It cost US$483 and took 1 hour and 20 minutes to get into Disney World's Magic Kingdom.
The day wasn't starting out so good. At the first attraction, we actually had a 50+ year old man and his wife bud in front of us in line, and then stare me down daring me to say something. I didn't, of course, I am Canadian.
Is Disney World really the happiest place on earth? I would bet that if you did an exit survey, at least 50% of kids 10 and under would have cried at least once. Parents should be forced to consume prozac on entry, and random shots of tequila throughout the day.
On the plus side, the Fast Pass is a great idea. Food wasn't as crazy expensive as I expected, and as it also wasn't very good, the kids really didn't ask for much.
Each child picked one souvenir - Daughter got a Minnie Mouse purse, Son One a Mickey Pirates of the Caribbean Towel, and Son Two picked another Balzac Ball, but really big this time.
Favourite rides? Splash Mountain and Thunder Mountain. Space Mountain was a little fast. Daughter's favourite was "It's a Small World" for the second visit in a row.
Best advice? Wait until your kids are over 40" to maximize ride options. Daughter was often bored waiting for the brothers, especially given the average waiting time was about 30 minutes without a Fast Pass.
The kids didn't want to meet any of the characters, which is actually a good thing as they are often hard to find and there are line-ups for pictures and autographs. However, we did see the Parade of Lights and everyone enjoyed that.
I have to say, for the most part, Disney really has its stuff together. Cast members, hosts, and employees are everywhere, very friendly and as helpful as they can be.
This was our third visit since we had kids. We keep saying that it will be a long time before we come back. The current plan is when Daughter is 8, but who knows. Maybe that crazy mouse will call us back sooner.
This means that I get to wear the ever stylish socks and running shoes. We have to convince Daughter than neither a bathing suit, nor her nightgown, are appropriate.
Husband is furiously putting sun tan lotion on the kids - he is an expert. And seeing as how pale we all are, husband makes it his goal to return home at lease as white as we arrived.
I will let you know how it all goes. I think we have tor remortgage the house before our trip.
We made it safely to Florida. And it looks like I can keep in touch, so you won't miss me.
Customs was fun. As soon as we got into line, Daughter asked, "Will they have bathrooms when we get to Florida?" Turns out she needed to go pee. So did Son One. Of course, you have to get through customs, and then security ("Why are they taking our shoes?") before you can find bathrooms in the terminal.
The flight was great, except that we had to change seats as we had been given the emergency exit row, and kids can't sit there! Plus one guy didn't want to move, so we couldn't actually sit all together. And he read these really gross medical textbooks.
All three kids fell asleep just before landing. We waited until everyone had deplaned (don't you love that verb?) and tried to figure out what to do. We woke up the oldest, grabbed two bags each, and carried the younger two. Except that I couldn't really carry daughter that far, so we had to wake up Son Two and make him walk. He wasn't happy.
Daughter slept through the monorail trip, luggage pickup, being strapped into her car seat, and the drive. Both boys stayed away until 2 am!
Today we have been in the pool twice, seen lots of wild life, and visited Target. Seems like a typical Florida day.
The most shocking thing so far is that they don't recycle here! I swear, David Miller would have a coronary. Not bottles, cardboard, or cans. Everything goes into the garbage. And, garbage trucks come twice a week to pick up! Amazing. Of course, the truck came at 7 am this morning and woke up Daughter.
When I was young, my parents took my sisters and I to Florida a number of times. It was back when only really rich families flew, so we drove.
My father loved the idea of driving straight there. We had a station wagon, of course. My sisters and I would lay in the back with colouring books and crayons, pillows and blankets. No, there were no seat belts back there. There was no stopping for food - just bathroom breaks. We had a big blue metal cooler packed with hard boiled eggs, sandwich meats, cheese and bread. There may have even been a beer or two in there - but I am not sure.
One year we left the crayons in the back of the station wagon, and they melted. The wax stayed with the car until we sold it, a reminder of our trip.
We are flying to Florida today. I have spent the morning charging Nintendo DSs, syncing iPods, and collecting favourite DVDs. Yes, we have colouring and activity books, and pencil crayons. Snacks. But I don't have to worry about meals, pillows, and bathroom breaks. Son One usually can last about 30 minutes into any trip, before his complaints start.
I have pre-printed our boarding passes, and pre-checked our luggage. We are ready to go!
Not sure if things are simpler now, or more complicated. But I did enjoy those long car trips. Maybe my memory is hazy. Or maybe we should plan one for the summer.
Son Two is home with me today. I took him to the doctor's to ensure that he was OK to travel. We got the green light. YEAH! I don't know exactly what we would have done if the recommendation was not let him fly, since this is a family vacation and we are all going. Luckily, I didn't have to make that decision.
After the doctor checked him out and left, Son Two asked about the cotton balls in the jars.
"Can I have one?" he asked.
"Sure, just put it in your pocket." Yes, I stole a cotton ball from the doctor.
Son Two squeezed the cotton ball, turning it all around in his hand. Then he lifted it up to his nose and sniffed it.
"What does it taste like?" he asked.
"Don't eat it! It's a cotton ball. You are not supposed to eat it."
I suppose it makes sense from a five-year-old perspective. Candy is often in jars. Gum Balls, cotton balls.
In the car ride home, I went over the lunch menu. "I have hot dogs."
"I can't eat hot dogs. Hot dogs come from cows, and cows are meat. We can't eat meat for Lent."
"You don't have to give up meat for lent" I tell the boy with the low iron count, "you can give up other things."
"OK, then I'll give up pancakes, boogers, and potato chips 'cause they're all bad for you."
"Burgers?" I asked the boy who has never eaten a burger in his life.
"No. Boogers. From your nose." OK, I am not arguing with that one!
Later we were talking about Daughter's dance class today, and how today is the last day to decide if she wants to participate in the year end concert. If she chooses not to, then I get my costume deposit back.
Last time we discussed it, she answered with an emphatic no, but you know how quickly kids change their minds.
"Yes! With curtains, on a stage, with my teachers and everyone."
Great. Until Son Two said, "I don't want to go and watch her concert."
"How many of your hockey games and practices has she gone to watch, without complaint? You can go to one concert and support her." Bravo for me! Great logic mommy.
Son Two thinks about it, then answers, "This is the way I look at it... How many of Son One's hockey games have I had to go to. I don't want to go."
That is some logic for a five-year-old. I answered the only way I knew how, "It is 4 months away. We'll talk about it later."
After driving myself mad over this iPod, Son Two just admitted that he had found it when I had left it on the computer, and put it away somewhere. Maybe upstairs, maybe downstairs. He doesn't remember.
But at least I am not crazy. While this expanded my search area to the entire house, it also cut it in half height-wise.
While getting the boys dressed, Son Two reached into his sock drawer. The drawer was almost empty, due to his thorough packing.
And there sat the iPod. Right in the middle.
Both sons are currently taking credit for the find.
Yesterday I was a bad mother. Today, I am terrible.
Son Two got this new iPod; a combined Christmas/Birthday gift from his grandparents. The beauty of this iPod was the he would watch movies on it.
A few days ago his was packing it for the trip. He had kept it safe since Christmas. I told him not to pack it, as I wanted to download some movies to it.
Now I have no idea where I put it. I have looked all around the computer, the logic place where I may have put it. I also checked on the mantel, where I may have placed it along with his iTunes cards. NOTHING!
I feel terrible. And my mommy-brain really isn't helping. I have a slight recollection of our conversation about why it shouldn't be packed in his Spiderman suitcase, but that is it.
iPods are so small, it could be anywhere! So far he is not that upset with me.
But I have this real issue with losing things. Especially expensive things. It really, really, bugs me. I can't just let stuff like this go.
Daughter sent me on a wild goose chase. She claimed she had put it in one of her drawers. After checking all of her drawers, I realized she doesn't have a clue what an iPod is.
If anyone out there has psychic abilities and can tell me where I put it, please, please let me know!
I am so tired of winter. Aren't you? Tomorrow we are going away. To Florida for a few days. I hope that I can continue to write from there, but if I go MIA, please note that I will be back soon!
I have about a million things to do before we go. Why does mom always get to pack for everyone? The last time I let Husband pack for himself he ran out of underwear 4 days in and had to buy them for US$18 a pair in Bahamas.
At least in the states, anything you forget you can probably pick up cheaper at Target.
Yes, we are planning on visiting Disney World. I also want Husband to take the boys to Universal one day so that I can shop in peace. For myself I need some new clothes, some shoes, and maybe a new purse or two.
My father will likely be moving in, as he will be feeding the fish and checking the mail. The cat is at my grandmother's house - maybe we will forget to pick him up when we get home.
I like traveling. And the kids are great on holidays. Sometimes it just seems like so much work to prepare, and again so much work when you get home.
I have three empty suitcases waiting to be filled. I also have two suitcases that have been packed by a 3 year old and 5 year old... I may want to check those.
Our flight leaves really late tomorrow night, so I am trying to encourage the kids to wear their pajamas. Who know - maybe I will too!
Look, if you are sick, stay home! Stop thinking you are such a trooper to go into work, or school, because you don't feel that bad. JUST STAY HOME AND STOP GETTING THE REST OF US SICK!!!
Stay home a day or two. Keep your kids home from school for a few days. Rest. Get over it before venturing forth in the world.
That being said - if you were on the subway this morning between 8:45 am and 9:15 am, yes, that was my son coughing and sneezing in your direction, and you are probably now infected with his virus.
Son Two woke up this morning looking a little pale, sounding nasally, and coughing. He had no fever, and had slept well last night, so I didn't think he was that bad. When he sneezed, it was clear and not that gross yellowish green stuff.
He is currently involved in intensive prompt speech therapy that takes him out of school two days a week. The speech pathologist was very clear about keeping him home if he was ever ill. But this was only his second session, and he really didn't seem that bad, so off we went.
We take the subway downtown for fun. I think it was going from the cold outside to the warmth of the train, but the first thing he did was sneeze; a lot of gunk came out. Then he started coughing, and I started thinking, "Gee, he doesn't sound so good." I offered him a cough drop, but he doesn't like Halls.
When we got off the train, we walked underground and passed a pharmacy. I walked in and looked around for some cold medication, more to mask his symptoms to keep from getting in trouble with the speech pathologist. He picked out these strip things for coughs and runny nose. They were perfect, I just couldn't find anywhere on the box where it mentioned age.
I tore one open, and he popped it in his mouth. Then I noticed in small print on the individually packaged strips, "for adults and children aged 12 and up."
Damn. He is 5. Yes, big for 5, but still just 5.
Oh well! Too late now. It has melted away on his tongue already.
Off to speech. First thing Son Two did when we got in the room was cough into the speech pathologist's face. Then he sneezed, and LOTS came out. She then put on some latex gloves.
I apologized. Really, since I am home, I tend to keep my kids home if I suspect anything mostly because they are so young that if they miss a few days of school it doesn't really matter.
However, today I was the bad mother. First I infected a few dozen people on the subway, then I gave him adult medication, then I infected the nice speech pathologist, who is trying really hard to help us. Finally, we infected a dozen or so more people on our subway ride home (oh yeah - if you were on the subway from 10:15 am to 10:45 am - sorry!)
Tomorrow we are on a plane to Florida. I just hope that it doesn't get any worse. Partially because I feel bad about infecting a few hundred people on the plane. Mostly because I know the trouble it could cause for Son's ears if we travel and he is too ill.
Now we are off to hockey. He doesn't get very close to anyone there, and I am hoping that his hockey masks helps him keep his germs to himself.
Daughter solved the mystery of which came first, the chicken or the egg. Obviously, the egg. We went to McDonalds at 10 am. No chicken nuggets, but you could get eggs. See - eggs first, then chicken...
Son Two explained Lent to my non-catholic husband. You have to eat pancakes for dinner tonight, then no pancakes or meat for the next 40 days. Really? Yes, and then they nailed Jesus to the cross with real nails and he died. It was sad.
Yesterday I heard that the Toronto Maple Leafs would be practicing at High Park today at noon.
Son One threw a 20 minute fit last night when I said I wouldn't go and get him autographs. The funny thing is, he walked right by one of the Leafs heading into school this morning, and didn't even recognize him.
I took Daughter and Son Two, who is only in JK AM, to the park. Son One came as well, with a boy in his class and his really nice mom who picked them up for a surprise "lunch."
Walking toward the arena, I practically knocked in Toskala and Joseph, who were getting out of a BMW and instead of the team bus. We saw the rest of the guys get off the bus - MAN - they are HUGE!
May, Blake and Moore seemed to be big hits. My kids were thrilled to see them practice. They were amazingly fast. All smiles, jokes. Some wore sunglasses; others wore touques under their helmets.
Before the Leafs started their practice, George Bell Atoms and Novice did a shoot-out. They then got to watch the practice from the bench. Then Home Depot, who helped refurbish the rink along with the Leafs, had these funny huge blow-up hockey players take to the ice. I took some pictures, I just can't figure out how to mail them to the computer from my phone.
The kids were thrilled to see the Leafs, and the event organizers kept handing out all this swag. We came home with T-shirts, bobble heads, fake crazy hair, and those silly blow-up things they always give to fans.
Less than 5 minutes into the actual practice, the boys noticed the giant snow pile left by the Zamboni, and decided that it was more fun to climb it then to watch. Daughter found a nice mud puddle to sit in, and I felt like a bit of a stalker continuing to watch the practice on my own. Also, my arms were getting tired from holding all of the swag.
It was a great community event, and I thought it would be pretty exciting for the kids. I was glad I wore my long johns... And at least I appreciated seeing the Leafs. If only my camera had worked, I would have pictures to show you, and later them to prove that we sometimes did fun stuff.
Coffee. Last night was terrible. I think it was my worst night EVER.
All children were well asleep before Husband came home, but I made the mistake of asking him to move our daughter, who had fallen asleep in one of her brother's beds.
That was at 10:45 pm. She cried and screamed until 3:30 am.
I have forgotten the toll sleep deprivation can take on you. Husband brought her into our bed after about 10 minutes of crying.
She kept crying, "My knee hurts!"
I checked her knee. Nothing. She was kicking and screaming, so it looked fine.
We got her water. We got her a band-aid. We got her water again.
Still, no luck. I was tired. Husband was tired.
I threatened her with medicine. Finally, an hour and half into her tirade, she asked for medicine. I thought she would soon settle down. We got her water, again.
She kept crying. I told Husband we should get rid of her. He thought I meant putting her back into her own bed. I think I actually meant putting her somewhere outside in a basket with a note pinned to her.
Husband left to go sleep in her room. He had to be at work at 7 am this morning, so I couldn't argue.
But I was stuck with this screaming, crying girl. And I was tired. Very tired.
Can three-year-olds get colic for a night? I am really hoping this doesn't ever happen again. With three children I have come to accept the dark circles, but bags? It's just not fair!
At 1:30 am I left to go and sleep with the boys. 20 minutes later she came looking for me.
Now she was crying, I was crying. My nerve endings were electric. I needed to figure out how to get her to sleep! I just needed sleep.
Finally, just after 3:30 am, she fell asleep.
Now, 8 am, she is upstairs, still blissfully snoozing. In a few minutes I am going to have to wake her to take her brothers to school. But I am already planning my afternoon nap.
I was thinking of cleaning up the kitchen, but then thought - it will just get dirty tomorrow.
I used to envy those people with spotless homes. Then I realized that when you have children, unless you have child care and housekeeping help, it is really an impossibility. So you live with it! Every two weeks the cleaning lady comes, changes the beds, vacuums, does the bathrooms and the kitchen. This is enough to ensure that while we sometimes live in a mess, it is not "dirty."
Husband used to be the housekeeper. He did laundry, dishes, cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed. (Yes, Honey, I know you did the laundry and cleaned the kitchen today. Thank you! I love you!) But the more children we had, the less time we had to keep the house clean. And to be honest, our tolerance of mess increased.
In reality, we would both rather spend time with kids then cleaning. We have realized over the years how quickly they grow up, and while there may actually be clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink until they move out, who really cares? And if someone really cared about our house instead of us, well, no need to visit!
Real life isn't always perfect and neat. I think it helps the kids have a realistic view of life - real people don't have someone else to do everything for them; either you do it yourself, or it doesn't get done.
Sure, we have a cleaning lady. If we didn't live in our house, it would look great. Unfortunately, within an hour of her leaving, you can't tell that she was here. It doesn't help that we live in one of these wonderful old Toronto homes with ZERO storage. And kids just have so much stuff!
Our living room is full of hockey equipment "airing" out. At least Husband keeps his in the garage, but the boys stuff is in the living room. I asked once about keeping it in the laundry room between games, but Husband explained that he doesn't want the boys dragging their bags down the stairs and knocking the walls. Good point.
The kids are learning to help, but they could do more. Every now and then to "motivate" them I threaten to follow up their cleaning efforts with a garbage bag. Sometimes Husband actually does when they are in school. (Shhh - that's a secret!)
One day I will have a neat home. But it is not today. Probably not tomorrow either. Give me about 18 years.
If you want to visit our house, please come every second week after our cleaning lady has been here. If you want to visit us, please come anytime. Just ignore the mess.
I am putting my daughter to bed, and singing to her as I rub her back. For some reason tonight, she just won't fall asleep. (Must be because she slept in until almost 10 am.)
Mama Mia is her favourite movie, so I start with "Winner Takes it All". I don't get the verses in the right order, but I would guess that I am close to 90% on the words. She is almost asleep, so I go right into, "Chiquitita."
When I get to the line:
Chiquitita tell me the truth
I'm a shoulder you can rely on
Daughter rolls over and says, "No, that's wrong Mommy. A shoulder you can cry on."
SHE CORRECTS ME!
I see her father in her. When we first started dating, I used to sing along, loudly and largely off-key, with the radio. He often corrected my "interpretations" of the lyrics. Really, I think he found it endearing initially; another quirk for him to love. Now I am sure that it secretly annoys him.
I would definitely bomb that show, "Don't forget the lyrics." No question. I am pretty good at Jeopardy, though, and I really kick butt in Teen Jeopardy.
After I post this, I am going to do some lyrics searches on those ABBA songs. I want to be prepared for tomorrow's bedtime.
Had to run out to the grocery store, or I wouldn't have had any lunch for Son One tomorrow.
Son One takes the same lunch every day - ham on a bun. With butter. The only variation allowed is ham on a croissant.
At the beginning of the year I tried to be creative. Pasta. Grilled Cheese. Tuna. Turkey. Hummus. Pea Butter and Jam. Chicken Fingers. Butter Chicken. But all he wanted was a ham sandwich on a bun. Then I remembered how I had survived the first few years of school with Peanut Butter and Jam.
He will be fine. Once a month they have pizza day. That seems to be enough variety for him. He is not starving.
Tonight we had no ham or buns in the house. I seem to find myself in this same position every Sunday night. I ran out to the 24 hour Sobey's, because their deli counter is open until 10 pm. Ordered the ham - yes! Then went to the bakery section. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BUN!!!! No croissants, no bagels. Fumbling to get the bag open, I grabbed the last bun before the woman beside me could. VICTORY!
I hope tomorrow as he eats his sandwich, he will appreciate my effort.
Realistically, I know he won't. But I can dream, right?
Tonight we watched the Leafs versus the Canucks as a family. But I was torn - should I cheer for the Leafs or for Mats?
I am Toronto born and bred. And even though the Leafs haven't won Lord Stanley's Cup since before I was born, they are my team. The Leafs are like family for those of us in Toronto, and we often have a love/hate relationship with them, just like some relatives (not naming names here).
I love the Leafs; I am just not in love with them. Ya know? Mats Sundin, on the other hand, is like that boy in your high school class. A little on the scrawny side, he used to follow you around the halls. Then in grade eleven he got all tall and buff, and everyone was after him. You never realized how much you loved him until he came to you, professing his undying devotion, but telling you that his dad was just transferred to Vancouver and he was leaving.
Mats worked hard for us here in Toronto. I never used to watch hockey, until I met my husband, who loves the sport. At a cousin's wedding, when we were first dating, some young cousins posed with my then boyfriend for pictures, claiming he looked just like their favourite Toronto Leaf, Mats Sundin. That is when I fell in love with Mats.
When my husband I used to live at Yonge and Eglinton, you would sometimes see Mats dining out at Grazie. I had a friend who used to call me when she saw him, and I would always rush over, missing him. I've seen Doug Gilmour at Magoos, Tie Domi at Apache Burger, but Mats was always elusive.
As Mats lost his hair, I tried to convince my husband to shave his. No dice.
Tonight I was torn. Mats left us. I thought he wouldn't, but he did. When Mats teared up at his tribute, he had my heart. You couldn't have written a more storybook return for Mats to Toronto; the final shoot-out goal to win it!
My husband has decided that we all need to eat more fibre. He came to this conclusion this morning; he was in the upstairs washroom, Son One was in the basement bathroom, and Son Two was running up and down the stairs yelling, "I need to pee badly!"
Husband comes downstairs, to our high speed internet connection, and looks up "fibre." (Yes, he found time to do this but he still hasn't read my blog.)
He printed out a list of foods that are high in fibre, and wants us all to start eating them.
Husband keeps active and is very fit. However, he has never met a fast food restaurant that he doesn't like, and he can't turn down any combo with a cheeseburger and poutine.
We have fruits and vegetables, I buy whole wheat couscous and pastas, brown rice, yogurt with fibre, high fibre cereals and oatmeal, and these new fruit and fibre nutribars that Husband loves.
Seeing as I am privy to the bathroom experiences of all of my children, I don't believe we have a problem. I am sure this issue will soon work itself out.
Yesterday, Son One lost a tooth at school. Actually, it was knocked out when he was punched in the mouth during a recess soccer game.
This is my son who didn't eat for 4 days once with a loose tooth. I really don't understand how the male brain works. He was thrilled. He came home and told husband what happened, who said, "Cool!"
Son One put the tooth into a sandwich bag, and slipped it under his pillow.
I was out with the girls. I tried these two interesting martinis. One friend told a story about the ToothFairy. Two parents were discussing how their neighbour slipped into their child's room to leave money for a tooth. Their son had been listening, and in perfect 6 year-old logic said, "Jason's mom is the ToothFairy!" Yes, they quickly replied, but keep it to yourself.
After being dropped off by my designated driver, I fumbled in my pocket for my keys. As I approached the door I realized there had been no need - though husband had locked the door, for safety, he had been thoughtful enough to leave his keys in the lock for me.
Inside, upstairs, into my wonderful pajamas, and to bed. I swear - two martinis and the bed felt like a teeter-totter.
This morning Son One came running into my room. "The ToothFairy did something to my tooth but she didn't leave me any money!" upon closer inspection, the tooth was actually broken in half (hmmm... maybe this kid hit him harder than he thought.)
Damn ToothFairy! It is actually not one of my jobs.
"You know, Honey, maybe we all just went to bed too late last night for her to come. Let's make sure to be in bed nice and early tonight, OK?"
Today I have sunk to a new low. I dropped the boys off at school in my pajamas. If only Stacey and Clinton had seen me, I might have gotten a $5000 wardrobe out of it.
It is Friday. And even though it has been a short week thanks to Family Day, it still has been busy.
I need a nice long shower, but was short of time getting everyone ready.
At first I thought I should throw on yesterday's clothes, and then come home and change. Come on! It isn't that gross. I am in the middle of laundry (story of my life) and the pants that I want to wear today are in the dryer.
Then I thought - why add a step? I have a nice long coat. I was just thinking the other day about how attractive my pajamas are - considering even having an outfit made in the same style that I could lounge around it. (Oh my God - am I actually considering lounge wear? Quick - I need a trip to lululemon to be comfortable and stylish!)
I am thinking of writing a proposal for the school to make every Friday Pajama Day. The kids would love it. And I would gladly pay $1 a child to have 10 extra minutes on a Friday morning. Think of the fundraising possibilities.
So today, maybe for the first time in my adult life, I left the house in my pajamas. I actually convinced Daughter to do the same, so out of the four of us, I only had to get two people dressed.
"Isn't this fun wearing out pajamas outside? And with our coats and boots, no one will know!"
She now wants to wear them all day. I may just let her.
I just found out that my husband "hasn't had a chance" to read my blog yet. Apparently, he has been really busy the past few weeks.
At first I was annoyed. Then I realized the amazing opportunity this afforded me. I could lie, and no one would know (well, except my sister who sometimes comments. But let's be honest - she throws things so her credibility may already be shot.)
I could tell you that last night for dinner I made the most amazing beef stroganoff. Really, it sucked. But seeing as Husband and I were the only two who tried it, and he isn't going to check, I could lie.
I could also tell you that I am 5 ' 9", 115 lbs, and I used to model but now I don't get out of bed for less than $10,000 per day. I am a wonderful mother who never yells, always keeps an impeccable home, and my children never misbehave.
You might figure out that most of that is a lie. OK - all of it. And I guess if I were perfect, or my life was, then this wouldn't be that interesting to read anyway.
Maybe my husband can't read, and is just too embarrassed to tell me. Instead he claims to be "too busy" to log on and read. Hmm... maybe that is it. Or maybe, just maybe, he really has been busy lately.
Honey - if you are reading this. Thanks. I love you!
Son Two has this ball. It is called a Balzac ball. We bought it for him last time we were in Florida. It is a canvas cover with a special balloon inside. Actually, it is pretty cool.
We saw them at Disney, Animal Kingdom. Son Two doesn't ask for much, unlike Son One, who asks for everything, and daughter, who asks for everything, but in pink. When Son Two saw these balls he fell in love! We said we would pick one up on our way out of the park, but when we went to leave, we couldn't find them for sale ANYWHERE! After harassing at least six Disney employees, who are surprisingly not easily harassed, we were told that they sell EVERYTHING at Downtown Disney.
So off we went. We FINALLY found the Balzac Ball stall, and Son Two picked out one with Mickey Mouse's head. We bought extra balloons, and he was happy.
Last night we found the ball, and blew it up again. I made a rule after a few of my perfume bottles were knocked off my dresser - you can play in your room, or the basement.
This afternoon, Son Two and Daughter were painting in the kitchen again. When Son Two started playing with his ball, I reminded him of the basement or bedroom rule - NOT THE KITCHEN. I went upstairs to wash the paint off of Daughter (not understanding exactly how she got her forehead.)
Sure enough, as I am walking down the stairs, I saw Son Two playing in the kitchen, and the I heard a splash. The dirty paint water was knocked all over the kitchen floor.
"I thought you had cleaned up already!" he yelled at me.
I received an email about an interesting opportunity to help kids from inner city New York. The name of the organization is The Fresh Air Fund, and they help kids from disadvantaged backgrounds get a fresh air experience that they will never forget.
They are currently looking for host families for summer 2009; people willing to open their hearts and their homes to create an amazing experience. It is for girls and boys aged 6 to 12 who reside in low-income communities in New York City and are eager to experience the simply pleasures of life outside the city.
You host for only two weeks. I have added links so that you can check out their website. If you cannot host, consider a donation to help make fresh air summers possible. I hadn't heard of this organization before, but it seems like it could do a lot of good for many children.
I am not sure if my father was part of a similar program when he was growing up, but I have often heard stories of him and his sister going to spend a few weeks in the summer on a farm. These are very fond memories of his, and now he even fancies himself a little bit farmer, starting conversations with, "well, when I was on the farm."
Last night I came home to find my husband snoozing on the couch, but the kids painting at the kitchen table. OK - you know who gets to clean this one up.
They were all pretty enthusiastic, and I think they made at least three of four paintings each. When I walked over to one side the table to admire them, I noticed red footprints on the floor.
"Stop!" I said, "Let me look at your feet." They all complied. The boys were wearing socks - no red there. Daughter was barefoot. She had paint on her nightgown, her arms, and her face. But her feet seemed clean. However, I kept her in mind as the number one suspect. Husband suspected me, and as my socks were black, I wasn't 100% sure he was wrong. I took them off.
Down on my hands and knees, I scrubbed away the prints. I also cleaned a suspicious looking smear off of one of the chairs.
Husband came into the kitchen and noticed more prints. We cleaned those up. Now it was time to put the paints away and get the kids to bed. STILL MORE PRINTS!
This was getting weird.
We kept cleaning, and footprints kept appearing. Son One thought it was funny, but I was sort of getting a little freaked out. Were we haunted? By a frustrated painter?
Finally, husband, the detective that he is, cracked the case. He found a print over by the cat bowls. See - you knew we had three kids, but I have never before mentioned Merlin, our 11 year-old black male domestic long-hair.
Husband scooped Merlin up and checked his paws. Sure enough, one of the back ones had red paint. Caught - red pawed! Now if we could just convince Merlin to take a bath.
Son One is out in the car. Apparently he is angry with his father. I am surprisingly OK with that, given that it is usually me who faces the wrath of our children.
This year I have decided to be easier on my kids, and try to be more fun. Daddy is always the fun one, but I am realizing how quickly they grow up, and how little certain things matter. Like laundry. A clean house. And well planned playdates.
I used to organize playdates weeks in advance, and ensure that the house was very respectable looking before anyone stepped inside. Then I realized that we were never going to have anyone over if I had to clean the house first. Most kids don't judge you by the neatness of your home, and I've realized that my real friends come to see me, not my house.
Along with scheduling our kids for less, I have been more easy going about playdates. You want to take my child home after school? Sure - just let me know when I need to pick him up! At our house we are developing a more open door policy as well. I want my children's friends to feel welcome and comfortable coming here - more casual, less of a production.
Yesterday after school, one of Son One's friends asked if he could come over. Instead of saying, "no" or "I'll call you mom and plan something for anther day" I said, "Fine, just check with your parents first." He stayed for dinner, they played inside and out, and then I walked him home. It was nice!
This morning Son One asked if another friend could come over. Sure, if it is OK with his parents, I answered. This friend used to be in my son's class; but this year they were separated and miss each other. Unfortunately his father picked him up from school.
For some reason my husband defers playdate decisions to me. He could have called me on my cell to check, if he really wanted to check. But instead he said, "no."
Son One is sitting in the car still. I just waved him and offered a bowl of popcorn. Secretly, I smile. It is nice to be the good guy every now and then.
We all have our busy days. Today is mine. The boys have school. Daughter has gymnastics and skating. Son Two has hockey. Son One has Beavers.
Today is the day that I load and unload the mini-van, and drive around the GTA.
After Christmas I decided to cut back on activities because I needed a break. Plus, with this snow, Toronto is not fun to get around. I think for the most part all worked out well, but after March Break the kids want to get back to swimming, which they seem to miss.
It is funny because you hear about these over scheduled kids, and my kids seem to be busy. Except they are asking to do more, not less. They meet new friends, learn how to do new things. I don't pressure them into going anywhere. I always ask before I sign them up for something. I do continue to encourage them to try something they are not sure about until the end of the session.
I look at it as an opportunity that I can give them since I am home, I can drive, and we can afford different activities. I am hoping that by trying lots of different things now, when they are young, that they will find stuff to do that they really love.
I had music (piano) and language pushed on me as a child. I hated it! Unfortunately, this has lead me to not do music or languages yet with my kids.
But soon I will... I was thinking guitar and Mandarin... And maybe some Greek folk dancing.
Isn't it the worst when you pick your child up from school, and the teacher waves you over for just a minute. My kids are pretty good. They have each been in trouble once at school. But today I got the wave.
Turns out, Son Two, spent the entire morning in the cloakroom at school. The teacher wasn't sure why and he wouldn't say anything to her. He pushed another boy and grabbed his hat. The teacher said he appeared very upset (he does this first clenching / heavy breathing thing when he is angry) so she left him alone.
I am glad that she let him be. He seems to need the time to pull himself together. But she was concerned and didn't know what upset him. She said him came out for snack time, but then went right back.
The first three times I asked, he said that nothing was wrong. So I gave him lunch, then asked again.
Remember the haircut he got yesterday? Well I guess one of the other boys wasn't a fan. As soon as Son Two took off his hat, this child said, "Hey! You're bald!" And laughed.
I don't consider my son that sensitive, but who wouldn't be upset? Son Two is fair, and the hair cut is short. But he actually has a very full head of thick hair.
I called the teacher, who asked me to follow up with her when I found out what was wrong. It was just as she suspected, but the other boy lied and said that he didn't say anything to my son.
She is going to sit down with both of them tomorrow.
All I told my son is that this boy is obviously jealous of how good looking he is. What else can I say? Kids can be mean. I don't understand where they learn it. Or maybe at this age they just haven't developed enough empathy to understand how what they say could hurt someone.
Whatever the reason, I gave my son a big hug and told him that he was amazing and should just ignore this boy. As my Nana used to say, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."
I woke up this morning and noticed that I couldn't turn my head completely to the left. Upon closer inspection I noticed a slight bruising. Hmmm.
Let me me explain what happened yesterday.
We have eight TV remotes. Every second week, after the cleaning lady has been here, you can find them all neatly lined up on the TV stand. Within 48 hours you are lucky if you can find two. I pretty sure that a few of them don't actually go with any of the "components" (like the lingo?)
The world has changed. When I was a teenage, I could figure out how to turn the TV on and off at any house I was babysitting at, and put on a movie.
When we went away without the children last spring, it took me 1 1/2 pages and half an hour to explain to my mother how to put on a dvd for my kids (I think Son One was put in charge). Why all of the remotes? When did TVs become so complicated?
This means that last night, when my sister was visiting, she had no chance of figuring out how to change our set up from Sony Playstation to the TV news.
Picture this - we are sitting on the couch in our basement. My sister and I are sitting on the same couch. I am staring at a crazy snowboarding game repeat. My sister, perhaps frustrated by her impotence at being able to control the TV, picks up the nearest converter and throws it overhand at me.
We are sitting on the same couch.
There was no warning. A "heads up" or "catch" would have been nice.
I wasn't looking at her.
SHE THREW IT OVERHAND!
The converter made good, solid contact with my neck. I am not sure my brother in law has laughed so hard in a long time. This morning I have slight bruising and lack of mobility.
This must be proof that sibling torture continues into adulthood.
On a side note: If I say the words, "Beaver Banquet" what pops into your head?
Really? Not low budget Canadian wilderness porn?
See sister. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Tell me honestly - was your family day this much fun?
What is this holiday, Family Day, you ask? Well, here is the information from the Ontario Ministry of Labour website:
There is nothing more valuable to families than time together. And yet it seems tougher than ever to find, with so many of us living such busy lives. That's why, on the third Monday of every February Ontarians will have a public holiday--Family Day.
With the addition of the new Family Day, under the Employment Standards Act, 2000 (ESA) the minimum number of public holidays in Ontario has increased from 8 to 9. For information on who is, and is not covered by the ESA public holiday provisions, please refer to the Family Day Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ).
Family Day gives Ontario employees who are covered by the ESA and their families a total of nine public holidays per year, putting the province on par with Alberta and British Columbia.
Hmmm... so now we are on par with those slackers in the west. (just kidding - I love BC and Alberta). Thank you Premier McGuinty.
On CablePulse24 I heard that 1/3 of us don't get Family Day off - unsure if that is Ontario or City of Toronto (thanks again for the detailed and accurate reporting, City!)
Whatever you do today, enjoy your family. Our plans are to visit with cousins we haven't seen in a while, then when Husband returns from work he will take the kids skating.
It is 9 am on family day, and we are just getting up. Well, some of us are. Son Two is still blissfully slumbering away.
Before kids, I liked my sleep. In fact, I would say that it was the hardest adjustment husband and I had to make when we had children. Lack of sleep was so hard on husband, that after each child he had some strange illness (scarlet fever? really come on! Who gets that?)
Husband did have a little easier time than me. He grew up on a farm, so often before breakfast was served he would have a few hours of chores. He learned to nap - short naps, anytime, anywhere. As an adult he took a job with shift work. Husband still naps anytime, anywhere. Actually, it used to really bother me. He would sneak away and I would find him sleeping somewhere.
I fell in love with sleep relatively late in life. In university I actually came up with a sleep rule for myself - I had to be awake every day for at least 12 hours. Except weekends. I could be in pajamas; I could even stay in bed all day. If I didn't wake up until 10:00 am, then I couldn't go to bed until 10:00 pm.
Then I met my husband, who introduced me to napping in the afternoon. Our first apartment had these blackout blinds, so it was like a cave anytime of day. One of our first purchases when we moved into our house was to get blackout blinds for our bedroom. Really, we are like bears hibernating. This winter we added a new fuzzy blanket to our bed, and now I never want to leave.
The good news is that our love of sleep has been passed down to the next generation. My kids never leave their beds at night unless their are sick. Daughter is the first one awake, and never before 7:00 am. This morning she woke at 8:13. Son One is the normally the latest sleeper. There are days where we are pushing him out of bed at 8:34 to try to get him to school for 9:00 am. And it will definitely cut his hockey career short when they start adding early morning practices.
But for now we take all the sleep we can get. We love sleep.
When you have sons, you know that there is a perception that food is scarce. Especially pizza. Meal times can be aggressive and competitive events. The event starts when the doorbell rings and someone yells, "Pizza's here!" and ends only when there are a few crusts and empty cardboard boxes spread around. We don't even bother with plates, mostly because they represent boundaries, and are not respected during feeding time.
Really, I know that we will be in big trouble when they are teenagers. For this reason I feel for my sister with her three sons, and our cousins with four.
Last night, daughter was very upset with her brothers for eating her pizza. She doesn't understand the game yet - she just isn't fast enough.
Yelling and upset I explained a basic truth to her. Anyone with a penis is a goofball.
She walked into the TV room, and pointing at her bothers and father one by one announced, "Goofball. Goofball. Goofball."
Years ago, long before children, when husband and I still had some time to ourselves, he used to prepare monthly expense statements for me, along with quarterly net worth statements.
He made these beautiful pie charts of all of our expenses, so that I could understand exactly where my meager advertising paycheck was going. In order for him to do this, we had a receipt jar into which I would empty my wallet at least weekly. He would individually enter these receipts using excel, and prepare the reports. Really, he had a lot of free time on his hands.
The first month he asked about the receipts from Shoppers Drug Mart. I advised him to put them in miscellaneous. By month three he had broken them out. Shoppers Drug Mart was one of the largest expenses on my report.
"What do you keep buying at Shoppers Drug Mart?" he asked.
You see, I never wore make-up back then, and I purchases my hair products at the salon (another crazy expense).
"Um. Hmm. I don't know. Nothing really. I needed some Benadryl last week."
Hundreds of dollars a month went to "nothing" at Shoppers Drug Mart. It was really baffling. Yesterday I went to Shoppers to buy Valentine's Day chocolate and cards. $80!
When we first good married we had a broker recommend we buy Shoppers' IPO at $35. But we couldn't; we didn't have any extra cash.
I actually like Valentine's Day. I don't consider it a completely Hallmark Holiday. This year, however, it seems to have really snuck up on me. Thus our low key celebrations.
First, I need to tell you I am the bad mother. I didn't get around to doing valentines with the boys for their classmates. For the past few years, we have actually hand made individual valentines for each of the 20 or so students per class, plus teachers, and attached treats. This year - not even the store bought Spiderman ones.
I asked Son One if he was the only one not to hand them out. "No," he answered, "Mark didn't either." (Name changed to protect the innocent). *Mark* is the child in class who doesn't have a hat, mittens or boots on the coldest day of the year, and often has no snack. Gee - now I feel really bad.
Husband also seems to have missed out on the preparations. When I handed him his card and chocolate this morning, his response, "Ah - your present is still at the store." Yes, very romantic. I told him to forget, but he would be in charge of dinner.
I got the kids a card and a small chocolate each. I decided low key is best as these holiday celebrations are getting out of hand.
Tonight our sitter-less plan is this. Husband will order dinner (maybe Indian, but probably pizza), I bought a nice bottle of wine, and we will watch a movie with the kids. I am thinking either The Princess Bride or Lady and The Tramp. For us I have Moulon Rouge as my husband really hates musicals.
Yesterday I went grocery shopping with my daughter. It was the big grocery shop, and the store was fairly empty. We had no place to be for a few hours (though I was dressed and hoping to get in a quick run). At the checkout, daughter picked the self-checkout, and I thought, hey, why not?
Why not? Because she is three and thinks she can do it all by herself! That is why not! Damn husband for not keeping her well enough entertained so she would actually want to stay home with him instead of grocery shopping with me.
She knows how to scan anything with a bar code. I remind her to, "look for the stripes." But self-checkouts at the supermarkets are complicated - you have to have the timing down pat. Scan, bag, repeat. If you try to scan two items in a row without bagging, the system shuts down.
Did I mention that this was my big, weekly grocery shop and I had a full cart, including lots of bar-codeless produce?
The employee overseeing the self checkout was very helpful, and very patient. Over a dozen times he had to refresh the system because she touched the scale, double scanned, or pressed something wrong.
After about 10 minutes, since the three checkout lanes had no customers, we had an audience. Three employees, any of whom could have had us checked out in under three minutes. All were amazed at my daughter's checkout skills; one even commented that she could be a checkout-girl in a few years.
One employee asked if I was a teacher, since I was obviously so patient.
Who me? Patient? Are you kidding me? Microwave popcorn takes too long. Answer your phone after the first ring, for goodness sake! The speed limit is 40 km/h, not 35 you idiot!
Ask my husband. Ask my friends. Ask my family. Especially ask my children. Patient is not a word that anyone who knows me would ever use to describe me.
I smiled. 17 minutes to check ourselves out.
"Well, you know," I said, "we really have no where else to be. And as long as she is having fun, why not?"
A thirteen year old British Boy, Alfie Patten, just had a baby girl with his 15 year old girlfriend, Chantelle Steadman. The baby was conceived when he was only 12 years old. If you look at his picture, he actually looks about the same age and size as my 6 year old. Alfie is about 4 feet, which is actually smaller than my 6 year old! (Use the link below to read the article and see the pictures)
This means I could be 6 years away from being a grandmother. Something is very, very wrong. Honestly, I guess I was a little ignorant because I assumed boys would have to be a little further along in puberty before they were physically able to reproduce (the article mentioned that Alfie's voice hasn't yet changed).
Few would argue that these children, because they are still children, are capable of parenting. Here in Canada our teen pregnancy rates have been in decline for sometime, and our age for losing virginity has stabilized. All good news.
I look at this boy and know that as much as he may want to do the right thing, as hard as he may try, he will not be a good parent. And then I think that somewhere along the line his parents fell down on the job, too.
Twelve and thirteen year old children should not be having sex. They are not old enough or mature enough to handle the responsibilities associated with sexual activity.
When I first thought about Salma Hayek nursing another mother's baby I thought, "yuck." But in reality it wasn't gross at all. A twelve year old having sex - that is scary gross, and yes, I am being completely judgemental.
Just read an article on Salma Hayek breastfeeding someone else's child on camera. YUCK! Then I actually read the story (Time Magazine version).
She was in Sierra Leone, the country with the highest infant mortality rate in the world. Ms. Hayek was there as a part of a vaccination awareness program, but the subject of breastfeeding arose. The child she nursed was born the same day as her daughter. Apparently in Africa there is a lot of pressure on mothers from their husbands to stop breastfeeding as soon as possible because there is a stigma attached to having sex with a lactating woman.
I originally wanted to comment on how brave and fearless she was. However, as I thought about it, I realized that she was responding to a primal instinct. Salma was faced with a hungry infant, and she had milk. To me what is beautiful is that she didn't think about it, she wasn't trying to make a political or social statement. She just did what needed to be done for the benefit of the child.
Salma Hayek should be our image of Motherhood. Not only is she beautiful, but thoughtful, caring and wise.
Once a month I get together with a bunch of other moms to discuss books. Or that was the intent of the club when it started almost six years ago.
What really happens is that we pick a book, we buy a book, some of us read the book, and then we get together to drink wine and talk about life. Someone usually mentions the book. If we are lucky, they choose to mention it as the husband of the hostess is walking by to put the kids to bed.
I really couldn't imagine anything better. We all have kids of varying ages, with varying issues. We laugh. Share. Dish on our husbands. And drink wine.
Did I mention we drink wine?
I am off to book club. I love to read. I am a fiction person. Tonight's selection was Boys in the Trees by Mary Swan. It is probably only the second book in the six years that I haven't finished - but I tried, really hard.
But I have really nice bottle of reisling chilled and ready to go. After all, isn't that what book clubs are all about?
Last night my new favourite show was on; Being Erica on CBC, Wednesday at 9:00 pm.
Unfortunately, my husband was working late. After a busy evening, I had the kids in pajamas, teeth brushed and flossed, and reading done at exactly 8:58 pm. But no time to actually put them to bed (we usually lie down with them until they are closer to sleep, talking about their days, etc.) Hmmm... What to do. What to do...
This is what happened:
OK. Everyone grab a pillow, and crawl into mommy's bed and be quiet. If you speak, you will be sent to your own room.
"Mommy! I need a blanket."
"Mommy! I need to go to the bathroom."
OK. So I just missed the first few minutes. The lights are off. They should all be asleep soon.
"Stop kicking your brother."
"Stop kicking your sister."
What did they just say? I hope it wasn't important. Of course it was important!
"Give your brother back his pillow."
"Seriously, I am warning you. One more sound and you will all be in your beds."
"OK. Yes it is a commercial. You can all talk."
"No, I am not changing it to channel 45 during the commercial."
"The commercial is over. Be quiet now."
Finally, one asleep.
"Stop kicking your brother."
"Stop kicking your sister."
OK. What did he say?
Finally. Two asleep.
"Daddy's home!"
OK. Maybe I need PVR...
Why do I like Being Erica? I find it so well done. The idea is clever, but really I love Erica (played by Erin Karpluk). The dialogue rings so true, and the show seems so real. It is witty, funny and a little sarcastic.
The show is about a thirty something woman with regrets. Who can't relate to that? It also makes me more than a little thankful for all that I have.
CBC has all of the back episodes online, and you can watch them commercial free (our tax dollars at work.) Try it! You'll like it.
My kids surprised me a little last night. As I was putting them to bed, I said, "Two more days of school and then two day off."
"No!" They both corrected me. "One more day, then four days off."
"What?"
I rushed down stairs to check the calendar. Sure enough, they have a PA Day tomorrow, and family day on Monday. FOUR WHOLE DAYS! Of course, hubby is working both Friday and Monday. Whose idea was Family Day anyway?
Now I am trying to find great things to do around Toronto. Here is my short list:
1) Subway Ride and ROM visit
2) IMAX Movie at the Ontario Science Centre (They recommend the Alps for children - BUY TICKETS EARLY!)
3) Visit to the Hockey Hall of Fame
4) Arts and crafts, puzzles and games, and baking at home, with a Pizza lunch
5) Subway Ride and skating at Toronto City Hall
6) Shopping, Lunch and Spa Visit with girlfriends (oh wait - it is supposed to be a family activity)
Easters Seals is doing a skate with the Toronto Maples Leafs. Would be super cool, but you have to raise (or pay) $100 per person to participate.
Think about what is around you. The Beaches has stuff going on, as does Old Fort York.
In the middle of this, we also have to do something specially for Valentine's Day. I will post all of my special, no babysitter available, Valentine's plans.
Today is a day for grossness; something I didn't really appreciate before I had kids. I used to find gross stuff - well - gross! Now I find it funny.
We are having some potty training issues with the daughter. She has been able to pee in the potty for so long I forget when she started. She has pooed in the potty 4 times. She will either ask for a diaper, which isn't so bad, or poo in her underwear, which isn't a lot of fun to clean up. We have actually thrown out a few pairs, hoping that it would encourage her not to do it.
Today she sat on the potty waiting to poo. Here is our conversation.
"I hate poo." (said the daughter, just in case you weren't sure)
"Everybody poos." (Me - the trying really hard to be patient and supportive mother)
"Everybody?"
"Yes. Everybody."
"Does Daddy poo?"
"Yes, Daddy poos."
"Do cats poo?"
"Yes. Cats poo." (says the woman who cleans out the litter box)
"We can wait for it. Everybody needs to poo. It is healthy." (trying not make "poo" bad - don't want it to be "negative" for her.)
"Poo on the floor is yucky."
"Yes, poo on the floor is very yucky. Please don't ever poo on the floor." (OK, where did the idea of poo on the floor come from? Should I be checking around the house?)
"Poo on the potty isn't yucky."
"No, it isn't."
"Poo on the floor is yucky."
Mommy has now completely lost her patience. Daughter is being removed from the potty and placed in a pull-up. I am sure my coffee is cold. And I just wasted 15 minutes of my life that I am never going to get back talking about poo.
Really the joke is on you - you had to read about it!
Since the cleaning lady is here today, husband and I decided to pick Son Two up at school and go out to lunch at Wendy's. Son Two and daughter started off pretending that they were eating chicken legs, chicken mouths, then chicken butts. Of course the chicken butts were the funniest.
Near the end of the meal, Son started complaining about a really painful stomach. Husband thought he just needed to go poo, so we left for home. On the way to the van the complaining got louder.
"It feels like electricity in my stomach. If just hurts so much."
Luckily, having not cleaned out the van in the last few seasons, we were able to find him a bucket for the ride home, "just in case you need to throw-up."
"I already did throw-up three times," he answered. "But don't worry. It was just a little in my mouth so I swallowed it again."
"OK. Good. Keep the bucket just in case."
Gross, but good. I love it when kids start showing their independence.
I always thought that the need to "socialize" our children was a bit of a myth. My kids have one another, cousins, and attend all sorts of activities as well as lots of play-dates. But most people whose children have spent time in daycares laud "socialization" as the primary benefit.
We just returned home from a play-date where Son Two was bit, slapped, pushed, tripped and had his head shoved into a wall by a five-year-old desperately in need of some "socialization." This child is "home-schooled", though obviously too young to really have much need for the "education" component of kindergarten.
Look, I know that my kids have bit or pushed or tripped, but still biting at age 5? Pushing someone's head into a wall? Slapping? As we left with Son Two shouting that he would NEVER return, the child tried to hug and kiss him good-bye (we all know how they feel about kissing in JK!)
I am not quite sure what to do. We have had play-dates in the past that never sunk to this level. Interest was expressed in future play-dates, but I just can't put my son through that again.
Kids need other kids to help learn the rules of how to treat one another. OK, now I am just being preachy - But really, what would Jesus do?
Daughter had her first ever dental visit today, and it was great! I should say Dental Hygienist visit, since she was the one who spent all of the time with us. Daughter climbed into the chair, opened and closed her mouth as directed, and got to watch Treehouse on a TV on the ceiling the entire time.
Son Two had his first ever x-rays and fluoride treatment. He was great as well. Except for while his sister was on the chair, he touched everything. He accidentally stepped on some button on the floor that turned something on. And I really hope that the model of the teeth had one missing before he picked it up.
The Dental Hygienist, while wonderful, is definitely not a mother. She gave Son Two a Sally toothbrush! He was distraught. Luckily, another employee is a mother of twin 6 year old boys. She found him a power rangers one in the back.
My criteria for finding a dentist for my kids was the following:
1) close to home
2) no waiting
3) friendly and personable with the kids
Dr. Joe certainly delivered today. Except that now I have to figure out how to floss a 3 year old and a 5 year old nightly. Wish me luck!
I think that my daughter is adorable. I am sure all parents feel the same way about their little girls. She is so different from the boys - all sweetness and light. Though she has a bit of an attitude and a bossy streak. I think that is from the estrogen.
This morning she was going through my make-up. She wanted to put some on.
I don't mind her playing with it as long as she doesn't wreck anything. But I just started using make-up with some regularity in my thirties, and I still don't wear it daily, so I wanted to discourage her from feeling like she ever "needs" make-up.
"Oh Honey! You are so pretty you don't need make-up"
The past few weeks have seen some interesting fertility stories in the news. I believe in a woman's complete right over her own body, especially when it comes to procreation. However, like Spiderman, we women have to "remember: with great power comes great responsibility."
The first story was Nadya Suleman, the single mother who now has 14 children. I think that whoever treated her should lose their license to practice medicine. She was in no position to raise the 6 children she already had, living in a 3 bedroom home with her divorced parents. But 8 more? She needs help - I think the psychiatric kind.
I love children, but as mothers we know the commitment required to raise even one. There is no was that Nadya will have the time, energy, and resources to give those children what they need. And I think that shows like Jon and Kate plus 8, which I try never to watch, market the idea of a large family making it more aspirational.
In my opinion, she is selfish and immature, and unfair to those children. They will likely not get what they need and what they deserve.
Closer to home, we have the oldest mother in Canadian history giving birth to twins in Calgary. Ranjit Hayer traveled to India to receive in-vitro. Even though her Canadian doctors refused initially fertility treatments because of her age, I applaud them for the professionalism they showed in ensuring that she and her babies had the best care possible when Mrs. Hayer returned to Canada.
In this case Mrs. Hayer is married, and has the support of not only her husband, but also an extended family. And they have been trying for 43 years.
However, I still think of the children. I look at my parents, grandparents in their 50s, with lots of energy to babysit, but no where near enough to be raising two babies. It is also unfair to think of these children having to take care of very geriatric parents, and likely orphaned in their teens. The decision was selfish.
I guess my definition of motherhood includes putting my children's needs before my own. Whether it is letting them eat the best pieces of chicken and drinking the last of the milk, to putting them to bed instead of watching my show, to saving for their educations and putting them in programs to help them get a head start in life, to keeping myself fit and healthy so that I can be there for them for a long time.
These mothers didn't put their children's needs before their own desires. But I still hope that it all works out for the best - for the sake of the children.
Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. Oprah Winfrey
We chose to send out children to Catholic school. We are not both Catholic, but decided that having Jesus in the classroom couldn't hurt.
We read the bible at home because the kids love the stories, especially the Old Testament. Adventure, destruction, good versus evil; these are good stories.
At this year's curriculum night, Son One's grade one teacher mentioned that they employ a certain strategy to resolve conflicts. They ask them, "What would Jesus do?" OK, so I laughed. I thought they were kidding. Then I decided, why not try this at home?
We have had little success at home with this strategy, but with very entertaining results.
Last fall after school Son One found a ball in the playground. It was a dead tennis ball, no bounce, so I understood why someone had left it there. He and his friends started playing a game with this sad little ball.
Unfortunately, we had to leave for a swim lesson. There were still four friends playing, so I recommended that he leave the ball.
"No."
"Come on," I urged, "leave the ball. We have dozens of good tennis balls in the garage. Plus, you just found it. Let you friends play."
"No."
"What would Jesus do?" I asked. Yes, I actually asked.
"He would take the ball."
"I don't think so, honey. He would want His friends to keep playing even though he couldn't. He would want his friends to be happy."
"No He wouldn't. Jesus would take them ball."
"Really, honey. I think Jesus would want his friends to keep anything He could give them." One of the friends is now crying and screaming that he just wants the ball.
"No. If it is was Jesus' ball, He would take the ball."
OK, now I know I shouldn't have gone there, but I did.
"Honey, Jesus died for all of us one the cross. He didn't even know us but He died for us. He gave us His body and His blood. Jesus gave everything He could to us and His friends, His disciples. I think Jesus would have left the ball."
This morning I was walking up the stairs with the breakfast dishes when I dropped a fork. I thought about leaving it on the stairs and picking it up later, but then I remembered last time I left a fork on the stairs.
The year was 2006. I had a 4 month old in my arms, and I was walking upstairs to change her. I noticed a fork, tines pointed up, on our hardwood stairs. I made a mental note to pick it up after I had changed the baby.
About a minute later I heard the loudest, "F@%K!!!!!" every. My husband had followed me up the stairs carrying a basket of laundry.
The fork actually stuck into the bottom of this foot, and came out the side. My husband is a tough guy. He sat down on the stairs swearing. The boys came running. It looked bad - really weird and scary, but sort of funny, too. He exhaled sharply a few times, grabbed the handle and yanked the fork out with a loud, "Ugh!"
There was surprising little blood for such an injury. He could wiggle all of he toes, so he seemed OK.
As he limped up the stairs, I couldn't help it. I started giggling. And then I laughed. I couldn't stop. The tears were coming down my cheeks. I am not sure why I laughed. I think it was because I had seen the fork there and not moved it. I felt guilty, but it also looked so terrible. If he had really been hurt, I wouldn't have found it amusing at all.
My laughing could have ended our marriage. That, and the fact that I had seen the fork there and left it there. Luckily my husband is a forgiving man.
I saw the fork lying on the stairs this morning, and I thought to myself, "What would Jesus do?" The answer came quickly. He would pick up the fork.
I parked poorly last night. Slid on some ice and went right over one of those cement parking curbs, ending up in a deep trench. Damn that front wheel drive!
I tried to get out, but know it was a lost cause. As the snow melted, I actually sunk deeper getting stuck even worse.
Snow never used to bother me, but last year and this year it has just been so bad! I spent $900 on a new bumper last year because of the frozen snow banks. Curses City of Toronto! Can't you get rid of some of this snow so that I can actually drive down a side street? Or back straight out of my driveway?
Last night it took four very strong, very helpful men to actually lift the front of my car over the curb so that I could safely back out of the space. Thanks again guys!
I also had to bribe the boys not to tell Daddy. So this is our little secret, ok? Because I really am a good driver.
My kids are pretty good at keeping their stuff together. But they are kids. After Son One decided to leave his hockey gloves behind, I decided we needed to label some stuff.
I called Mabel's Labels. A Canadian company, run by a mom, who operates out of Hamilton. I ordered the labels online on a Wednesday night, and received them Monday (regular mail - no delivery charge).
WOW! I bought a combo pack for $34, putting our last name and cell number on the tags. We received shoe tags, clothing tags, stickers and tag bags. I spent half an hour putting the labels on some stuff with the help of Son One. I did of the kids school bags, boots, coats, water bottles, and sports equipment. And I still have labels left over.
Yesterday it paid of. His brand new $135 jacket was accidentally taken by someone who swore she had one for her son just like. But she noticed our name and we got it back right away.
YEAH MABEL'S LABELS! Now if they could just included some sort of GPS monitoring with paging capabilities, I could even use them on my cell phone and car keys.
I went for a run this morning with a group of women, most of whom are childless. I gained some valuable insight into why some women don't want to be mothers.
Now I know motherhood isn't for everyone. I even know some mothers who really should have stayed childless, but I think it would be mean to point it out to them now.
The reason these women shirked motherhood was shocking. They were concerned about what pregnancy would do to them physically. Sagging breasts, stretch marks, and widening hips repulse them so much that they don't want to be mothers.
See? Now I know the difference between mothers and non-mothers. I never thought my body was great to begin with, so I never worried about the scars of motherhood (a nice this way of saying stretch marks, sagging breasts and big hips).
As a society we may be in trouble, in theory, because the least perfect of our species are the ones reproducing.
Or society's current obsessions with looks are out of line with evolution.
Either way I figure these women are missing out on a lot just to look "hot" a little longer. Because let's face it, your looks will fade. But motherhood is forever. And plastic surgery is becoming more affordable!
Today I hit rock bottom. I actually yelled at someone else's child.
I yell at my own kids daily. I am not mean, condescending or hurtful. I never call names. Actually, I yell the same thing every morning, but only after saying it six or seven times, "Get your boots and coats on and let's go!"
I actually find that they don't react unless a reach a certain pitch. This must be really bad. It probably means that I am yelling too much, and they are becoming immune to it. Hmmm...
Today I had four kids most of the day. Son One had a friend who for some reason was trying my patience. At one point after he spilled his drink, I snapped at him to put his toy away and eat.
I apologized to him. I apologized to his mom (who seemed not to see the evil of my actions).
My entire family likes Swiss Chatel chicken. And I feel like it is a healthier alternative when eating out.
But I just can't do it anymore. Swiss Chalet - why do you make it so hard to get your delicious chicken and sauce?
We tried the drive-thru at Harvey's option. So ridiculously slow. And I've been honked at.
Next delivery. Half the time the order is wrong. How can you forget the sauce for a quarter chicken dinner? Oh - your driver can bring it by next time they are in the area? Great! Now I can drink it before bed.
Two weeks ago we wanted to eat in the dining room. The entrance was packed, and the hostess recommended that we pick-up take-out as the wait would be, "at least 30 minutes. And with the kids!" 20 minutes later I was leaving with our food and the entrance was EMPTY! The &@$! Hostess didn't want us with the kids. Isn't Swiss Chalet a family restaurant?
Tried the Call Ahead option. The first time I was yelled at by another customer for jumping the queue while trying to pick up my order. The manager actually ignored me when I asked about the proper process for pick-up when I've called ahead.
Tonight I tried call ahead again, but sent my husband. "It will be ready in 15 minutes." Really? Try 35!
Swiss Chalet! Please - what is the best method of procuring your delicious yet elusive chicken? I need to know!
We live in a wonderfully multi-cultural city. But my children are completely unaware of this fact.
Through school and activities they are exposed to every major culture group. While we are a "fair" family, they have cousins and uncles with a lot more pigment in their skin. I assumed they were blissfully unaware of race issues.
A few weeks ago my son was talking about a boy on his soccer team. Knowing that there were two Liams, I asked him if he was "Asian." He thought, then looked at me and said, "I don't know what they is." He didn't ask so I didn't explain.
It came up again when a girl in his class gave him a red envelope for Chinese New Year. I was told that she wasn't Asian, she was Chinese. I asked what that meant. He looked at me like I was some kind of idiot. "It means she was born in China - DUH!"
So I am 0 for 2 in my attempts to discuss race with my children. Yesterday I officially struck out.
I was at speech with my daughter. We were looking at two cards - one with a boy saying "No!" and one with an elderly woman's face with an arrow pointing at her nose. The speech therapist was trying to get her to say the "s" on nose, exaggerting the "SSSSSS" sound.
My daughter started giggling. "That lady's chocolate!" "Pardon?" the reserved speech therapist asked, probably assuming she misheard my sometimes unclear daughter. "That lady, she made out of CHOCOLATE!" I hid my head in shame.
Why is this topic so hard to explain to kids? Are we so afraid of saying the wrong thing that we say nothing at all? Are we too sensitive? I know that they don't care about the differences, but should we at least acknowledge and explain? If so, HOW??? PLEASE HELP!
Back when we were dating, my husband was in love with Alicia Silverstone. It was those Aerosmith videos that captured every teenage boys' fantasy. Who could blame him? We agreed that if he ever met her, and she agreed to sleep with him, it would be OK.
On the weekend my husband was getting dressed and watching Much Music. The video, Aerosmith's Crying, came on.
I said to my husband, "There's your ex-girlfriend."
My five year old's eyes lit up. "She was your girlfriend? Why'd you break up with her?"
My husband is so lucky. He is really a god in the eyes of our boys. I have to admit, I, too, find him amazing. He has his private pilot's licence, used to be a volunteer firefighter, plays the guitar and plays hockey. Plus he can fix almost anything. So I know he is a catch, but still - hero worship?
I was driving my son and his friend home from school a few days ago, and a song came on the radio.
"My dad used to play this song when he was a Rockstar."
I did the usual - lunches, snacks, everyone breakfasted, dressed and to school on time, complete with homework and notes for teachers. I picked Son Two up from school, made different lunches for each child, did speech homework, resolved two minor conflicts, and checked the mail.
I also grocery shopped for myself and my grandmother (remembered my reusable bags for the first time in 2009), made homemade chicken noodle soup, muffins, and mars bars. I've packed a hockey bag, prepared individual snack bags for all kids I am transporting to the game. Cleaned the kitchen, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, sorted garbage, green bin and recycling.
All this before 1:30 pm. This could not have been accomplished by a mere mortal...
...now I just need to shower and get myself dressed!
Last night I insisted the kids have a bath to start the week off clean. I tried to insist that they have a bath Sunday afternoon so that they would be clean for their birthday parties, but the weather was so nice they all wanted to play outside.
I never got into the bath every night routine. Mostly because my kids all love LONG baths. They play until the water is cold and the bubbles are gone. Last night we started the bath at 6:00 pm.
Daughter still had stamps on her arms from Thursday's dance class, so I knew it had been a few days since I had gotten her clean. She HATES having her hair washed, so it adds extra joy to bath time.
I had the two youngest in the bath, and I left to go and throw their dirty clothes in the hamper. When I returned the shower curtain was drawn. I peeked around and was informed that they wanted "privacy" to play "doctor".
Take a deep breath. Count to three. Try to remember what Today's Parent said about this. Completely normal. Don't make a big deal. Privates are private. Maybe at 5 and 3 brother and sister are getting too old to bathe together. Stay calm.
Peeking again, I noticed the two with their heads bent over the wash puppets floating on my bath pillow.
"What are you guys going?"
"Operating on the mommy frog. We are taking the baby out of her belly. Now the baby needs milk."
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