how to make a Vesak lantern

One of the most common search engine phrases that brings people to this blog is “how to make a Vesak lantern” so I’ve decided to post step-by-step instructions. I mean, who better than a half-Jewish white girl from Canada, right?

Vesak is the Buddha’s birthday, enlightenment day and death day and is celebrated on the full moon in May. It’s a big deal in Sri Lanka. We’ve celebrated it there and also here in Toronto. Please keep in mind this is not how my children’s father made his Vesak lanterns. He likes to remind me that they didn’t have bendy straws or twist ties and they had to splinter bamboo sticks and then tie them together with string or flexible rubber bits that they pulled off trees and no he can’t remember what kind of tree.

There are lots of styles of Vesak lanterns. We’re making this kind:

Credit for all techniques goes to my mother-in-law who made that one when we were all in Berlin back in 2009.

Materials:

• bendy straws
• twist ties or string
• cardboard
• tissue paper
• scissors
• glue
• tape
• wire or string to hang the lantern
• small candle that will stand up on its own (like a votive or a tea-light)

Take four straws and bend them 90 degrees. Squish the shorter end and insert it into the longer end of the next straw to form a square. Do this six times to make six squares.

Using twist ties or string, attach four of the squares together at the corners to form a ring:

Then attach one square to the top and one square to the bottom by tying (or twist-tying) all four corners.

Now cut a cardboard rectangle to fit inside one of the straw-frame squares. This is going to form the bottom of your lantern where the candle is going to sit. Tape it in place. Don’t let the cardboard extend beyond the straws because that will get in the way of the tissue paper that we’re glueing on next.

Now cut four squares and eight triangles of tissue paper. Measure out the first square and triangle by placing the straw frame on the tissue paper and tracing the outside of the shape. Make your tissue squares and triangles just a bit bigger than the straw frame but not much. You only need enough at the edges to wrap about half-way around the straws. Alternate your colours however you like.

Put glue around the edge of your square or triangle and glue it on to the straw frame. I find that liquid white glue works better than glue sticks. It’s a bit wet and messy but it holds well once it dries. And this year I didn’t even have to do it because my kid and her friend now have enough manual dexterity and perfectionist tendencies to manage it themselves!

Make sure not to tissue over the top: guaranteed to send your lantern up in smoke. Once all your tissue paper is in place, your lantern is constructed and now we move on to decorations!

To make a frill around the bottom of your lantern, fold a piece of tissue paper like a fan, leaving a band unfolded at the top. Then, holding your scissors at an angle, cut into the folded portion at about 3 cm intervals. Don’t cut into the band at the top.

Next, unfurl! This very dramatic trick shocked me at the ripe old age of 34 when I first saw my mother-in-law gently shake out a banner of zig-zagged tissue fringe. Am I the only one who missed this trick back when I fan-folded every piece of paper I came across? Am I? When you cut on an angle you get zig-zagged fringes! I had no idea.

Glue your dramatic zig-zagged fringe around the bottom of your lantern. Poke two small holes in the tissue near the top and make a handle out of wire or not-so-flammable string to hang the lantern.

You’re done! Unless you like more decorations. If you do, you can add tissue paper ruffle along all the seams to hide the tissue overlap and glue blobs. Just cut a strip of tissue paper and glue it scrunchily (that’s a word) along the seam. You can also cut out snowflakes to enhance the sides and tape or glue them on. We haven’t done that yet but you can see the scrunchies and the snowflakes on the finished lantern at the top of this post.

Put a candle on the base, wait for it to get dark and light ‘em up! (The cylindrical lanterns are from the dollar store. It takes too long to hand-make enough lanterns for a good display. Don’t judge me).

Happy Vesak!

game theory

About a year ago we had a good stretch of time when the kids were into playing checkers and snakes and ladders and go fish. They’d sit down after school and play for ages while we delighted in their wholesomeness and cooperation and general fabulousness.

But something has changed. Now, more often than not, board games end with one child flinging a small and un-findable (but obviously irreplaceable)  piece of plastic behind the bookcase with tremendous force while screaming “Fine! I’m not playing! You’re a cheater!!” I’d either ignore it or go investigate to find that no one had cheated but that one child’s legitimate setback in the game was deemed to be the result of underhanded tactics by the other.

Finally I relented and played with them myself – an invitation I decline on principle while pointing out that that’s why I made two of them. Akka and I played a for a few turns; then I had to get up to check something on the stove and asked Malli to take my turn for me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them whispering, shooting me glances, and counting game pieces. Finally Malli made a decision and played my turn. They both erupted in giggles that brought me to realize that the other pot on the stove also needed a good long stir. And perhaps the inside of the cupboard needed another long glance. Malli continued to take my turns for me and they continued to delight in fixing the game so that I would lose. When I wandered back to the game I was dismayed to find that Akka had accumulated almost all of the pieces and was about to triumph. Never mind. I didn’t scream. I threw nothing. We had an immediate rematch and once again the pots on the stove urgently needed my attention after my first turn.

They played on. Game after game. Making me the loser made them both the winner even though Malli was working to sabotage my side of the board. No one threw pieces behind the couch. No one screamed “cheater!” (although perhaps I had the right to). I lost very gracefully and tried to conceal the fact that anything unelectronic that keeps them engaged and relatively quiet is a huge win in my book.

Conspiring to make me lose evolved into them playing against each other the next morning. So far no shrieks or projectiles. Shhh. I win!!  I totally win!!

the Force of sap

It takes a one-tree sugar bush four years to fully mature. Either that or we just had good sap weather. We hit our all-time record for sap production: 21.5 litres! Hooray! Enough for a respectable-sized bottle of syrup!

Then I introduced my children to Star Wars and we started watching the movies together. I got into it and was sitting upstairs with them happily watching Return of the Jedi and answering questions from the audience:

“How come when Jabba the Hut talks the words are up on the screen but not for R2D2 or Chewbacca?

When they burned Darth Vader was the actor already dead and in the suit or did they just burn the suit?

Did Obiwan start training Luke but Yoda finished training him? But both Luke’s teachers died.

Does Princess Leia know she has the Force? How? Oh yeah, she knew Luke was calling her when he was hanging under the Cloud City.

When the Ewoks are drumming on the Storm Trooper helmets are their heads still in them?”  

This went on for some time and I forgot I was boiling sap outside. I burned five litres of sweet beautiful sap into a smokey singed mess that nearly ruined my best pot.

Still, that left 16.5 litres to be (carefully this time!) reduced to 500ml of syrup. Somehow I’m getting more than the 40:1 ratio but I’m not complaining. Pulling the spile today. Thanks, One-Tree! May the Force be with you.

the sap is running

I tapped the tree on Saturday. Three days later I’ve got 2 litres! That’s more than the total sap yield for dismal 2012. The weather’s a bit warmer than I’d like for maximum sap seepage. We’re currently under winter storm warning and all we hear is rain. Still, hope remains high for syrup season 2013:

wildly exciting update

Today is Friday. On Wednesday Akka picked up the bottle of bad-tasting nail polish that was in our large pile of discarded thumbsucking deterrents. I *very casually* asked if she’d like some help painting it on her nails. She said yes. I helped her put it on and she set out for school with shiny, glossy, bad-tasting fingernails.

After school she stuck her thumb in her mouth and made a face and took it out again. No big deal. She seemed fine with it. It wasn’t until bedtime that things got hairy. She started wailing that she wanted her thumb. Not bratty wailing – real, sad crying about the misery of wanting one’s thumb and of realizing that shiny, glossy nails are fun during the day but anguish at night. We told her she was being brave and strong and that she’d be ok. I left to go out to play the ukulele and let K handle the first thumb-less night alone. I also made sure he knew where the nail polish remover was before I left, thereby confirming that I am not the parent who is best equipped to handle the first thumb-less night.

She did it. She held on to her little stuffed toy and read her book and fell asleep without her thumb (so I’m told. I was out playing the ukulele drinking). In the morning she said it had been a tough night but once we started treating her like a freaking hero she stopped complaining long enough to let a few shy, proud smiles sneak through.

She did it again the next night. And today we painted her nails with colour and put the yucky stuff over top. I’m crazy-proud. I even took her to the store and bought her one of the dolls that she loves and I hate. I know it might not last (and she knows it too) but we’ve been talking about how the worst is over – now she knows she can go without it. It’ll never be as hard as that first night (right?!!). Too bad they haven’t bottled the comfort that comes with thumb-sucking and turned it into some kind of skin patch that I can slap on her arm when she’s having cravings. Jonesing for her thumb.

So is this the beginning of the end of thumb-sucking for her? We shall see. Let’s just call it a beginning of an end.

thumbsuckers (still)

It has been more than two years since I wrote about my children’s voracious thumbsucking habit. I’m sorry to report that their enthusiasm for their thumbs is no less voracious today. Or am I? Therein lies my latest parenting dilemma.

They tried to quit. Then they stopped trying. The little thumb puppets were thrown from the bed. The sleek thumb-mittens were stretched out of shape after being repeatedly yanked out of the way of a needy mouth. Every few months I’d bring it up again and we’d try a new regime of sticker-rewards or check marks for each recess or dinner hour spent thumbless. Check marks could be collected and exchanged for gum or erasers or a pack of pipe cleaners. They built thumb-sandwiches out of tongue depressors and medical tape. Then they wrapped themselves up only to cry out ten minutes later to be set free.

It was all crap. None of it worked. Not even a little bit. It turns out they didn’t really want to quit – I wanted them to. I loved seeing their little faces without a fist in the way. I hated the idea that they’re making their jaws grow askew or setting themselves up for all sorts of invasive orthodontic treatment. I also hated how disappointed I’d be when each quitting method failed.

So we went to see an orthodontist. And he said it’s no big deal. He did say their jaws are messed up. Cross-bite, open-bite, they’ve got it all. But he didn’t seem to think the thumbs were making these conditions worse or that pushing them to quit would do much good. He also said they’ll quit when we start putting stuff in their mouths to correct those bite problems. The dentist, however, says that stopping the thumbs now while they’re still growing will prevent their bites from getting worse. So which one is right? And whose advice do I follow?

Will we cement bars across the roof of their mouths to prevent the thumb from fitting in? Don’t look shocked – I was this close to doing it. But can I handle the anguish and stress they’ll feel if their source of comfort is so blatantly blocked? Oops – I mean – can they?

I have no idea. Today we went to our regular dentist appointment. Akka has four cavities. Malli has two. We had to book three more appointments to get those fixed. The dentist is cool with not putting the anti-thumbsucking-bars in for now but she says that if I talk to ten different orthodontists I’ll get ten different answers. Upon hearing that my first thought was who has the time for more appointments!?

So, I remain uncertain. And they remain thumbsucking. And maybe that’s fine. I need to stop thinking about it for a while. I’ve decided to focus instead on the one small triumph I managed today: I found a tube of raspberry cupcake lip balm after it had been through the washing machine but – and this part is crucial – before it went in the dryer.

a neighbourhood gem

We’re in Sri Lanka for the month visiting K’s family. Since I met K about 10 years ago I’ve spent many months here. I would have said I knew the immediate neighbourhood pretty well. The road we live on is curvy with numbered lanes poking off of it. I’ve gone on lots of walks and have been down each dead-end lane, surprising dogs behind the gates and drawing interested stares from kids in their yards. I hadn’t explored nearly enough, however, as I found out the other day.

On this trip I wanted to find a swimming pool where I could swim lengths. We mentioned this to K’s aunt who lives next door and she said she knew a place. And she knew a shortcut:

You go out of the gate and down the road…

…then, before you get to the main road, you turn down what I always thought was someone’s driveway…

…at the end of which, on your right, you will find a totally awesome secret passage!

…which leads to a well (Look in. Don’t fall in. No you can’t climb up. No you can’t throw anything down there).

Further down the path you find a metal door. Open it, walk past the stables, say hi to the horses…

…they’re really very pretty pointy-eared horses…

… and turn the corner to find this:

Ahem. This is about a seven-minute walk from our house. I never knew! I knew about the horses but not about the pools (and would never have found the shortcut). On previous trips we have piled into the car to drive to one of the fancy hotels where we pay a non-guest fee to use the pool. As of yesterday we have a one-month membership to this place and have already spent a total of five hours in the pool. Akka jumps confidently into the deep end and swims to the ladder (a new trick). Malli has yet to generate propulsion with his tremendous splashes but he’s learning.

The playground has seen better days. The swing set, a branch of which hangs over the baby pool, makes me think of nothing but tetanus shots but the kids seem to like it.

After swimming we rested in the shade with some drinks (if this place served beer and food I might never leave).

The seven-minute walk home took about twenty as we explored the new paths, sidestepping the brush fire and pausing to look down the well.

While they were swimming I read a book review in the New Yorker about how the over-protective, hovering parenting style common to North America is creating inept, spoiled, incompetent and frightened young adults. So while we walked home I did not tell them not to touch the fire and I did not tell them not to fall down the well. I must trust that at five and seven they can avoid hazards as obvious as these. (I will be reflecting further on the article and plan to discontinue all sorts of coddling things I still do for them out of habit).

The secret passage is delightfully strewn with drawing-rocks which had to be collected and tested on the walls.

The good rocks came home with us. No, I won’t carry them for you (spoiled! incompetent!) but I will show you how to carry them in your shirt; a life skill I believe to be valuable despite its ranking well below fire-and-drowning-avoidance.