How to Cast, Rehearse and Perform a Play with 30 Preschoolers in Three Hours

kingYoungest celebrated his sixth birthday this weekend, and when I asked him what he wanted to do for his party, he said, “Put on a play with my friends.”

A full three years ago, Middlest had chosen to do a play for HIS sixth birthday, a fact that I had all but forgotten.  So what was surprising about Youngest’s request was not so much that he wanted to put on a play but that he remembered that such a thing could be done with friends at a birthday party.

I guided Youngest to the theme of medieval knights and castles because he loves to dress up and do sword fights, but also because I had a dozen copies of Castles: How They Work on hand from a previous party!  The book has since gone out of print, so I had to shop for the rest of the books that would go into the guests’ loot bag.  I found Marcia Williams’s retelling of the stories of King Arthur, which was perfect, but I couldn’t get enough copies of that book, either, so I also picked up her retelling of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.

Now, The Canterbury Tales are not exactly every child’s cup of tea, so I read Williams’s version to make sure that this book would be a good pick to send home with the kids at the end of the party.  Not only was it a great pick, it became the foundation of the three plays that the kids performed on the day.

Youngest is mightily fond of farts.  Honestly, I have never met a boy who delights in the gas we pass more than he does.  The Canterbury Tales is well-stocked with stories with farts, but I stayed well away from those for the plays.  Instead, I adapted The Nuns’ Priest’s Tale, The Franklin’s Tale, and The Knight’s Tale to be performed by 6-10 kids in a 10-minute performance.  Thirty kids; three plays; thirty minutes.  That means stripping the story to its bare bones, making sure that there is plenty of action for the kids to perform, and including as much humour and audience participation as possible.

I learned this technique of performing plays with young kids from their fabulous playschool teacher, who regularly works with the kids to perform plays as part of her playschool programming.  Briefly, here’s how it works: the Narrator tells the story, and the kids act it out.  It’s that simple.  In this way, the Narrator has (theoretical) control of the action (this came in handy during the sword fighting scene), and the kids have close guidance of what to do and say.  The kids can create their own characters and story, which is what I did for the party three years ago, or you can narrate a story that you have prepared.

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Here is how I stripped down and adapted The Nuns’ Priest’s Tale:

Chantecleer the Rockstar Rooster

Pertelote the Rockstar Hen

The Fox

The Chickens

In the courtyard of a castle there lived a rooster, Chantecleer, his wife Pertelote, and a brood of happy chickens. Chantecleer was very proud of his very fine voice, and the whole castle depended on his morning call. He and Pertelote would greet each day in perfect harmony, and at the end of the day, all of the birds would curl up to sleep.

One morning, before the sun rose, Chantecleer began to moan and groan in his sleep. The noise woke Pertelote, who then shook him awake. He had had a very bad dream. He dreamed that an orange monster with pointy ears, a long, pointy nose, white, sharp teeth and a bushy tail had chased him around and around and tried to eat him!

Ask Audience: What could it be?

He was sure that the dream had a meaning and that it meant that he should not sing his beautiful song that day.

Pertelote told him that was nonsense. She said his bad dream was because he had eaten too much the night before. She told him not to worry and to hurry up and get ready for their morning song. She gave him his microphone, and they both got ready to sing.

Ask Audience: Are you ready for their song? What will it sound like? Sing along if you know the words.

PLAY first verse and chorus of “What Does the Fox Say?” (heh heh)  Chickens dance and sing.

Well, the Fox did NOT like this song, not one little bit. So he hid behind a bush to watch for his chance to eat Chantecleer and put an end to this nonsense.

Chantecleer saw the fox hiding and was very afraid. Pertelote was afraid. The happy chickens were afraid, and they all crowded together. Chantecleer began to run away, but the clever Fox said,

Stop!

He told him he had come to make friends and to hear his singing, which was famous even all the way to the forest. Chantecleer was very proud of his voice, so he was easily tricked into trusting the fox.  The fox said that his voice would sound even better if he did one special trick. The Fox showed him exactly what to do: close his eyes and stretch his neck way, way up.  So Chantecleer closed his eyes and stretched his neck way, way up.

And the Fox snapped him up and carried him off to the forest. He ran this way and that. The chickens ran after him, trying to save Chantecleer, but they could not keep up.  They stopped to catch their breath.

Oh! Poor Chantecleer! It looked like his goose was cooked, but Chantecleer was not just any pretty chicken. He had brains and he planned to use them.

He said, “Stop, Fox! You have outrun them now. You can slow down and tell the chickens that they might as well go home.” The Fox, who was not the sharpest crayon in the box, was quite happy to boast of his success and he opened his mouth to reply.

FREEZE

Ask audience: what will happen next?

Chantecleer flew free and flew to the top of a tree.

Poor Fox. He tried to flatter the rooster back to ground, but Chantecleer was older and wiser now, and crowed triumphantly at the monster from his dream.

Actors take a bow.

Beautiful literature, it is not.  However, it was a whole lot of fun to rehearse and perform this story with a group of 4-6 year-olds.

Here is what we did to prepare:

Props and costumes: Chantecleer, egg carton chicken masks, toilet roll microphone, fox nose and ears.

Props and costumes: Chantecleer, egg carton chicken masks, toilet roll microphone, fox nose and ears.

1.  Invite guests to attend the party in costume and tell them that they will have a chance to perform in a play.  Have extra costumes on hand.  (We have years’ worth of Halloween costumes.)  Lots of knights and princesses came to this party.  One child came as a dragon, so I added a dragon to one of the plays.  I needed a brood of chickens, so Youngest and I made chicken masks from egg cartons ahead of time.  All of the chickens wore princess dresses.  No problem.  The play is large; it can contain multitudes.

2.  After all the guests arrive, gather them in a circle and tell them, very briefly, the story for each play.  Then ask for volunteers for the roles.  Kids can also choose to just watch the plays.  The first stage of casting is done.

3.  Work with groups of 6-10 kids at a time.  Rehearse in a space separate from the rest of the kids so that there are no distractions and so that the final production will be new to the kids in the audience.  Tell the story briefly again, and finish assigning the roles.

4.  Now begin rehearsing.  The Narrator stands “on stage” with the kids and narrates the action of the play from downstage, nearly in the wings; the kids act out what is being narrated.  As you go, elicit what their characters would say.  Some kids will be eager to say lines.  Some will not.  You can narrate for the kids who would prefer not to speak.  Some kids will decide that they don’t like the role they chose.  Switch roles.  Some kids will decide they don’t want to perform.  That’s fine, too.

5.  Rehearse each play separately, then assemble all the kids for the Final Performance.  I invited parents to return for the last hour of the party to watch the plays.  Each group takes a turn performing its play.

6.  Have fun.  Expect hiccups.  Roll with it.

The party was a three-hour whirlwind, and while I rehearsed with the kids, my husband and the parents who had stayed for the party supervised those who were not rehearsing.  They grazed at the food table, they played, they did not kill or maim each other with their toy swords.  I knew we would not have time for cake, so after the performance, we sang “Happy Birthday,” then each guest went home with a book, a bookmark made by the birthday boy, and a birthday cookie made by the amazingly talented Christy at DolceDesserts.

photo 1

And then I sat down and did not get up for a good, long time.

Guest Post: Roseanne Carrara on Ruins & Mezes: Touring the Eastern Mediterranean and Morocco

Each year, for March Break , I adapt a famous story for the kids, substituting animals for the title characters, and changing the settings as need be. Each tale sets us longing for travel. One dream: to trace the faces of Easter Island’s Moai statues beneath the moonlight, as do the bears in our version of the Bible’s Jacob & Esau story, The Coronation of the Easter Bunny Bear. Another: to visit the churches, greens, and pubs of Ireland frequented, secretly, by A Study in Emerald’s leading snake, Sir Lochrann Holmes and his buddy McUaitson. Three: an eco-tour of B.C.’s Great Bear Rainforest, whose funds would support the health of the wild salmon population while opposing the trophy hunting of bears, black, white, and grizzly. Maybe, we’d even glimpse a rare white mooksgm’ol, the inspiration for Ahma, the Spirit Bear, our treatment of Jane Austen’s Emma.

Nothing, however, has gotten me closer to phoning a travel agency or booking online than this year’s Bearicles, our take on Shakespeare’s Pericles, Prince of Tyre. The kids and I spent hours mapping the eastern cities of the Ancient Mediterranean (Tyre, Antioch, Ephesus, Tarsus), comparing them to a current map (Lebanon, Syria, Greece, Turkey), and plotting a long, eventful trip of our own! Forays into Mediterranean cooking inspired us all the more. To complement the story, we made Lebanese manakish (flatbreads), Syrian ma’amool cookies, Turkish pide (pizzas), lemony Greek calamari , and baklava! I even went “West” one evening by myself, making a complicated Moroccan tagine. For the kids and I, it was “ruins” and “mezes” (little tastes) all week.

So if money, vacation time, and social and political upheaval were nothing to worry about, my ideal family get-away would be a historical and culinary tour of the Eastern Mediterranean (Greece, Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, and Jerusalem) with an extended lay-over in Morocco on the way back home!

1. First stop, Greece, for a view of the Acropolis  and an Epitourean experience in Athens. We’d have a taste of loukomades, a wind around the spice and seafood stalls of the Varvakeios market, and an Ancient Greek dinner. Our next sleep might be in Mytilini, Lesvos , where we’d tour the Medieval Castle, the Ouzo factories, and have a fish feast in the old harbor.

Ephesus

Ruins of Ephesus

2. Then, Turkey, where the perfect tour has already been planned for us by Truffle Pig. We’d get lost in the streets of Istanbul, visit the Blue Mosque and Topkapi palace, balloon around Capadocia, and visit the ruins of Ephesus, especially the Temple of Artemis, featured prominently in Bearicles. Then, off to Gaziantep for cooking lessons and lots of experimenting with Turkish flavours and food!

3. After a look at the Roman ruins of Apamea , Syria, we might tackle a week-long tour such as this : a taste of baklava and a visit to the souk al-Tanabel market in Damascus, a Bedouin dinner in the desert near the ruins of Palymyra, and dinner and a few cooking tips in the “gastronomic capital,” Aleppo.

4. Next up, Lebanon, with a sure stop at the Temple of Jupiter in the ruins at Ba’albeck. This Taste of Lebanon Culinary Journey offers what we’re after: a seven day journey in which we’d sample Lebanese cuisine, learn how to make sujuk sausage, kibbeh, and Arabic bread, and pay a visit to both a sweets castle and spice fields for za’atar.

5. Our last stop in the East is Israel. First, a glimpse of the ruins of the Knight’s Castle in Arsuf. We’d follow this up with a serious tour of Jeruslaem, including, of course, the Western Wall . We’d love to finish up with one of Tali Freidman’s culinary tours of Jersualem’s famous Mahane-Yehuda market.

Turkish Spices6. Last stop, a long lay-over in Morocco, North-Western Africa, where we’d visit the famous Casablanca, ride camels, explore the ancient medinas of Fes, get lost in the spice markets. This would be the ultimate place for a serious family culinary tour, hosted, ideally, by the inspiring Peggy Markel . In Marrakesch, the Atlas Mountains, and Essouaria, we’d learn to cook in the famed tagine, bake bread in wood-fired ovens, eat figs, and see how argan nuts are collected and used for oil.

I can just see us passing through customs after a few good months of travel: bags full of spice jars, pockets filled with sand and rocks, four sizes of tagine, a selection of metal tea pots and cups (for the bears, of course), bottles of ouzo and olive and argan oils, dried salted fish wrapped in paper, silk scarves, wicker hats, sketches of ruins and the sea, stretched waistbands, tanned, happy faces, yes, and hands, four pairs of them, blessed with the ability to re-create most everything we’d tasted in the Mediterranean we’d come to know.

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Roseanne Carrara blogs at The Lunchbox Season  and Summer of Funner . These also have a Facebook Page. Her professional site is In Defense of Burning .

 

 

Vacation of our Dreams, Times Three

untitledEldest wants to go to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Middlest wants to go on an African safari.  Youngest wants to go to Disney.

Me?  Any and all of the above, with just one child at a time.

If time is a parent’s most precious resource, quality time alone with each child is even more hard to come by.  In the vacations of my dreams, I get to take one child on his own on a life-changing adventure.  And since I’d be more than happy to do all of the above, I’ll let the kids decide.

I am a traveller who is pretty well wed to her itinerary.  I like to plan carefully, cover as much ground as humanly possible, and leave with no regrets of opportunities missed or sights unseen.  One of my favourite passages from Jennifer Coburn’s We’ll Always Have Paris comes after she and her daughter have decided on a whim to do things out of order, swapping the days for museum visits.  After going through the Museum of Modern Art in Rome, she says to her daughter,

 “There isn’t a piece in here that I am not one hundred percent in love with….”

“Aren’t you glad we changed the days?” Katie asked.

“We didn’t change the days; we let the days change us.”

Days that change us is what I’m after.  I’m willing to step outside of my safety zone to do that.

I’d also love to step out of my usual roles.  I am the voice of Chores and Homework and The Almighty Clock.  I am the Referee.  I’d really like not to be The Referee.  Yes, a dream vacation would free me up from the roles that pin me down.

Aside from the benefit of not having to be on sibling rivalry duty, time alone with each boy would make the vacation our own special thing.  I love having our own special thing.  My boys all know that I love them, but there’s no substitute for a private joke, a special treat or an amazing memory for cementing that love.

Oh, I’m loving this dreaming so much I just want to go off and plan it!  Not Kilimanjaro, maybe, but local hike.  Not a safari, but a trip to the zoo.  Not Disney, but Canada’s Wonderland is on our doorstep.  Some in-our-own-back-yard special things.

We’ll Always Have Paris: A Mother/Daughter Memoir by Jennifer Coburn

untitledLast week, when the publisher of this book offered 4Mothers a review copy, I did not think things would move quite so quickly.  I said, “yes”; it arrived by FedEx the next morning; I sat down intending only to have a quick look at it, and by that evening I had devoured most of the book.  I could not put it down.  And I could not wait to tell you about it.

Jennifer Coburn’s memoir is about her travels through Europe with her daughter, Katie, and “We’ll always have Paris” is her mantra as she plans for their first trip.  It’s a wistful kind of thought, as is, indeed, her prompt to take the plunge and travel alone with her daughter.  Coburn’s father died when she was still in college, and she begins to fear her own mortality.  She begins to fear that she must hurry up and make special memories for Katie.  Just in case.  If, she thinks, anything were ever to happen to me, my daughter would have the memory of this amazing trip and would be able to say, “We’ll always have Paris.”

As the years pass (and she continues to fail to die the dreaded early death!), so begins a tradition of taking a summer month to travel to a country in Europe.  Her husband is unable to travel with them because of work, so these are strictly mother-daughter trips.  Coburn is a wonderful guide, not only through the cities she recalls, but also through her daughter’s perception of the cities.   We see Paris through the eyes of a nervous mother, who clutches tightly her maps and itineraries, and an excited girl who just wants to immerse herself in the experience.  I especially loved the scene in the famous Paris bookstore Shakespeare and Company, which offers a bed for the night to book-loving travellers.  Because Coburn is a writer, they are offered the “deluxe” accommodation, and eight-year-old Katie pleads with her mother to take the offer of this experience.  While Katie falls immediately to sleep, unfazed by the standards of hygiene, her mother frets and tosses and turns.  Mother and daughter are excellent foils, and it delighted me to read the evident pride Coburn takes in her daughter.  What made the book especially riveting, though, is how Coburn interweaves the tales of their travels with memories of her late father.  She deftly ties in themes from their experiences to memories from her childhood, and I marveled at how skilfully she wove together the joyful and the difficult strands of her past.

I shut the book and began dreaming about where I’d love to take my kids.

And that, as it happens, is the subject of our posts this week.  Along with our guest Roseanne Carrara, we are doing some blue sky thinking about where we would go on our dream vacations with our kids.  Money and time are no object.  There are no constraints.   Where would you take yours?

The Warehouse, The Next Generation

My Dad used to call my mother’s handbag The Warehouse.  I grew up certain that entire episodes of Mission: Impossible and MacGyver could be filmed using the contents of my mother’s purse.

Mine is nowhere near so capacious or fun, but I do have a few tricks in my bag.  Nothing sharp, after forgetting The Rules and having my wonderful Swiss Army knife taken away at the airport.  Sigh.  No bottles with more than 100 ml of liquid, ditto.  Luckily, my favourite hand lotions come in small vessels, and it’s a delicious luxury to have that fragrance on hand.  What mother’s bag is complete without first aid?  I’ve got a complete wee kit.  Hockey arena stubs, naturally.  I have more lip gloss than I can use in a lifetime; three travel with me.  The keys to my Dad’s condo, on a key ring from Egypt, where we lived once upon a time.  A picture of my kids in my wallet, because apparently wallets more often get returned if lost when there’s a picture of kids inside.  Love notes from the kids.  Sticky notes, because you never know when you might have a page-flagging emergency.  A book; always a book.  Today, it’s Cold Comfort Farm, because Samantha Ellis made me want to reread it.  A deck of cards for hurry up and wait rooms.  And, pen addict that I am, I travel with several choices of pens and ink.

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OK, I’m totally kidding about the ink wells, ink pot and and quills!  But that pencil case is full of pens.

I Like the Madness

One of my favourite About Me profiles  is the one on Carrie Snyder’s blog, Obscure Canlit Mama.  It goes,

I’m mother of four, writer, dreamer, planner, runner, teacher, photographer, taking time for a cup of coffee in front of this computer screen. My days are full, yet I keep asking: how can I fill them just a little bit more  — with depth, with care, with pleasure.

That sums up my take on Christmas.  More.  Just a little bit.  With depth, with care, with pleasure.  Bring on the chaos, but let’s make it quality chaos, the kind that memories are made of, the kind that puts smiles on faces.

P1010662I don’t want to simplify.  Not at Christmas, anyway.  I want the madness, the excess, the joy.  I want to work hard to find the perfect gifts for teachers and friends and family alike.  I want people to know that they are appreciated.  I want to bring them happiness with material or consumable goods.  I want to take the one off the cuff reference to a hobby or interest and turn it into a gift to remember.  I want to stay up late wrapping beautiful things beautifully.  I want to hand write each and every one of the 97 cards I mail out, and I want each of them to say one small, special thing.  (I’m still working on that.)

I try pretty hard to keep our lives on an even keel throughout the year.  I like quiet, order and calm.  I like nothing better than a predictable schedule, and enough time in it in which to get bored.  I do not like run of the mill rush and push.  I will say no a lot more often than I say yes.

But at Christmas, I want all that calm and measure to go out the window.  In many religious calendars, festivals around big dates are about chaos.  We temper our piety with excess and madness.

I’m an introvert, and my excess at Christmas is usually on my own terms.  I don’t go to a lot of parties, but even that I have to learn to say “yes” to more often.  I met my husband on a night in December.  I was in graduate school.  I was in the midst of writing term papers.  I would rather have stayed in.  But I didn’t.  I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, out of my tiredness, and I met the love of my life because I said “yes.”  Like Molly Bloom,”yes I said yes I will Yes.”

This Quiet Evening Was Brought to You By … Hockey

So, things have been pretty hectic around here.  (And every single time I say or think that, I know that this is just a drop in the bucket, and things are going to get a whole lot busier.)  Eldest plays Single A hockey, Middlest plays Select hockey but because the coach wants to take this team up to Single A next year, he actually has as much or more ice time a week as his older brother.  That’s 3-5 trips to the rink a week.  Each.  Middlest also had two weekend tournaments in November.  So, yeah, things have been pretty hectic around here, and I miss my family unity.

One glorious night last week, we found ourselves all at home and I had one of the most wonderful evenings with my boys that I’ve had in a long while.  Eldest played chess with Youngest while Middlest practiced his science presentation and played piano.  I made a mediocre dinner of chicken strips and steamed veggies that the kids devoured.  I love it when that happens.  Then Middlest and I made rhubarb bread because he was doing a science presentation on rhubarb the next day, and he was all excited to make something with rhubarb to take to class.  It was an epic fail as far as sharable baking goes (did not come out of the tin in one piece), but still delicious.

No, no we cannot take that to share with the class tomorrow.

No, no we cannot take that to share with the class tomorrow.

But the rhubarb bread will still get eaten!

But the rhubarb bread will still get eaten!

And while it baked, he and Youngest spontaneously decided to draw.  This NEVER happens.  As happy as it makes me to see my kids make art, I had no hand in it.  All intrinsic motivation.  It was beautiful.  And with them occupied, I had time to actually sit with Eldest and chat about school.  Again, this hardly ever happens because he’s independent and I’m usually needed elsewhere.  Now, the kids did go to bed an hour late waiting for the baking to be done, but it was all so blissful, I didn’t want it to end.

Making art.

Making art.

At first, my thinking went along the lines of, “See, this is the universe telling me that we have too much hockey going on.”  Then, I started thinking that this was a rather ordinary night at home, and what had actually happened is that the crazy hockey schedule had actually made me savour it all the more.  I savoured it not in spite of hockey, but because of it.

Family Chess Night: The Gift of Experience

For Father’s Day this year, the kids and I gave Ted a Family Chess Night.

Little G plays a pawn game.

Little G plays a pawn game.

The two oldest had been selected for their school teams for the end-of-year chess tournaments, and with their successes we thought it would be fun to bring the competition home.  It took us until November to get the night booked, but it was well worth the wait.

You can tell they are related because they all hold their faces when they play.

You can tell they are related because they all hold their faces when they play.

We asked the kids’ wonderful chess coach from The Chess Institute of Canada to come and do a family night of chess fun for us all.  (And by “us” I mean “them” not “me”; I don’t play chess.  Yet?  This was designed to be a Dad and his boys kind of thing.)  I knew that it would be fun because I saw how my kids engaged with Yakos during chess club and during tournaments.  You could not hope to meet a more enthusiastic and supportive coach, and having presented him with the idea for a family night of chess, I was sure that he could plan activities that would work for the four chess players who live here.  He told us he was excited to have been asked, and he put together 90 minutes of games, puzzles, riddles, and a 3-on-1 match.  I observed, took photos, and reveled in seeing the boys compete with their dad for the family tournament points.

Yakos plays three against one.

Yakos plays three against one.

I love gifts that are experiences, and this was one of those experiences that made me grin from ear to ear all night.  Everyone had fun, everyone learned something new about chess, and we spent the evening together in a place that was not a hockey rink.  Good times!

Dessert!

Dessert!

Day of the Dead Celebrations, or Remembering

051Following the hubbub of Hallowe’en, my son’s class celebrated the Day of the Dead, a Mexican holiday during which families and friends convene to remember loved ones who have died.  With the help of their parents, the kindergarten children were asked to think of someone they would like to honour, draw a picture or bring a photo of them, and bring into classroom a memento that could be placed on a memorial table.

We participated in this school activity with my other son last year, and as before, I was surprised to hear my sons’ responses and realize how aware they are of the deaths that affect our family.  I recently lost an elderly aunt, who has always been like a grandmother to me.  She lived in California, so we were removed from the ceremonies of death, and even though I talked about her and her passing to the boys, it wasn’t a central feature of our conversations.  But she was the person my son chose to remember, and as a memento, we brought along the socks that she knit for him the last time I saw her.   (He also thought about our neighbour’s cat, who used to spend a lot of time in our backyard, but who we hadn’t seen for several months, and I had wondered aloud that perhaps she had died as she was quite old.  Again, quite amazing what takes hold in the children’s minds when their parents aren’t even sure they are listening.)

The events at school were two-fold.  First the kindergarten children were paired with children in an older grade, and together they went into the ecology garden in the school field.  There they planted bulbs in honour of the departed, and were encouraged to talk about them while they worked.

We then went convened indoors around the memorial table, from which hung the children’s photos and drawings, and which housed the objects the children brought with them from home.  The children were invited to talk about their loved ones and their mementos.  The children chatted and told us what they knew.  They were not distraught (a child who has lost someone very close could be – I think a child in that situation would need more support and the school would be sensitive to that).  Death, and love that often surrounds it, was discussed as the facts of life that they are, from the perspective of the kids.  I wasn’t the only parent with tears in my eyes.

I often feel like our culture glorifies youth and fights stridently for life, and needs more rituals by which we can accept death and say goodbye when the time rightly comes.  I wish there were annual ceremonies for adults too, so we too could honour, express love, and remember.  This is the precise role of our upcoming Remembrance Day; to have personal remembrance days could be just as important.  The efforts at commemoration at the boys’ school may just pave the way for similar commemoration efforts in their home.  Maybe next year.

Don’t Quote Me: 5 Things I Never Thought I’d Say

As the mother of three boys, there are times when I speak and do not know myself.  Here are some odd utterances from our hockey-filled weekend.

  • I’d rather stick a hot poker in my eye than ride for five hours in the team bus to the tournament.

And on the very same weekend:

  • Maybe there’s room for your brothers and me to take the bus to the tournament….
  • Our renovation plans will have to include a separate entrance and a room for the hockey equipment.
  • What is that smell?  I’ve washed all the equipment and it still smells.  I’ll have to hunt it down, piece by piece…
  • (In the car, on our way home from the 9th trip to the rink.)  Please.  Just.  Don’t.  Speak.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:

il_570xN_261032387One thing that I am very happy to say: Thank you for helping us make our goal of 100 likes on facebook!  Keep on spreading the word.