You can't drive around Toronto today without getting stuck behind a garbage truck. On the way home from the boys' last day of ROM camp I saw at least 15 trucks. Seriously, I had no idea that we had so many garbage trucks in the city.
How do you feel? Most Torontonians seems to have dealt well with the strike, and feel annoyed with Mayor Miller for caving in. Personally, I was shocked by what little effect the strike had on my life.
I guess the union is thrilled to be back at work in time for the 2 1/2 times overtime pay that they will get this long weekend to do the clean-up.
I finished knitting the body of Daughter's new sweater, and was starting on the sleeves when I decided to have her try it on.
It didn't fit.
Daughter is a small 3 1/2 year old. I was knitting to the 4 year old pattern, with a 24 inch chest. Daughter's chest is barely 21 inches. Unfortunately, I must knit tight or something because the sweater would not close around her belly. Daughter, playing the diplomat, said, "That's OK. I like it not closing."
I decided to do some complicated math and rewrite the pattern, increasing it by 10%. I started again yesterday, and I am having some success. But I've realized that those people who make up patterns must be geniuses. I swear that I increase each row to make the pattern larger, but here I am half way through the body again, and I am not sure that my increase was enough. Really, though adding lots, I've gone from 84 stitches to 96. Is it enough?
The problem with knitting is that you have to actually get fairly far along in the project before you can try it on.
Hmmm... So far the organic cotton yarn cost $60, the bamboo knitting needles $20, and I have spent over 40 hours with nothing to wear. Assuming that I get minimum wage for my labour, this sweater is going to be worth about $500 by the time I am finished.
The Gap is having a friends and family sale this weekend... I am sure I could have found Daughter a nice sweater there.
It has been 12 days since I fell while running through the park. I haven't run since, but my foot has felt well enough to walk on it for the past week. My ankle still seems to sort of slide to the right, and I get this weird pain, so I've decided that I am not ready to run on it yet.
My hand is broken. I am not much of a hypochondriac, but I am not against self-diagnosis. There is still a bump and swelling on my hand, after 12 days! And it hurts whenever It try to put weight on it, or put in my pocket or something.
I've been trying to get Husband to look at it, because I think that he would have made a good doctor and he is not the alarmist that I am. He claims that he has seen lots of hand fractures like mine from bar fights, and in his experience, they don't do much for them at the hospital. (Husband has spend lots of time in hospitals and emergency rooms, and discourages me from going. Once I had a severe allergic reaction to medication, and he recommended that I take benedryl. I had to call my parents to take me to the ER.)
I am pretty sure that there is some sort of fracture in my hand. Even typing this, my left pinky isn't as strong as it could be, so I am using the ring-finger instead.
Mommies, we are getting to that age where we hurt ourselves with every fall, and we take a long time to heal. I have watched my kids fall dozens of times, much worse falls than mine, and they bounce back up and go on playing. Here I am, two weeks later, still whining and sure that I have a serious hand injury.
I realized that I should have been applauding the author of the article in the Globe&Mail, as she is at least being honest about her experience. This, I hope, will help women see some of the truth of what it means to become a mother, a few of the challenges.
At least she isn't sugar coating it, right? Brava!
Today there was an article in the Globe & Mail, I despise breastfeeding; this was in the facts and arguments section, so really more of an Op Ed (Opinion Editorial).
While I feel for the mother and her struggles, a bigger part of me wants to tell her to suck it up; her issues have little or nothing to do with breastfeeding. I am trying really hard to not be judgmental, but I wonder what she expected having a newborn was like?
Who is spreading this falsehood that newborns sleep for 18 hours a day and nurse every three hours for 15 minutes? And why are new mothers believing it? I think this is what is making her feel so terrible about her experience. I feel for her. It is really, really hard to take complete care of another human being without help and support. But if she isn't eating, no wonder she is having issues feeding! You need some food and sleep to help make milk. Gee - hasn't anyone ever mentioned that to her? What she needs is for her husband to take the baby for a few hours so that she can sleep; and she needs food and snacks in the house that are easy and accessible. And she actually needs to eat them.
Any of us who have breastfed know that sometimes our baby seems to eat literally around the clock. New mothers are all sleep deprived and hormonal. I usually give advice like, "the first three weeks are so hard, you will be so tired and in so much pain that you won't really remember them. Take lots of pictures of the baby. Don't take any pictures of yourself - no matter how good people keep telling you that you look, they are lying. You look like crap." "The next three weeks get better, but you don't actually start functioning until week six or so."
I don't know why issues with newborns, like lack of sleep, are blamed on breastfeeding just being so darn hard. Yes, it may seem easier to just give them a bottle. Was motherhood supposed to be easy? I am not talking about those who have real, medical issues with breastfeeding. I am talking about the lack of education regarding breastfeeding leading to excuses that it is too hard. Lack of sleep and proper nutrition impact your milk supply, leading to an infant that is possibly not getting enough and being cranky and feeding often.
Look, the bottom line is that you don't have to breastfeed to be a mom - you can be a great mom and feed you newborn formula. However, if you choose to breastfeed, you need to get yourself the proper support and information to do it properly. Unfortunately, we have lost generations of women to formula feeding, so we didn't get to grow up watching our mothers, aunts, and every woman around us with a baby breastfeeding. We aren't born with the knowledge of how to "pump" our breasts, or increase our supply, we need to be taught.
I am lucky. Husband grew up on a dairy farm and has lots of knowledge and experience about what makes a good milker. Most of it can be applied. Also, my mother was lucky enough to be neighbours with a La Leche woman when we were growing up, so she had breastfeeding experience to impart and support.
We need to be honest about our exceptions of motherhood, and the realities. Taking care of a newborn is a reality shock for most Canadian mothers. They need support, not platitudes.
Is breast best? We all know that the nutrients in breast milk cannot be matched my formula. However is it best? Definitely not at the expense of the health of you infant, nor of your sanity and well being as a mother.
My family is obsessed with cereal. I hate cereal, and never, ever, eat it. However, the other four members of my family love cereal, and eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Currently, there are 14 boxes of cereal in my pantry. Usually, there are closer to 20 and they start taking up counter space.
It seems like different cereals go through cycles of popularity. Sometimes it is Corn Pops, other times Mini Wheats. Last winter is was Lucky Charms and Life.
This month, Daughter's favourite is "Daddy's cereal" - Raisin Bran. Except she doesn't like raisins. And she wants it with milk, but doesn't eat it once it gets "soggy."
Raisin Bran boasts "Two Scoops of raisins and those delicious flakes of bran!" Their raisins really are these weird mutant, XL raisins with a odd, powdered coating that is probably sugar and fat.
Daughter picks out the raisins; if Daddy is home, then she hand feeds them to him. When he is not, she puts them back in the box (as long as they aren't wet from milk - then they just get put on the table to dry and stick.)
I've tried buying her plain bran flakes, but it is not the same. Plus, she thinks that "Scoops" is her name on the box, because they both have "S". Since she is only three, we are trying to encourage this reading.
Daddy now gets extra raisiney raisin bran as Daughter eats her way through a box of raisin bran, hold the raisins, please. And I am left to ponder how I, a life-long hater of cereal, find myself in the family of cereal enthusiast. Lucky for me - they are all magically delicious!
A few weeks ago there was an article in MacLean's asking if GPS was helping or hurting your marriage. There were couples who used to argue about directions when driving - to them, GPS is a saviour. Other couples, like us, have the wife as the navigator and co-pilot; now we find ourselves usurped by the sexy electronic voice, and notice that our husbands actually listen to her more then they ever did to us.
Saturday we were driving to a family BBQ out in Oakville. Husband has been to the Aunt's house many, many times over the past 15 years. However, he has some sort of mental block against the location.
This drives me crazy. He can find his relatives homes without even an address. While driving there he will get directions from complete strangers which are so cryptic, yet he finds their homes again and again.
Husband is a country boy - I am city girl. This is the difference. He uses landmarks to navigate, "Go past the three cranes and turn left a the two blue silos." Seriously.
I am used to addresses and street names (shocking, isn't?)
Somehow, looking for addresses and street names boggles his mind. Husband has an Honours Geography B.A. and a pilot's license. Plus one of his jobs included driving around the city for years. I would say that Husband has the best sense of direction of anyone whom I have ever met, ever!
Yet, when I tell him where to go, he calls me a backseat driver. Saturday I kept my mouth shut, as he drove by the exit to my aunt's house. Then I asked where he was planning on turning off the highway.
He asked if I would know where to go if her took the next exit. Of course, I answered. He took it, and I directed him. Our GPS was at home on the computer table, having been freshly charged.
The best part was that he actually made his mistake seem like his plan - since the Canadian Open was on a Glen Abbey, he didn't want to take the right exit because it would have been too busy...
Yes, this is actually a phrase that I used with my three-year-old daughter this morning.
How do you explain the birds and the bees to a three-year-old? Maybe I need to get a book or something.
I drove her by the hospital where she was born, and pointed it out to her, "Look! That is the hospital where you were born!"
"How?" she asked. Damn! I should have seen that one coming.
"Well, you grew in Mommy's belly. Then we went to the hospital, and the Doctor cut open my belly and pulled you out!"
Thank goodness for c-sections. Makes explaining the entire birth a little easier at this age. But I guess it sort of sounds like I had a tumour that was removed. With the boys I had them ask to show them where they come out - no problem! See that little scar on Mommy's belly?
"And the boys grew in Daddy's belly!" Hmmm... I see her logic.
"Actually, honey, both you and the boys grew in my belly. Men can't have babies that grow in their bellies."
"When I get bigger I want to go to the hospital and get a baby."
"OK. But first you have to pick a good man to be your baby-daddy."
OMG! I can't believe that I just said that to her. Never did I expect to use the phrase "baby-daddy" with my children. How is this entering our daily vernacular? Pretty soon I'll be talking about manscaping and staycations.
"Do you know anyone who would be a good baby-daddy?" she asked.
"Um... nope. Do you?" Actually, I know of some nice boys a little older than her - friends of her brothers and the like, but I don't think that I should put anymore thoughts into her head today.
"No. Not yet," she answered. Please change the subject, please change the subject.
"Good. You have to grow up first. Don't worry about it now, OK?"
"OK. Can we save the bottles for my baby?"
"Sure honey. But I think that they may have different bottles then. Maybe better ones."
I know - I got myself into this conversation. Thanks goodness it ended before I had to talk sperm and eggs.
She started singing a little tune to herself as we drove home:
When I grow up, I am going to have a baby in my belly,
a baby in my belly,
a baby in my belly,
when I grow up, I'm going to have a baby in my belly
And then I will got to the hospital to get it out
But I have to grow first,
Grow up big this...
Last night I went to bed with the beginnings of a headache. This morning I woke up, and it was worse. Luckily, since it is a weekend, I was able to take some migraine medication and go back to bed for a few hours because Daddy is home with the kids.
Migraines are weird. I started getting them in university, and have had them for years now. I assume mine are mostly hormonal, with a weather component, because the entire time I was pregnant and nursing I didn't get a single one! Those were the best years.
They follow the usual pattern. Some are terrible with nausea, noise and light sensitivity. Others are more mild, but I can pin-point where the pain is directly behind my left eye and regular OTC meds just won't take it away.
Years ago I tried chiropractic to help. Not unless I got in the moment I started to feel one coming on did it help, and only then it took the duration down from three days to one.
I've also tried acupuncture. For me the only thing that works are good strong meds and rest in a dark room for a few hours.
This morning it broke my heart to hear Daughter wonder downstairs to Daddy and tell him that "Mommy has a headache." I don't want to be that mom who lies in her bed while her children's lives go on around her. And I don't want my kids to feel like they have some sickly mom because she can't get out of bed on a Saturday morning.
The worst part about migraines is that you feel so helpless. You can't really participate in life without severe pain and discomfort, and even with the best treatments you need hours to yourself. What mom gets hours to herself to deal with her pain?
I have never knit a sweater before, and I am not sure why I thought I should start one today. The good news is that I am knitting it in size four, and I have about four months to finish it before Daughter actually starts wearing sweaters for the winter. That should be enough time, shouldn't it?
I bought beautiful indigo/purple organic cotton yarn, and lovely bamboo knitting needles.
I knit Daughter a hat two years ago; it was the softest alpaca yarn - she never wore it. I know Son Two a hat as well - he loved his. I have crocheted stuff before, too. I am a self-taught knitter, so I am struggling to read the pattern with the help of Google.
Tonight I have already measured Daughter once, and the start of the sweater twice. So far it looks nothing like a sweater, and I am not sure how it is supposed to fit her.
Every now and then I get these ideas into my head. Really, I have read a lot over the past month, and my brain is a little fizzled so I am looking for something new to occupy myself.
While I was trying to figure out the pattern and start knitting - the most exciting part of the project - the boys were asking me to teach them. Son One wanted to crochet, and Son Two wanted to knit. Not easy trying to teach those two anything that takes concentration.
Luckily, they gave up and I had a few hours to start my project. One day down - three months and 29 days to go!
A few days ago I visited this amazing new store in the west end of Toronto - The Pantry at 974 College Street.
I walked in, and felt like I was going back in time to a comfortable local store. It is open and airy, with high ceilings and natural light. The counter area is the heart of the store, but there are shelves, displays, tables, chairs and couches - and the shop is open to the kitchen further emphasizing the warm and homey feel.
I purchased a mochachino - possibly the best I have ever tried, and decided to take my time as I didn't have the kids with me.
As I perused the shelves, at first I was overwhelmed by the selection. Then I realized that while there were six different balsamic vinegars, they were each sure to be the best, loving curated by the owner for its unique charm. There were jellies and jams, syrups and oils, teas, crackers, cookies and biscuits, mustards and spices, everything else that you could possible want to find in your own well-stocked pantry.
I picked up some chips and honey, and went to check out the prepared, fresh food.
Every day, the chef prepares delicious and wholesome foods for you to take home. The selection has something for everyone, and the idea is that they are prepared with the best ingredients to offer outstanding value. I got some of the curried vegetables with coconut, pulled pork, and macaroni and cheese. They were individual servings, but when I combined it for a dinner, Husband and I both ate until we were full and still had left overs.
I bought some amazing dark organic chocolate, fresh bread, and went on my way with everything in a nice sturdy paper bag.
I've since learned that the Pantry has options that would be great for a new mom. You can order food, to be delivered along with compostable cutlery and plates - breakfast, lunch and dinner! They can include toddler meals for a sibling, or toys and cookies. The cupcakes looked amazing, too.
There are so many great little finds around the city - stores that are wonderful in theory and practice. Great food, great value, amazing atmosphere all exist at The Pantry. And something about their local, green and organic policies make me feel good shopping there. Check it out!
I am not a frequent downtown Toronto driver, however this week the boys are attending camp at the ROM, so I need to get them dropped off at Avenue Road and Bloor Street every morning during rush hour.
Here are some of my pet peeves about driving in the city:
NOT SIGNALING - what is so difficult about using you signal? Let me know if you are merging, turning left or right, changing lanes, or going around a park car. Am I just supposed to guess?
PASSING RIGHT - Every time I come to a red light in Toronto, someone pulls up on my right and tries to rush through the light to pull into my lane before they reach the parked cars in their lane. We are all in a hurry - don't be so pushy!
BIKES PASSING RIGHT - when I am signally to turn right, cyclists shouldn't be squeezing in between me and the curb on the right. Notice the signal? Yesterday I had one cyclist yell and angrily gesture because he had to squeeze between me and the curb when I was turning right. He was going straight. Idiot!
CYCLISTS GOING THROUGH RED LIGHTS - OK. You are on the road, you have wheels, you are a vehicle. Obey the rules of the road.
PEDESTRIANS CROSSING EVERYWHERE - I am really trying not to hit anyone, but we do seem to have street lights at every intersection. Why do you cross 10 metres from the light and interrupt the flow of traffic? Of course I am going to stop for you - I don't want to hurt you! But use your head.
KNOW THE RULES OF THE ROAD - Remember learning about how to handle an intersection when the traffic lights are out? Treat it as an All Way Stop. Stop, and take your turn! In case you don't know - taking turns means that the person on your right goes first, then you. Most Toronto drivers don't even slow down when approaching an intersection with the traffic lights out. Trying not to show weakness? Come on!
TAKE TURNS - Something we try to teach our kids, but somehow forget ourselves. When you come to a stop sign, stop and go when it is your turn. If you stop behind someone else, you DON'T get to go when they go, you have to stop yourself at the line. Whoever gets to the stop sign first, goes first. If you get there at the same time, the person to the right goes first. Where it is not an All Way stop intersection, people going straight go before people turning.
PLEASE! I wish people would just be more considerate when driving. And use their heads. We could all get where we are going faster and safer.
Yesterday was my garbage day. I cleaned out all of my garbage, as it was started to smell, double bagged it in the dark green bags, and put them into my minivan to take to the local temporary dump site.
I didn't have to wait, and my van wasn't approached by any union members (three sat on lawn chairs reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.) The manager came over and asked how many bags I had. I apologized for having eight, as I had collected the trash from two elder members and my grandmother. He stated that I could bring as many as I wanted. The manager then unloaded my vehicle for me and told me to have a nice day.
This is way better treatment than I get on a regular garbage day with home pick-up.
I know that the garbage collectors are not the only city employees on strike, but they do seem to be the most obvious since all of us are now dealing with our own garbage.
I hope that the city doesn't settle anytime soon. I think it is ridiculous what the unions are demanding, even by their own PR. And if the city does choose to settle, it will only be to take even more money out of my pocket to do so.
In Toronto, we are already paying 65% more for garbage pick-up then the average of 30 other Canadian cities. WOW! Cities that contract out save a lot of money, and have better service. Living in Toronto, I see my property taxes go up annually without receiving any increase in my services. The claim is that my home value also increases each year, but that only helps if I am planning on selling, which I am not. Also, I now get to pay $60 extra each year, per vehicle, just to live in the City of Toronto.
I hope that David Miller and the city councilors don't settle with the union anytime soon, because I know that settling with them will just be meeting their demands. If anything, the unions have been given too much power and money in previous negotiations, and no one is standing up for the tax payers of Toronto.
This used to be an amazing city - I would have said the best city in Canada to live. However our city hall is so messed up, it is a huge pain. I still love Toronto, I just wish that our unions, our councilors and our mayor did, too.
This week is interesting for me. For the first time since becoming a mom, I have actually blocks of time every day to myself. Also, we have a teen girl helping us out with some baby sitting.
It is weird what a little extra alone time has done. My home in neater. My meals are planned. Groceries are purchased fresh daily. A few more days like this, and I may even be on top of my laundry!
It is odd because I can't actually point out what I am doing differently, and between drop offs and pick ups I really only have an hour or two to myself. In that time I am reading, eating breakfast, showering, and getting groceries.
The teen babysitter is a help. She picks up Daughter from her dance camp (since it ends at the same time as the boys' ROM camp downtown, and I haven't figured out how to be two places at once), and walks her home. She then entertains the kids for an hour or so while I clean up after lunch. That's it! And yet my home is neater, meals are homemade and healthy...
I guess all I really need is an hour or two extra each day and I could be super mom!
Sometimes, I think that we are becoming the "traditional" family, and I am not even trying to fight it. I am no longer barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, but I seem to spend a lot of time barefoot in the kitchen.
This afternoon Daughter and I were making chocolate chip cookies while the boys were playing hockey in driveway.
Baking with the kids isn't really fun. I have such fond memories of baking when I was growing up, especially my Nana's big beige porcelain bowl. Now I realize what a pain in the butt it is to bake with the kids. They want to help, and their is something magical about adding ingredients and mixing. But the mess is twice as big, and it takes twice as long. At least the cookies are delicious.
The boys and Husband played hockey in the driveway in the rain while we were baking. After they were completely soaked, and the rain started falling a little too hard, they took cover in the garage.
Daughter brought them out a batch of the fresh cookies and some ice water. They all sat their on their fold-up chairs with the garage door open, watching the rain.
Yes, it completely ruined their dinner. But they were all happy, and that's what counts, right?
We seldom have company that stays over night. This is because most of our family lives within an hour drive, and therefor never feels the need to sleep over.
This weekend we had one of Husband's cousins come in with her fiance. It was a great visit.
Saturday night we went to see The Dream in High Park - William Shakespeare's The Tempest presented by CanStage and TD. Consider taking your kids to see it (I would say 10 and up). Kids are free, thanks to TD. It is PWYC (Pay What You Can), but they ask for $20 per person.
It was a great production, though not as dark as I had remembered The Tempest to be. Parts were very funny, and they have tiered the hill since I last went to a production in the park, so it was fairly comfortable. Bring a blanket, mosquito repellent, and something soft to sit on. There is a canteen, or you can bring your own picnic.
Yesterday we went to watch the Jays beat the Red Sox and walk around Habourfront.
The game was pretty good, though we sat near obnoxious fans. I don't know why this guy felt the need to heckle and boo the opposition, but really, I am trying to teach my kids good sportsmanship!
The kids loved the new wave display at Harbourfront, though I wonder how long it will be until someone gets injured, the city gets sued, and it comes down.
I decided that since I was on my own this morning, it would be a good opportunity to get back to my running. It has been neglected the past few weeks as different things have distracted me from normal life.
This morning I got dressed and heading out to the park, enjoying the cool shade and quiet streets.
My mind was wandering, as it does when I run, when suddenly I tripped and was down. I hurt. My right ankle was definitely twisted. My left knee scraped. My left hip, bruised. Both hands scraped, the right one bleeding. Damn! It stings.
I sat there on the curb, willing my ankle to stop hurting so that I could walk home. I was also breathing deeply to ensure that I wouldn't cry.
This lovely older man, out for a stroll, stopped to make sure that I was OK. He was so sweet! He helped me up, and made sure that I could walk before he left me to continue on his walk.
There are really some amazingly nice and wonderful people in the world, and I wanted to say thanks.
Son One finished an amazing week at Canlans Hockey camp on Friday. He went with his cousin and a friend, and they had a great time. It was full day camp, so he was dropped off around 8:30 am and picked up at 5:00 pm. They also fed them a hot lunch every day, so I only had to pack snacks and water.
This week, I have all three of them in half day morning camps, and I don't know what to do with myself!
Daughter is trying her first camp EVER! It is a dance camp, and she was so excited to get up and dressed this morning, packing her snack in her new Tinkerbell Butterfly lunch box and grabbing her dance bag.
Both boys are doing half day camps at the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum). On the drive down it was so funny listening to Son One tell Son Two what it was all about; having attended one of the Saturday Morning Clubs he sees himself as an expert.
There is still tennis, and more hockey camp, to go in August. At first I thought that I may have over done it with the camps. However, with this crazy city strike I've realized that it is not like I can take them to the pool, the islands, or even some of the parks. And their swimming lessons are canceled. At least I know that they are having fun and learning something new.
Girls are girls --
Girls are girls --
Boys are boys --
Boys are boys --
Daddy is sometimes a boy --
Because he doesn't have earrings
It was a cute little song, and I love the way it lets me know how her little mind works.
After singing, she wrapped her little arms tight around my neck, and kissed me on the cheek.
Daughter: I love you, Mommy.
Me: I love you, too.
Daughter: You are the good Mommy.
Me: Thank you.
Daughter: You are a good driver, too.
Me: Thanks, Honey.
Daughter: Daddy is sometimes a good driver too. But sometimes he hits the sidewalk.
Me: Oh?
Hmmm... so if our tires start to go flat because of dents in the rim, I will not be blamed.
Daughter feel asleep with her arms tight around my neck, and her sweaty little cheek pressed into mine.
Daughter is tiny. At 38 inches, and 31 pounds, she is small for a 3 1/2 year old.
Daughter is too small to trigger automatic doors. Seriously. When she approaches one, it just doesn't open. This happens at grocery stores, Walmart and arenas. It is almost sad watching her approach, hoping that the door will open for her to enter. And when it doesn't open for her, she looks around as if to ask, "what am I doing wrong? Whenever anyone else walks up, it opens for them. What is wrong with me?"
I am not sure of the height or weight trigger set point to get the doors to open. But it is hard to believe that she doesn't register.
She is smart and outgoing and can do almost anything, except open a silly door. Daughter has fallen hard for those buttons that open the doors automatically, and who can blame her?
Every time I see her run up to a building, eager to be the first one inside, I feel sad for her. Some day she will be big enough - I just hope that it is soon.
Tonight is our last hockey night of the summer. Last week we had what we called, "Family Night" and Son One came out and played in net for us. It was his first time, and it was great fun. Our scrimmages are getting a little more intense, and some of these women are really, really good!
I still get a little nervous and anxious every time I get ready for hockey - you know that sort of nauseous feeling in your stomach. Far from being a pro, I worry first about injury, and second about making a fool of myself. The first goal is having fun, and I try to keep them in mind (just like with the TimBits! Do you think Sydney Crosby would ever show up to play with us?)
It has been a great ten weeks, and we have the most amazing and fun group of women every! We have already booked ice to start again in the fall. What am I thinking? I swear that hockey was one sport that I never saw myself doing... NEVER. Yet here I am, signing up for another 26 weeks. Crazy?
Yesterday, Husband's cousin gave birth to her daughter at home on the bathroom floor. Congratulations!
I swear this really happened. "How is that possible?" asks every woman who has ever been through the pains of labour. Unlike those women on TLC's new show who don't seem to know that they are even pregnant when they give birth, she knew! I think it may have even been her due date.
She was feeling a little nauseous, and went to go pee when she noticed that the baby's head was coming out. Her husband called 911 and delivered the baby himself (cord wrapped around the neck made for a scare) as the operator talked him through it. Their toddler was home.
They are both doing well today in hospital.
I swear that I if I didn't know them, I would never have believed that someone could give birth without labour. Also, as they live in the Beaches, it is not exactly the roomiest bathroom...
The funerals are done. We have said good-bye to my Husband's grandmother, great-grandmother to my children. The first question that daughter asked when we got home last night was, "When do I get to see her again?"
I think that it is OK for kids to go to funerals. Understanding that life has a beginning and an end, and that lots can happen in between, helps them to find truth and grounding. Husband and I answer all questions honestly, with the belief that they will understand what is important to their age.
At the funeral, we arrived before the casket was closed. I tried to keep the kids away, but they walked straight up. I had the usual question of why they close half to cover the feet, but they weren't afraid. Son Two hung out at the casket, looking inside, for over 20 minutes. His one comment was, "Mom - now your grandmother is the oldest person we know!"
My kids are lucky that they have all four of their grandparents, and that they met two of their great grandparents. They have developed an appreciation of the different generations and what family means. And I think that they are learning to celebrate and embrace life.
Son One had his first week of camp this summer, and it was amazing! It was a Challenger Soccer Camp. They have instructors from England who come to North America and travel from location to location spending just a week teaching soccer.
The kids get balls and jerseys, and they each join a "team". Son One was on England, and apparently they won the World Cup (in reality, England hasn't won since 1966).
He loved it! Though he had many friends at the camp, none of them were on his team. He also learned a lot, and was thrilled to come home each day and show us his new moves. Not only did he learn some new moves, but he learned some new words and new songs from the English Coaches (luckily his favourites are "mate" and "Cheerio")
At the end of the week they had silly costume day, and flag day. Plus, we got a report card to see how he actually did.
Yesterday the boys convinced Daddy to "camp" with them in the backyard. They pitched the tent, removed the mattress from the pull-out couch, took their pillows and comforters and went to sleep under the stars.
Son Two fell asleep before they even made it outside. Husband picked him up and placed him in the tent anyway, knowing how disappointed he would be to wake up in his own bed.
Daughter was super excited about sleeping in a tent as she has never done it before. I went out in my nightgown to say good-night, and she wanted me to stay. My guess is that it is a two person tent - there were already 4 of them in there. And though a few of them are small, it would be pushing it. (It is an amazing tent - it even comes with a doggy door!)
At 10:20 pm, Husband brought Daughter inside, still awake. She fell asleep in my arms a few minutes later.
The boys enjoyed themselves, and Daddy even made them special pancakes for breakfast this morning. They claim that they will be sleeping in the tent again tonight. At least it makes for a quiet night in the house.
Sorry that I have been absent. Husband's grandmother passed away on Friday. She was 88 and had lived a long and happy life. She will be missed. We have her funeral on Tuesday, and I hope to be back in the blog there after.
Yesterday I attended a funeral for a young mother. She was 35, and has three children younger than mine.
When I first heard that she had passed away, I couldn't get out of my mind how much of her children's lives she would miss... Her eldest will be doing his First Holy Communion next year, her middle child starts JK in the fall, and her third turns two next week. And for every occasion, there are a million little moments that she will miss for the rest of their lives.
I thought about how, as mothers, we believe that no one can do for our children what we do. Even Daddy isn't us. There is conviction behind every decision that we make for each of our children, no matter how small. When I heard that she had passed away, I cried for her, realizing how much I would miss and how hard it is to know that someone else will be taking care of my kids instead of me. Someone else to wake them every morning, help them dress, and get them out the door. Someone else to make them brush their teeth, put on their pajamas, and kiss them goodnight. And the thousand things that we do for them every day in between.
Then I started to think about her children. They still have their dad, all grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. But loosing their mother changes them, and it will be a void in their lives forever. As much love and support that they will get, and I know that these kids are loved like crazy by so many people, they will still not have their mother's daily love; her hugs and kisses and cuddles to make it all better.
Her eldest will be hit the hardest right now, because he understand the most about what happened and he had the most time with her. Her daughter will notice other mothers and daughters growing up and feel her loss. The youngest will remember her only through the stories and pictures. The saddest yesterday was him asking for Mama, and you wonder how long until he stops asking.
Sad things happen. People die. It just really sucks sometimes.
The funeral yesterday was lovely. The older kids broke down in the church, but really the service was a celebration of her life. At the internment, I noticed many small grave stones near her final resting place. Reading them I was further saddened as they were children - some with the same birth and death rates, most in the first year, the oldest was 13. Perhaps it is by design that the cemetery buries young mothers near children.
She was a beautiful, smart, energetic, strong and sassy woman. She was an amazing mother who was devoted to her children and family; she was their heart. She was loved and adored by many, and will be missed. Offering her family our love and prayers.
Monday after soccer camp, a few of us moms decided to take a group of our kids out to lunch, and then to a mini-golf and driving range place.
We arrived at the lunch place, and with 13 of us, the place was packed. It is the kind of restaurant the you go to pick up a quick but good burger and fries. Unfortunately, our numbers overwhelmed them. It took me about 20 minutes to order, and another 45 minutes for our food to come. Not bad timing when Husband and I head out for fine dinning, but too long for a group of kids at a hamburger place.
As soon as my food was ready, last, daughter announced that she had to go pee. Always the way! I took her down the narrow steps to the bathroom, where she peed, and somehow plugged up the toilet. No plunger, so I left it and went back upstairs.
When I sat down, another mother came over a whispered in my ear. Apparently in my absence, the "big" boys were fooling around with the squeeze ketchup bottle, and a gentleman wearing a while dress shirt got some all over his back. He was still eating his lunch, oblivious.
Yes, ketchup squirted on some man's white shirt, while he sat their eating his lunch, politely ignoring the rowdy boys at the table behind him...
The other moms decided that one would take the kids out, just in case there was a scene, and the other two would stay and apologize and offer to pay for the dry cleaning. We, all of the moms, felt TERRIBLE!!!!
Unfortunately, as my kids and I were the last to get our lunch, we weren't actually ready to leave. Instead, we witnessed the apology and the attempt to clean the shirt.
The gentleman was extremely gracious and forgiving - he joked that he would just have to take the rest of the day off, and wouldn't take any money for dry cleaning. Of course, we were mortified.
Still trying to explain to Son One why he is just as culpable as the ones doing the squirting because all of the boys were fooling around instead of staying in their seats, as asked...
Years ago, in what seems like a past life, I worked in advertising. There was this lovely woman in Media, who recognized me as a fellow foodie, and gave me the most amazing chocolate chip cookie recipe for Christmas.
I've used that recipe a few dozen times since then. They make really amazing soft and chewy cookies. Unfortunately, I've noticed that my recipe card is fading, and knowing me, it will fade before I get the chance to rewrite it, thus losing the recipe forever.
Last week I went to Canadian Tire to buy new cookie sheets. I picked up the aluminum sheet that I normally use for cookies, and two Baker's Secret cookie sheets because they were on sale and I needed one for frozen chicken fingers.
As I peeled away the cardboard, I noticed a cookie recipe on the back of the Baker's Secret packaging - MY chocolate chip cookie recipe!!!
Of course, Julie, the wonderful woman in Media, had made it her own by adding personal recommendations, but it was the same recipe.
So here it is for you to try... I swear it make the most delicious chocolate chip cookies if done right.
NOTE: I am going to give you Julie's recipe, the one that I got from her in December 1998; I am pretty sure that I can't give you the Baker's Secret version...
Julie's Best Soft Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe
Preheat over to 325 F
Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
Mix in a medium bowl with a fork and set aside
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
3/4 white, granulated sugar
3/4 light brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Mix with fork in large bowl
2 eggs
Beat with fork, and mix with butter and sugar
Add in flour mixture - continuing to mix with large fork
2 - 2 1/2 cups chocolate chips (mixture of pure semi-sweet and milk chocolate)
Add chocolate chips to batter. Fold in as many as possible. (If you like nuts, you can also add up to a cup of chopped nuts.)
Using an aluminum cookie sheet, use a teaspoon to drop.
Cook for 8-10 minutes, unlit golden brown. Remove with metal spatula to plate or cutting board to cool (as these are soft, they would break easily on a wire rack).
Makes approximately 5 dozen. Last about 3 - 4 days (assuming you don't eat them all before then). Can be frozen - though lay on cookie sheets to freeze, then place in container or bag.
Last night I was kissing Daughter before bed. I gave her two kisses, which she promptly wiped away.
Me: Did you just wipe off my kisses?
Daughter: I just wiped them off a little bit. I mostly wiped them in.
So I kissed her three more times.
Daughter: Mommy! I am all full up of kisses. No more.
This is the first time that I have been asked to stop kissing her... Are we on to a new phase? Will she stop holding my hand in public next?
I read something recently, in another mom's blog, about how no one tells you how much easier it is to travel with kids before they are toilet trained. Consider yourself told! You can pretty much change a diaper anytime, anywhere. Finding a suitable bathroom with the 3 seconds notice you get when your preschooler yells, "Mommy! I need to pee!" is often a challenge on the road.
Some kids like using different bathrooms, especially when they are toilet training. They arrive and someone's home, or a new venue, and immediately have to go pee. Of course they are just checking out the facilities, or peeing as many places as possible like a wolf marking its territory.
We have the opposite problem with Daughter. She is very particular about what toilet she will use. She was doing well with potty training, when we decided to renovate both of our bathrooms. We started with the basement one, and when that was done, we ripped out the second floor bathroom. She took one look at the new toilet in the new bathroom in the basement, announced, "That's not my potty!" and went right back into diapers.
This past winter was hard. With the boys playing so much hockey, she spent many hours in an arena. Unfortunately, most arena bathrooms do not meet Daughter's cleanliness standards.
The weird part it that she will seldom, if ever, have an accident. She has amazing bladder control! She will just hold it until she find a suitable facility.
Yesterday, we decided to go mini-putting. Daughter had to go pee, but took one look at the weird toilet in her grandparent's camper and said, "No."
She hit her ball at the first hole, and turned to me announcing, "I need to go pee."
I took her to the closest bathroom; a public bathroom located near the swimming pool. "No," she said.
Three minutes later, back at the mini-putt, again she asked to go pee. I gave her two choices - either the camper bathroom, or the pool bathroom. She choose the camper one, we walked back, and she went without complaint.
I told Husband that we are spoiling her with our two, beautiful, newly renovated (and mostly marble) bathrooms. It worries me a little, as later this summer we are going to be "roughing it" in Algonquin Park... And I don't think that where we are staying there is any running water.
Yesterday we took a quick trip north for some fresh air. It was nice getting out the of the city for the afternoon. We decided to take the kids for a canoe ride.
A large teen was on the banks of the river (we weren't actually near a sea, of course), and had himself wedged into a kayak. A woman (perhaps his mother) asked Husband to help push him into the water. Of course Husband obliged.
A few minutes later, we were still onshore getting the kids and their life jackets sorted out, the teen returned with the kayak and said that he wanted out. While Grandpa held the kayak to the shore, Husband grabbed the kid under the arms, planted one foot on the kayak for leverage, and pulled the kid free. It took a few minutes, and Husband's face was red with the exertion. Husband is not a small man, but I figure that the kids at least 60 pounds on him.
A few minutes later we were paddling down the river, when Husband started laughing and couldn't stop.
"That kid could have drowned in front of us, and we couldn't have done anything about it!" He said, "If he would have flipped the kayak, he would have been a goner for sure. And I was the one who pushed that kid into the water!"
I guess it was the whole "danger averted" / "nervous tension" that made husband laugh so hard. It was sort of funny watching him try to pull the kid from the kayak...
As judgmental as we mother's seems to be of one another (breastfeeding, natural child birth, schooling, pacifiers, potty training, discipline, daycare, etc.) I have to say that I have honestly never met a bad mother.
I have met mothers who do things differently then I do. Some very differently. Some I think are ridiculous, or crazy, or neurotic. But they aren't bad. They are, like me, madly in love with their children and just trying to do the best for those children.
I don't know if anyone is born knowing how to be a mother. I am the first to admit that I had better plans, tactics and strategies for parenting long before my first child was born. And then when I was hit with the reality instead of the theory, it all went out the window.
Maybe by having more than one child, I am trying to improve as I go along. Mistakes I made with Son One, I try not to repeat with the others. Poor Son One! I definitely make the most mistakes with him.
When Son One was a baby we tried cloth diapers. Oh yes! As environmentally conscious as that decision was, it tortured my son every night. He would leak through the two cloth diapers, the extra absorbent strip, the plastic cover, his onsie, his sleeper and the sheets. He would wake up to feed, and I would need to change and clean my soaking little bundle of screams, while I woke Husband to change the crib with fresh sheets. This happened at least once a night for weeks! I can't remember when we finally started putting him in disposable diapers at night, but soon after he started sleeping from 11 pm - 7 am. I quit disposables completely when he started solid food - it was really just too gross.
In the past, mothers were judged bases on sacrifices which they made for their children. Some mothers sacrificed everything, including their lives. Luckily, in our time and place we don't have to. Instead for us it often comes down to time, or trading something we want for something they need.
In theory, there is a plan we could follow to raise the perfect child. If we didn't believe that, then there wouldn't be a shelf full of parenting books at Chapters. However, in practice, just as each of us are individuals, so are each of our children. This dictates that each child has different needs, and we have to adapt to fulfill those needs.
The mothers I've met are all different. Some I agree with on some points (I am pretty pro-breastfeeding) and disagree with on the others (I can't see why you would go through the pain of natural child birth if there is no real benefit to you or the baby). However, every mother I have met, and gotten to know, and watched with her children, has one thing in common - we all love our children like crazy. And I think that is the foundation for being a great mom.
This week has been a nice, family oriented, do-nothing first week of summer. I threw out 4 large garbage bags of stuff from the house (thanks to the garbage strike, I can get rid of anything and everything since I am hauling it to the dump sites myself!)
Today I got some grocery shopping done in the morning, and some baking in the afternoon. We had a nice lunch of BBQ hot dogs and hamburgers.
But the kids (along with Husband) get up to the darnedest things... NOTE: Do not try this at home!
When I returned from the grocery store this morning, Husband and the boys were standing on one side of the street, while Daughter stood on our neighbour's lawn. The boys had hockey sticks, while Daughter had this nerf gun thing.
Here is how the game went: Daughter shoots the dart thing out of the gun across the road (only after Daddy has yelled, "No cars!") then the "boys" (Daddy included) have to try to hit the projectile, swinging their hockey sticks like baseball bats. Hitting it back across the street - 4 points; half-way across the street - 2 points; making contact - 1 point; and, zero for a complete miss. Really, this is the game that they came up with on a lazy summer's morning. This is when I realize that I really have no clue what goes on in the male brain.
For the afternoon, they had the slip'n'slide set up in the backyard. This is no ordinary slip'n'slide; it is approximately 5 feet by 30 feet. They set it up down the hill in the back; the inflatable bumpers have long since developed punctures.
(I was inside making gross molasses cookies to help increase the iron in our diet. The kids loved them. Just goes to show that you can make anything better with enough chocolate.)
Last summer Husband introduced them to "tobogganing" down the slip'n'slide. They take out their foam boards from the winter, and run jumping on them to slide down the hill. Last summer the boys actually perfected standing on the boards and they went down the hill. This summer they are taking the game a step further. One stands on the side and throws a ball, while the other one has to try to get the ball before he comes to a complete stop at the end. As far as I am aware, they have yet to come up with a point system.
Now the question - Do I let them play and have their fun? Or try to impose some rules and boundaries so that they don't hurt themselves or one another? Sometimes when they start making up these rules that piggy back rules which only they seem able to follow, I am reminded of that old McDonald's basketball commercial. BOYS!
Hope you and your family had a great day. We had a good one. Husband went golfing, while I made a cake for Daughter (a little late, but it represents her official good-bye to diapers) and a strawberry tiramisu for a BBQ at my sister's house. Red and White!
OK. I am little conservative. I have one hole in each ear (done by my parents back before I can remember). No tattoos. No other piercing. Dyed hair consists of "natural-looking" highlights.
I almost got a tattoo in University. I had just started dating my husband, and he asked me not to. So I didn't. He later told me that he thinks they are trashing. OK then, honey. I married him, and I can tell you with 100% honesty and Husband has never had a piercing, neither of us have ever had a tattoo or tried drugs. Conservative? Maybe. I consider us fairly normal for our peer group.
I was out the other day with the kids. We saw a man, bald, piercings and tattoos riding a motorcycle. Son Two loves motorcycles. The kids never seemed to be phased, or judgmental, of radical appearances. However, about a month ago Son Two stood across the waiting room at Daughter's dance class and pointed out that a conservatively dressed Dad there had "holes in his ears." The dad couldn't believe that Son Two could see his old holes (from his wilder teen years, he explained) form across the room. I couldn't believe that he pointed them out.
Yet yesterday we see a biker, leather, ears pierced, lots of tattoos, and the kids say nothing. I tried to take it a learning opportunity.
"Guys, please promise me that you will NEVER get a tattoo."
"You mean not until we are adults, right?" Son Two... he is going to be trouble.
"No, NEVER. Even when you are adults. They may look sort of cool when you are 20, but by the time you are 40 they just look weird and silly."
"So when I am 20 I can get them, and then get rid of them when I am 40." Son Two... for sure he will be the one to come home with a tattoo.
"Honey, tattoos are permanent. They don't come off. You have them for ever and ever."
"Uncle Steve has tattoos."
"Yes, I know."
Damn those relatives with tattoos! Both Husband's sisters actually have tattoos as well, but this is not something that I am going to be telling my kids. However, given that they will see them in bathing suits this summer, they will figure it out.
"How come he can have tattoos?"
"Because I am not Uncle Steve's mother. I am your mother. Besides, Daddy really, really doesn't like tattoos." When in doubt, mention Daddy, their hero.
"I don't want a tattoo," said Daughter. Yes! One down, two to go.
I know that Son One won't get a tattoo; you can even put a band-aid on him most days without him whining and crying and trying to run away.
Son Two, on the other hand, is one tough cookie. He could handle the pain. But I guess only time will tell if he decided to go for permanent ink. Let's just hope that if he does, it is a maple leaf because he is an Olympic Athlete!
I have two very smart sons. Please remember this as you read about their two recent T-Ball injuries.
Husband went to Canadian Tire (possible his favourite store) and bought the boys a new bat and "T" so that we can play T-Ball as a family. Saturday we spent the evening hitting the ball to my husband down and across the street. We live on a fairy regular Toronto neighbourhood street. There are a few cars. But we played there anyway, hitting from the corner of our front lawn across the road and down toward Husband who was our only fielder. There was only one park car hit, so we were doing well. The boys and I would each take two turns at bat, then Daughter would take three. I am not sure how that worked, but as they boys didn't complain, I didn't mention it.
Then Sunday Husband decided to take the boys up to a high school field near our home, while I took Daughter for a walk on Bloor Street. We passed the field on our way home, to be joined by Son One limping with a huge, bleeding gash on his ankle. I swear I could see it scraped down to the bone.
This is how Son One was injured. It was wet, as it has been many days this past week. And Son One was wearing Crocs. Husband set the "T" up on the cement and had the boys hitting to him in the field, taking turns of course. Then Son Two decided that after he hit, he would run imaginary bases. Fine. Then Son One decided that when Son Two hit, he would chase down the ball, then try to beat his brother home to get him out. Crocs, wet cement, and a wet plastic base attached to the bottom of the "T" don't mix. Son One came running home, touched the base, and slide on the wet cement, bare ankle on cement. He was still limping three days later.
Everyone came home. Then Monday I went to Walmart (remember the $124 shopping trip where I needed nothing?) Son One and Daughter came with me, so Husband decided to take Son Two back to the field for some more batting practice.
Again, Son Two decided to run pretend bases after each hit. His brother wasn't there to try to get him out. Son Two ran right over home plate. The "T" sticks up out of the middle of home plate. Son Two's legs aren't long enough that he can clear the "T"... do you see what I am trying to say? He bounced off and fell to the grass holding his privates (after previous day's incident, Husband decided to was safer to set up on the grass, even though it was wet).
The craziest part, is the that Son Two ran the bases many more times, running right through home as if the "T" didn't exist, and injuring himself a number more times before he figured it out.
I never thought of T-Ball as a dangerous sport. I am now trying to find them something that they can play were they can't get hurt; but really, where is the fun in that?
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