it was new, it was love, it was cheap
I've been - uncharacteristically - working my ass off this week, which slows down the usual sporadic journal entries. As of today I have 7 days of school left, and my perpetual goal is to have all the term work marked before exams, so I can 1) give the kids an honest term mark 2) not feel like a complete failure as a teacher and 3) have nothing to do but knit while supervising an exam. I'm currently 10 essays + two class sets away from this goal, which is a good place. If I mark on my lunch hour, I'll only have to stay inside on Sunday afternoon and not my entire weekend! Shiny!
This extra ass-working is important, for I have been breaking my usual default rules for June and enjoying myself on weekends. Last weekend (which was technically May, I know) was busy and fun and not very responsible. This weekend is the TTC Knitalong, but I'm ditching to go to a renfaire. Yeah. I'm not sure if I'm making this decision because I want to give Blake a wonderful day with one of his hobbies, or because I've never been to something like this and want to play with my camera, or because I'll be weekend mommying Mason's kid as well and if I go knit, I'll be ditching three boys rather than just sending Blake to Camp Grampa for the afternoon. That, and it's always hard to make decisions that are purely about my pleasure when there's a wholesome, educational (cheap) family alternative. Oh, and I shouldn't neglect the possibility that I'm trying to out-fun the Boy, who took Blake to "Up" last weekend and apparently has also treated Blake to Medieval Times sometime in the past year. I'm in a parental affection arms race here, and a trip to a renfaire should balance out all of the time I'm a hardass and make Blake sit at the table until he finishes his vegetables. (There's an hour on Tuesday I'm never getting back.)
Last weekend was a kid-free weekend, which should have meant marking but didn't. Instead I went to an Apostle of Hustle concert on Friday, gardened on Saturday and went to the zoo on Sunday. The concert was terrific: another gig in the Music Gallery, which is rapidly replacing the Tranzac as my favourite Toronto venue. Wayne Petti (the opening act) joked that he loved playing in a church because he's uncomfortable and so is his audience. Little does he know that I habitually spend chunks of time in church, and I'm not at all shy about acting out when I'm in one. It's part of that lovable irreverence that will one day get me excommunicated, I'm sure (although, not being Catholic or even a head of state in the Renaissance, I don't worry about excommunication all that much).
The Apostle show was excellent, which was somewhat surprising. I like "National Anthem of Nowhere" but I'm more into Whitey as a BSS'r than as the Apostle; Mason bought the tickets and I was along for the ride. I hadn't counted on the impressive musicianship, or the effect of all the ass-shaking music in a sweaty, crowded venue. Sure, Mason & I were the only ones dancing (considerately off to one side, we're Canadian), but I could tell that other people wanted to. I just wish that the kind of wild whirling energy of the last Geoff Berner show had been there in the Apostle crowd, and then there would have been a conga line snaking through the pews. (As there was the night before, at the school dance. I have conga lines on the brain, apparently.)
"You'll have to talk longer; I just rocked the fuck out of that last song." Julian Brown changes a string.
On Sunday we went to the annual cystic fibrosis walk at the zoo. Blake & I were invited by one of the original six Baby Clubbers, and we've been doing this since his first year. Last year was a fucking disaster, and it took some faith to muster the courage for this year. I'm glad I did, though, because it was pretty wonderful. Blake loves it more every year, and the weather was perfect: cool & windy & sunny. We walked for six hours before calling it quits - a personal best. As much as I want another baby, I have to admit that if I was like everyone else in Baby Club and in charge of one or more younger sibs, I wouldn't have been able to go as long or see as much as we did. Plus, I wouldn't have been able to sit on the couch afterwards, reading a book to myself while Blake read himself drowsy with a picture book. The life with a literate tot, she can be sweet.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*