4:52

One of the hardest parts of having Mr. Level-Headed work in Nunvut is that I am always "on". There is no downtime or break. It is me who stays up with Leif in the middle of the night when he decides that sleep is for babies, and it is me who has to wake up with Harriet every morning at 6:24 like clockwork. It is me who has to stay up and talk with one of the Big 3 at 10 o'clock at night when something is on their mind or they have something extremely important to share, which typically ends up being some weird YouTube video that has recently gone viral. And it is me who has to talk to disgruntled drama teachers when they call to inform me late one Sunday evening that: a)  my child has a major role in the school's upcoming play. b) my child does not know his lines. c) my child only attends about 50% of the scheduled practices and d) which is my favourite, the play is in two weeks. Which all comes down to the fact that it is me who will have to help this dear, sweet child of mine (cough, cough . . . Avery) to learn his lines.

With all of this responsibility weighing heavily upon me, I get tired and cranky, super cranky, and I feel like, lately, that I spend most of my time either yelling at the kids or doling out punishments. This is not how I like to parent. It drains me physically, emotionally and spiritually. I love nothing more than being a mother, but sometimes I want nothing more than to run away.

Luckily for me and my kiddos, who have faced the wrath of dragon mama far more often than they deserve lately, we got to run away this weekend. I swear there is nothing better for your soul than a good old fashion road trip. On Friday morning, Elliot, Avery, Leif, Harriet and I piled into the Loser Cruiser and headed up to Woodstock, NB for Elliot's provincial basketball tournament. All week as I planned and prepared for this trip, I had to squash many panic attacks and negative Nelly thoughts like:

Are you crazy? Taking 4 kids between the ages of 14 and 7 months on a road trip . . . ALL BY YOURSELF!

But I knew it needed to be done, I knew we could do it and I knew we would enjoy it, and thankfully, it didn't take long for me to prove to myself that yes, this was a good idea:

We had been driving for about an hour and the sun was shining. We each had a bag of penny candy on our lap, and our favourite song had just come on the radio. Immediately, Elliot started rapping, while Avery and I took care of the backup vocals. Leif and Harriet, who were enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere in the car, began to laugh and squeal. The song became louder but it was no match for us wee Websters and a Skov, who are known for being a pretty loud bunch. We belted out the lyrics and danced in our seats. At one point I turned to look at Elliot, who was waving his arms like some mad maestro, and it suddenly hit me: 

Gosh! I like this kid. I really like him.

And then I looked at Avery, who is smack dab in the middle of puberty and who has lost all brain function because of it, and I thought:

Oh my goodness! I even like him too.

And hearing Leif and Harriet giggle made me forget how difficult they had made it to pack our bags earlier that morning.

For 4 minutes and 52 glorious seconds, while our song played, I was able to block out my to-do lists, my concerns, and my responsibilities, and I was able to just have fun with my munchkins. It was priceless! And it was exactly what I needed to help me get through the next five weeks until Mr. Level-Headed returns home,

On a side note, I guess I should make this blog official . . . Shenanigans Inc. will be relocating to Rankin Inlet, Nunavut as of July 2016. Crazy, right? Crazy and exciting!

And now for some photos of our weekend:

 This face . . . I will crush you boy like I crushed this cheerio that is now stuck to my hand . . . hahahaha!

Go, Huskies, go!

Poolside!

The Storyteller

I love toddlers! Sure, they are wild, and crazy, and volatile, and stubborn, and downright difficult at times, but that is all part of their charm and let me tell you, Leif is charming. I swear he has me cast under his spell because no matter how much I want to throttle him when he does something foolish like eat his brother's deodorant and then throw it up all over the floor or colour over every inch of my walls in brown crayon, in the next breath all I want to do is smother him in kisses and cast my own spell over him so that he will stay exactly like he is . . . right now . . . forever and ever and ever. Since I have been unsuccessful at tapping into my inner witch and, like the rest of my children, this tiny bundle of energy, mischief and curiosity is bound to grow up on me, I am left trying to bottle up the moments we share on the ol' blog.

So, here goes . . .

Tonight, as Leif and I sat on his tiny bed in the corner of my room reading stories, he decided to tell me his very own story, complete with actions.

Mom, what is this?

Leif flipped through the books beside his bed and pretended to pick something up. I could tell it was tiny.

It's a key! It fell from the sky.

I asked him what the key was for.

To that door . . .

As he pointed across the room.

What do you think is behind the door, Leif?

Fishes and oh, look a lion! The lion runs fast, mom. Oh, he jumped up to the sky! We need a ladder. 

Where is the ladder, Leif?

Oh, no! The monster has it. Wait! I see the monster's feet.

Are those his footprints, Leif?

Yes, they are his feet. And there's the giraffe's feet.

Where do they lead?

In there . . .

As he points to the bathroom.

What are the monster and the giraffe doing in the bathroom?

They are playing with a star.

Oh! Is it a bright star?

Yeah. Juice, mom?

Are you ready for your juice, Leif?

Yes.

And that was it; Leif's first story.

Perhaps he will be our writer.