These are my minions. These are my minions several years ago. These are my minions dressed up as me. Note the pillows for bellies. Note the devil horns on the toque. Note the expression on the oldest one’s face. She is acting me out, and she is saying, “oh, look, I’m so fabulous,” because apparently I say that a lot.
My minions have been on the east coast for much of the summer. I have entertained myself by taking summer classes – wait, I always take summer classes, but this summer I could actually take summer classes without bringing my kids to class with me. Ask them how much fun they had sitting outside of Eastern Philosophy last year. For that matter, ask them how much fun they’ve had sitting outside of any number of First Nations Studies, History, Linguistics, or Math – which they famously interrupted by going outside and peering in the windows repeatedly – classes.
My children have been absolute rock stars about my going to school. They have gone to classes with me, and stayed at home with a babysitter while I did an evening class, and then stayed home by themselves, folding laundry, while I did an evening class when they were a bit older. I haven’t done this – all this university – despite having two kids at home, I did this because of having two kids at home, and I have managed to do this only with their help, patience, and humour. Who do you think helps me study for all those history exams? I come with built-in study buddies. When they were gone and I had to study by myself I was at a loss about how to do it.
I am not, as some might think, disadvantaged because I am going to school while raising two small ones; I am in fact advantaged. They come home on Saturday, and all I can think is that seriously, it just doesn’t get better than this.
Good old Paul Simon wrote a song about the same time I was born, the chorus of which sums things up quite nicely as far as I am concerned: