Firefly sunset

Last night while the big kids were (at long last) finishing their Harry Potter movie marathon (which they started mid-May), I was reading stories to Alexander and Zoë when the sky turned red, drawing us all to the window, and then to the back deck. We stood and watched the sunset grow redder and redder, lighting up the sky behind the dark silhouettes of the trees. And as we were staring off into the woods we saw an elusive flash of light. Then another. And another. 

Fireflies!

Benjamin's baptism

In an alternate reality we would have been physically surrounded by family today. My mom and dad were supposed to visit us this week. My sister Kelli had a plane ticket to come see us. Grandpa was talking about flying out as well. But, as we all know, coronavirus happened and we ended up being rather alone today.

Benjamin had his bishop's interview via video call a couple of weeks ago:

I just can't even...

When I first moved to the states and we went to register at the school, the guidance counselor kind of just fit me into classes that had room for me rather than thinking about what kind of classes I might need. Thus it was that I ended up in remedial English and US History Honors (with a u (had to backspace it out of there)). I'm not sure I'll ever feel not offended by that.

I'm not upset about it anymore, really. I got through it just fine. But I just...why?

Anyway, US History (Honors!) was a difficult class for me because so much of it was Brand New Information. Or at least it was information that I had been taught but hadn't been forced to memorize and...uhhhhh...worship. The first week of school we had to take a quiz on the names of the fifty states, plus their capitols, plus their location on the map. My brain felt like it was exploding.

Canada has 10 provinces and (at the time I had to memorize them) 2 territories (now there are 3 territories). Being forced to memorize fifty names, capitols, and locations felt utterly overwhelming.

But I did it, by golly.

And by "did it" I mean "got 100%" because I'm a little bit of a perfectionist so anything less than 100% is an abominable failure and I'm really working on not being like this.

Molten oatmeal

This morning the kids woke up and started getting breakfast on their own, as they've been trained to do. They've all been using the microwave since they were three or four. And, I mean, sure...sometimes things end up a little bit flame-y...but mostly the fact that they can fend for themselves (usually) makes my life a whole lot easier. 

So I had just come down to the dining room and was checking on Alexander who—very oddly—had not come to me first thing in the morning and was still in his pyjamas and nighttime diaper, a clear indication that he had not gone potty. When there was a blood-curdling scream from the kitchen.

Everyone ran there in a hurry and tried to figure out what had happened to Zoë. 

Oatmeal was...everywhere...and Zoë was curled up on the floor screaming and crying.

Nope, nope, nope.

First of all, we're probably going to pass 200,000 COVID cases within a week, which is super fun. The kids and I went for a walk at one park, which was fairly empty, and then drove over to the pool we have a pass to to see how busy it was (there were about five other cars at the parking lot, which felt a bit too busy for me) and then headed over to another more popular park (with river access) to see how full it was and the parking lot was jam-packed. There were so many people there it was ridiculous. The kids really wanted to cool off in the river but we just headed home (to find a package from my sister—blow up balls that you go inside of and bounce off of each other—so we played with the toys she'd sent us and then broke out the splash pad she sent us last month (she is single-handedly keeping us together this pandemic)). 

Second of all, today I saw some really bad takes on the internet that I'd like to take a minute to address. The internet is full of bad takes, but some of them just irk me a little more than others. This particular bad take is that George Floyd shouldn't be "martyrized" because he has a criminal record. In fact, he's a felon! Or was. He had, by all accounts, managed to turn his life around and has spent the last several years living clean. But whatever.

Eight is great!

After dinner we gathered around the table to celebrate Benjamin's birthday again (for real this time). Here are the kids smiling by the cupcakes (except for Zoë who is not smiling and who had a day):

 

Alexander in the evening

Not last night but the night before was a rather rough night for Alexander. There was a lot of screaming. He kept getting up and just screaming. Nothing in particular seemed to be wrong. He didn't need to go potty. He wasn't thirsty. He got to choose his favourite lullabies to listen to. He had his favourite bedtime things. The fan was blowing gently. It's wasn't too light or too dark. Everything should have been just fine but he just kept waking up and screaming. I think he really just wanted to climb into bed with me but also really wanted a sticker so was just torn over sleeping at all.

When it was finally morning I told him that if he pulled another stunt like that he wouldn't get a sticker. Like, neat-o that he "stayed in bed" all night but also a big part of staying in bed is not sneaking to the side of my bed and yelling in my face every twenty minutes. He agreed that was, perhaps, a little annoying and when I put him to bed last night he agreed that he wouldn't scream when he got up in the night.

And so, at around 3:30, I heard a gentle knocking on my bedroom door before it opened, just a crack.

"Mom," Alexander whispered. "I'm not screaming, but my hands have so many owies."

"What?" I asked groggily.

Benjamin's birthday eve

It's the last day of this sweet little boy being seven years old. We started celebrating him on Monday with a portion of our Family Night devoted to writing on balloons for his birthday tree.

He is appropriately wearing an octopus shirt

Broken windows (and empty hallways)

I feel like I've been glazing windows for forever and that I will be glazing windows forever. I managed to rope Miriam into helping me for a few minutes this afternoon. She'd been asking to learn how previously but was reluctant to help today because Rachel was in the middle of decorating some cupcakes for a Young Women's Camp activity tomorrow (they're showing off their baking skills on zoom since we're having the "home edition" of Young Women's Camp this year) and Miriam wanted to help. 

Rachel was just making fondant and didn't want Miriam's help at that exact moment, so I told Miriam that glazing compound was very similar to fondant. So she came and put some glazing around one window while she waited for Rachel to finish mixing up the fondant and then she abandoned me.

Rise up

I honestly don't know what to say or do right now. I don't have any eloquent words to deliver. 

I don't know what to do. I didn't feel like joining in any marches was safe (Andrew's office building downtown had its windows smashed in, for example). I didn't volunteer to help clean things up downtown either.

We just stayed home...where we've been pretty much solidly for the last few months. 

I was already worried about what the numbers (the coronavirus numbers) would look like after Memorial Day weekend. Now I'm doubly worried about what we'll see over the next couple of weeks with so many people—thousands and thousands and thousands—out on the streets, protesting racial injustices still so prevalent in our society. And rightly so. 

We talked about racism for our church lesson today. I picked some resources out and was surprised when Andrew knew about the people who wrote them just off the top of his head. I had to look them up. But, anyway, the first story I shared was a talk by Alexander B. Morrison.