You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child
on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and
why his parents will always wave back.
~ William D. Tammeus
Last night the boys had showers, I trimmed finger nails and toe nails, flossed teeth, and realizing that I was on a roll, cut Son One's hair.
He let me! This is the main problem. I am NOT a hairdresser. However, I couldn't let this opportunity pass! He was actually ready for a haircut! After 10 months of growing it! Of course, it was 9:30 pm at night, and it could have just been a stalling tactic so that he didn't have to go to bed, but still...
I found my sharp scissors, grabbed a comb and laid a towel out on his brother's bed. Then I wrapped a towel around his shoulders and started.
MAN - his hair was loooooong!
First try - the cut looked like an adorable bob. Chin length, a straight bob, with some wispy bangs. Really, a great and flattering cut. FOR A GIRL!!!! He took one look in the mirror and said, "you make me look like a girl."
OK, Son One, for the record, is GORGEOUS! Boy or girl. He has huge blue eyes fringed with thick, long black lashes. Clear peaches and cream skin. A rose mouth of full, lush lips. And amazing thick, dark blond hair with golden and auburn highlights. However, most moms, and I am sure ALL dads, don't want their seven year old sons to appear slightly androgynous.
So I grabbed the scissors again. I stood him in the bathtub - it was now 10 pm - and started cutting again.
Now he looks like either Zack or Cody (whomever is the trouble making one) from The Suite Life on Family.
Personally, I am pretty impressed by the job that I did. Remember please, everyone, I am an MBA and not a hairdresser by training.
Son One seems pleased. But today at school will be the litmus test. If no one makes fun, we'll be clear. If any mocks it, we will be off to the barbers for a refresher before you can say, "off with your head!"
From now on, we are having all-girl birthday parties (at least until puberty). No - really, even for the boys. They are so much more CIVILIZED! Nothing broke. No fights. No tears.
Sunday I had 8 little girls and 1 little boy over for Daughter's 4th Birthday Party. It was princess themed. We made wands. Read a A Paper Bag Princess. Had a snack. Played games. Had cake. All went well.
The girls were all so polite and well behaved! Son One snorts when I tell him (his birthday is next) that I think I will just have girls again.
I am starting to realize how shy my children are. When we sang "Happy Birthday" to Son Two on his birthday earlier this month, he blew out the candles half-way through the song hoping it would be done. AND IT WAS JUST THE 5 OF US!!!
Daughter, during "Happy Birthday" curled up into a ball on her chair and hid her head. I had to ask the others at the party to blow out her candles for her and make her a birthday wish, because she refused to look up and blow them out. Really, what child refuses to blow out their candles?
The birthdays are done in my house for a few months. The Christmas rush followed by the double birthdays. It is a hit that my Visa really can't take.
Still looking for that damn cord so that I can download photos. May have to make a special trip to Future Shop today.
Son One hasn't cut his hair since March. It is so long! And messy. I keep threatening with haircuts. I've even invented a "barber fairy" who will come in the middle of the night to cut his hair if he misbehaves. The latest negotiation tactic (also known as "threat) is that the next hockey game he loses, he gets a haircut. To be fair, I don't really care if he wins or loses, I am just looking for some reason to cut his hair.
Husband and I can't figure out why he won't cut it. Someone once mentioned that he looked a little like Zack and Cody from The Suite Life, so we thought that was why he was growing it. For the longest time I would tell people to just leave him alone, "it's just hair!" I would explain. However, now that I can no longer see his eyes, it is starting to bug me.
Daughter hasn't had a haircut since playing barber in September. Today, I got some insight into why.
I had a visit to the hairdresser's last week. Obviously, my hairstyle when I returned home made an impression.
Daughter: I don't want to go to the hairdresser!
Me: Why not? You need to get your hair trimmed.
Daughter: Because I don't want to have my hair messed up!
Hmmm... She thinks that they messed my hair up?
Me: Don't worry. They won't mess up your hair.
Daughter: But they will change the colour! I don't want to get my colour changed.
Yes, I coloured my hair. Obviously, she wasn't a fan of the subtle highlights.
Perhaps I am to blame for my kids fear of hairdressers. I love going to get my hair done, and often place premature trust, letting them cut or colour, "as they want."
What bugs me about the kids growing out their hair is that I can't see their beautiful little faces. Husband is getting a new camera for Christmas, so soon I will be able to share with you pictures of my children, with extra hair.
Husband, claiming to be recovering from his illness, told the boys that they could get the Christmas tree this morning.
On his way out the door to get and visit the Scouts, he asked over his shoulder if I could clean up the living room to make room. I was still in my pajamas and in need of a shower. There were 3 1/2 sets of hockey equipment airing out in the living room, along with 80% of my gifts in various stages of wrapping, and all of my wrapping supplies. Unfortunately, the Scouts Christmas trees are only about three blocks away, and they were driving.
I started out by shoving hockey equipment into hockey bags. I hope that I was fairly accurate, but let's be honest, the only one I really cared about was my own. The bags were moved into the kitchen to help make room.
Next I piled all of the wrapping and gifts into one corner.
Then I moved two living room chairs, grabbed some towels and a garbage bag, and set up the corner for the tree. I decided that since I had been so efficient, I could probably grab a quick shower (if I didn't wash and condition my hair) and be dressed before they came home.
No such luck. I was just about to step into the shower when I heard the front door open. Thinking that it wasn't exactly very Christmas-like to put up the tree in the nude, I shouted down for them to start without me. They managed fine.
With the tree up and the scent of evergreen filling the house, the kids wanted to do more to get ready for Christmas. As we explained that we can't decorate until tomorrow, needing the branches to fall into place, we decided to do some wrapping.
Have you ever tried to wrap presents with three helpers? Not only is it not easy and fun, but I was ready to beat them all and send them to their rooms before the first gift was even wrapped. They each had their own roll of tape, and a job to do. One cut the paper. One helped to fold. One wrote the gift tags.
Husband and I tried to explain the shoving and pushing your siblings so that you can put the tape on first not only isn't "helpful" but also isn't in the Christmas spirit. (Note to Friends and Family: The kids helped to wrap. Don't ask about the tape, or the messy corners. Be happy if the gift is still in one piece.)
I need a massage. If anyone wants to send me a present and doesn't know what to get me, consider a nice spa gift card. If you are more generous, a weekend away at a spa...
If you would have told me a year ago that I would be running a hockey practice for my seven-year-old, I would have thought you were insane. But last night, I did just that.
I was never a skater, never interested in learning to skate, and I had never even watched a full hockey game until I met Husband. But it is not only the great Canadian passion, it is turning into the passion of my family, and I can't explain the fun of getting to share that with my kids.
Husband, as you know, is sick. He was supposed to be running the first outdoor practice of the season. He was feverish, and with the wet cool weather and his pneumonia, opted out. And then he said, "but why don't you run it?"
Yeah, I thought to myself, why don't I? I have been taking hockey since May. I am the house league convener. Sure, these kids are all seven and have been playing since they were four. Sure, they are all pretty competitive select kids. But I am a natural leader. I have a whistle. I have pylons. I have pucks. How hard can it be?
It was AMAZING!!!! Thanks so much to the two dads who were on the ice helping out, but actually let me run the drills. The kids listened. I used my whistle. We covered skating, pivoting, turning, backwards skating, puck handling. OK, so maybe it wasn't always in the best order. But they did well, and it was a decent practice.
Then the scrimmage...
I almost sat it out, worried that I would get knocked over by some over-eager seven-year-old and injured. Also worried that I would look like a complete knob. But again, thanks to the wonderful support and encouragement of those two amazing dads, I stuck it out.
And it was the BEST time I've had with my first born in a long, long time.
It is hard to describe the magic of the moment. It was cool, but not cold. The wind was bad but I was actually starting to skate hard enough to warm up and not notice. I could take the puck off of the kids, pass to the other adults (my teammates).
The magic? My son was smiling, and we were having fun together because I was with him doing something that he loved. A light snow began to fall, and we switch teams so that we were together. It was almost time to go and you could tell that the kids were getting tired. Son One got a break-away, and I tried to catch up. He saw me, and though he could have taken it in on his own, he passed giving me a chance to score.
Yes, it would have been amazing if I actually had scored. But this is the real world and winter hockey magic only goes so far.
The good news? I didn't fall and make a fool out of myself. On the ride home, Son One said that I was better than he thought I would be, though not as good as Daddy. I am still not down from my high.
Husband and I often comment on how feminine our little girl is compared to her big brothers. Where they seem big, beefy and strong, she seems petite and soft. Where they are loud and rough, she is gentle.
However, after her last dance class before Christmas mini-recital, I've realized that as soft and feminine as we consider her to be, there are loads of little princesses out there without big brothers who are even shocked by the rough-around-the-edges little princess of ours.
First, the teacher asked the students to all find their special spots on the floor. While all of the other girl dancers walked over, toes pointing, hands on hips, my daughter ran then slid on her knees to her spot.
Later, when doing their corner work, Daughter was the fastest across the floor, often running and sliding up to 6 feet. Note: the goal of corner work is not to be the fastest.
Finally, they finished up with a free dance exercise. The teacher played three different pieces of music, telling the dancers to be birds, cats and horses. Then she played music and they got to dance anyway they wanted. At the end they showed one another their steps, and the other dancers had to guess what each of them were. There were cats, butterflies, ballerinas, princess and figure skaters.
My daughter, whose dance consisted of sticking her arms straight out and running around the perimeter of the room as fast as she could, was an airplane.
There goes my shot at having a ballerina in the family.
This weekend we unplugged the TVs. The kids were all being rude, obnoxious and temperamental, and I am not exactly sure how we arrived at unplugging the TV as punishment, but the next step could be locking them in their rooms until they are 18. Just keeping our options open.
Son Two is getting ready for go to school, but first he and Daughter were having a pretend playdate. All was going well until this:
S2: Hey Babe. Thanks.
Daughter: MOMMY! He called me Babe!
S2: Do you think Babe is a bad name, or a good name?
D: A bad name.
S2: No! It's a good name!
Me: Son Two, why do you think it is a good name?
S2: Well, when guys call girls "babe" they like it.
Me: What girls? Where have you heard that?
S2: On TV.
Me: What kind of TV are you watching?
S2: I just like calling her Babe.
Me: Well she doesn't like it, so please stop.
S2: Babe. Babe. Babe, babe, BABE!
D: STOP IT! I AM NOT A BABE!
S2: I am not calling you a Babe, I just like saying the word.
I think that it is almost time to get the locksmith in...
Kids love PA days. A day off school - yay! An extra long weekend - double yay!
As a stay-at-home mom, PA days aren't too bad for me either. No getting up early, making lunches, packing homework, and rushing out the door. Instead we all get to sleep in, and can stay in our PJs as long as we want (Daughter is still in her nightgown, and it is almost lunch time!)
Son One is my busiest child. But he also demands to be busy. He was given the choice between doing nothing today, and in going to an all-day hockey camp. He chose the camp. So, I had to get up early, dress him, make him breakfast and pack a bag of water and snacks (a hot lunch is included). Luckily, a friend of his was going as well so we get to carpool.
Son Two is having a friend over for a playdate. The friend has food allergies, and his mom packed him a lunch box with his snack options. I let the child talk me into licorice from the Halloween Candy. Will be in trouble with his mom?
For weeks we have busy with Halloween prep. A pumpkin farm was visited, ghosts were hung in our tree, a grave yard set up in the garden, costumes selected, and now time for treats.
Holidays weren't this crazy when we were kids!
Our decorations are good, but I can't get over how many beautifully decorated home there are in our neighbourhood! I leave all holiday decor to Husband and the kids as they seem to be the ones to get the biggest fun out of it. Our dollar store cobwebs have seen better years. Our tree ghosts are also loosing some of their spookiness.
Husband and the kids carved the pumpkins earlier in the week. The farm that we visited sold them at a cost of three for $25. Add that to our entrance fee, cost of hot dogs and french fries for lunch, and gas to get there, and these are definitely the most expensive pumpkins ever! The boys insist on carving their own, while Husband did Daughter's. They are out, sitting on our porch, patiently awaiting the first trick-or-treaters.
Son One has stuck with his costume preference theme of ghosts and ghouls. He has been a ghost, a vampire, and this year is a zombie.
Son Two is more random - a purple monster, a werewolf, and this year a clone trooper from Star wars.
Daughter is going as Little Red Riding Hood, but she calls herself, Ruby Red Riding Hood after an episode of Max and Ruby that she saw.
Candy has been purchased - and sorted. All of our favourites have been picked out so that we don't have them out by accident.
Someone, sometime between when I was a kid and now, realized that kids like trophies. I am sure it wasn't a major revelation. Maybe it has something to do with cheaper goods from Asia - two ideas coming together at just the right time, and bringing more crap into my house.
Someone, at sometime, needs to let some organizations know that while the kids really like the trophies, moms do not.
What ever happened to the purple participant ribbons? That is what you were supposed to get for just showing up. My kids get these 10 inch high, fancy-shmancy winners trophies with a small plaque that reads, "Participant"
The average family will soon have to build trophy rooms, or buy a few Ikea Billy Bookcases, just to store and display all of these participant trophies. I ask you, fellow parents, what is the correct protocol? The biggest trophies used to be the best, the most hard-fought. They actually meant that you won something. But now that we have huge participant trophies, which ones get the places of honour in the display?
Mothers when we were growing up used to complain about our trophies as other things that you had to dust. Forget the dusting, for me it is something else that I have to find a place for!
Honestly, do I even have to keep them all? Is there a trophy recycling facility somewhere? Can I ship them off to Africa where the poor kids could grow up never receiving a trophy? (OK, so hockey, T-ball and lacrosse may not be big sports there, but do the kids really care as long as they get a trophy?)
Let's go back to those ribbon days. Ribbons are small, and can easily fit in a scapebook. No dusting or display required.
After my first week of ballet, I honestly thought about dropping out. Standing at the barr for over an hour doing boring exercises wasn't my idea of fun. I couldn't quite put my finger on what the problem was until I attended the hip hop class and had a blast, but I realized that I wanted to dance, not learn proper technique and other boring stuff.
I know adults who live vicariously through their children. They never made it to the NHL, so they want to push their kids as far as they can. They always had a dream to be a dancer, figure skater, astronaut, vet, _____________ (you fill in the blank), and they want their child to fulfill that dream.
I decided that I wasn't going to be that parent. That is why when the kids made hockey look great, I signed myself up. When I realized that I had always wanted to dance (while watching, "So you think you can Dance") I signed myself up for ballet. I give my kids some choice and flexibility in what they want to do, and if there was something that I always wanted to try, I try it myself instead of pushing them to do something that they don't want to.
This is what I have learned - No, I couldn't have been a ballerina. I've stopped thinking, "if only I had gone to ballet as a child, I could have been a prima ballerina!" and started realizing that even if my parents had spent every cent that they had on dance lessons for me, it I still wouldn't have made it to the National Ballet.
Let's be honest with ourselves; honest enough to let our kids find and pursue their own dreams. If we were meant to play in the NHL or dance at the Hummingbird Centre, we would be on the Leafs or dancing Swan Lake. We weren't. Get real.
Our children need to learn that it is OK to dream, but that they also need a back-up plan. (I call that back-up plan school.) I want to support their dreams in any way that I can, but I don't want to drag them toward my dream. If it isn't their dream, then I can't force it on them. And at the end of the day, I want to give them many opportunities so that they can grow up to be happy and successful doing something that they love. Isn't that what we all want?
Back to my ballet class. We are dancing, my toes are pointing, and I am working up a sweat and having fun. I close my eyes (to ignore those walls of mirrors showing me what I really look like) and in my mind I am leaping across the stage performing the dance from the Sugar Plum Fairies, and living a little of my dream for an hour a week.
Becoming a mom means that you have to leave squeamishness behind. Without producing a complete list of the bodily fluids (and solids) that we often have to deal with, I am no longer revolted at the thought of changing a diaper or ministering to a vomiting child.
But it doesn't mean I enjoy it.
Daughter is going through some kind of phase. Take an adorable little girl who has been toilet trained for a while, and suddenly she is having too much fun to make it to the bathroom on time. Last night I actually got woken up by her crying, and while carrying her to the washroom, I got peed on. I, in turn, woke up Husband because I just didn't want to deal with it alone. Misery loves company.
Where in the mother's handbook does it say that we get peed on?
Son One, frat boy in the making, actually "partied-til-he-puked" a few weeks ago. Gee, he didn't know that it wasn't a good idea to run around, eat three pieces of pizza, run around some more and then guzzle half a litre of cold water? I was backing out of the driveway after the birthday party when he started vomiting. All. Over. My. Minivan.
I also think that at least one of the males in my house, not naming any names, has a real aim problem, if you know what I mean. One mother told me that she still makes her 12 year old sit down to pee. I don't know. I think my boys are so thrilled with being able to pee standing up, and it is one of the greatest things about being a boy, how could I crush that?
Clorox wipes are becoming my new best friends, as I clean up after snotty, peeing, vomiting children. They actually have a new purple one that is lavender scented that is particularly nice. I have one container in each bathroom, and I am trying to convince the children to wipe up after themselves...
Today is picture day for the boys. Since Son Two cut his own hair a few weeks ago, and I wasn't allowed to have it "fixed," I had resolved myself to interesting school photos this year. A picture that we would some day look back on and laugh about, or that would end up on Ellen's bad school photo collage.
However, this morning, I gave Son Two the option of going to get his hair cut before picture day. As he has now been moved to afternoons, it was possible. I even talked Daughter into getting hers done, to help even out her "I cut my own hair and Daddy says he likes it!" nightmare.
Both of them fought me into the chair. Daughter ended up sliding out and crying so much that I just said, "forget it!"
However, Son Two did get a wonderful new haircut for his picture day. Now I just have to find some pants without holes in the knees for him to wear.
Now that I think about it, wouldn't it have been really funny to have him with his "I cut my bangs myself" look and holey pants for the class picture? All of the parents could have been scandalized about that poor boy with bad clothes and hair who was so obviously neglected.
I wonder if I forget to wash his face after his lunch if his teacher would clean him up?
Son One lost another tooth last night. What is extraordinary is how ordinary losing a tooth has become for him. I don't remember him complaining about it being loose, being unable to eat or in pain.
When Son One had his first loose tooth, he starved himself for three days, sitting on the couch with his mouth open drooling down his shirt. I actually choose to keep him home from school because we didn't think it was fair to subject his teacher to his ridiculous behaviour. Plus, he lost about 10% of his body weight through his self starvation act. Husband and I told him that if his tooth didn't hurry up and fall out, then we would have to take him to the Dentist to have it pulled out just so that he would start eating again. Can you say drama queen?
Another time he bit into his lunch at school and a loose tooth started bleeding. I was actually called to the school for that one because his teacher was so concerned that he wouldn't eat his lunch.
For one loose tooth, Son One stopped playing hockey. This is because the tooth somehow got turned around while he was playing, though it was still attached. Yes, it looked super freaky. He didn't want to loose the tooth while on the ice, so he benched himself.
Another loose tooth found him drooling on the couch for three days. The extra drool triggered his sensitive gag-reflect, and on the third night (again, after losing 6 pounds), he threw up in the toilet and the loose tooth came out. Husband fished it out.
You can understand why I was thrilled last night when he walked up to me, calmly, and showed me this tiny little tooth. "Look!" he said with a little blood dripping out of his mouth, "I lost a tooth!" I didn't even know it was loose!
This morning, he was happy to discover $6 from the tooth fairy. SIX DOLLARS? Are you kidding me? Next time, the tooth fairy should ask mommy for some change. Son One added up how much he has made off of his teeth so far, and it totals $56! Can you imagine that? I think our tooth fairy thinks that we are made out of money... And neither Son Two nor Daughter even have a loose tooth yet. I hope that they take cheques.
Last night, as I was putting the kids to bed, Son Two asked if Santa Claus was real. Son One jumped in and said, "Of course he is!" and I thought to myself, "I am supposed to talk about sex to a kid who still believes in Santa?" Let me explain.
A few weeks ago, I read in MacLean's magazine that if you don't explain sex and where babies come from to your child by Grade Two, they will hear it from someone else. Now, it is not that I consider MacLean's my parenting bible, but I do know that Son One, currently in Grade Two, has lots of friends with older siblings. After discussing it with Husband, he agreed that in theory it does make sense to explain the basics to our seven year old.
I have discussed periods, breasts, lactating, how babies get out, circumcision, foreskins, penises and testicles with the kids. Husband talks about things with wheels and sporting equipment. I think it is a little unbalanced.
Alas, a few weeks ago I had the perfect opportunity to talk to Son One about sex. We were over at the home of one of his hockey teammates. I was upstairs in the dining room going over some lists with the mom, while the boys were in the basement. Her eleven year old daughter came in, and handed her a folded note. It read, "I think we should have an adult watching the movie with us. There is sex going on." How mature! The mother said that it was a G rated movie!
After we left, I thought it was a good time to bring it up. It was dark, I was driving, and Son Two was sitting in the back looking out the window. We wouldn't have to look one another in the eye, and we were under cover of the night.
I turned down the radio volume and started.
Me: So - what movie were you guys were watching?
Son One: Marley & Me. You know the one with the dog running outside the car.
Me: Oh. Was there sex in the movie? (look - I never claimed to be subtle!)
Son One: No. (looking out the window).
Me: Do you know what sex is?
Son One: No. (Remember, this is the most curious kid in the WORLD!)
Me: Have you ever heard the word "SEX" before?
Son One: No. Can you see that orange sign?
Me: No one at school has ever said anything about sex to you before?
Son One: No. Is that a star or a planet?
Me: Well, honey, you know that if you ever have any questions, Daddy and I are here for you. If you ever want to talk or ask about anything. Especially Daddy. OK?
Son One: OK.
Obviously, he has heard SOMETHING about sex, and just didn't want to discuss it with me. But here is the trickier part. The kid still believes in SANTA! How can you really talk about sex to a kid who believes in Santa, the Toothfairy, and the Easter bunny? It just doesn't make sense!
Last night, Son Two had obviously put some thought into the Santa Myth. Here are highlights from that conversation:
Son Two: Mommy, is Santa real?
Me: (Why the heck does Daddy always miss the good discussion!) What do you think, honey?
Son One: Of course he is! Remember when we saw the footprints on the snow from the reindeer! (Note: Daddy and his hockey stick) And Aunt Y. heard the jingle of bells! (Note: My father's chains and medallions)
Son Two: Yeah, but anybody could buy you presents, wrap them and stick them under the tree and just say that they were from Santa.
Me: Who would do that?
Son Two: I don't know. Maybe Nana.
Son One: Remember when we heard the Easter Bunny hopping up the stairs? (That was me, actually)
Me: I am really tired. Let's go to sleep.
Husband and I pride ourselves on open and honest communication with our kids. However, Daughter is only three and I still want her to believe. Husband and I go out of our way to create magic with the holidays.
Though let's be honest. How old are kids when they stop believing? When can we just tell them the truth? I want to know, because just think about how we could sleep in Christmas and Easter if there was no charade about "Oh, let's see what Santa/Easter Bunny left for you guys!" We could skip right to the mimosas and brunch...
And on the topic of sex, I just may try talking to my five-year-old about it first, see how he takes it before I move on to Son One. After all, if Son One still believes in the fantasy of Santa, he may not even believe what I have to tell him about sex.
I don't often use the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. In fact, I hadn't even purchased one when they first came out. I heard a horrible story about a child who ended up in the ER because they had written on themselves with a permanent marker, and their parents tried to scrub it clean using a magic eraser and the child ended up with chemical burns.
A few years ago, my sister was kind enough to take my boys out for dinner soon after Daughter was born. They returned home from East Side Marios with non-washable crayons. I was too tired to notice, and they coloured all over my kitchen island (this was pre-reno, and my island was white.) I almost cried (blame post-natal hormones and exhaustion.) I tried everything, and then my sister-in-law suggested the Mr. Clean Magic eraser. AND IT WORKED! Easily.
Since then I have kept an eraser on hand for emergencies. They DO NOT work on pen marks on a leather ottoman; they seemed to actually take the colour out of the leather. However, crayons are a snap.
Last year I added GOO GONE to my cupboard after Daughter decided to redecorate our home with stickers. Somehow, the words, "only on paper!" fell on deaf ears. I've heard that you may have to tell your children something up to one thousand times before it sinks in, however I am not sure that even Mother Theresa had that kind of patience.
Goo Gone also works when your cat knocks over a cup of water, melting a magazine into your table top so you have to scrap it off. Seriously, imagine MacLean's and Stephen Harper stuck to you kitchen table. It has happened to me.
That fateful trip to Staples when Daughter picked out that package of his and her scissors that lead to the "haircut", she also selected a package of highlighters. Last night she decided to colour ALL OVER OUR KITCHEN TABLE with the green highlighter. ONLY ON PAPER, DAUGHTER!
Husband noticed first, and got the sponge and dish soap. Barely smudged the marker. I tried the Goo Gone, but no luck. Son One suggested the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser - and then he cleaned the table himself. Thank goodness for helpful seven-year-olds! Because of her brother's ingenuity, we decided to spare Daughter's life...
Today I became an aunt for the 11th time. My sister had her fourth son this morning (9 lbs, 7 ounces - we don't have small kids!) This is my 7th nephew. I think that I need to start Christmas shopping right now! (Or at least saving up for it.)
Mom and baby are doing well. I am going to try to go and meet my new nephew tomorrow. Don't you just love newborns?
Congratulations to my sister and her family on their beautiful and wonderful new addition.
I was in the change room today, dressing Son One for a hockey game, and boy, did it stink! The smell was so bad that my eyes started to sting. I kept reminding myself to breath through my mouth, and I even put a cough drop in hoping I wouldn't taste the smell. Yes, it was that bad.
I went to dress Son One, and I couldn't even have him put on his underarmer it is was so bad. Right now I am doing a load of laundry that includes his socks, jerseys, underarmer and jock. Too much information?
The weird part is that when we got home from the game, I unpacked all of this equipment piece by piece in the living room, and smelled each piece by trying to stick it up my nose. It really wasn't that bad.
Could it have been that the dressing room was that bad? Or maybe it was the kid beside us?
A few nights ago we were all lying on my bed after putting on our pajamas... and I smelled something. It wasn't me. Turns out, it was Son One's feet - he was lying with his head near the foot of the bed and his feet near my face - MAN OH MAN! I tried to convince him to go and wash his feet in the tub before bed, but no dice.
Someone once told me that kids don't start to smell until puberty. I am not so sure about that. I love my son, I think he is adorable, brilliant, funny and kind. But he is turning into a big, stinky kid.
Husband and I seem to differ a little on the issue of stinky kids. Maybe his nose isn't as sensitive as mine, but he doesn't insist on showers or hair washing. I, on the other hand, don't go for that crunchy salt-filled hair style, and think that seven is old enough to start shower after sweaty physical activities.
Another funny thing that Husband does is he dresses the boys in their clothes the night before an early morning hockey game or practice. TO SLEEP IN! Son One used to wear pajamas and just bring something to change into after, but some of the kids would make fun of him. Great solution! It saves time in the morning having the child already dressed. Husband can be so damn practical / logical. However, did I mention that they wear the clothes which they slept in?
Maybe this is a boy - girl thing, sort of like being dirty and not caring. Husband is always showered, clean and wearing clean, fresh clothes. However, when it comes to the kids, I can tell that I am going to be the one enforcing hygiene and cleanliness standards.
Today school kids celebrated Terry Fox by having a run in his honour. It is the least we can do, for one of the greatest Canadians ever.
In 1977 Terry Fox, an athlete, was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. At that time, the only way to treat this condition was to amputate the leg. Three years after losing his leg, Terry Fox decided to run coast to coast to raise money for Cancer Research; this came to be called The Marathon of Hope. Terry's goal was to raise $1 from each Canadian.
Terry Fox started his run by dipping his leg in the Atlantic, and running from St. John's Newfoundland. He ran about 42 km per day, the distance of a regular marathon.
On September 1, 1980, 143 days and 5,373 km into his run, Terry was forced to stop just outside of Thunder Bay. His cancer had metastasized to his lungs.
This summer, on route to Thunder Bay, we saw a marker where Terry Fox stopped running.
Here my kids are admiring the great Canadian Hero. Today, the boys proudly wore their red and white and went to school to do a short run and remember Terry Fox.
OK. Yesterday I went to Staples to buy some back-to-school supplies for the boys, and myself. Don't you just love school supplies? So shiny and new and exciting! There were pencil cases, erasers, pencils sharpeners, glue and SCISSORS!!! There was a two pack of pink and blue scissors that Daughter insist that I buy.
This afternoon we had a play date. Daughter opened her new pack of scissors - pink for her, blue for her brother (Son Two). Then I lay down to try to get the kink out of my neck. Can you guess what happened?
The kids went outside to the backyard and played HAIRDRESSER!
My fault completely. First, I bought the scissors. Then, I had been cutting my kids hair myself lately. DARN! DARN IT!!!
Son Two's isn't too bad - a big chunk is missing over his left eyebrow. Daughter is another story. Long on the sides, short in the back. You know the hair style kids favour when they cut their own hair! I am trying to get some pictures to show. Short, sort of "punk-ish" in the back. All those beautiful curls, GONE!
I offered to "fix" it for her, or to take her to the REAL hairdresser. Unfortunately, she turned into a teenager, "NO! LEAVE ME ALONE! MY DADDY SAID HE LIKES IT!"
"YOUR DADDY LIED!" I yelled back. OK, not great parenting, I know, but I was in shock.
Totally serves me right. For months I have been going on about Son One's long hair that he refuses to cut telling people how it is just hair, and it doesn't matter. Nothing to argue about - let him assert his individuality. Really came back to bite me, didn't it?
The scissors are officially confiscated. I know that it is just hair, it will grow back.
I had to call the other mother. She said that her daughter was due for a haircut anyway, and hers didn't look too bad...
It is sort of funny, because by the third child, I felt like we had enough toys crowding our house so we really didn't buy anything new. We had lots of puzzles, games, balls and building toys, along with the million or so cars. I wasn't trying to turn her into a girly-girl, so I didn't bother with a doll.
One Saturday morning we were out for a walk, and we passed a garage sale. Daughter wasn't even 18 months old yet, but from her stroller she started yelling and pointing, "Look, Mommy! Babies!!!!"
Sure enough there were two very well loved dolls. For $2.25 we got both dolls and some clothes. One of these dolls, still nameless but who Daughter calls, "Baby" is still her favourite in the entire world. Now she has others, more expensive dolls. But the first one she saw and picked out is still the one.
Daughter now has 3 cradles, 3 strollers, and two chairs for her "babies." She loves them, and pretends to be a mother. Her brothers, for some strange reason that only boys may understand, like to grab her dolls and bash their heads against stuff.
My boys aren't particularly violent, but there is something about the soft bodies and the hard heads that seem to make them want to do this. Fingers crossed they will outgrow this long before becoming fathers.
A few minutes ago, we were all sitting in the basement when Son Two grabbed one of Daughter's dolls, a Cabbage Patch, and used it to beat another doll to death. Really - he knocked her in the head and it popped off!
Husband and I sat, still as could be, waiting for Daughter's reaction. Luckily, this wasn't her favourite baby, but it was still a treasured one. Son Two froze, head in one hand, body in the other. Son One jumped into action, "Cool! How did that happen?"
I quickly jumped in with, "I'm sure that Daddy can fix it!"
Thank goodness Daughter didn't start to cry. I think she may be in shock. Now the boys are singing, "Momma had a baby and her head popped off!"
As a stay-at-home-mom, I spend a lot of time with my kids. But recently, I've started noticing that the kids, boys especially, need more individual attention. I had always heard it to be true, but at time this summer their acting out was getting bad.
The past few evenings after dinner, I have taken a walk with Son One. I invent something that I need to do - pick up a book at the library, buy waffles, and he and I "sneak" out so that it is just the two of us.
For my biggest trouble maker, he is the sweetest kid in the world. He holds my hand, and talks to me about lots of stuff. At this point mostly insignificant, but last night he noticed a smoker and had lots of questions. We talked about peer pressure and how someday one of his close friends is going to call him chicken for not wanting to smoke. We talked about the black second-hand smokers lungs we tried to pump air into at Science North, and we talked about street people (he thinks if they didn't drink so much coffee they would haven't to beg for money.)
Son Two and I have had some quiet Mommy-Son time the past few days as well. He isn't as obvious about his need to attention, but two nights ago he asked to sleep with me. As husband wakes at 5 am for work, I said sure and kicked Husband to Son Two's twin bed, while I held Son Two's hand and heard a little more about his hockey camp until he feel asleep.
Daughter and I had an amazing morning yesterday. She crawled into my bed half asleep, and we cuddled for almost an hour, until my bladder was screaming at em to hurry up and get myself into the bathroom! Really I wanted to stay cuddled with her forever.
Son One is only 7, yet already I can see that he would rather spend time with friends or playing some sport than with me. They grow up so fast, and I need to keep myself relevant in their lives, as more than the laundress, chauffeur, cook and cleaner.
I don't just love my kids, but I really, really like them, too. They are such cool little people, with crazy fun ideas. I love listening to them - but sometimes the noise and the hustle and bustle of the house is too much.
This school year I am going to keep making an effort with the boys for some one-on-one time with Mommy. And I don't think that taking them to the mall to help me look for shoes will count.
I guess I did such a great job with Daughter's hair cut that Son One decided he wanted one.
Today, Son Two came home from hockey camp with a hair cut. No - another kid didn't do it during the arts & crafts session - Daddy had picked him up and taken him by the barber. Son Two really likes to get his money's worth out of his haircuts - and he only goes three times a year. I was just getting used to his long, shaggy do, but now he is back to my cute, clean-cut little boy.
Son One, on the other hand, wanted to keep his long locks. He needs a trim, but is afraid the the barber will take too much off. This is why he asked me to cut it.
I got my scissors ready, along with a comb, a glass of water to wet his hair, and a towel for his shoulders. We sat out on the front steps. and I started.
Here was son's hair before: (Son One is the shaggier kid on the left)
Again - no working camera, so no "after" haircut. However, as he was very insistent on keeping the long hair, I took off an average of half a centimetre.
Yep, that's right. Half a centimetre. Husband didn't see the difference. However, as I am neither a haridresser nor barber, I didn't want to risk giving him a really bad haircut; and I thought that the chances were pretty good that I would end up taking him somewhere tomorrow for a "fix" and I didn't want to blow his chances of keeping the shaggy mop.
Unfortunately, half way through the haircut his nose started bleeding. Third time today! Luckily, as we were sitting on the front stairs, I just handed him a paper towel and kept cutting. There is currently a blood stain on the stairs. I read that highway patrol officers use Coke to wash the blood off of the roads because it is corrosive enough and cheap. May have to try that...
I was just down on the floor picking up a thousand scraps of paper smaller than postage stamps. Daughter had discovered her brother's scissors yesterday. "Aren't I a good cutter, Mommy?" "Yes, you certainly are!" Curse you, scissors! Why is cutting stuff into little pieces so darn appealing to kids?
At least I stopped her from cutting a hat, a library book, and the living room rug.
Down on my hands and knees, picking up the big scraps before I try vacuuming (luckily Son One is big and strong enough now to bring the vacuum up from the basement) Son Two walks into the living room.
"Just so you know, this leg might be broken later today, Mum," he says, pointing at his right leg. "It hurts every time I walk on it."
"Honey, come here and let me see where it hurts."
"That's OK. I'll show you later when it breaks," he says, as he turns and leaves the living room.
Gee - either he is psychic, or over dramatic about a sore leg. Let's hope it's the latter.
My kids are 3, 5 and 7. I haven't had "the talk" and I am not sure that I ever will. That is what schools are for, right? Just kidding!
I sort of go with the flow of questions when they come up, and try to answer them as honestly and accurately as I can. I give little "bites" of information, and when the questions stop coming, I stop talking believing that I have probably satisfied their curiosity.
Also a realist, I know that Son One has friends with older brothers who will probably spill the beans before I know it. And Son Two will be told the details soon after Son One figures it out.
A friend, and ECE teacher, once explained to me that kids can only absorb and process information appropriate for their age and mental capacity; therefor, you shouldn't fear giving too much information too soon.
A great technique I've heard of to deal with questions, is to ask them what they think. "Mommy, where do babies come from?" "Where do you think babies come from?" This not only allows you to stall, but if gives you insight into what they know and how complicated your answer needs to be to satisfy. It also allows you to clear up any misinformation. Alas, always panic under pressure and forget this option.
Another alternative is the, "I don't know. Let's look it up!" Except that I've had three babies, and would look pretty stupid not knowing at this point.
Finally, you can always fall back on, "I don't know. Ask Daddy." I use this often, mostly to get out of changing batteries in toys.
My kids have questions, and I have answers. I am not answering their questions as a doctor, nor as a peer, but as a parent. This means I get to add my morals and values to the answers... I guess I won't know for at least 10 years what sticks.
When the kids were younger, we had the "privates" talk, and told them that no one was allowed to see them naked until they were 18. We also told them that no one was allowed to touch their privates, and they weren't allowed to touch anyone's privates until they were 18. Extreme? We'll see.
In the past year I've explained "periods" to my kids, mostly because they find the paraphernalia and are curious. That also taught me to start locking the bathroom door.
Last week, Daughter was curious about how babies "got out" of their mother's bellies. In the past, I had been lucky that the boys were satisfied with the, "I went to the hospital and you were cut out" explanation. After three c-sections, I even have the scar to prove it. That had satisfied Daughter for a while, until she decided to ask how her cousin and come out of her aunt's belly - no c-section there, though at over 11 pounds, it probably should have been! "Ummm...." I answered, "He came out the baby-hole. You have a pee-hole, a pooh-hole, and a baby-hole, called a vagina. He came out that hole."
Thank God she asked no more questions!
The other night the boys were asking about babies. Why do these questions always come to me when Husband is at work? I would love to hear his answers!
Son Two: "Mommy? Can Sarah have a baby?"
Me: "Nope. She is too young."
Son One: "How old do you have to be to have a baby?"
Me: "Well, girls can start having babies at around 13, when they get their periods, until about 45. But you don't really want to have a baby until you are 25 or so." (See - here are my values! Wait until at least 25 kids!)
Son One: "Can girls choose when they get pregnant?"
Me: (How the heck to I answer this one?) "Hmmm... Good questions! (stalling technique) Um...sort of, but not really. They can take medicine every day to try to make sure that they don't get pregnant, but you don't really get to pregnant just because you want to. It is a miracle. You can try to plan it, but you can't just make yourself pregnant."
Son Two: "Can you have another baby?"
Me: "Yes, technically I still can, but we love the three of you so much, we want to spend lots of time with you guys and not be distracted by another baby."
Son Two: "I want another brother and two more sisters."
Me: "That's nice. I love you. Go to sleep."
Son One is tired. After weeks of travel, friends, fun, swimming and long car rides, we are trying to get him back into a routine before school starts.
This week he is in Hockey Camp. 4 hours of ice time a day, and he is ready for bed by 6 pm. Last night, however, he had a soccer game out in Vaughan at 7 pm. Seeing his soccer friends won out over admitting that he was actually tires.
He was resting en route, but I wanted to get dinner into him, so I started reading out the options as we passed, "Pizza, Wendy's, Harvey's, Sushi, Pizza..."
"Sushi! I want Sushi!" he yelled. I pulled a U-turn on Highway 7 and went back to the sushi place I had seen.
My kids like sushi, but tame sushi (like avocado maki). I found out when Son One was 13 months old, and I took him to a Japanese Restaurant with a few friends. He loved it, and we have fed it to the kids ever since.
We walked in, and were seated in a booth. It was lovely. We both opened our menus, trying to decide what to order.
I leaned across the table and whispered to my son, "There are no prices on these menus. That is not a good sign."
"Maybe they are in Chinese" he answered. Sure enough, after the English description, there were some foreign characters. Hmpf! Unless you speak the language, you don't get to know what stuff costs? That doesn't seem fair!
We ordered a few items, and the server left us with a menu to keep reading.
At the bottom, I noticed, "Sunday - Thursday - $17.99 Friday - Saturday - $19.99 - Holidays - $19.99"
Then I closed the menu and read on the front, "All You Can Eat Menu"
Yes, now it is clear as a bell. And all in English. I can't believe that I have just brought my 7-year-old to an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant. What am I thinking?
How was I going to get Son One, who likes Avocado Maki and Plain Rice to eat $17.99 worth? I started ordering a little more...
We added two orders of shrimp tempura. Turns out the Son One likes tempura.
I had two Diet Cokes - pop was included!
We both had ice cream for dessert - vanilla for him, green tea for me.
I felt better about our dinner, but still felt like it was expensive. However, we were in a rush so even if we could have eaten a little more, we were out of time.
I went to pay while Son One went to pee. The total came to $37, tip included! Wow - kids weren't full price. I was thrilled - we definitely ate $37 worth.
Only one problem - today I am meeting a friend for lunch, and I told her how much I was craving sushi. I am a little sushi-ed out. I think I may have to go for some chicken teriyaki instead.
We left Sudbury after a visit with the Big Nickel, and headed toward Sault Ste. Marie.
I don't want to say that "the Sue", as it is more affectionately known, is a hole and offend those of you with an affinity for the place, but I won't be going there again.
When I called to book the hotel, I asked the what there was to do in Sault Ste. Marie with the kids. "Uh," was the only reply. But I had done my research, "What about the Bush Plane Museum?" I asked. "Yeah, I hear its good. Check out the internet."
Don't all hotels have those racks of brochures near the front telling you what there is to see? Apparently the front desk help at the Great Northern Lodge (not so great) hasn't seen them.
I looked online. Besides the Bush Plane Museum, the other big "Sue" attraction is the Agawa Canyon Tour. It is an out and back train ride that is amazing and scenic. However, I was warned that for kids, it is a little long. And as my kids were doing well enough to sit in the van for a few hours, I didn't want to push my luck.
On the way from Sudbury to the SSM, we stopped at a mine tour in Bruce Mines (this was the first of three of our mine tours. Just wait until you hear what we spent on rocks on this trip)
This was a copper mine, and they have made a lovely little tourist stop out of almost nothing. The mine itself isn't anything to see, but you do get a nice little tour and explanation of the history of mining in the area. Plus you can buy rocks in the little store. I almost lost my Perkins Brunch when she said that the stones my children had selected were $11 (no different than the stones in the parking lot, as far as I could tell).
Turns out she was new with the calculator, and they were only $5.50.
We had booked three nights at the Great Northern Lodge. It was recommended by a few friends because of its amazing water slide. New owners - slide closed indefinitely. Plus the rooms are tragically in need of an update. We only stayed two nights.
The water front looked pretty in Sault Ste. Marie, but it was a little cool and the kids were tired. We went bowling one night. The kids loved it! They only had 10 pin, but they put the inflatable bumpers in the kids' lane. The kids whipped us - 143 was their best. I think Husband got 100. Damn - bowling is harder than it looks!
The highlight for us of Sault Ste. Marie was the Bush Plane Museum. It had a great movie (that also plays at Science North), the kids could climb in and out of planes, and we learned a lot about fighting fires with planes, and the history of flying in the north.
They had video games and flight simulators (Daughter crashed). Eye tests for pilots (Son One may be slightly colour blind). And they have exhibits explaining how planes worked. Really amazing.
Did you know that Roberta Bondar was from Sault Ste. Marie? Neither did I! They had her underwear from her trip into space on display - let's just say that Victoria's Secret won't be making a version of space underwear anytime soon.
I hit the Walmart, as it would be the last one for a while. And off we went...
It has been a while. I am sorry! I was away on vacation, and I've neglected you.
We were far, far away. And I didn't have access to a computer. Over 80 emails awaiting me (about 10 about what would be on Oprah each day).
Our family took an amazing road trip to Northern Ontario - going just past Thunder Bay. We spent time in Sudbury and Algonquin park. Saw and did lots.
I've made some notes, and I will be sharing with you the hilarity that was our trip. We survived. The kids may never crawl into the van again without asking exactly how long we are going for. Flying is looking really good for our next trip, regardless of cost.
Son One decided to eat himself out of a booster.
Son Two could have been eaten by a wolf.
Daughter dragged her rolling Heys Minnie Mouse luggage around a camp site and wore dresses every day, maintaining her "princess" attitude.
I need a mini-vacation, preferably alone, just to recover.
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...
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?
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
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!
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?
Garbage Day! As the city is on strike, we decided to make our own garbage day. Thanks to the hateful raccoons, I had quite the mess from the green bin to clean up this morning, so I decided it was time to visit a temporary dump.
First, I took the kids to Walmart where I needed one item: Flushables. OK, so I was running low on toilet paper and paper towels as well. And I guess I could use some Spray 'N' Wash since Son One's T-ball team has WHITE PANTS and the grass stains just don't want to come out.
$124 later...
I drove by a temporary dump site on the way home and noticed neither pickets nor a line up. BONUS!
At home we sorted and double bagged our garbage, recycling and green bin. Back to the temporary dump, the boys and I got to play garbage man by flinging our bags onto the big piles. The nice man at the entrance asked how many bags we had, and if I could handle them myself. It started pouring just as we were done our trash toss.
NOTE: They are not taking recycling at the drop-off centres. They want all garbage double bagged, preferably in black bags. And they are not separating green bin from regular garbage...
The kids really enjoyed the garbage adventure. And as good neighbours, they remembered the old lady next door and also took her green bin to the dump. Some days I really like my kids. Today is one of them.
Tonight Son One has a soccer game, assuming that the weather cooperates. Right now my three little angles are helping with laundry, and are all colouring together. I may just make it through the summer vacation after all.
Wow - tomorrow I am going to take a look at the calendar and count down how many days we have left of vacation.
Yesterday was Day Three of summer vacation, and we had a relaxing family day. Daughter was finally over her illness. We played T-Ball and went for a walk through the trails in High Park.
Last night I tried to introduce the kids to more "super foods" at dinner. I have decided that this summer is going to be about better ourselves. Thus the chore list. Next I cleaned out the kids drawers and got through some of my laundry. Next it is cleaning out the house and getting rid of toys and stuff that we no longer need. I also want to get the kids to eat better, and the summer with its cornucopia of produce seems like the right time.
We talked about good foods, and the kids aren't bad. Yesterday we had guacamole and berries. For dinner last night I made grilled sea bass, mashed sweet potato and sauteed spinach and corn. The kids ate the corn and the bread. Son Two tried to claim that he likes blue berries, but only ate half of one. Apparently, he ate three berries about 6 weeks ago so he thinks that he's good. Son One asked for cherries, but then when he realized that they weren't maraschino explained that he just likes the red ones.
Schedule:
Sleep in until 10:30 am - (yes, the kids let me sleep-in - YAY! Was woken up at 10:30 am because apparently they were hungry.)
Kids play in back yard while Mommy showers, and sorts laundry.
Establish chore schedule QUESTION? Should allowance be tired to chores? Or just to teach responsibility about money? DECISION - Will try to tie to chores to allowance for the summer. Ten week experiment commences today.
Bolton Tractor Pull - 6:00 pm
Boys want to go to a tractor pull. Have never been myself. Should be entertaining.
Sibling fights before 1 pm - 23 and counting.
Mommy has taken 2 extra strength Tylenol in an attempt to circumvent a headache. Didn't work.
Optimism that I will survive the summer with the three children is fading. Have Son One home for another full week before he starts any of his camps.
Need to figure out what to do with all of the *wonderful* school work that has come home. How long do I need to admire it before I can recycle?
Husband and I call Son One a goofball. It is sort of a nickname. We love him to bits, and he is really a wonderful kid. But he can also be a bit of a goofball (Husband sometimes calls him G.B. for short.)
Here is a list of a few of the goofball-like things Son One did today:
Spit water on himself and the floor while trying to drink from one of the squeezable sports bottles
Scored his first lacrosse goal (his stick was knocked, and the ball bounced ridiculously slowly right into the net)
Spilled water on himself (blamed his father for not driving smoothly enough, and didn't speak to him for the next 40 minutes)
Threw his baseball glove onto the roof
Pushed his head through his pajama sleeve (note: Son One has a very, very large head)
Fell asleep on the bedroom floor
He really is an amazing kid, but he does some really goofy things. That is the unfortunately thing about nicknames for your kids, is that they tend to live up (or live down) to them. Son One is becoming our lovable, family "goofball" just as Daughter, whom we often call "princess" is becoming demanding a bossy, like a little princess. This is why name calling is bad.
We should come up with better nicknames. My younger sister was called "Geni-ass" (Dad treated her like the family genius) while I was his "chunky-soup". He claimed it was Campbell's related, not because I wasn't skinny. Yeah, sure dad. Thanks...
Last night was daughter's first ever dance concert. I would post pictures of how adorable she looked in her costume, except for some reason this is the week that my digital camera decided to quite. Yes, first ever dance recital, last lacrosse game and trophies, and no pictures!
Watching Daughter on the stage, I have to say that a star is born. Having watched her loathe and fail to participate in most of this year's dance classes, I expected her not to make it onto to the stage. Actually, surprisingly she made it onto the stage, and when the curtain went up to reveal the crowded, standing-room only audience, she didn't run to me in the wings (I was the parent volunteer for her group) nor freeze.
She shone! She smiled. She danced. She loved every minute of performing. And when her group was over, she joined the mosh pit of mini-dancers in front of the stage and kept bopping along with the performances right to the intermission.
I knew that she wouldn't last to the end of the concert, so we left. I hate doing that, because I know how hard everyone has prepared for the show, and I feel bad leaving when there are lots of parents whose kids still haven't performed who sat through my kid on stage. But she is only three, and I worried she would become disruptive.
Daughter has a wonderful bright glow about her; a sweetness that draws people to her. And though I admit to being a very biased mom, I actually think that she was one of the best in her group last night. I am not sure if she has the talent to be a dancer, but she definitely sparkled as a performer.
OK, I know. Now I am just bragging. If I can get a copy of the show, I can load it up and you can see that I am right.
Yesterday all three of my kids were the WORST!!! I swear, if it was a competition, they all would have won.
I kept Son One home from school for the third day in a row after a coughing fit in the morning, but really he was ready to be back at school. It was my anniversary, and with Father's Day coming up, I really needed to hit the mall. I should have left he kids there.
Honestly, they have never been so awful! Hitting, tripping, yelling, grabbing, pushing, complaining, whining. No one listened. I actually left a few stores in shame at their behaviour - I've never had to do that before!
Even driving with Husband last night, he couldn't believe how wretched they all were. We threatened to leave them all home alone so that we could go and actually enjoy our anniversary (we didn't, of course. Instead we had left overs. Yum!)
I have a headache today. I think that somehow my body knew that I couldn't survive a headache yesterday with my kids all on their worst behaviour so it waiting until today to strike. So far, today is a better day...
I love the way that Son Two and Daughter play together. They can entertain one another for hours without a fight. Son Two has this way with younger children - he is thoughtful and helpful. Daughter can be a little bossy, as can Son One, so they often clash. Son Two seems to know when to let her have her way, and how to redirect her when necessary.
This afternoon they were both playing in the backyard. Our neighbours have a cherry tree that leans over our property. We have been here for nine years and I have only ever seen birds and squirrels eat from that three.
Today Son Two and Daughter collected handfuls of the fallen cherries and brought them in. They called it "berry picking" and now they want to eat the berried for dinner. Half of them are green, and many have teeth or beak marks on them. After consulting with me, Son Two went back outside and informed his sister to leave the green ones on the ground as we can only eat the red ones.
What I am going to do? None of them are ripe enough to eat. I have some frozen blue berries in the freezer, and I am debating my chances of wiping up a quick batch of muffins while they watch TV and passing off the blueberries as the cherries they found.
Son One is home sick today. He has been off since Saturday - tired, fever, sore throat. I think he gave it to me. I actually stayed in my pajamas, mainly on the coach, until about 1 pm.
I know, I know, everyone hates being sick. But it is even tougher on us moms. We still have so much that we have to do, even when we are sick. And add to that all of those time when we are sick, when the kids are took.
This morning Daughter wanted to watch Tinkerbell, only we couldn't find the converter. And I was too weak to crawl over to the TV to try to figure it out for her. What is with these new DVDs and BlueRays that you can't just press a button to start the movie, you actually need the remote? We have seven remotes in the rec room! Of course at any given time three or four are missing.
I feel sorry for my sick, pathetic son. I also feel sorry for myself. I am out of adult Tylenol, so now I have to try to the Advil Liquid Gels to see if they will work for my headache. All I want to do it go to bed.
AND THE WEATHER IS FINALLY BEAUTIFUL! Son Two has soccer tonight, and it is his second last one so he doesn't want to miss it. I still have to track down his soccer uniform and wash it for tonight. Ugh!
Last night the kids had sleepovers so that Mommy and Daddy could have a date night for our anniversary. Yes - we will be celebrating nine wonderful years on Wednesday.
The boys went to my in-laws farm for the night, and Daughter went to her cousin's. Two of the three of them were excited for a sleep-over, but Son One was sad and clingy. It was hard to leave him.
Husband and I have had very few nights away from our children. After giving birth to numbers 2 and 3, I even left the hospital early because I missed my other kids so much. Last year was the first time Husband and I went away without our children, and it was for a friend's wedding in Ireland. The first 4 days were great, but after the wedding we sort of wished we had booked an earlier flight home. Both of us really missed the kids.
It is funny, because there are many people who seem to love to go away without their kids, and plan one or two trips a year. I think it is important as parents to focus on yourselves sometimes as a married couple, instead of just as parents. I realize that I probably act as "Mommy" about 99% of the time, leaving me to act as "wife" only 1%. So maybe out balance needs to shift a little, and as our kids get older, it is starting to.
Husband grew up in a family where his parents went away with their friends what seemed like annually to him. Both of his sisters have taken trips regularly with their husbands, even when the kids were quite young. Oddly enough, though my parent's first trip without us kids was their 25th wedding anniversary trip to Aruba, I am the one who pushes for any alone trips we have without the kids, while Husband who grew up in a family who often took trips without the kids, feels like getting away is unnecessary.
I think there is a compromise. I think that for a special event, or a special anniversary, a week away from the kids once every five years is ok. Annually, a weekend or two, no more than three nights, also ok. Anything more seems a little indulgent as a parent, and a little cruel to young kids.
First, there is getting someone else to watch your children for a long period of time, often the grandparents. I know they don't mind a night here or there, but kids are a lot of work. And as much as I am sure all grandparents love their grandkids, when they spend too much time with them they become more parents than grandparents, having to discipline and not indulge.
Then their is dealing with abandonment that kids feel when you leave them. I had an adult, in his late thirties, tell me the other night that the only thing he ever feared as a child was his parents going away, because each time he believed that there weren't coming back. Thirty years later the pain is still fresh.
Yesterday dropping Son One off at the farm almost broke my heart. He was tired, and clingy, and sad. He is seven years old, and even with two c-sections after him and a week in Ireland for a wedding, I have probably only spent 14 nights away from him. Last night he was gone for just 16 hours.
My niece, who was also staying at the farm for a few days, came up to me with tears in her eyes. I picked her up and she buried her face in my neck, clinging to me and crying. I held her for about 10 minutes, just letting her hug. She was telling me she just misses her mommy so much!
All kids are different, and have different levels of attachment. My first born is the most attached to us - no surprise. Dropping them off yesterday, I had to chase Son Two around just to get a kiss good-bye. Daughter goes off with barely a wave, but is always full of hugs, kisses, and "I missed you so much!" when we see her again.
Husband I used to talk about taking a 10-day second honeymoon to Italy for our 10 year anniversary. That was before kids. Now, I am not sure that we could afford it. Nor would we choose to spend that much not to see our kids for 10 days. I don't think either of us could go that long without them. Maybe it will have to be our 20 year anniversary trip. Maybe by the time our kids are teenagers, they will actually love to see us gone.
Or maybe we should just make it a family trip. They travel pretty well. And though we were a couple first, we chose this life, having a busy and big family. It is what we love.
My kids are my favourite things in the whole wide world, followed by my husband and books (sometimes books and then my husband... just kidding sweet heart!) Diet coke and chocolate round out the top five. Oops! Forgot to include family.
My favourite thing in the world to do with my kids is to walk with one of them holding hands. There is something so nice about having their little hand in mine. Daughter, or course, has the littlest hand. Sometimes she tries to intertwine the the fingers, and other times she balls her hand into a fist and I just hold the entire thing. She is quick to grab an offered hand, but quicker still to let go when she sees something she wants to run off to.
Son Two holds you hand like a mitten, fingers all together, stuck palm to palm. Once you are holding his hand, you have the pleasure for a while. It is hard to get him to hold my hand, but when he does, he holds for a while. We have the least physical contact, so it is especially nice.
Son One's hands are almost as big as mine. They are bear-like paws, big thick and often sweaty. He is seven now, so I don't know how much longer he will hold my hand. He, like his sister, is quick to let go and run off.
The other thing that I love to do with my kids is listen to my ipod. They sit or lie beside me, and I keep one ear bud in while they take the other. If they are all around, they choose one song each and are so good at taking turns! If I have one on one time, they we can listen to a few. Last week daughter hated American Pie - she didn't like the idea of the music dying. Here are some of their favourites off of my ipod:
Puff the Magic Dragon
Life is a Highway (Cars theme)
Superman (It's Not Easy) - Five for Fighting
Sponge Bob Square Pants Theme
Flying Purple People Eater
Ma Baker - Boney M.
Rasputin - Boney M.
Rockstar- Nickleback
Superman's Song - Crash Test Dummies
Mamma Mia - ABBA
Rocket Man - Elton John
Tiny Dancer - Elton John
One Tin Soldier
Wtich Doctor - Alvin and the Chipmunks version
The Unicorn - The Irish Rovers
Luckily, it is all music that I can handle listening to as well. Plus my kids really love the idea of listening to music with Mommy. It is a little, easy ritual, but one that they really, really enjoy. It is quiet, peaceful, and intimate sitting head to head with someone sharing a piece of music. I love it, too.
Before I had kids, I promised that if I did, I would never end a hug first. I don't know where I had heard that, but I try to adhere to that wisdom. I usually am the one to start a hug, and the last one to let go. Take the time to hug your kids this weekend - have a great one!
Christmas 2007 - Moon Sand was hot. Son One asked everyone for it, and did end up with some of the stuff.
He opened it and played with it on the kitchen table. What a mess! It went away the next day.
Fast forward a year and half later, and I get myself in trouble because I actually hate to throw stuff out. Son Two and his play date find the moon sand and play with it in the kitchen. Daughter joins in the fun.
What the heck is this moon sand? How are kids supposed to play with it without it ending up everywhere in the house? What a mess!!! I had to get my vacuum out (not happy! the cleaning lady was just here yesterday) and vacuum the kitchen table, all of the chairs, and the kitchen floor.
Moon sand is sort of this funny texture - finer than sand, and it almost sticks together, but not quite. It also seems to glitter a little. Could be cool and fun, if it wasn't such a mess.
Tonight, when they fall asleep, it will end up in the garbage. They can play with puzzles next time.
Kids fight over the weirdest things. I was driving out this afternoon to drop Daughter off at her cousin's for a sleepover, and for 15 minutes I had to listen to, "My mommy!" "NO! MY MOMMY!"
I tried to tell them that actually I was both of their mommies, but that didn't seem to work. Really, I should have felt loved that they both cared so much that they wanted to claim me to the exclusion of their siblings, except instead I felt so crazy that I just wanted to drive into a light pole to make them stop.
Another of my least favourite lines is, "that's not fair!"
My parents used to respond to that one with either, "well, life's not fair" or "I don't want to hear you say that ever again."
It is true that it isn't fair that Daughter can't do everything that her brothers can do, but is it really unfair that she isn't tall enough to reach the light switch? How do you respond to that one?
Taking turns is also driving me mad. I am sorry, but I can't remember who I gave the keys to last time to open the front door. Sorry if your brother got them twice in a row. Son One actually said, "You're evil, Mommy" when he thought his brother got an extra turn. In the scheme of things, I don't think that forgetting who gets the keys makes me evil.
I think life may be a little too easy; a little too comfortable for my kids. They complain about such minor things... Maybe they need to suffer a little to appreciate what they have.
We were doing so well this week. I actually had the boys to school really early, and was considering starting to walk them in the morning if they kept getting up this early (we are almost 2 km from school, so a bit of a hike for them. We walk home on nice days, but the mornings are a little busy.)
Then this morning...
Those boys of mine are sneaky! Today they woke up and went into my bedroom, keeping the lights off, and turned on cartoons. I thought that they were still sleeping, so I let them be. Then I went up to check - surprise, surprise!
I had twenty minutes to get three of them dressed, fed, and out the door. No problem.
Except we have this weird thing in our house. Daddy eats cereal as a late night snack, and has gotten the boys into the habit. Unfortunately, they don't put their cereal bowls into the dishwasher. I am not sure exactly what happens, but I think that Merlin, our cat, licks the bowls clean. This actually causes some milk spray, which dries and adheres the bowls to the table.
In the morning, it is a bit of fun trying to un-stick the bowls. You have to exert just the right amount of pressure. Some times it actually takes quite a bit of force, like Daddy strength; other times the kids can handle it.
Son One tried first, and couldn't get the bowl closest to him un-stuck. So I grabbed and did it, "Now eat!" I barked. We should have been in the van two minutes ago.
Son Two must have been eating his spinach. He grabbed the second bowl (maybe it wasn't stuck at all - he just expected it to be) and flung it over his head, about six feet into the air. It crashed behind him on the floor. He looked like he was about to cry.
Great. Now I have a shattered bowl to clean up and we should have been in the van three minutes ago!
I cleaned up the mess and got the boys to school on time. Luckily, traffic was light.
Last night, as I was picking up milk and stuff for school lunches, I saw a box of six gourmet cinnamon buns at the grocery store.
My kids, and Husband, love cinnamon buns. Especially the "gourmet" kind with cream cheese icing instead of the sugar and water glaze. Normally I buy them from Cobs, a great bread store in our neighbourhood for $2.50 each, or $10 for Husband and the three kids (I don't partake).
At Sobey's they were $4.79 for 6, and they looked really good. I am nothing if not a value shopper. The boys split one yesterday when I got home, and then asked for one each for their breakfast this morning. Three down, none for Daddy. Daughter had one after lunch. Two left.
I could see both Husband and Son One eying them at dinner. Son Two had a hard boiled egg for dessert, and ran outside to play. Husband suggested warming the buns up a little in the microwave for himself and Son One. As he was warming Son One's, Daughter took the last one and started eating. It was hard to witness Husband's disappointment. You could tell that he had been saving room all through dinner for that cinnamon bun!
Son One took his bun and ran out the door to eat in the backyard. Daughter sat at the table, oblivious to Husband's laser stare scorching her back as he loaded the dishwasher.
"Honey, can you please give Daddy some of your bun?"
She broke off a piece the size of a dime. Did I mention that the buns are about 6 inches by 6 inches, or significantly larger than Daughter's face?
"Gee, honey. Do you think you could have given him a smaller piece?"
She broke off another piece, this one the size of my pinky finger nail. I forget that at age three kids are literal - no comprehension of sarcasm.
Now Daughter is out playing with her brothers in the backyard, and Husband is sulking in the basement watching the news. And there is half of this cinnamon bun just sitting at the kitchen table staring at me...
On our walk today along Bloor Street, daughter pushed her stroller with her "baby" (doll) inside. She is a pretty good walker, but a few times I had to remind her stop at corners or watch out for things.
Except she took out a homeless man. He was stumbling along, disheveled, smelly, in a winter jacket and likely sobriety-challenged. For some odd reason, Daughter suddenly veered left and caught him right in the ankle with her doll stroller. He tripped, but didn't fall, and then gave Daughter a very dirty look and mumbled some vague obscenities under his 90 proof breath. She hadn't actually hit him very hard, but I think she just threw off his stroll. Daughter walked on, oblivious to the destruction of her path.
Now, this is where I am evil I didn't say anything to her. Later, when she bashed her stroller straight into a sandwich board, I told her to be careful. I wasn't worried that she would hurt herself, just that she would wreck the stroller or the sign. See? Evil, aren't I? She practically injures an innocent homeless man and I say nothing, but crashing into some plywood and I tell her to be careful.
Later I was pleased at how my brain worked faster than my mouth. We passed someone, dressed to the nines, and one of the only women of a certain age without either a baby bump or a stroller. I wasn't sure if she was a transvestite or simply too enthusiastic about make-up and accessories, so I said, "Honey! Watch out for the people walking on the street!" Pretty proud of myself for avoiding that potentially dangerous situation there.
As adults, saying, "Watch out of that woman!" would have worked equally well for transvestite or badly dressed female; with kids you just never know. They are so quick to point out errors, they may have instead yelled, "That's not a woman! That's a man dressed like a woman."
At least I avoided one potential pitfall on our walk.
Before we were married, Husband I took a marriage course on the strong recommendation of the priest who was going to marry us. I think it was prerequisite to him performing the ceremony. We had already been living-in-sin for three years, so we wanted to do whatever we could to stay on his good side.
We both really enjoyed the course, and came out with a plan for our marriage - fighting strategies, mission statement, rules for our kids, division of household chores, the works! (I need to find that contract somewhere because I am pretty sure I didn't sign up for 99% of the laundry!)
One of the things we discussed was if we had daughters, when they would be allowed to pierce their ears. Husband's family is Canadian, CANADIAN, CAKE-CANADIAN, if you know what I mean. They seem to see a girl piercing her ears a right of passage for preteens (there was a letter to the Today's Parent editors in a recent issue saying how our girls our growing up too fast and their cover model child shouldn't have her ears pierced.)
I come from a more ethnic background. My ears were pierced before I spoke, so I know that I didn't ask for them to be done. I think in some cultures it is considered a way to differentiate between girl and boy babies, so it is often done around 6 months old. Honestly, I was never a fan of those bald little heads with earrings and those silly elastic headbands. Then I had a bald baby girl who was often called a boy, and I was tempted.
Husband and I had reached an agreement. We would allow our daughters to have their ears pierced (single hole - not cartilage) when they asked. We would not do it when they were babies, we would wait until they expressed an interest and actually wanted to have it done. I think we both thought this would come sometime between age 9 and 13.
Daughter must be an early bloomer. Friday night at 8 pm she decided that she wanted her ears pierced IMMEDIATELY. She asked, she didn't demand. And since we had already decided almost a decade ago our position, I said it was OK with me if it was OK with Daddy. Daddy told us to go ahead, but he didn't want to come and watch. I knew that he thought I would be home an hour later with Daughter's ears still hole-less, likely with a crying or hysterical little girl.
Instead, I came home an hour later with a little girl with pretty blue cubic zirconias in her ears to match her eyes.
I considered taking her to the local tattoo and piercing parlour (isn't there one in ever neighbourhood nowadays?) but my goals wasn't to scare her. So we went to Sherway, our closest mall. At 8:30 pm there was no one in People's Jewelers who could pierce and Mappins was recommended.
At 8:40 we arrived at Mappins, 20 minutes before closing time. The woman who helped us was AMAZING! She got down on one knee to ask Daughter her name, her age, and if she really wanted it done. She exclaimed that three was the perfect age to get your ears pierced, and took Daughter by the hand to pick out her first earrings.
This woman showed tremendous patience getting the location for the earrings just right. She starts with a marker, and then the special gun. I had her correct each marker dot three times. Daughter got the hiccups, and I thought we were in trouble, but they went away when the first earring was shot into her ear.
Daughter was a little surprised and upset by the pinch, but the saleswoman quickly grabbed the other ear and put the second earring in place before Daughter could think too much about what was going on.
PERFECT! Two little earrings, 25 minutes and $45 later. Daughter was stoic and determined. She didn't flinch, and never even considered crying. This is were my Husband's stubbornness gene really pays off - once my children have made up their minds, they just go for it.
I am still getting used to my little baby walking around with earrings. It makes her seem like such a big girl! I was so proud of how she handled herself, and I think she looks cute.
Picked Son Two up from a play date, and the mom said with, "Now I need to tell you something, but I am not angry with your son."
The boys were playing with some glue, and she left them alone for just a few minutes. Then my son came up to her and told her that they got glue on the hamster.
The mom told me that the hamster and her cage were covered, and she needed to clean them out. I felt terrible! I was also shocked and surprised that Son Two would do this, though I know how lines of right and wrong get blurred so easily with kids this age when one starts to do something.
She is the most adorable dwarf hamster - about 3 inches long and maybe 5 ounces. She had glue still in her fur, though she had taken her dust bath. Her back had glue, her belly had glue, and little ear was glued to the side of her head. The glue was non-toxic (at least for kids), and she is still OK today. I picked her up and she run up my arm with energy and affection. Sweet little soul!
Yesterday we tried to talk to Son Two about the incident, but he shut down. I tried again today after school. I explained about how the hamster would feel, how he would feel if a friend hurt our cat, and how our cat would feel to be hurt.
"Why didn't you tell me before I went on the play date not to put glue on the hamster?" he yelled at me. Hmmm... Good question. Maybe because I didn't know that they had a hamster, let alone that you were considering putting glue on her? Probably because it would take me days, or even weeks, to tell you everything that you are not supposed to do, and you would probably still do it! (Like sticking your fingers in random holes; I am sure that you've done that at least three times, and though I have told you not to do it again, and you still did it yesterday!)
I could tell that Son Two felt really bad about what he did and that he understood the it was wrong. He also promised never to put glue or paint on anyone or anything without permission.
The good news is that the hamster wasn't seriously harmed, and Son Two has learned a valuable lesson. I hope.
Last night, after bath time, I went down to the basement to wait for my pajamas to come out of the dryer. Husband followed, to watch a few minutes of a hockey playoff game (any game - he didn't care, just wanted some quiet time). Then came Son Two, dressed in his pajamas and ready for a snuggle.
Son One showed up, his bare butt hanging out as he had barely wrapped himself up in his towel. "Can you get me dressed?" I swear, this is Son One's favourite question. He is 7 years old! What is it about first borns? I thought that they were supposed to be independent and responsible.
"Did you bring any pajamas?" Husband asked.
"No."
I know the kid is smart. Yes, of course, all of us gave birth to little geniuses. But he is a smart kid. He is just so lazy sometimes! He will ask a question, that if he thought for even two seconds he could figure out the answer himself.
5 minutes later daughter showed up, buck naked, but carrying her pajamas. "Can you please get me dressed?" she asked, in her sweet little voice, handing me her pajamas.
Yes, Daughter is in fact, smarter than a first grader.
Earlier this evening, Husband was going to take the boys up to a nearby field to practice baseball.
We have two bats - one is wood, one is foam. Son One held the wooden bat, while Son Two held the foam bat. We should have made them trade. You see, if anyone were to "accidentally" hit someone with a bat, my money would be on Son One.
"Be careful with those bats, boys," Husband said. "Make sure you don't hit each other." Come on! Even to me that almost sounded like a dare!
2 minutes later, Son Two screams and clutches his face while Son One runs inside the house yelling, "I am going to my room! I'm going! I'm going!" (Isn't it great when they learn to discipline themselves? Sort of hope that it leads to self-discipline in the future.)
I brought Son Two inside and peeled away his hands. He had a slight red mark on his forehead. I pulled out the sports ice pack, and had him sit and hold it to his head. After 5 minutes I checked, and there was a definite goose egg forming - sort of a 2-inch oval above his left eye. We switched to some new ice, and he held it on for another 10 minutes. It actually was looking a lot better.
I went upstairs to talk to Son One, who was crying is his room.
"I know that you are crying because now you don't get to go to the park to play baseball with Daddy," I said. "But you really should be crying because you could have killed your brother!"
Son One gave me some story about how it was accidentally because he went to look you to see a helicopter that he heard flying overhead and when he moved his arm he forgot that he was holding a bat. Completely accidental. And I would have believed him, too. If I had been born yesterday.
Son Two came home from church Tuesday with a plastic glow-in-the-dark rosary.
First I was like, who makes novelty religious items? When will Son Two need to pray the rosary in the dark? Then I remembered how popular those Mary's are in the cabs.
Daughter assumes it is jewelery, and therefore hers for the taking. Son Two doesn't want to share. Normally I settle disputes over toys like King Solomon - if you can't figure it out yourselves (share, take turns, whatever) it goes into the garbage.
But I just can't throw out a rosary. I settled for asking Son Two what Jesus would do if His sister wanted to wear something of His. My kids obviously need remedial Sunday school - I had to explain that Jesus would not knock his sister over and grab for His rosary.
Why is it always worse when our children get injured when someone else is supervising them? I am sure that my mother remembers the daggers I glared at her when Son One fell down her front cement steps. Luckily my children seem to be born with unusually thick skulls which so far (touch wood) have kept them safe.
Tonight Daughter was riding her new two-wheel bike with training wheels while Husband watched (I was at the first night of summer hockey with the boys - yes, hockey, it really never ends.) She is madly in love with her new bike - it is pink with a basket on it. She also picked out a new helmet with fairies on it and that lights up. Could she be any more of a girl? Daughter has asked me three times already to remove her training wheels. I keep telling her that she has to wait until she is four. Here are a few pictures of the proud girl on her new bike. Yes, she learned to ride it wearing a dress.
When I came home tonight and Daughter was crashed on the couch, fast asleep. Husband explained that she had fallen off of her bike and scraped both knees, and in her pain cried herself to sleep. Sad, isn't it? I wasn't even home to hold her and dry her tears. I asked Husband what first aid he had done - polysporin or spray bandage. Nothing.
At least my Husband is super safe when it comes to protecting their little brains. All of my children are so used to wearing their bike helmets that they routinely wear them through lunch. So her little head wasn't hurt. My poor angel!
Son Two had a wicked bike accident last year, also not under my supervision. It goes down in history as the quickest treatment we have ever received in an Ontario Hospital - in and out in less than an hour. Here is the picture I took of him that night as he slept. Again, he was wearing a helmet (that we replaced the next day). Surprisingly, he still rides a bike - though not the one from the accident. He is one tough kid.
Looking at the picture still is so upsetting. I guess as moms we have to realize that we can't always be there, and our kids may get hurt when we are not around. It is such a feeling of guilt that not only weren't we there to prevent the pain, but we also weren't there to kiss it all better.
Today I am taking Son Two downtown for his last day of speech therapy. A few months ago, we started an intensive form of speech therapy called, "prompt." This is where the therapist touches the child's face and mouth to teach them how to form properly to make the sounds.
Months ago I felt like this was our last chance to help Son Two through his speech issues. We were now working with the top in the province, and she seemed experienced and enthusiastic. After the first session I felt that if this didn't work, then nothing would.
Except Son Two hates her, and that is putting it mildly. Their personalities just didn't mesh, and every session has become a power struggle. I am not even sure it is about his speech anymore. While the therapist obviously knows her stuff, I would have thought that after about 25 years of working with kids, she would have been able to handle Son Two. To us, he is the easy one. To her he seems to be a behavioral problem, and the words, "non-compliant" get thrown around a lot.
Part of me is a little impressed that my son has enough self control not to have bitten her. I am sure if someone was sticking gloved fingers into my mouth, they would be taking their chances. OK, so maybe I haven't bitten the dentist yet, but I only have to put up with him once or twice a year.
We took Son Two out of his JK class twice a week and for the past 10 weeks we have seen her every Monday and Wednesday (illness exceptions).
Son Two's speech has improved, but not as dramatically as I had hoped. However, many of you read that a few weeks ago we had a diagnosis from an Otolaryngologist of velopharyngeal incompetence that explains his speech issues.
Monday, our second last session, was a reassessment to review progress. The therapist said, "One more session after today. How do you feel about that?"
Why did she ask? Son Two is 5 years old! You get an honest answer.
"And then I never have to see you ever again!" he exclaimed, not even trying to hide his joy. "We are finished speech FOREVER!!!"
"It's nice to be loved," she said, sarcastically.
Husband and I have decided to give Son Two some time off. We will reassess in the fall, and see if we want to go the private route, or if there is something that the school can do for him.
In the meantime, it is going to take all of Son Two's self control to sit through today's half hour session. I can already picture him bouncing in his seat and watching the door.
Is it true that April showers bring May flowers? I may have to keep on my allergy medication through June if all of this rain keeps up!
I just learned that my 7 year old is too old for his froggy raincoat, the very one that he loved last year. He has T-ball tonight, in the rain, and I was so happy to have found his raincoat so that he wouldn't get wet! He took one look at it, and said, "I don't want to wear that."
Then Husband jumped in, "He wants to look cool!" and then tried to put his running jacket on our son. My husband is 6 foot - his jacket does not fit our 7 year old. The T-ball team is 6, 7 and 8 year-olds, so my son is with older boys, and he doesn't want to stand out.
Personally, I just want him to be dry. I am actually a little happy that silly rubber boots are "in" because I can be practical and sort of cute at the same time. If they made a ladybug raincoat in my size, I would consider it.
My baby is growing up. At 7 he still doesn't dress himself, but he doesn't want to look "baby-ish." At least I still have the other two.
Son One had his first T-Ball practice. When the coach called to tell us about the practice, he asked that my son bring a hat, a baseball glove, a bottle of water and a cup.
"A cup? He can drink out of the bottle."
"Uh... a cup for protection."
I bet the coach wishes that my husband had answered the phone.
At our McDonald's breakfast after lacrosse, I asked my husband why the boys weren't wearing their cups. I am not a male - I know nothing. But if it really is as sensitive an area as they say, then I would wear the cup.
"I don't care if I get hit in the wenis," said Son One. I swear, we always call the body parts by their correct names. Wenis is his own invention.
"You'd care if you got hit there," answered husband.
At T-Ball the coach approached the parents, "I noticed that some of the boys aren't wearing their cups. They really need to."
??? How did he notice that? Should I be really creeped out, or is it something guys can tell? Maybe some of the boys were wearing tight pants. Or maybe the cup pokes out when they kneel down for listening. Still, I am going to keep a close eye on him.
Husband mentioned that when he used to play baseball, his coach would grab a bat and yell, "Cup check!" I don't think that would fly today.
I thought that we chicks didn't have to deal with all of this "jock" silliness. Except now that I am signed up for women's hockey, I have to go and buy myself something called a "jill". Jock and Jill -how cleaver! A jill is bigger than a jock, and also called a pelvis protector; it is sort of soft and padded, and looks a little like a bicycle seat. All new to me, this weird and wonderful world of sporting equipment.
Human cloning. In the past, I was firmly against human cloning. But after spending some time on my spring and summer calendar, I have actually found a need for it.
Son One needs to be cloned. He loves being busy, and has never said no to an activity. The problem is that as he gets older, and more competitive, it isn't a single time slot for each. Lacrosse is the easiest, as it only runs on Saturdays. But it could be from 11 am - 4 pm. We just got the T-Ball schedule, and even without additional practices, he could have games any day of the week. There are already 4 conflicts between T-Ball and Lacrosse.
Next I added soccer. Keep in mind, this is still Son One. More T-Ball/Soccer conflicts. Then summer hockey - Soccer/Hockey conflicts.
I have determined that I need at least 3 versions of Son One to attend all off his games, 4 if I want all of the practices attended as well. Maybe I should just have a version of Son One made for each of his sports. Except that he actually likes playing all of them, so I would have to rotate the clones so they have fun.
I should also clone myself 4 or 5 times. This would allow me to drive him everywhere, and still take Son Two to soccer, hockey or t-ball (BTW I also need to clone Son Two as there is a T-Ball/Hockey conflict in his schedule). Maybe with a 6th clone I could even spend some time with Daughter.
My daughter is officially smarter than her father. You see, today she was tired, so she put herself to bed.
This is something that her father, over 30 years older and much more experienced with sleep, cannot do.
I don't get it. My husband really can't put the kids to bed. Since we had kids, his theory has always been that eventually they will be tired enough to fall asleep, and then he can pick them up and carry them to bed. Great. Except now we have a 7 year old who is 70 lbs. When I go out, I actually come home as late as possible because I want to increase my chances that all of the kids are asleep. Weeknights with Daddy that could be 10:30 pm.
We've had this argument, I mean, discussion, dozens of times since Son One was born. I believe that our kids need to get to bed at a decent time with a normalized bedtime routine. In seven years this hasn't happened. One of my points in favour of earlier bedtimes is that we could spend some quiet husband/wife bonding time together. Not enticing enough of an argument to be persuasive to Husband.
Husband grew up with a bed in his kitchen (???) and would often nap there after breakfast. Obviously, when it comes to sleep, we are from different planets.
Now, we have some complications. Husband works shifts, and is only actually here for bedtimes a little more than half the time. The problem is that when he is around for bedtime, he isn't often around for morning, so he doesn't deal with the impact of the laissez-faire bedtimes.
Here is Daughter, who was tired this afternoon, so she put herself to bed.
Daughter had a trying afternoon, which accounts for her nap need. She had her ballet class, and we were running late because I stopped to talk to another mom I know on the way there (my kids really hate that, BTW). The teacher went to close the door, and waved to my daughter saying, "See you in a minute!"
Daughter interpreted the wave as her teacher saying 'good-bye' so she thought she wasn't allowed in class. I carried her in, but she refused to participate for the first 25 minutes. She sat in the middle of the floor and pouted. (What a drama queen! I would have pouted in the corner.) With 5 minutes left she decided to participate, and all was well. But the drama did exhaust her out.
Because of the nap, she will be up late tonight. This means, of course, that she will be tucked in beside me as I watch Private Practice. And when she falls asleep I will have Daddy carry her to bed.
Husband and I were sitting at the kitchen table. I was trying to have a conversation while he was trying to read a magazine.
Suddenly, we hear a loud scream out of daughter followed by crying, then two little feet running up from the basement.
"What happened?" we asked Son Two as he whizzed by on his way upstairs.
"I just need to get her a band-aid," he replied, running to the upstairs bathroom.
I, of course, was on my feet immediately and over to the basement door. Daughter was coming up the stairs, crying. I noticed no blood. She was holding her index finger erect.
"What happened?" I asked, scooping her into my arms.
"He bit me," she answered.
Son Two came down. Empty handed.
"What happened?" I asked, again.
"I couldn't find a band-aid."
"No - I mean downstairs. Your sister said that you bit her."
"Well, she was just giving me something to eat and she didn't take her fingers out; she was giving me something to eat, like a tic tac, and the first one I ate but the second time she was giving it to me with her fingers and she didn't take her fingers out of my mouth fast enough and then my mouth started to close like this and her fingers were still there."
I remember back in business school I had a communications prof. who always said the key is to be clear and concise (I can't remember if it was Keep It Simple, Stupid or Keep It Stupid Simple).
I think Daughter nailed it. Son Two was going for the, "how can I say that I bit her without it actually sounding like I bit her" answer.
Today I felt like a politician being battered to answer questions when they just don't know!
On the subway ride downtown this morning with Son Two, the questions started:
What is the sharpest thing in the word? What is the pointiest? What else is sharp? How sharp is it? What else is sharp? How pointy is it? How sharp is it? What is the sharpest thing in the world? (I swear we made the woman seated beside us a little nervous - she probably thinks he was quizzing me for weapons.) Then the questions changed tangents. Who is the smartest person in the world? What did he do? How do you know? How did Tiger get to be the best golfer in the world? Is he the best? etc. through 10 subway stops.
We went through the "why" stage with all of the kids around two. I think we handled it OK. The easiest was that since they were only two, when you got tired of answering, you could just distract or redirect them. Now, at age 5, Son Two wants detailed answers to everything.
Yesterday it was the tallest building in the world. Where in the world is it? How many floors? Taller than the CN Tower? What used to be the tallest tower? And so on, etc. We were at home, and I had Google and Wikpedia to help me find the answers.
On the walk home, in the pouring rain, he kept going. What is the hardest thing to do in the world? Can everyone do it? Is it climbing the CN Tower? What is the steepest hill? Where is it? What is the smallest hill? How do you measure hills? Where are the steepest roads? Have you been there?
I was cold, wet, and I had had enough. Bad mommy moment:
"Enough. Stop asking me questions. Ask Daddy when we get home."
I try so hard sometimes to be patient, but I think my quota must be around 100 questions a day, and he had reached it by 10:30 am. Plus, it doesn't do a lot for my self-esteem to see how few of his questions I can actually answer before I have to start making stuff up. (I know - the right answer is, "let's look it up when we get home.")
I am glad he is curious and creative. I just needed a break. No more questions, please!
I am not sure I have ever seen as many responses to an article as I found today in Maclean's mail bag.
OMG!!! What Happened To Teenagers? Was an interesting collection of articles which tried to present a snapshot of current Canadian teens. The subhead read, "They're drinking less, smoking less, having less sex. An exclusive report on a momentous social shift."
In Maclean's mail bag, the articles seemed to have offend teenagers and like minded adults who felt as if sex, drugs, and alcohol are an important part of growing up. There are some really dumb comments, like, "Growing up, I found that sex, drugs, and alcohol were important aspects of my life that helped me mature and find my place." Really?
I remember back in high school that out of over 200 girls in my year, one sometimes smoked up on weekends, courtesy of her older brother, and the rest of us were shocked that she brought a joint to school. Drinking was more prevalent, but not amongst 13 and 14 year-olds. And sex before 16 seemed to be unheard of. I don't think that we were pure or unusual. I don't even think we were particularly well behaved. By grade thirteen there was much more sex and alcohol, but we were 18 and 19 years old!
Getting up on my soapbox - I blame parents who want to be their children's friends, not their parents. Parents who "remember what it was like" and "we did it - no big deal." Parents are more open to drugs being legalized than teens, and I think we send conflicting messages. Plus, parents find it easier to give their teens freedom to make their own choices, mostly because it gives them more time to do what they want.
I worry about the attitudes towards drinking and drugs, specifically for young teens. We have a high school near us where kids smoke up outside in the morning, and the police drive by because there is no point in doing anything about it. I take my kids to a parkette near my house, and there are always groups of teens smoking up in the middle of the day, not even trying to conceal the behaviour. I asked a group of teens not to smoke up on my front lawn one day, and got attitude while they crossed the street. The LCBO near us always has teens trading money and bottles on the bench right outside the door.
In my opinion, there is something wrong with a 14 year old smoking up; there is something wrong with a 14 year old drinking alcohol; and, there is something wrong with a 14 year old having sex.
Let's give them better experiences to help them mature into happy, healthy adults. Try competitive sports, outdoor activities, volunteering, travel, arts and drama. I consider those much better outlets for teen energy than sex, drugs and alcohol.
Teen Sex. Wow Oprah, what a great show. Husband watched the first part with me (he was taking a nap after work and I came in and turned on the TV.)
Yesterday's show was about these two teens, 14 year old boyfriend and girlfriend, and whether or not they would have sex.
The teens held hands, flanked by their mothers. I found the teens very articulate and intelligent, though obviously they are just 14. I thought that the girl's mother was a bit of a dolt (sort of hate to judge since I don't know her so it isn't really fair, but sometimes I am judgy.) She said that she was surprised that her daughter was dating because she was only 14 and didn't seem to be interested in boys.
Huh???? I think was interested in boys by 11! However, I do have to say that by 14 I was still thinking of maybe kissing some guy or dancing slow; sex wasn't even on my radar.
Dr. Laura Berman helped Oprah lead the discussion, and asked the following 8 questions:
Why do you want to take it to the next level now?
How long do the two of you plan to stay together?
Are you prepared for the emotions you might feel afterward?
Have you talked about condoms?
Are you prepared with two forms of birth control?
Have you talked about what happens if you get pregnant?
Do you understand sexually transmitted diseases?
Are both of you absolutely sure that neither one of you has been with anyone else sexually in any way?
At the end of the conversation, it seemed the like girl, who was shocked that a long time meant to her boyfriend that we would be with her for 6 months to a year, decided that she wasn't sure she wanted to give up her virginity just yet. Also, her response to what happens if you get pregnant, "I don't even want to think about it" shows a lack of readiness to deal with the consequences.
I don't have teens yet, but even my husband and I were able to ask each other questions to see if we were on the same page in dealing with our kids and sex issues. We both agree that 14 is far to young for sex, but also want to make sure to talk to kids about sex, early and often. Personally, I think anything to get people talking about it is better than being afraid of the topic. Congrats, Oprah.
Sometimes I get into these discussions with my daughter that I just won't win. Really, when you argue with a three year-old, remember that you are arguing with a three year-old.
This morning I was trying to open my eyes. Daughter came running to me:
Daughter: I need to go pee! BADLY!
Me: Mumble, mumble, I think you are wearing a diaper. (Note: Normally Daughter sleeps in underwear, but last night she chose a diaper.)
Daughter: I want to pee in the potty NOW!
I take her to the potty, and pull off her diaper. It is soaked. I sit her on the potty.
Daughter: Why is my diaper wet?
Me: You must have peed last night.
Daughter: No I didn't. I didn't pee last night.
Me: Well, how do you think your diaper got wet?
Daughter: You got it wet!
Me: I put a dry diaper on you last night.
Daughter: No you not! You put a wet diaper on me last night. I didn't pee!
Me: Honey, the diaper was dry when I put it on you. (Why am I arguing with a three year-old about pee at 7 am?)
Daughter: You put me in a yucky wet diaper! I DIDN'T PEE!
Me: OK. My mistake. I am sorry.
As much as I hate buying diapers for a girl who should really be using the potty all of the time, I swear that I have never reused diapers. It drives me more than a little crazy to throw out diapers in the morning that were worn, but dry, all night. But reusing wet diapers? I once had this other mom at the wading pool at the park recommend that we re-use the swim diapers by drying them out. I was a little grossed out.
This weekend the boy who was responsible for our play-date from hell kept asking for another play-date.
We were playing in our backyard, as the weather was so beautiful, and he kept yelling over his fence. I did my best to ignore him, but then his mother came out and asked over the fence if we could arrange something.
I answered, "Son Two really doesn't want to."
Husband, who was outside, turned to look at me like I was evil. "He can come over and play in the backyard with us," he said.
Son Two said, "No, I don't want him to. He is my worst friend."
I came inside a called the mother. Much more civilized than yelling over a few backyards.
"Son Two is going through a lot right now, and really doesn't want to have a play-date."
"Really? Oh. OK. I hope it has nothing to do with being bitten last time. I should have called, but I didn't find out until the next day."
"That could be it. He just doesn't want a play date, and I am not going to force him."
How many months later is it? Yes, you should have called when you found out. You should have brought your son over to apologize.
I asked Son Two if he would consider a play date if the other boy apologized. Obviously, the pain still fresh in his mind, he answered, "there are some things that you just can't apologize for." A little overly dramatic, but I see his point.
For now I am out of having to plan a play date, and I don't feel the need to cross to the other side of the street when I walk by their house anymore.
I am working on my mommy backbone. Anything to save my kids some pain.
Yesterday I found out that there is something wrong with Son Two, and I immediately felt such a sense of relief.
Weird reaction? Maybe.
For the past three years we have been struggling with Son Two's speech. We have been to five different speech pathologists for assessments or treatments, an audiologist to rule out hearing issues, and finally an Otolaryngologist (or Ear Nose and Throat Specialist.)
Before yesterday, we struggled to understand why our son's speech was so unintelligible.
We have had an audiologist suggest that we should look into learning difficulties, and imply that there may be a social disorder involved (hinting at autism.)
His kindergarten teacher spoke to me after the first week and told me that, "he is the weakest in the class."
The latest was his current speech pathologist, who last week told me that my son, "just wasn't normal," and I should consider an occupational therapist.
My son has become frustrated and insecure throughout this process. It has broken our hearts to watch him struggling to make himself understood, only to have people ignore him or write him off as unintelligent because they can't understand him.
Finally, yesterday, we met with an amazing doctor. Her first test was to have him say some words while she held a mirror under his nose. Completely fogged up. She then looked up his nose while he said some words, and into his throat.
Diagnosis? Velopharyngeal incompetence. Hypernasality from a deep nasopharynx.
All of his speech struggles can be attributed to VPI, what is considered a resonance disorder. All of the pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place.
Son Two should grow into it as he ages. Or if it hasn't improved my grade two, there is a small procedure that can be done to help. (BTW - don't you love the way doctors no longer call it an operation - everything is a "procedure.")
We still will continue with aggressive speech therapy, though I think we will give him a nice, long break when his current session ends.
It is such a relief to find out that is something very minor wrong with him, instead of worrying that he will never speak clearly and there is nothing we can do to help. It helps us know what we are dealing with, and what we can expect.
Yesterday I found out that Son Two isn't perfect - and I couldn't be happier!
P.S. If it turns out that this is hereditary, then he got it from Husband.
Yesterday I was old Mother Hubbard. Except that we have a cat instead of a dog. But the cupboards were bare.
Last night my plan was to leave after sushi to run out to the grocery store so that we could eat today. I knew it was a little crazy. With the stores closed on Friday and Sunday, I knew it would be busy, but I couldn't put it off any longer.
I wrote my list, gathered my bags, and went to leave. Three little children, who really wanted to go grocery shopping at 8 pm last night, followed me.
They each got a job to do: Son One - the list; Son Two - the bags; and, Daughter - stop crying or I will leave you at home with your father.
Lately I have been getting off easy. Either I take Daughter to the grocery store while her brothers are at school, or I go alone when Husband is home. Last night they wanted to come, and I was pretty sure it would be find.
First, they each got to pick one treat that Son One added to the list (at first I find it hard when he became literate as Husband and I could no longer spell everything we didn't want the kids to know, but now it comes in handy.) On the drive I explained the regular rules to them: we stick together; no fighting; no yelling; and no running.
Daughter sat in the cart, while the boys picked out the items. We had a 10-minute wait at the deli counter, and I think that they kept most people entertained. The kids were actually better behaved than some of the adults at the store.
After 45 minutes, we lined up to pay. They wanted to do the self-checkout, but I had a full cart and I really wanted them home in bed.
As soon as we were in line, the compliments started:
Oh, they are so beautiful!
You are all such good helpers to mommy.
Look at them all!
You should be the coach for the Leafs! You do a great job with your team.
And then comments change:
You really have your hands full.
You brought the whole team shopping?
You are so brave.
How many are there?
Is it so shocking for one person to be responsible for 3 kids? OK, maybe there is a certain bravery required to be a parent, but I don't really count grocery shopping. They are 3, 5, and 7 - all of them can listen and follow direction. Plus, they are my kids! I shouldn't have had three kids if I could take them all somewhere and get things done. Yes, it is hard sometimes. If I really need back-up, there is Husband and Nana - but that is usually in response to the all of them not wanted to go somewhere, or the place we are going needed to be just me, or just me and one child (like a specialist's appointment.)
Yesterday I went shopping for a few hours with my new running friends. They were glad that I was able to come, and commented on how wonderful my husband was to stay home with the three kids. They are his kids! He is parenting, not babysitting. If he wasn't able to watch all three, we shouldn't have had three.
As the kids get older, it gets easier and easier to go places with them. It also gets easier and easier to find someone to leave them with. I am starting to find a freedom that I thought I had lost forever when my first son was born, but I can actually have some time to myself without feeling guilty.
They have learned that if they behave, they are more likely to be taken along to different places than left behind. Win-win. I look like a super amazing mom for being able to keep all of the kids in line, the kids are able to go different places and sometimes even get stuff.
Tonight we had sushi for dinner. I didn't have many options. My fridge is so bare that I had to buy milk at a gas station yesterday. We have no chicken, no hotdogs, no fruit, no bread, no waffles and no pancake mix. Those are all staples in my home. By unanimous vote, we ordered sushi for dinner.
All of my kids love "sushi". The youngest two get plain rice maki, and the oldest gets avocado maki. Nothing crazy - nothing raw or fishy. Back when I had more patience and time, we used to make sushi with the kids at home. I have learned that some things are easier to order.
During pregnancy, I loved sushi. Of course I ate nothing that was raw - terrified of toxoplasmosis! However, I probably ate sushi at least once a week. I also ate butter chicken regularly, any kind of curry, and pad thai. I introduced all of my children to pad thai, butter chicken, and avocado rolls before their first birthdays. Now I have kids who would often rather order sushi than pizza, and a son who takes left over butter chicken to school in a thermos.
I love being able to get great ethnic food anywhere in Toronto. To me it is one of the amazing benefits of living in a multicultural city, and my kids are encourage to at least try things (calamari was not a big hit.) Daughter can still be convinced that most things are chicken.
When I was growing up, spaghetti and meat balls, or other Italian foods, were about as ethnic as we got. On a trip to France when I was 16, we went to a restaurant ordered steak tartar. When it arrived it was sent back to be cooked. In university I remember ordering eggplant parmigiana and thinking myself cultured.
I think trying different foods is exciting and fun, and a great thing to do with your kids. You never know what they may end up loving. Deep fried chicken butts anyone?
This morning our kids woke up even earlier than Christmas! The ungodly hour 6:40 am (I am pretty sure Jesus didn't rise until 9 am.) They wanted to check to see if the Easter Bunny had come.
Last night I had pulled out all of the Easter baskets from last year. The boys went to bed and were asleep by 9:30 pm, but Daughter just wouldn't fall asleep. At 10:10 pm, Husband went downstairs to turn off the TV and turn out the lights and make sure everything was just right for the Easter Bunny. Normally the Easter Bunny is my job, but I stayed in bed with Daughter to make sure she stayed upstairs.
The kids were thrilled this morning! This is what happens when parents don't communicate very well - they each buy the Easter eggs. It was really fun watching them run around with their baskets. The two big brothers pointing eggs for their little sister. I normally leave three eggs per location, as we have three children. For some reason, Husband left two. Son Two would grab one, and give the other to his sister. Son One would grab both. He ended up with about twice as much as the other two. For the big bunnies, they each "found" one.
For breakfast they had chocolate. Husband went high end with his purchases - the Lindt chocolate eggs. I bought the big, $3 bunnies and some mini-eggs. The discussion over breakfast was how the Easter Bunny carries everything to all of the houses - the consensus was a big plane. They also discussed how the Easter Bunny gets into our house. Son One is convinced he comes down the chimney, just like Santa.
Later today we will be heading out to my sister's for Easter dinner. The boys have clean pants, and Daughter wants to wear her green dress. Should be a great day. Hope yours is, too. Happy Easter!
I just read a blog by another mommy blogger, and it annoyed me. Does anyone understand math? There is no such thing as 100th percentile!!!!!
What really annoyed is that this is the blog of a mother on Today's Parent's website, and she used to be an editor. I assume some level of intelligence there, so let's just hope it was a mommy brain moment.
Let me explain percentiles.
If your child is in the 99th percentile for height, for example, it means that out of 100 children the same age, your child is taller than 99 of them, or the tallest. If you try to say that your child is in the 100th percentile, or even 110th percentile (as one really dumb mother once told me), you would be incorrect. Trying to say that out of 100 children, your child is taller than all of them, including themselves, is not correct. Even worse is to claim that out of a sample of 100 children, your child in taller than 110 including himself.
Technically your child cannot be greater than the 99th percentile. If your doctor tells you that your child is in the 100th percentile, I would ask him or her to explain how that is possible. I would hope that you doctor has stronger math skills than that.
It seems like every parent, especially mothers of boys, are really into bragging how "off the charts" tall their children are. Please lets forget about comparing height! It is one thing that our children really can't control (assuming that they are eating enough!) and if they are short, it is probably because you and your spouse are short.
If, on the other side of the spectrum, your child has fallen off the chart for being small, I would say that is a cause for concern. Especially if they used to be on the chart. Doctors like to see kids stay fairly consistent in their growth pattern. A 50th percentile child stay close to the 50th, or 25th close to the 25th.
Daughter is the only one whose percentiles have raised a flag. She was born on the 75th percentile, and stayed there more or less through her first year. Her second year saw her drop down first to the 50th, then the 25th. The weird part was that through this decline, she was actually the best eater of the kids! She is now three years old, and at every visit the doctor reminds me to keep her on all full fat products and not to limit any food, even junk, to ensure that she is eating enough.
Look, I am not saying to ignore the growth charts. They have been used by doctors for a long time and they are an important tool in helping to determine the health of our children. Some interesting information? The human growth hormone is produced in bursts during the day, but released mostly during sleep - so make sure your kids are sleeping enough. Also, kids tend to grow fastest in the summer, and slowest in the fall (lucky as it is easier to get away with shorter shorts!)
What more can I say? Love your kids! And take those percentiles with a grain of salt. They are not true measure of your child, just a measurement.
Before motherhood, I was a staunch believer of "nurture" over "nature" especially when it cam to girls and boys. I now admit that I was completely wrong!
I came from a family of three girls. We could do anything. Thank goodness we didn't have a brother, because I think my father had just enough chauvinist in him that the inequality would have meant war.
Because of coming from so much estrogen, I was surprised when I had a son. Thrilled, but shocked. My father even said, "But we don't have boys!" Now we do - not only do I have two sons, one sister has a son and the other has three!
Husband wanted a girl. All of his friends had daughters, so it was what he knew. They seemed so sweet, gentle and loving. We had two boys, then a girl. We didn't keep trying for a girl - we knew we wanted three of four kids. After Daughter, it was Husband's decision to stop.
I have heard studies supporting the differences between boys and girls even as infants. Apparently, their little bodies produce their first hormones at around 12 weeks, and it is either estrogen or testosterone - so everything changes after that. The other study I heard is that boys, when they learn to crawl, crawl away from their mothers; girls crawl around them.
Really, I don't know if it is true, but in terms of my relationships with my kids, they are different. The boys love me, I still steal kisses and hold hands, and can sometimes get cuddles, especially when they are sick. However my daughter is like my third limb.
We are attached in a way that the boys never were - sometimes I don't know where I end and she begins. There is an intimacy between us that I find shocking. If I am sitting, she is on my lap. If I am lying down, she is on top of me. She strokes my hair, my cheeks. She wraps her little arms tight around my neck, and wants to fall asleep like that, cheek to cheek. If she wakes up in the night and notices that I am not near her (because I have lifted her to her own bed when she fell asleep), she comes into my room, kicks Daddy out of the bed, and resumes her place intertwined with me.
My daughter is in the bathroom with me every time. Last week she pulled up her little stool and sat there for my entire shower (she thought she was getting a puppet show.) She offers to wipe my bum - I decline. She picks out my clothes and wants to help me get dressed - she wants to fasten my bra. She has "helped" me put on my make-up. I am sure that some anthropologist would have something to say about her imitation being important to her learning how to become a woman.
Daughter treats my stuff like her own, and me as an extension of her. I get enough "I love yous," hugs and kisses every day to know that I am loved by at least one of my children.
Sometimes it gets to be too much. I feel my body reaching, trying to detach, looking for freedom from the little, warm 30 lb lump.
Then I am in the grocery store, and daughter wants to be carried AGAIN. A man looks at me with sadness in his eyes. "My daughter is 13. I wish I could still pick her up and carry her around."
Really? I think. Then would you mind picking up my daughter and carrying her around so that I can get my grocery shopping done?
My kids are crazy today - well, at least two of them are. I can't figure out what is going on!
Son One woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Happens sometimes, even we thought we had solved the problem by pushing his bed up against the wall so that there is only one side he could get out. Still seems to be the wrong side some days. This morning, Husband had to pick him up and remove him from the breakfast table for a time-out when he wasn't happy with his cereal bowl.
Daughter has been screaming and crying in the basement for the past 20 minutes. I think I cut her toast wrong, or she wanted "regular" bread not rye, or something. She is completely inconsolable.
I blame the weather. The spring tease followed by the surprise mini-attack by winter. It must confuse their inner cycles, turning them crazy. I am trying to ignore it.
Here are some pictures we took yesterday, when it was spring. What happened? It is cold, wet and snowy today. At least I have the pictures and the memories.
New Rollerblades: $210
Helmets, protective gear: $100
Tinkerbell Light-up bike helmet: $30
Princess bike basket: $7.99
Watching the kids enjoy spring: Priceless?
Husband, still trying to recover from his illness yet determined to get to work, was snoozing on the couch. Why he didn't want to stay in bed upstairs and be left alone, it a mystery.
Son Two decided to walk along the back of the couch, and jump onto Husband's head.
Husband grabbed Son Two in a bear hug, tickling and kissing him.
Son Two yells, "Daddy! Daddy! I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Thus illustrating that he could, in fact, breathe.
Daughter, concerned about her brother's safety (yet not actually concerned enough to stop playing and come to his aid) says, "He could die, right?" (Note: this really was said with concern, and not glee as it may have been said if Son One was home.)
True, daughter, if you can't breathe you can die.
Son Two is fine. Husband has gone off to work. Daughter is still playing.
Today while walking through the underground on the way to the subway with Son Two, I noticed a man sitting on a little stool.
This was an older man, grizzly with a full grey shaggy beard and head of hair. He was wearing a normal-looking parka, but I could see his ass.
He wore white, fishnet stockings with faux garters, and a white thong. His stockings were footless, so he wore white ankle socks with silver flats. He was pretty hairy, and with the lack of butt in the tights, you could see everything.
As we walked by, I held my son's hand a little tighter. I could see him staring, and was a little concerned.
Son Two: Mommy - that man is eating ice cream right out of the container!
I looked over, and yes, he was eating from a two litre container of vanilla ice cream.
Son Two: He'd better eat it all.
The rule in our house is that if there is only a little ice cream left, you can eat if directly form the container with a spoon. The man had obviously just bought the ice cream at the ValueMart, but he did look like he could finish it.
This is why kids are wonderful. We can walk past a girl with a bright pink mohawk wearing what looks like an old wedding dress and they say nothing; but see a nicely dressed gentleman who happens to be bald and they yell out, "Hey look! That man has no hair!"
Or today, you see a man with his bum hanging out wearing fishnets, silver shoes and a thong, and they notice that he is eating ice cream without a bowl.
Either we are raising really non-judgmental children, or hopelessly unobservant kids.
I need a new hairstyle. A good friend, whom I love and trust, told me the other night that I need to invest in a quality (ie: expensive) haircut. I haven't had my hair done since November. B.K. (before kids) I had my hair highlighted and cut regularly. Now I don't have the time, the money, or the interest in maintenance. Am I destined to become a frumpy mummy, nominated for some reality show like 10 Years Younger?
Daughter has never had a hair style. I am starting to think that it may be time for a mother / daughter day at the hairdresser.
Any thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas? How young it too young for a style?
Here's some pictures I just took of my little raggamuffin.
Spring Awakening is currently playing at the Canon Theater in Toronto. In case you haven't heard of it, here is some information from the website:
SPRING AWAKENING takes its inspiration from one of literature's most controversial masterpieces - a work so daring in its depiction of teenage self-discovery, it was banned from the stage and not performed in its complete form in English for nearly 100 years.
It's Germany, 1891. A world where the grown-ups hold all the cards. The beautiful young Wendla explores the mysteries of her body, and wonders aloud where babies come from, till Mama tells her to shut it, and put on a proper dress.
Elsewhere, the brilliant and fearless young Melchior interrupts a mind-numbing Latin drill to defend his buddy Moritz - a boy so traumatized by puberty he can't concentrate on anything. Not that the Headmaster cares. He strikes them both and tells them to turn in their lesson.
One afternoon - in a private place in the woods - Melchior and Wendla meet by accident, and soon find within themselves a desire unlike anything they've ever felt.
As they fumble their way into one another's arms, Moritz flounders and soon fails out of school. When even his one adult friend, Melchior's mother, ignores his plea for help, he is left so distraught he can't hear the promise of life offered by his outcast friend Ilse.
Naturally, the Headmasters waste no time in pinning the "crime" of Moritz's suicide on Melchior and expel him. And soon Mama learns her little Wendla is pregnant. Now the young lovers must struggle against all odds to build a world together for their child.
It is a teen drama, with abuse, incest, suicide, sexual awakening, teen pregnancy, abortion, homosexuality, run away, and alcohol abuse. Sounds a little heavy? It's not. I found it beautiful. The most amazing thing is that it was written in the 1890s! Brought to life for today's teen with a great score that I actually bought on my way out. (WARNING: There is profanity, sexuality, and a little nudity - really nothing more than plumber's butt.)
Yesterday I also received my Maclean's, with the headline OMG!!! What Happened to Teenagers? The articles look at how teens are doing in Canada, based on a survey called, "Project Teen Canada."
If you are a parent of a teen, go and see Spring Awakening and pick up this week's Maclean's. It will give you the ability to talk to them about so many issues, as well as remind you of what they are going through. I think you will be optimistic about this stressful and challenging time.
Today I decided to try a new hair conditioning treatment. You put it in your hair, then sit around for 20 minutes before washing it out. It hardens into a weird, sticky helmet, and I honestly don't think it was worth the $10.99.
I went downstairs to sit with my daughter while waiting for the 20 minutes to pass.
Daughter is cute. There is a lightness and sweetness about her. When we go anywhere, people always look at her and smile, trying to talk to her. I am not sure what is so special about her, but there seems to be something. She acts like a little pampered princess, always asking to have her hair done and her nails painted (Husband actually painted them for her this weekend - so cute!)
I sat down beside her on the couch. Daughter looked at me quizzically, then gently reached out and touched my head.
Daughter: What's that in your hair? Me: A treatment to make it nice and pretty life yours.
Daughter: I put snot in mine. Me: What? (I thought she said "snot," but she is three and sometimes not that clear.)
Daughter: I put snot in my hair. From my nose. Like this. (Daughter proceeds to pick her nose, and wipe it into her hair.)
Ah. Now I know never to take beauty advice form a three year-old, no matter how cute she is.
A few years ago I was complaining about Son One to a friend who didn't have children, but had done some reading on the subject of child development and was therefore an expert. I was telling her that Son One was shy and stubborn.
She said, "That determination will make him very successful some day. Parents need to stop looking at personality traits in their children and evaluating them as either good or bad. Behaviour and personality are not the same thing. He is shy - a good thing because he won't ever go anywhere with a stranger. He isn't stubborn, but determined, and that will help him go far in life."
I thought a lot about what she said, and see her point. My children are all shy. This isn't good or bad, this is who they are. My mother claims that I was a painfully shy child. Some people say that my Husband is still very shy. So as the Irish saying goes, "they didn't lick that off the sidewalk."
It is challenging to me as their mother because it takes all of my children a while to get used to new situations, like swimming lessons and skating classes. The good part is that I don't have to worry about them wandering away in public as all three are usually attached somewhere, and none of them ever talk to strangers.
The stubborn gene, likely also inherited from both Husband and myself, is harder to deal with. I always thought I was stubborn, until I met my Husband. There is no one most stubborn on the planet. Son Two is in the running to dethrone him.
My children come by their determination honestly, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with. None of them can be coerced, tricked, bribed or threatened to do anything, ever. I once had a speech therapist lecture me on how I should reward a good job on homework with a smartie. Really? You want me to bribe him to do 10 minutes of challenging work with a single smartie? Do you have children? Have you ever met a child before? I could offer to buy this kid a car to say a single word, and he wouldn't do it!
Son One, who I once thought was so challenging, in some ways is turning out to be the easiest going of three. This is only because I can, sometimes, win with him. For the other two I resort to picking them up and putting them in their rooms.
Son Two was instantly labeled, "non-compliant" by his first speech pathologist (we are on number four because he is so fun and easy to work with.) She recommended a behavioural therapist. Really? They do therapy to change personalities? At the time I said no, because Son Two is really one of the best behaved children I have ever seen.
Son Two's personality is almost identical to Husband's. The weird part is now everyone wants to diagnosis him with something. One Audiologist hinted at autism or aspergers or maybe an LD (learning disability). This was after 10 minutes because he wouldn't talk to her. He just didn't want to talk to her. The school had a speech pathologist assess him for 15 minutes and she had all sorts of crazy results.
The good news is that I think all of my kids are fine, and will be fine. I actually find them generally fairly well behaved, they are bright and successful at school and in their chosen activities. I have learned to ask before signing them up for something new, and we work a lot at home with giving them choices, so that they can feel more in control.
I am also learning to accept them for who they are. I once heard a joke about psychologists - Psychologists with one child believe in nurture; psychologists with more than one child believe in nature.
Last year the boys "borrowed" a Hungry Hungry Hippo game from their grandparents. They loved it! I think it came with 25 white plastic marbles, so with the two of them playing, someone always won.
They used to smash and grab and fight. I kept trying to put the game away, and they kept wanting it out. I have dents on my coffee table from their fun.
It is a loud, obnoxious game. I was glad when the boys had finally lost so many marbles that their tired of it.
While getting organized today, the game was unearthed. Daughter wanted to play with Mommy and Daddy. In her usual bossy fashion, she told us which hippo we could each be. We could only find three marbles, but we set the game up.
She told us when we could release our marbles into the middle. Then we started. Daddy got in trouble early for having his hippo eat my hippo's marble. Daughter took it out of his stash, and gently fed it to my hippo. Then we played again. Each hippo was allowed to eat only one marble, and if necessary, Daughter would feed them by hand.
We played a few rounds of this game, until daughter announced, "That's enough!" and put the three marbles back into a zip-lock bag, and put the game away.
Husband and I sat on the floor stunned. Who knew Hungry Hungry Hippo could be played in such a quiet, civilized fashion? Every hippo got one marble, and no one won. We were OK with it, she was OK. It just reminded me, yet again, how different she is from her brothers.
Last year we spent our earth hour wandering around the neighbourhood enjoying the darkness.
Last night we spent it with every light on in the house, with almost every appliance working, and cleaning up vomit.
Son One started vomiting at 8:00 pm, and continued at roughly 10 minute intervals until 6 am this morning.
Between 8:30 pm and 3:30 am I did four loads of laundry - these are the "bonus" loads that I mentioned on my laundry blog. Son One went through three pairs of pajamas and had two showers. The bed was also changed.
After the first major blow-up, handled completely by Husband as I wasn't home, the rest of the night was gagging, water and bile. Husband said I would have been terrified if I had been home - probably would have called "911." He was sick starting in the downstairs entrance way, up the stairs, through the hall, and into the bathroom. Husband claimed nothing actually made it into the toilet.
Things I learned last night:
Hot dogs take more than 7 hours to digest
Son One needs to eat better
Son One needs to chew his food more
You can continue gagging for 8 hours with nothing in your stomach
I think it hurt me more than Son One to see him so sick. Though however much you love and adore your child, and however bad you feel about their suffering, part of you can still get really, really angry at 3:30 am when they miss the toilet.
I hope no one else in our house gets this stomach bug. I am not even sure it is a stomach bug - he played hockey really hard for hours yesterday, and I almost wonder if it was exhaustion / exertion. Today Son One seems to be feeling much better, but still exhausted. He has already taken a shower and bath this morning, and is back in bed.
I, too, am exhausted. I hope I get a nap this afternoon.
Last night I think we used more energy than any normal Saturday night, with the washing machine and dryer going, lights on to facilitate cleaning of many rooms, showers going, toilets flushing. Next year we'll do better, I promise!
1 Ethan
2 Nathan, Nathon
3 William
4 Jacob, Jakob
5 Noah
6 Samuel
7 Matthew, Mathew, Mathieu
8 Joshua, Joshau, Joshuwa
9 Benjamin
10 Alexander, Alexandre
Reading, there are some names that I am just so tired of hearing everywhere. Ethan and Aiden (#24) are my current least favourite boy's names. There always seem to be a few Ethans and Aidens around, and I just don't see the appeal.
The girls names that bother me end in an "ey" Like Hailey (#20), Avery (#30), McKenzie (#34), Noemie ?(#35), and Ashley (#70). I am also so over any girls names that are androgynous.
I remember back in high school, a girl got pregnant and had twins. She named them Storm and Raven. Even back then I knew that it was a definite sign that she not was ready to have kids choosing names like that.
People - your children will have these names for at least 18 years. This is your opportunity to do something nice for them, not to stigmatize them. I promise you that your child will not thank you for having the most unusual name in their class. Nor will it help them build character.
Husband used to randomly open the back door and yell names out when I was pregnant. He wanted to test the names out. At the time I questioned his sanity, but I see now what he was doing. He saved me from having to yell, "Storm! Don't hit Raven!" at the playground.
Everyday Monday and Wednesday, Son Two and I venture downtown for some intensive speech therapy. His preference is to take the subway, so we turn it into a bit of an adventure.
This morning the Bloor / Danforth line was running a little slow due to "signaling problems" however we had left early enough that I wasn't worried.
Somehow we lucked out with a near empty train. Son Two and I sat down, and started looking at all of the ads.
Within three stops, the train was so crowded that he could no longer see the ads from his seat. Instead, he started to comment, loudly and clearly, while pointing at other passengers. If only his speech pathologist could have heard him!
Son Two: Mommy - look at that guy! The one with the hair! (It was sort of poofy, but not really remarkable enough for comment.)
Son Two: Look at that old lady! She is so slow. She can barely walk she is so old!
Me: Honey, let's look in Mommy's purse and see what we can find to play with.
Son Two: Mommy, why do you have lines on your forehead?
At least now I can smile at the "old lady," who is probably 48, 'cause now I, too, have been insulted by my cute, but vocal, son.
You may think that my family is obsessed with butts, given that this is my third blog that has the word, "butt" in it.
Really, I don't care about my butt. I can't see it, but it's comfortable to sit on, so why care?
I haven't heard any complaints about my butt. While I have had a few compliments, those were in my younger, pre-pregnancy days. I don't see it when I look in the mirror (except for those unfortunate times when I have used toilets with mirrors mounted above them - who does that?)
The other day I was loading the fridge with our groceries. Son Two came up behind me, and I felt him lightly put one hand on either hip. Then he stepped back. I turned around to see him standing, looking at his hands which he was holding about two feet apart.
Me: What are you doing?
Son: Just measuring your butt.
Me: Husband, stop laughing or you will be sleeping on the couch tonight.
Son Two did this completely without malice or sarcasm. For all I know it could have been learned in an estimation or measuring unit at school - you know the new math!
Son One and Husband had quite the laugh.
I think I need to start running a little more. And I am hoping that Son Two's measurement skills are a little generous - since he is a male.
Last night I dreamt that I was in a really crowded building, and couldn't find the exit. No one would help me. It was terrible.
This morning Son Two came in and told me his dream. He dreamt that he and his brother were skiing down a really big hill, and they both made it to the bottom without falling. I told him about my dream.
Daughter, told us she had a dream, too.
Me: What was it about?
Daughter: My butt.
Me: What about your butt?
Daughter: It was sore.
Do your kids appreciate everything you do for them? My guess is no. Did we truly appreciate everything our parents did for us?
We drove back from Florida with Son Two, while Son One and Daughter flew back with Nana. We had been driving for a few hours, not even out of Florida yet, when this conversation took place:
Me: So, what was your favourite part of our vacation?
Son Two: What vacation?
Daddy: The trip we were just on. In Florida? What did you like about it?
Me (thinking to myself - we went to Disney, Universal, swimming daily, air boat ride, mini golf... pick something!)
Son Two: Daddy - you know what?
Daddy: What?
Son Two: Listen to this... BUUUUURRRRPPPPP!
Daddy: Great.
Seriously - we clothe, feed and drive them around. On top of meeting their needs, we try to make life fun for them. Vacations, museum visits, skating lessons and bike rides. Is it all for nothing?
On one hand, parenting is a thankless job. Who is going to thank you for raising good kids? Not the kids, certainly.
It is one of those jobs where the joy of raising good kids should give us enough satisfaction, knowing that they love us, that they are successful and that they are contributing to the betterment of society.
But would a little thanks every now and then really be so hard?
Opps. Parents of mine - thank you very much for everything over the last 34 1/2 years. I do appreciate so much of what you did for us, the love and support you gave (except the piano lessons - couldn't we have admitted a little earlier that I wasn't musical?)
Love you guys.
One thing I am very thankful for is that I live in Toronto, with arguably the best children's hospital in the world in my backyard.
I had some minor surgery there when I was twelve, and it was pretty great then. It has become even better since.
Every month I donate to SickKids. It is easy to set up, and it just comes off my credit card. I treat it almost like an insurance policy - I hope that if I do this, I may never really need their services. Quick - touch wood!
Today my niece had a minor surgery there. She is home and recovering now, and we are praying for her.
We have been to SickKids with each of our children for something.
Son One went for tests as an infant. Have I ever mentioned that he was the loudest babyever? I am sure that the technicians have recovered by now.
Son Two was born just after SARS. When I took him I got to see some of the new protocols in action. I actually ended up meeting the Head of Infection Disease, and it turns out all he had was influenza A.
Daughter's visit to SickKids was the only disappointing experience. We were there six hours, bumped from emergency to urgent care, and left with a pamphlet on what to do when you child has a fever. Turns out they missed the white spots all over the inside of her mouth - strep throat.
I try to use our health care system properly. Urgent care for injuries. Emergency for severe, unidentified illness. Doctor or walk-in clinics for suspected infections or other minor illnesses. I stopped calling telehealth years ago when the only advice I got was to see a doctor within 24 hours if nothing changes.
SickKids is a great hospital, treating kids with all sort of wild and crazy illnesses from all around the world. It gives me a great comfort knowing how close I am to the best children's doctors, and the best treatment facilities for my kids. Thank you Sick Kids.
Do you own a minivan? I swore that I would never drive one. However, while pregnant with our third child, Husband convinced me to give one a try as we couldn't afford a big SUV.
I love our minivan. We drive a Toyota Sienna LE that seats eight. First of all, it drives like a car, not a truck. It is so comfortable and easy to maneuver that I can parallel park on Bloor Street in Saturday afternoon traffic without a problem. As soon as we bought it, Husband exclaimed he would never drive anything but a Toyota. I have a feeling I will driving a Sienna until my Daughter goes away to university.
For the past three years we have had all three children, in their car and booster seats, in the middle row. It has three individual captain's chairs, but without the armrests, and having them close and easily accessible has been wonderful.
Until now. Recently, the kids have started fighting when we drive. Hitting, touching, pinching. Just bothering one another because they are too close.
Luckily, with most minivans, you have many seating configuration options. I am thinking of keeping Daughter behind the driver, removing the middle seat and placing Son Two in his booster behind the passenger, and then leaving Son One the third row, all to himself. May have Husband set that up for us this week to try out over March Break.
I have one question for minivan manufacturers - have you ever considered glass sound-proof privacy screens like on limos to pop up between the driver and the rear of the vehicle? Just a thought.
My kids have come up with this new game lately - they like to go on Monster Hunts.
They have been doing it for a few weeks. I love it! They can play "Monster Hunt" together for hours - good, old fashioned, imaginative, co-operative play.
They put on backpacks and grab mini-sticks and go hunting. They slay the big monsters, but save the babies by putting them into the backpacks and bringing them home to raise at pets.
They can play this game anywhere - in the van, on vacation, in the pool, outside. At home they come up with these small little "forts" that they all cram into with pillows and blankets, like behind a chair or on the landing.
The only downside to the game is that they use the mini-sticks to "shoot" the monsters, and we are a big anti-gun family. I am also not sure where they came up with this idea of hunting, but I am not going to make an issue of it.
I love watching them play together and get along! When Son One is at school, the other two will play it all afternoon. Today was a PA Day, and the three of them played it all morning. It was great; one of the few things that they can play together equally even with their varying ages.
Another nice bonus is that they have hunted, so our house is virtually monster free, making bed time easier and no one is afraid of the dark.
At book club we don't just talk about the book. Last night our topics ranged from the War in Afghanistan to whether Ben Affleck was hitting the bottle before Jennifer Garner.
A topic we just touched in near the end was assisted fertility, in light of octomom in the news.
Husband and I each have two sisters, and we all have at least 2 children. When I delivered my daughter in the hospital, we were the only family in private rooms to have one child. The rest were twins, and the dads were talking about their fertility treatments in the hallway. When my sisters came to visit, one pregnant, the other with two children plus my two boys, one of the father's commented how lucky we were to be such a fertile family.
I am not sure luck had much to do with it. My sisters and I, as well as my husband's two sisters, all had our first children before our 30th birthdays. My sisters and I went to University, had careers, and got married before becoming pregnant.
I think the only way we were lucky is that we met wonderful men early enough in life. Either that or we made certain decisions. There was an article published in the Atlantic last year about making the case for marrying Mr. Right now instead of waiting for Mr. Right. It resonated with me, but that is a topic for another day.
Are there young women with fertility issues? Definitely. But I would guess that their numbers are much smaller than those of women trying to conceive after their thirtieth birthdays.
I think that our bodies, over the millennia, have developed so that the optimal decade for having children is our twenties. Yes, I know we are fertile sooner, but there is something to do with teens and lower body fats and continued growth, that actually make it not desirable.
Am I glad that options exist out there to help women have babies? Yes. I think motherhood is the greatest gift.
However I think that it needs to be more closely monitors and regulated. Shows like Jon and Kate plus 8 make a celebrity out of multiples, and deranged people like octomom want their 15 minutes of fame. Jon and Kate admit to using fertility drugs to conceive first their twins, later their sextuplets. IVF is actually a more controlled form of treatment, which is why Nadya shouldn't have been implanted with six embryos.
The numbers of assisted fertility multiples are on the rise, and it costs all of us. It is more dangerous both for the mother, and for the babies. The estimation is that the octoplets birth and hospital stay will cost the tax payers of California close to $3 million. Not to mention the long term health issues.
People desperate for children have their judgment clouded; questing for babies is so emotional it overrides logically decision making. Women are pushing for fertility drugs sooner, often lying to doctors about how long they have been trying to conceive (we are type A - used to control and not waiting for what we want.) Selective reduction is an option few, if any, parents choose, even though medically it can improve the outcomes for the surviving children.
Sometimes my Catholic roots are strong. Whatever God gives us. Whether that be many, or none. However I am prochoice - and believe strongly in a woman's right to make choices about her own fertility. See? Not black and white.
I am torn, and think we need more conversations for the sake of our children. I hope that every woman in her desire for motherhood gets that opportunity. However, I wish that we were content with one baby! All healthy births are something to celebrate. Twins, triplets and more - doesn't make you any more special, just busier, and it increases your risks.
I think fertility doctors need to put the best interest of their patients ahead of their fertility stats. Many do. However does our government have to get involved with heavier regulations? Should our health care be paying for fertility treatments? Should selective reductions over 3 embryos be mandatory? Should you have to undergo psychiatric evaluation before treatment? Lots of questions, and no right answers.
Daughter stood in the kitchen, in her adorable ballet outfit and asked, "Am I wearing a diaper?"
Before I could say no, she peed all over the floor.
I am getting really tired of her lazy potty training ways. Some days she is great, others, she wants to wear a diaper. I don't want to fight her on it, lest I scar her for life. But it is getting ridiculous. She usually is good at peeing on the potty, but only poos once every few weeks. This morning she actually stuck her hand into her dirty diaper to "check." I made Husband clean up that one.
Took her upstairs, quick bath and change. Wiped up the pee in the kitchen. Put her clothes into the washing machine. Came back to the kitchen to wash the floor.
Son Two opened the refrigerator, and out feel his opened Twix Chocolate Bar to the floor, right where daughter had just peed.
"Don't eat that!" I yelled.
Hey - I have some standards. He was upset - he had been saving that half since Sunday. But you can't wash off a chocolate bar; I've tried.
The Pretty Princess
Before I had children, I had this vision that I would raise a strong, independent girl without any gender stereotyping.
I was going to name my daughter Jordan, a strong, androgynous name, and she would share my last name. She would wear bold colours, blues, greens and reds. She would attend sport camps, and play with cars and trucks. She would never wear a dress, have pigtails, or play with dolls.
Really, I wanted to raise my daughter as much as a boy as possible, so that she would truly be outside of traditional gender roles.
First came Son One. I don't know why, but my strong feminist ideals are mixed with strong romantic values. I wasn't going to raise a boy at all like a girl. Son One got a completely boy name. He wore blue; though he has the most beautiful blue eyes so blue was really the only choice. He had cars and trucks. He was big and tough, and we played into that for him. He was athletic, and we encouraged it.
Then came Son Two. Blue for his blue eyes, too. Strong male name. Car, trucks, balls and blocks. Again, we encouraged his athleticism, and even encouraged him to stick up to his big brother.
I was pregnant again. I wanted a healthy baby, but also sort of wanted a daughter. Husband really wanted a girl - all of his friends had girls, why couldn't we?
We got our daughter. We named her a nice, soft, feminine name from the Old Testament. She wore pink for her entire first year of life, except for one pretty lavender outfit she wore a few times.
Daughter has long hair we have never cut. She loves her babies (aka dolls). She wears skirts and dresses all of the time, or sometimes just tights. She does gymnastics and ballet. She wears a tiara for fun. A complete girly-girl.
And here is the worst part. I call her, "Princess."
Did you ever hear the joke about the little boy's first day of school?
Mother, "What did you learn you first day of school?"
Son, "Well first of all, I learned my name is Henry, not Precious."
If you ask Daughter her name, she will either tell you is it, "Big Girl" or "Princess."
Her brothers have pointed out to her that she isn't really a princess because she doesn't live in a castle.
I don't know what happened to my plans. I am still a feminist, though a stay-at-home-taking-money-from-my-husband-because-I-have-no-job kind of feminist. My daughter wears only pink, walks around on her tip-toes, and I call her Princess.
The good news is, with two older brothers, she really does learn to stand up for herself. And my husband and I have a completely equal relationship, even with the traditional roles we currently play.
Even if she is a bit of a princess, she is more like the Paper Bag Princess than Sleeping Beauty.
21 1/2 hours in a van. 2060 km. Orlando to Toronto.
Son Two was AMAZING!
He asked, "When are we going to be home?" only 6 times - and it was between noon and 3 pm yesterday.
Saturday morning we left at 7:30 am. Son Two watched 5 movies before we stopped for the night:
1. Cars
2. Transformers lunch
3. Harry Potter and the Socerer's Stone
4. El Dorado dinner
5. Sponge Bob
Son Two is like a camel. He pees in the morning, at night before bed, and sometimes in the afternoon. He sat in the back of the van with his movies, his DS, and loaf of Italian bread, a box of Mini Wheats, and two bottles of water. That is all that it took to keep him happy for 20 hours!
We stopped for the night at a hotel with an indoor pool. Husband and Son Two swam until the pool closed. Unfortunately, with the time change, we were exhausted and found it really hard to get going Sunday morning.
We left at 9:40 am, and arrived home at 6 pm.
Meanwhile, Nana flew home Saturday night with Daughter and Son One.
Everyone was happy.
Husband and I were very surprised - if the weather is nice, the drive is actually very good. Especially if you have children like Son Two, who are great travelers.
My Daughter does. She is the one who needs the button that says, "Today I dressed myself." One day she wore stripped tights and a tank top with a pink shoelace tied around her waist. This was January, and we were at the arena. At least her outfit was so extreme that no one would assume that I actually picked her clothes out for her. Husband thinks that she may become a real fashionista. We'll see.
Son Two has been dressing himself since he was three. Sometimes my husband picks out his clothes, and he'll be wearing stripes and camouflage, or black, brown and navy. For those days I wish we had a button that says, "Today my Daddy dressed me."
Son One is becoming a problem. He will be seven in a few days. And I still dress him.
No, I don't mean that I still pick out his clothes. I mean that I physically dress him. I pull his shirt over his head. I pull up his pants and pull on his socks.
He will be seven next week. He is completely capable of dressing himself. He is lazy. And likes the attention. One day, probably sooner that later, he won't want me to dress him.
Either that or I will be camping out on his university residence floor and picking out his clothes for his dates.
I watched most of the first season of The Bachelor, but haven't really watched much since. Really, the idea of the show turns my stomach. 25 beautiful women vying for a marriage proposal from a single man. I never figured out why any of the bachelors were actually so great that they would deserve this (back in university with used to joke about the girls only there to find a husband, how they were looking for the MRS degree.)
Then, it was failed engagement after failed engagement. It seemed that the scripted romance of the show never translated into real life.
The only successful relationship is Trista - the first bachelorette. Obviously, while women are successful with choosing a mate for themselves, men are hopeless idiots. Unfortunately, it seems like reality TV finds beautiful, but very dumb people.
Jason is the just the latest idiot bachelor to prove that this show should be taken off the air. Really - who is watching these shows? Molly - if you have any brain or self-preservation instinct - run as fast as you can in the opposite direction!
On a deeper level, how do I raise my daughter not to put up with the ridiculous crap just to have a man? I hope when I watch her fight with her brothers that she is going to develop enough of a backbone to stick up for herself.
I want her to learn self worth - that she is someone without a boyfriend. I want my daughter to have confidence and self-esteem. She is smart, she is beautiful and she can do anything she wants.
It really, really bothers me to see women competing for marriage like it is the only desirable prize in life, especially as most of these men end up being a booby prize. I feel like we are going backwards in the women's movement. Focusing more on what we look like, and less on who we are; making more important to land a man before we turn thirty, and less important as to what we can accomplish in our lives.
Unfortunately, the media doesn't give me much support as a mother trying to raise a strong, independent feminist daughter. Between the bachelor, Rhianna, octomom, I really worry for my Daughter's future. How can she grow up in this world with such screwed up values and be OK?
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."
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.
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 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.
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?"
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."
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."
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."
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?"
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.
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"
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."
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).
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!
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