Holy Changes, Batman!

So, we’ve been in our new time zone for just over two weeks. I know, I know, I was supposed to do a post on ‘Survival Parenting’ the day after my last post, but I gotta be honest, folks: Changes are hard, damn it. EvenĀ good changes, the way these are. It knocks even the most grounded person off their feet for a while. And ‘grounded’ isn’t something I’ve been accused of much. ‘Weird’, ‘nuts’, ‘blunt’, sure. ‘Common senseical’, yes again, but I’m pretty sure that one is only in comparison to weird ass news stories. And there are a LOT of those.

Frankly, it’s taken me pretty much until the last few days to feel like I’ve regained my balance at all. RSD, migraines, Thanksgiving this past weekend, toddlers…it’s been a hell of a couple of weeks.

Happy Thanksgiving, belatedly, to my fellow Canadians, by the way.

Speaking of toddlers…they’re almost back to their normal Terror Toddler selves. Frankly, it’s been like living with possessed Minions. Shrieking, throwing things, head banging, just all around losing their shit a billion times a day. Terror Toddlers on stress. It’s not a good thing. It’s not that I didn’t, or don’t have compassion for them. I do. Truly. All these changes, in a short period of time (to them) is a lot to cope with.

However, the most compassionate person, when dealing with time zone challenged toddlers losing their minds every ten minutes is going to eye them and wonder how much room is left on the credit card. Enough to hop a plane going anywhere that there aren’t children? An adult only, all-inclusive adults only resort? With free-flowing booze, and hot pool boys in tiny bathing suits? Hot sun, sand, surf…

*ahem*

Sorry, got a bit distracted there for a moment. What I’m saying is, Mary Poppins would have run screaming. She probably would have snapped, used her umbrella to whack kids unconscious, stuffed them in her carpet-bag, and run like hell.

But, we got through. No whacking or shoving unconscious bodies anywhere.

We *did* have an ER trip though. In one of his temper tantrums, Cubby shoved over a wooden kitchen stool. The stool wasn’t amused, and had its revenge by landing right on his foot. From the swelling, we were worried about a bone being broken. Thankfully, despite being The Hospital Kid, nothing was.

We had a few days before Diva started brick and mortar high school (EEP!) so we took a trip to see the ocean. I’ve been living in landlocked areas all my life, and had never seen it.

Was. AWESOME.

Gorgeous. Just...stunning

Gorgeous. Just…stunning. This was when the tide was out. By the time we left, there was little sand visible.

Another view...

Another view…

Tazzie agreed. And went in. We were expecting the kids to walk in, get their feet wet. Not Tazzie-boy. He went wading, ended up LAYING DOWN in the water, and dunked his head.

I swear, it must be his father's gene pool. *I* would never be this insane.

I swear, it must be his father’s gene pool. *I* would never be this insane.

IN FREAKING OCTOBER.

Of course, we weren’t expecting any of the kids to do that, so we didn’t bring towels, change of clothes, nada. We warned him, repeatedly, but he’s ten. There comes a point where you shrug, and let them learn on their own, and this was one of those times. Probably due to the fact that neither of US were going to wade in and attempt to drag him out.

So, as he sat shivering in the back of the van, he was reminded that we warned him against getting soaked.

“It’s the OCEAN. What was I supposed to do, just LOOK at it?”

Ten year old boy logic. Explains a lot actually, especially when I heard Wolf mutter, “Well, I guess he has a point…”

*sigh*

Diva started public school, after homeschooling for over eight years. Since there was no bloodshed, or calls home from the school, I’m calling it a win. So far, anyways.

Speaking of Diva, I found *this* article online. Which resulted in her begging, again, for a katana.

And I could hear Tazzie, echoing in my head, “What was I supposed to do, just LOOK at it?”

Oh, HELL NO.

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