In Canada, they don’t call it “Spring Break” because the break actually happens before Spring. It’s called March Break. After enduring two winters, I now believe it’s because by the time March arrives, every Canadian is ready to make a break for it.
My kids have two weeks off from school and nursery school. Most of the kids in this area get one week, but my kids are extra-special sparkle snowflakes (that’s sarcasm, in case you missed it) and get TWO. This year, as with last, we did not participate in the Great Canadian Temporary Migration, and are instead here, enduring fluctuating temperatures and the occasional irritating snowfall.
My two closest pals here have abandoned me for warmer places. One is in Playa Del Carmen Mexico, and the other is somewhere in Florida. I have blocked out where for everyone else’s sanity.
Last week, the first week of March Break, I filled the week with random playdates. This was both brilliant and semi-masochistic: it meant I had to maintain a level of clean and tidy that I don’t usually achieve. The kids had fun, we went through loads of playdate food, all went well.
This week, I have not filled the week, thinking I’d need a break from the constant maintenance (nut sweeps for allergic friends; spotless bathrooms for new friends; toy tossing, etc). The fact that we don’t have 3 or more playdates this week means my social 6-year old is filled with sadness. “What?! NO ONE is coming OVER?” It’s the end of the world, darling. Do your homework. My not-so-social 2-year old is grateful, I think. By the end of last week, she was getting very territorial over her favorite things, having done her best to share (even though that’s against the Toddler Code) with lots of friends.
I didn’t intend for this to be a snarky rant, so I won’t also tell you that I’m tired of being creative in the kitchen and would really love to let go of that insistent feeling that my children should eat well-balanced meals. It’s my own demon, and I’m working hard to let her go. Last night, we had pancakes. They were delicious. It’s now close to noon, and I don’t really have a good plan for tonight’s dinner. I’m hoping inspiration hits after I’ve visited the
torturist dentist with my 6-year old this afternoon.