs in their fire pit.

Wait. Scratch that.  They love "real" iced tea. 

Yesterday, I decided to make some homemade iced tea.  You know, with tea bags and hot water and lemon and sugar.  The kind that you have to let steep and then cool in the fridge for hours until it's actually "iced" and not just, well, tea.  While I was making it, the boys looked at me with a scrunched up "I smell a stinky bum" face.

Sashimi: What's that smell?
Me: It's iced tea.
S: That's not iced tea.  That smells like TEA!
M: Sashimi, this is REAL iced tea.
S: No, it's not!
M: Yes, it is.
S: No, I want REAL iced tea!  You know, the can with the powder that you mix with water...
M: That is NOT real iced tea.
S (because, of course, 5-year-old boys know everything): Yes it is!
M: Where do you think the name "ICED TEA" comes from?  It's TEA...that's ICED, which means COLD!
S: Well this smells gross.  I want the powder stuff.
M: Well, we're all out of powder, so if you want iced tea, you'll have to wait until this is cooled off.
Keesadilla (sticking his two cents in): NO!  I don't WANNA!  I WANT IT RIGHT NOW!

Bah.  So I put the jug in the fridge and waited for my freon to work its magic.  And shook my head at how something as simple as iced tea powder can make my kids so food-dumb.

Fast forward a few hours.  The iced tea is now ICED ICED BABY!  I poured myself a small massive glass and slammed it back like I used to do with Long Island Iced Tea ponies at the Moon Saloon when I was a skanky teenager.*  And by pony I mean those pitchers that are, like, half the size of a regular pitcher of beer.  And you looked sooooo sexy on the dance floor in your plastic leather pants, sipping from one of those pitchers filled with neon green alcoholic something-or-other while gyrating to some Destiny's Child billboard hit. Or "IIIIIIIIII'M Comin' up, so you betta get this party STARTED!!"

Anyhoo...let's jump back to 2012. I served the kids each a small glass of iced tea** with their supper.  Before they even realized it, they had drank it all and were asking for seconds.  Sashimi even said that it was BETTER than real iced tea.  *face palm*

* Quick note, I was never a skank in any way.  I always dressed in very loose paisley-print clothing that completely concealed my curves and cleavage.  I also spent all of my free time at church praying for those poor lost souls in the bar who would never find what they were looking for at the bottom of a pony.

** Just to clarify: there was no alcohol in the kids' iced tea. Only poor lost souls put alcohol in their iced tea.  Sheesh.