This week we hosted the Year End Hockey Party for my son's select team.
Yes, it was rainy, cold and miserable. However, as eight year old boys don't seem to be detrimentally affected by the weather, they still played outside for most of the time.
When it really started raining hard they spilled into the basement to watch a movie. 10 minutes of arguing (Star Trek vs. Avatar) and getting 16 of them to sit down on the couch (we have a really big couch in the basement), only to have the power shut off. DRAMA! The kids don't care - they ran back outside until the food was ready.
The dads were funny. Ten families and 45 people came. The dads walked in the door, a few with coolers full of beer, sat down in the living room, and stayed until it was time to go. We moms putzed around the kitchen, of course, putting out the food and drinking wine.
The kids' young coach arrived. He is 21, and just loves hockey and kids. He showed up with a few boxes of donuts, and like a non-parent, fed the kids the donuts before we had real food. He is a great guy who then headed into the living room to drink beer and hang with the dads.
When he left, the dads all started talking about him. They were talking about what a responsible, mature, personable young man he was. Then one dad said, "I can just imaging the great sleeps that guy has!"
Pardon?
"He probably just woke up an hour before he got here!"
"I'll bet he doesn't wake up three times a night to go pee."
"He can probably nap anytime he wants!"
This was a shock to me. First of all, obviously these dads are much more middle-aged than I thought. Second of all, of all the things to envy about a hot, young, single, carefree 21 year old - the sleep????
What about the freedom? The great body without working out? Eating what you want? Staying out all night? Not getting hung over? Sleeping with young, equally hot women?
Nope. They envy the sleep.
You can bet that if we women were so inclined as to talk about a hot young women, I don't think we would be envying her sleep. Her high, perky attributes... her freedom, her male companion options (and their hot bodies)... not being able to sleep through the night without getting up to go pee three times. Seriously.
Damn it! I am realizing that my husband, and his friends (fellow dads) are middle aged. That means that I soon will be middle aged!!!! Ugh!
Pretty soon I am going to become envious of the retired folk...
I hate laundry more than anything else in the entire world. Except onions. I definitely hate onions more than laundry, but I am also able to avoid them. Laundry is my unavoidable personal hell. Dante should have included it in his Inferno.
This morning, I had yet another laundry problem. Husband, in his attempt to wash ONE shirt, emptied the clean clothes from the washer. Alas, there were clean, dry clothes in the dryer, so he emptied those as well. The domino effect.
Now, instead of going upstairs, and emptying one of the laundry baskets full of clean clothes, and refilling it with the clothes from the dryer (yes, laundry is everywhere in my home), he instead chose to empty the contents of the dryer, clean, dry clothes, onto the laundry room floor.
There, the clean, dry clothes migrated to join the HUGE pile of dirty, unwashed clothes, also in piles on the laundry room floor.
This morning, I head down to do some laundry, and shock of shock, I CAN'T DISTINGUISH THE CLEAN CLOTHES FROM THE DIRTY!!!
Of course, I marched upstairs, picked up the phone, and called Husband to give him a piece of my mind. He wasn't available. Tried the cell phone. No dice.
Headed back downstairs to see if I could somehow, using my advanced mommy sense of smell, cleave the dirty from the clean. Not a chance. I ended up throwing them all back into the washer for another round.
Now, to one who hates laundry as I do, almost as much as onions, this is a nightmare. I have more than enough laundry without washing clean clothes.
However, I have decided to let Husband off the hook for this one. There will be no discussion... I am just going to breath, let it go, and never mention it again. Isn't he the lucky one today?
Today Husband and I are engaging in the dumbest fight ever. However, I am sure that most parents have had this same fight. The weird thing is that we are having this fight NOW - not 8 years ago...
This is the fight: (OK - reading it over it seems like a pretty lame fight. But I am tired and don't like tension.)
Husband: Are you going to sleep all day?
Me: If everyone would let me!
Husband: It would be nice if I could have 5 minutes to myself for a nap.
Me: Go into work late. Nap.
Husband: I can't. How can you possibly be tired?
Me: I've been busy, and I haven't slept well the last two nights.
Husband: I got home late last night and was up until 2:30 am!!!
Me: I know - I waited up for you!
Husband: I can't believe you! You're a piece of work.
Note: there was no thank you for the homemade chicken noodle soup or croque monsieurs that I made for lunch! And the banana bread is almost done baking. or yeah, and I cleaned out the fridge and took out the garbage. gee - what a slacker!
For the record, it is 2 pm and I am still in my pajamas. I am exhausted. My kids are amazing sleepers, but Daughter had some croup Sunday night, and then last night I waited up for Husband who got home really late from work.
I am sure he is tired, I just don't understand why he is fighting with me about whether or not I can be tired, too! Maybe with a little more sleep our brains will be able to figure this out. Can't we both be tired? First, I need a nap.
I often recommend this game of, "Musical Beds" to parents who are having trouble sleeping. It doesn't matter who sleeps where, as long as you get some sleep. Once there are more than two in a bed, the biggest one gets up and leaves to find an empty bed somewhere.
We are a family of five with four beds. Pure mathematics demonstrates that once there are three in any bed, there is at least one empty bed somewhere.
We are a family who loves to sleep. We were all sleeping nicely in our beds until last spring. While visiting Florida, Daughter started sharing a bed. She now believes it to be her God-given right not to have to sleep alone. We have been playing a version of musical beds ever since.
More often then not, it is me whom Daughter wants to sleep with. Husband slept months getting kicked out of our bed (literally, she kicks with her cute little stinky feet until he would leave - he is the biggest one in the bed, after all).
Husband, unimpressed by having to leave the comfort and warms of this nightly cocoon at 4 am, started letting Daughter fall asleep and stay in our bed all night, while he found an empty bed elsewhere. Yes, she is the baby and a little spoiled.
However, I have missed Husband, and I have been working on getting Daughter to stay in her own bed all night. She insists on falling asleep in a certain position, resting on my arm, Yes, spoiled. I have a few options:
Stay with her in her bed until she falls asleep, then leave.
Fall asleep with her in her bed.
Let her fall asleep in our bed, then move her back to her bed.
Let her sleep with me in our bed.
In a way, sleeping with her is like sleeping with a live, warm, cuddly teddy bear. She smells a little nicer than Daddy, and is so soft! She also doesn't move around too much, and really doesn't take up much space.
On the other hand, she does snore. And sometimes I wake up with stinky little girl feet in my face. Daughter talks in her sleep, steels the covers, and kicks. She also has the worse morning breath in the house (actually, I sort of think it is cute!) Husband calls it her dragon breath.
I've been married for 9 years, and never once have I woken up with Husband's feet in my face. He doesn't snore, and he can be a big, warm and cuddly teddy bear, too. As far as musical beds goes, I choose him to be my partner.
On Monday I went shopping for new skates. While sitting there in my warm skates, waiting for them to mold to my feet, I got to talking to the young guy who had helped me. Daughter was having a skating lesson on Tuesday, so I asked about the smallest skates which they carry.
"Oh, we carry a size 8. They are so cute and little! You could hang them from a rearview mirror!"
OK. First of all, do I actually look like someone who has something hanging from the rearview mirror of her minivan? Come on! And secondly, who would actually want to hang something sharp and metal about a foot from their face?
* * * * *
Daughter was acting crazy the other night as Husband and I were trying to get her to bed. She sort of teases Daddy. When I am not around, she is a daddy's girl full of affection for him. But when I am around and he tries to kiss her goodnight, she bucks and screams like she is having her leg amputated without anesthesia. Not good. So I said to Husband, "How can something so cute be so annoying?"
"I have been asking myself the same thing for the past 15 years," he answered, pointedly.
I was so excited! "You still think I'm cute!" I smiled. This is the closest to compliment that I have gotten out of Husband in about a decade. He thinks I am cute! YAY ME!
* * * * *
Today I was at the hairdressers for a long overdue appointment. I was telling her about my three bald babies, and how Son One now has so much thick, thick hair, "Well," she answered, "you have really dense hair, too. Fine, but really dense." Hmmm... I think that might be my second compliment of the week! I almost answered that my dense hair matched my dense thighs, but the hairdresser was young and skinny and I don't think that she would have gotten it.
Son One has become obsessed with buying an aluminum baseball bat this week. He had a perfectly good (cheap) wooden one, but somehow, thanks to the kids on his T-Ball team all having their own aluminum bats, he decided that he needed one.
Husband, generous of spirit, drove to Sport Chek, Sport Mart, and THREE Canadian Tires in an attempt to purchase a 26" bat for Son One. Son One was shocked that they didn't have lots in stock, to which I explained that the season is OVER and why the heck are we buying a bat?
FINALLY, Husband tried Play it Again Sports on the Queensway, and found an orange and silver, 26" aluminum bat for $25. I was out in the van with the kids, because after their behaviour in Sport Chek, we weren't letting them out.
Apparently, when Husband went to purchase the bat, the store-guy (owner, employee - who knows) asked with complete seriousness, "Is this bat for a child of yours? Or do you intend to use it for home protection?"
Um... actually, I find the Louisville Slugger much more effective for home protection...
Last Friday my Husband turned 37. We were up at Severn Lodge with his side of the family (I think that there were 26 of us in total). It was amazing to watch my kids playing with all of their cousins!
Friday night, for Husband's birthday, I had ordered a cake. Because each family had a different dinner time, we sang when almost everyone was in the dining room, and left the rest of the cake for their dessert.
The resort brought in a magician for entertainment, and the kids really wanted to go. Husband, who had seen the show a few years ago, knew that if you arrived late than the magician / comedian would call you out, took the kids over and got seats in the middle and near the side well before the show started.
Husband is the most amazing and wonderful man in the world. But he is shy. We don't see this as an issue, he just is a little quiet and a bit harder to get to know. He also HATES being the centre of attention - so much so that he tried to talk me into eloping as he dreaded our wedding day so much. I can easily recognize the sweating and the embarrassed smile when Husband is out of his element. You know those people who come early to a comedy show, hoping to sit in the front row? They are the OPPOSITE of my Husband.
Of course the magician, with a six-sense for humiliation, zeroed in on Husband for a sketch. Husband had to wear a large jacket while the magician hid behind Husband with his arms through Husband's sleeves for the trick. I laughed and then cried for Husband, who really did well.
The next night was Karaoke. This cemented the fact that Husband will never return to Severn Lodge. One large family seemed to hog most of the show, doing song after boring song. Then the host decided to do a "special" song where he selected a member from the audience. Of course he chose Husband. In a pink curly wig and glasses, Husband sang "Like a virgin" in front of 10 or so relatives and 25 other people he has never met. To know my husband is to understand how painful this must have been for him. Luckily, no one had a camera.
Perhaps there is something about being a parent, where you put yourself aside so often for the benefit of your children. Husband, while not thrilled with his new entertainer status, was a big hit for our kids, who couldn't wait to tell everyone about their father the magician, or their Daddy singing in a wig. And that kept Husband smiling.
A few weeks ago there was an article in MacLean's asking if GPS was helping or hurting your marriage. There were couples who used to argue about directions when driving - to them, GPS is a saviour. Other couples, like us, have the wife as the navigator and co-pilot; now we find ourselves usurped by the sexy electronic voice, and notice that our husbands actually listen to her more then they ever did to us.
Saturday we were driving to a family BBQ out in Oakville. Husband has been to the Aunt's house many, many times over the past 15 years. However, he has some sort of mental block against the location.
This drives me crazy. He can find his relatives homes without even an address. While driving there he will get directions from complete strangers which are so cryptic, yet he finds their homes again and again.
Husband is a country boy - I am city girl. This is the difference. He uses landmarks to navigate, "Go past the three cranes and turn left a the two blue silos." Seriously.
I am used to addresses and street names (shocking, isn't?)
Somehow, looking for addresses and street names boggles his mind. Husband has an Honours Geography B.A. and a pilot's license. Plus one of his jobs included driving around the city for years. I would say that Husband has the best sense of direction of anyone whom I have ever met, ever!
Yet, when I tell him where to go, he calls me a backseat driver. Saturday I kept my mouth shut, as he drove by the exit to my aunt's house. Then I asked where he was planning on turning off the highway.
He asked if I would know where to go if her took the next exit. Of course, I answered. He took it, and I directed him. Our GPS was at home on the computer table, having been freshly charged.
The best part was that he actually made his mistake seem like his plan - since the Canadian Open was on a Glen Abbey, he didn't want to take the right exit because it would have been too busy...
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.
Yesterday we took a quick trip north for some fresh air. It was nice getting out the of the city for the afternoon. We decided to take the kids for a canoe ride.
A large teen was on the banks of the river (we weren't actually near a sea, of course), and had himself wedged into a kayak. A woman (perhaps his mother) asked Husband to help push him into the water. Of course Husband obliged.
A few minutes later, we were still onshore getting the kids and their life jackets sorted out, the teen returned with the kayak and said that he wanted out. While Grandpa held the kayak to the shore, Husband grabbed the kid under the arms, planted one foot on the kayak for leverage, and pulled the kid free. It took a few minutes, and Husband's face was red with the exertion. Husband is not a small man, but I figure that the kids at least 60 pounds on him.
A few minutes later we were paddling down the river, when Husband started laughing and couldn't stop.
"That kid could have drowned in front of us, and we couldn't have done anything about it!" He said, "If he would have flipped the kayak, he would have been a goner for sure. And I was the one who pushed that kid into the water!"
I guess it was the whole "danger averted" / "nervous tension" that made husband laugh so hard. It was sort of funny watching him try to pull the kid from the kayak...
Wishing my husband, my father, and all of the amazing Dads out there an amazing Father's Day.
My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys." - Harmon Killebrew
When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry. Jewish Proverb
Last March in Florida...
Son One's Birth - look how young husband looks!
My Husband with his Dad and sisters
Father and Son... today's quote, "I love Daddy best!"
Yesterday was my 9th wedding anniversary - I LOVE YOU HUSBAND!
I don't know how I got so lucky to have met and married the best man in the world. Plus, I met him when I was just 19 (what the heck did I know at 19?)
Yet here we are... over 15 years later, 9 years as husband and wife. Three wonderful children. Thanks for everything!
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.
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...
Yesterday was Earth Day. I mentioned a few ways that I try to be kind to Mother Earth.
Here is a glimpse of Husband's environmental/economic strategy:
He doesn't change the light bulbs when they burn out. He leaves them, until it gets so dark in our house that I trip on something and threaten to sue.
Yes, I could change them myself. In the past, I have. But now it is Husband's job, and as his list of jobs seems so much shorter than mine, I am not going to take on another one. (See? I can learn to be passive-aggressive!)
Husband claims that this reduces our energy use, therefore reducing our energy bill (economical and environmental), plus we purchase fewer light bulbs (economic).
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.
Last night I asked my husband how his hockey tournament was going. Great - they won their first two games, but he hurt his knee.
I didn't notice yesterday, but this morning I saw him limping to his car. Husband is a big, strong, tough man - it is not often that I see him vulnerable.
Me: What happened? Daddy: I hurt it at hockey. Me: How? Daddy: Jumping over the boards to the ice. Me: You know you're not a kid anymore, right? Daddy: The boards were higher than normal. Me: Yeah, sure.
Now he is injured, but has two more games today. Instead of R.I.C.E. (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) he is planning on playing.
This is not the Stanley Cup finals. He is not being payed to play. It is just a game. I wouldn't let my kids played injured, but he is an adult and can make his own decisions. Sometimes men really act like boys - and I think it gets worse the older they get.
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.
Woke up this morning tired just thinking about what we had to do today.
Last night I made Husband a detailed list of who goes where, when, and what equipment they require. I even printed out a couple of maps for different arenas we would need to go to for various activities.
Our Saturday included:
One hockey practice Three hockey games for Son One, plus One for Son Two One lacrosse skills practice each for Son One and Son Two Four different arenas visited
Unfortunately, Husband caught a version of our plague, so I was on my own with the three of them for most day. Needless to say, I am really, really tired. And I wasn't even the one playing lacrosse and hockey, I just had to watch!
Husband and I had plans to go out on a date tonight. I can't remember our last date night, but I seem to think it was sometime in January. I'm pretty sure that he didn't get sick just to get out of it.
Now it is Saturday night, and I am home with three very tired children and a sick husband instead of being out dancing with a glass or two of wine. This is what I signed up for, isn't it?
Growing up, I remember my father often walking into our entrance way and asking if we were having a shoe sale. My foyer is smaller, but I think we have almost the same number of shoes.
I like shoes, but I am no Carrie Bradshaw. Last night I realized a key difference between my husband and I, and it is shoes.
I don't know exactly how many pairs of shoes I have (I would guess in the 25-40 pair range). I do know that I have bought five pairs since February. I have enough shoes, but I still literally dream of finding the perfect pair of black pumps (earlier this week - it was actually a nightmare! I was in a church bazaar like store with long tables, looking for black shoes.) My perfect black pumps would be about 3 inch heels, with an almond toe, and either patent leather or faux croc. I have running shoes for running, casual running shoes for walking, casual shoes, casual dress shoes, dress shoes, pumps, wedges, peep-toes, flip-flops, high-heeled boots, and winter boots.
Husband owns 6 pairs of footwear (only three of them shoes):
1) Sorels - real winter boots for playing in the snow with the kids
2) Lace-up winter boots - for going places in the winter that doesn't require the Sorels
3) Brown, casual lace-up shoes - for every day
4) Running shoes - for running, or athletic activities with the kids
5) Sandals
6) Black dress shoes - he wears these every day to work. All of his suits go with black. Monday to Friday. 9 hours a day. Same shoes.
I guess this goes back to the opposites attract thing. Daughter and Son One have inherited my love of footwear. Son Two is his father's son.
Shoes and shopping go hand in hand. Those of us in my house who like shoes, also like to shop. Those who don't care about shoes, don't shop.
My mother remembers buying Son Two a jacket at the Gap. He had a hand-me-down from his older brother, and Nana found a nice one and a good deal. Son Two looked at it and said, "A jacket? I already got one."
By the way, I recently discovered that I have 6 winter jackets or coats.
Yesterday Husband came home with a gift for me. A plunger.
Yes. Definitely makes the list of least romantic gifts you could give a spouse. I walked into the house and saw it on the stairs, and Husband says, "I got you a plunger." Thanks.
Last year we renovated and got those new, wonderful low flow toilets. We also have three children, at least two of whom can be a little frivolous with toilet paper. Because of this, at least once a week, either the upstairs or the downstairs toilet needs to be plunged.
Before yesterday, you actually had to go up or down stairs to get the plunger. Now, thanks to thoughtful and efficient Husband, each bathroom has its own plunger. (I am not exactly sure how this is a gift for me.)
He also gave me a new dust pan and brush. I swooned appropriately.
BTW
- Did you know that TP is not recession proof? We knew that sales of kleenex often went down when times were tough, but sales of TP were actually down about 5.5% over last quarter.
In our house we really don't consider toilet paper a discretionary spend.
Have you ever received a free t-shirt? Maybe you were in a race, or attended some event, or bought a case of beer. What do you do with it? Wear it once, then pack it up for Goodwill?
I would never claim Husband is a snappy dresser. He is always clean and presentable, but his uniform of choice is a pair of jeans and a navy polo over a white t-shirt. I think he has worn this every day of his life since he learned that jogging pants weren't that cool.
In university, when we met, he wore jeans, a plaid shirt over a white t-shirt and docs. It was the uniform for most of the boys/men our age, so I didn't think anything of it.
Then metrosexuals became more popular. I bought him more fitted jeans and tight, knit tops. Luckily, it never caught on for him - those clothes stayed in his closet for years until I cleaned them out and sent them, some with tags still on, to Goodwill. It was good for me, though. I never really wanted a man who took more time with his appearance that me, and given how lazy I am, Husband works.
Except for this free t-shirt thing. He has t-shirts from university that he still wears. He wears worn out t-shirts (and socks and underwear - he throws nothing away!) Once I tried to sort them and give some away, but each t-shirt met with him commenting, "that is a good work-out shirt." My husband could work out every day for the next three months and not do laundry!
Husband does dress very well for work. Always impeccable in his suit and tie. He looks so handsome heading out the door! Of course, he changes back into jeans and t-shirt as soon as he gets home.
Last week we went to a friend's cottage. I noticed at dinner that the other couple were well dressed, though not at all flashy. Husband sat there is his t-shirt with the worn out collar, free with a case of beer. His hat, too, had been free in a case of beer. But the friends loved him - he charmed them completely.
I just shook my head. I love him, but I can't change him. My husband will never start spending money on clothes. Twice a year he has a $500 clothing allowance from work, and it is painful watching him try to spend it.
One day, when he is at work, I will clean out his closet and get rid of the worn out stuff. He'll never know. If he does notice, I'll just buy him a case of beer.
They say opposites attract, and husband and I are very different. He is hard and muscular, I am soft and round. He is tall, I am short. He is quiet, I am loud.
But there are other, less obviously differences. Early in our marriage, when we fought over in-laws, I would often call his family passive-aggressive.
His response was always the same, "Yeah, well yours is aggressive-aggressive." Touche.
I grew up in a family where you yelled because you loved. We are still louder and more vocal than my Husband's family, but we also talk about everything and know where everyone stands on every issue. His family is very pleasant to be around, but for someone like me, it is sometimes hard to know when to mind my own business.
Driving home from Florida, our differences were highlighted.
I treat driving like a sport. GPS encourages that, with a checkered flag at the destination. I may not know much about racing, but I know what the checkered flag means.
When I see a vehicle up ahead, I speed up to pass. I hate being passed.
Husband actually drove behind a winnebago for 20 minutes.
My speed of travel was between 120 km/hr and 135 km/hr.
Husband traveled at 100 - 120.
Husband is an excellent driver. Really, the best driver I have ever seen. His personality is such that he is never in a hurry. He is relaxed, laid back, and easy going.
Now, I am no type-A. Really I'm not. But did I mention that we were opposites?
A WINNEBAGO!
At one point during our trip, I got mad at the GPS.
Me: "She doesn't give you much notice about the turns, does she?" (Note: we always refer to the GPS as a woman. I would love to change it to a man's voice, just so we could curse him every now and then.)
Husband: "She assumes that you are driving the speed limit, not Mach 2."
The good news is, we made it home safe and sound. And we've been together long enough to treasure our differences, not to fight over them.
My husband has decided that we all need to eat more fibre. He came to this conclusion this morning; he was in the upstairs washroom, Son One was in the basement bathroom, and Son Two was running up and down the stairs yelling, "I need to pee badly!"
Husband comes downstairs, to our high speed internet connection, and looks up "fibre." (Yes, he found time to do this but he still hasn't read my blog.)
He printed out a list of foods that are high in fibre, and wants us all to start eating them.
Husband keeps active and is very fit. However, he has never met a fast food restaurant that he doesn't like, and he can't turn down any combo with a cheeseburger and poutine.
We have fruits and vegetables, I buy whole wheat couscous and pastas, brown rice, yogurt with fibre, high fibre cereals and oatmeal, and these new fruit and fibre nutribars that Husband loves.
Seeing as I am privy to the bathroom experiences of all of my children, I don't believe we have a problem. I am sure this issue will soon work itself out.
Last night I came home to find my husband snoozing on the couch, but the kids painting at the kitchen table. OK - you know who gets to clean this one up.
They were all pretty enthusiastic, and I think they made at least three of four paintings each. When I walked over to one side the table to admire them, I noticed red footprints on the floor.
"Stop!" I said, "Let me look at your feet." They all complied. The boys were wearing socks - no red there. Daughter was barefoot. She had paint on her nightgown, her arms, and her face. But her feet seemed clean. However, I kept her in mind as the number one suspect. Husband suspected me, and as my socks were black, I wasn't 100% sure he was wrong. I took them off.
Down on my hands and knees, I scrubbed away the prints. I also cleaned a suspicious looking smear off of one of the chairs.
Husband came into the kitchen and noticed more prints. We cleaned those up. Now it was time to put the paints away and get the kids to bed. STILL MORE PRINTS!
This was getting weird.
We kept cleaning, and footprints kept appearing. Son One thought it was funny, but I was sort of getting a little freaked out. Were we haunted? By a frustrated painter?
Finally, husband, the detective that he is, cracked the case. He found a print over by the cat bowls. See - you knew we had three kids, but I have never before mentioned Merlin, our 11 year-old black male domestic long-hair.
Husband scooped Merlin up and checked his paws. Sure enough, one of the back ones had red paint. Caught - red pawed! Now if we could just convince Merlin to take a bath.
Son One is out in the car. Apparently he is angry with his father. I am surprisingly OK with that, given that it is usually me who faces the wrath of our children.
This year I have decided to be easier on my kids, and try to be more fun. Daddy is always the fun one, but I am realizing how quickly they grow up, and how little certain things matter. Like laundry. A clean house. And well planned playdates.
I used to organize playdates weeks in advance, and ensure that the house was very respectable looking before anyone stepped inside. Then I realized that we were never going to have anyone over if I had to clean the house first. Most kids don't judge you by the neatness of your home, and I've realized that my real friends come to see me, not my house.
Along with scheduling our kids for less, I have been more easy going about playdates. You want to take my child home after school? Sure - just let me know when I need to pick him up! At our house we are developing a more open door policy as well. I want my children's friends to feel welcome and comfortable coming here - more casual, less of a production.
Yesterday after school, one of Son One's friends asked if he could come over. Instead of saying, "no" or "I'll call you mom and plan something for anther day" I said, "Fine, just check with your parents first." He stayed for dinner, they played inside and out, and then I walked him home. It was nice!
This morning Son One asked if another friend could come over. Sure, if it is OK with his parents, I answered. This friend used to be in my son's class; but this year they were separated and miss each other. Unfortunately his father picked him up from school.
For some reason my husband defers playdate decisions to me. He could have called me on my cell to check, if he really wanted to check. But instead he said, "no."
Son One is sitting in the car still. I just waved him and offered a bowl of popcorn. Secretly, I smile. It is nice to be the good guy every now and then.
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.
This morning I was walking up the stairs with the breakfast dishes when I dropped a fork. I thought about leaving it on the stairs and picking it up later, but then I remembered last time I left a fork on the stairs.
The year was 2006. I had a 4 month old in my arms, and I was walking upstairs to change her. I noticed a fork, tines pointed up, on our hardwood stairs. I made a mental note to pick it up after I had changed the baby.
About a minute later I heard the loudest, "F@%K!!!!!" every. My husband had followed me up the stairs carrying a basket of laundry.
The fork actually stuck into the bottom of this foot, and came out the side. My husband is a tough guy. He sat down on the stairs swearing. The boys came running. It looked bad - really weird and scary, but sort of funny, too. He exhaled sharply a few times, grabbed the handle and yanked the fork out with a loud, "Ugh!"
There was surprising little blood for such an injury. He could wiggle all of he toes, so he seemed OK.
As he limped up the stairs, I couldn't help it. I started giggling. And then I laughed. I couldn't stop. The tears were coming down my cheeks. I am not sure why I laughed. I think it was because I had seen the fork there and not moved it. I felt guilty, but it also looked so terrible. If he had really been hurt, I wouldn't have found it amusing at all.
My laughing could have ended our marriage. That, and the fact that I had seen the fork there and left it there. Luckily my husband is a forgiving man.
I saw the fork lying on the stairs this morning, and I thought to myself, "What would Jesus do?" The answer came quickly. He would pick up the fork.
I parked poorly last night. Slid on some ice and went right over one of those cement parking curbs, ending up in a deep trench. Damn that front wheel drive!
I tried to get out, but know it was a lost cause. As the snow melted, I actually sunk deeper getting stuck even worse.
Snow never used to bother me, but last year and this year it has just been so bad! I spent $900 on a new bumper last year because of the frozen snow banks. Curses City of Toronto! Can't you get rid of some of this snow so that I can actually drive down a side street? Or back straight out of my driveway?
Last night it took four very strong, very helpful men to actually lift the front of my car over the curb so that I could safely back out of the space. Thanks again guys!
I also had to bribe the boys not to tell Daddy. So this is our little secret, ok? Because I really am a good driver.
Back when we were dating, my husband was in love with Alicia Silverstone. It was those Aerosmith videos that captured every teenage boys' fantasy. Who could blame him? We agreed that if he ever met her, and she agreed to sleep with him, it would be OK.
On the weekend my husband was getting dressed and watching Much Music. The video, Aerosmith's Crying, came on.
I said to my husband, "There's your ex-girlfriend."
My five year old's eyes lit up. "She was your girlfriend? Why'd you break up with her?"
My husband is so lucky. He is really a god in the eyes of our boys. I have to admit, I, too, find him amazing. He has his private pilot's licence, used to be a volunteer firefighter, plays the guitar and plays hockey. Plus he can fix almost anything. So I know he is a catch, but still - hero worship?
I was driving my son and his friend home from school a few days ago, and a song came on the radio.
"My dad used to play this song when he was a Rockstar."
This afternoon I took my kids to see "Hotel for Dogs." I am not going to say much about the movie, except that it stars Emma Roberts, Julia's niece, and Don Chettle and it is much better than "Bedtime Stories."
Son One has been sick all week. While well enough today to get out and about, he is a little tired and I didn't want to inflict him on his teacher in that condition. I also know that kids pick up most of their viruses from other kids, so I want to make sure he is 100% before sending him back. I wish all parents would just keep their kids home when sick... but that rant will come another day.
Daddy is always the fun one. He plays with them all of the time. I am the one who worries about what and when they are eating, how clean their are, if they are where they need to be when they need to be there, if they have clean clothes, if they have snacks, books, etc. Basically, I am the nag and the boring one. I do all of the behind the scenes work, but get little of the glory. Then Daddy comes home from works, wrestles with them for half an hour, and he is the King (Daddy does a lot more, but it doesn't help my argument here to include the details.)
Today I decided to be the fun one. We had nowhere pressing to be and nothing important to do. Instead of heading home for the afternoon, we played hookey and hit the movie theater. They each picked a treat and we relaxed along with about 10 other people watching the movie.
Life gets too busy and hectic. We rush from activity to activity. School, hockey, gymnastics, dance, soccer, skating, speech, family visits, Beavers, doctors appointments, playdates, birthday parties and so on. It seems endless.
Today we slowed down, skipped our normal routines, and instead had a few hours of family entertainment. Now it is time for a nap.
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