Today, for the first time, I actually realized that my five year old is coming close to the point of becoming a useful person in contributing to our household (in more than general cuteness and telling goofy jokes).  She helped me clean the bathrooms y’all! THE BATHROOMS!!! It won’t be too long before I can hand one of my most hated jobs into the capable hands of my offspring! Hallelujah! 

I had totally forgotten about this part of parenting, possibly because I really haven’t experienced it yet. I mean, she can clean up the toy room and her own room. If I’m willing to wait two hours for the task to be done. But this! This is something that will make a substantial difference in my our quality of life!

Do you remember doing chores as a kid? I remember a period of time when my sisters and I had to either wash the dishes, dry the dishes or sweep the floor each day after dinner. And, like any bratty kid, I whined about this. Because why does the floor need to be swept EVERY DAY???  That little handful of crumbs we swept up could be done at least every other day or even less frequently! My mom was SO UNREASONABLE.

But now that I’m the one who sees each of those little crumbs as an assault on my home and sanity and not just annoying but basically innocuous, it is a freaking gift from the sweet baby Jesus to have a couple of my own slaves helpers to lighten the burden of housework! I realize it’s going to require a bit of training and instruction and probably a couple more years before we get there but I think after two awful pregnancies, two c-sections, two colicky babies, sleepless night, rocking and kissing and wrapping and loving and soothing and just making it through the preschool years by the skin of our teeth, I have earned myself a little slave labour help around here!***

*** And by I, of course, I mean we, because my hubby is forced to do cheerfully does a lot of the work around here.

Avery, mommy stuff, parenting | 1 Comment »

Oh good grief! We’ve been hit by the Stinkeye once again. Both kids, both eyes. Avery hasn’t had pinkeye since she was really little and is freaking out and losing her mind every time I come at her with the antibiotic ointment (leftover from the last bout of conjunctivitis, and yes, I know you’re not supposed to do that, but since pinkeye ALWAYS shows up at our house late Friday night that means it’s pretty complicated to find a doctor to prescribe anything until Monday so YES I KEPT THE DAMN TUBES OF OINTMENT!!!!) like I’m coming at her with hot pokers and saying “It won’t hurt a bit, I PROMISE!”  

Meanwhile we have friends visiting and I’m sure they wish they’d never come to our den of bacterial iniquity.  

And really, I have nothing else to write about because I have also been struck down by the common cold some kind of plague and am busy whining my face off suffering quietly while groaning about lovingly tending to my children’s goopy eyes. Back soon, my friends.

Avery, Kieran, medical, parenting | No Comments »

• When reading a certain favourite story she says “Mommy, this is my favourite page of this story because I like the word arose.” I totally get that. I love that kind of language. It’s why I loved to read the Oz books and Lucy Maud Montgomery’s and Frances Hodgson Burnett’s stories. 
• She is as easily discouraged by her inability to do things perfectly the first time as I am, despite my concerted efforts to not pass on this trait and show her that all that is important is that she try her best.
• She frequently sits down to write stories. When I was a child I loved to do this. Her most recent titles? The Lonely Pony and The Boy Who Was Allergic to Flowers.
• Her inability to understand mean kids’ actions or why anyone would have a problem listening to and immediately obeying the teacher or other authorities. We are rule-followers, her and I.
• She loves to give gifts and is constantly making cards and “presents” for people. One of her favourite imaginary games to play with her little brother is “giving presents” where they wrap up their toys in their special blankets and solemnly present them to each other.  
• She has a bossy side and it shows up frequently in her interactions with her little brother as mine did with my sisters.
• She wants to be told, over and over, that she is loved and accepted and appreciated and that she is good enough.

I know she won’t be an exact copy, but it’s frightening how many of my own traits I recognize in her. Some are thrilling. Others make me worry for the hard lessons she will have to learn as she grows. It’s like watching a younger version of myself going out to make the same mistakes and it feels like I have so little power to stop it. I try to gently guide her to stand up for herself and I suspect she has more chutzpah than I ever did. I just hope I can figure out the right way to nurture it.

Avery, mommy stuff, parenting | 2 Comments »

This isn’t a great picture but can you see all the bruises on this kid? Wait - I think I heard a knock at the door. Probably CPS coming to interrogate me.

Phew. Just my very nervous imagination.

This kid is having serious issues with falling down. You can maybe see 4 different bruises on his face there if you look closely (top left: walking into a door, top right: falling down and hitting head, under eye: a mysterious and large bruise that appeared after a peaceful night’s sleep [WTF???] and over the bridge of his nose: falling face first off a play structure). There are actually 3 more that you can’t see (in hairline: playing too rough and fell and smacked head, middle of forehead: faded bruise from same, under chin: falling off couch).  

I am really starting to be anxious about people misinterpreting my kid’s many bruises! Would it be weird if I started all my conversations with a disclaimer? The kid is just totally fearless and that results in a black and blue face.  The first thing he did after we arrived at our hotel on Sunday was to take a nosedive five feet off the hotel’s playground equipment and land on his nose. There was a lot of blood and he fell from so high I was formulating a plan to find the nearest ER by the time I picked him up from the ground. Thankfully it turned out not to be too serious  and he only had a bruise in the end.

You can imagine how many other bruises were added to his collection when we spent the day in the hotel’s waterpark.

Nope, no possible way to hurt myself here Mom!

Why won’t you let me run around???

Incidentally, it’s very hard to keep your kids from throwing themselves into a waterfall when you’ve just spent a day at a waterpark full of spraying and splashing water. The difference is lost on them.

holidays, Kieran, parenting | 1 Comment »

Here’s a little piece of free advice for all of you. No charge, just a product of my vast and varied wisdom. Ok, there’s not that much of it. But one thing I DO know about it being sleep deprived after a new baby. Our first child did not sleep well or long til she was close to a year old. That’s not to say she wouldn’t GO to sleep. She just wouldn’t STAY THAT WAY. So even though we were willing to be tough and let her cry it out, it didn’t help when she woke up over and over in the night and fussed all day long, wanting to be swaddled and bounced non-stop. So here is the all time worst thing you can say to a sleep-deprived mother of a newborn:

You need to try and reduce your anxiety and stress. The baby can sense when you are stressed out and that will make them sleep worse.

I had one or two people tell me this in the middle of our colic months when I was one big ball of hysterical, stressed-out, nervous energy.  You want to talk about insensitive?  The translation of that nugget of wisdom is basically “You are a bad, bad mother for feeling the way you do and it is your fault that your baby is unhappy.” Try “reducing your stress” when you are suffering under that kind of guilt.

Her Bad Mother has been posting about her son’s sleep struggles and reading her words almost makes me feel ill, just remembering how hard those months were.  Many commenters had good ideas and suggestions and many just expressed solidarity. Many of us have been there. But of course, there was one who had to say IT.  And while I don’t feel it’s my place to rant on someone else’s blog about my issues with this comment, I clearly feel free to do so here!

Some babies just take longer to adjust to life outside the womb and while it may be true, in some small sense, that a stressed-out mother can contribute to an infant’s sleep issues (although unless the mother is walking around shrieking and throwing her infant around in postpartum madness I can’t believe that it is that significant), telling a woman that her fussy baby is caused by her stress is just plain wrong. In no way does it help. A mother KNOWS she should reduce her stress, for her own sake, if not the baby’s. A mother WANTS to reduce her stress. Does anyone really think people ENJOY that kind of tension? You may believe it, you may think it, you may even say it to others, but saying it to a tired mother only makes you an asshole.

So here are my top suggestions for helping a mother suffering from sleep deprivation. Keep in mind that you need to be aware of individual women’s personalities. Not everyone wants or needs the same things.

1. Ask her what she wants or needs and try to find a way to give it to her. (Ie. If she needs and wants a night of uninterrupted sleep and it’s in your power to do so, then go for it! If she isn’t comfortable forgoing breastfeeding for a whole night, but needs some good naps to help her catch up, see 2.)

2. Don’t offer to come over and watch the baby while she naps. Instead, offer to pick up the baby and keep him/her at your house (or have mom drop off the baby) so mom can sleep at home in peace and quiet.  If the baby is in the same house chances are good that mom will not sleep restfully, if at all. We have become hyper-sensitive to noise and hear every little squawk, even if it’s not an angry howl. We need to be alone to really sleep. If you have time to do this regularly (every day, every week, whatever), do so.

3.  Depending on the person, do the little things that cheer them up and make them happy. Call her on the phone, take her out for coffee, bring her a little gift, send her a card, make a meal and bring it to her home (even better if it’s something that can be frozen and reheated), take her older kids out for a few hours.

4. Help create ways for her to do the things that feed her soul - babysit while she gets a manicure, or reads a book at her favourite coffee shop or goes to the gym. Invite her to go for a walk in the park.

5. If you ask if there’s anything you can do and she says she’s fine but you’re sure she’s not, go ahead and do something! Don’t wait for her to ask. Ask her what day you can babysit or bring her dinner. Not everyone feels comfortable asking for help. I had lots of people offer to babysit or “help out” but many times I was unsure how serious they were or whether they were just being polite. I often felt that if I had actually called them up and asked for their help it would be awkward.  A tired and stressed out mother needs you to take the initiative. If you have practical ways to help, don’t wait to be asked. Just make sure the things you do will not create more work or stress for her.

6. Most importantly, encourage her! There is nothing like exhaustion to make you doubt your ability to parent a squalling infant whose wails you can’t help but take personally and who you increasingly resent.  A mother is incredibly vulnerable in these days, weeks and months (another reason why telling her to just reduce her stress is like a slap in the face). She doesn’t need to hear judgement or empty offers of help. What she needs to hear is that she’s doing a great job. She needs to hear that her baby is doing fine, even if he or she cries all the time. She needs to hear that her best is good enough. She needs to hear that she is a champ for sticking with it and not giving up. She needs to hear that you believe in her and that you see her struggles. She needs affirmation and support.  Some words are needlessly painful. But the right words can go a long way to healing the pain caused by clumsy and insensitive words of people who don’t consider the importance of their words.

baby, parenting, sleep, the crazy | 3 Comments »

It’s Halloween today. I know because my kids woke up in the middle of the night early to howl at the moon. Ok, maybe they weren’t howling at the moon. It was more of a maniacal cackling over their plans to wreak destruction and perform unspeakable acts of evil today. Evil like TORTURING THEIR MOTHER BY WAKING UP AT FIVE IN THE “BLESSED” AM. Happy freaking Halloween.

And just to clarify? Yes, Canadians DO celebrate Halloween. I’ve been asked that a number of times already and yes, we in the Great White North also indulge in trampy wacky costumes and excessive sugar on October 31. It’s not just an American custom.

I don’t do Halloween the way many people here in the states seem to do it. I don’t do the decorations and yard displays.  I don’t do the “adults investing time and money to buy and make slutty elaborate costumes and dressing up for any event where it might be considered even REMOTELY appropriate”. I don’t do dressing up. Even as a child (when I still did dress up) it was less of an exciting opportunity to be “someone else” and more of an excruciating test of creativity and, undeniably, a litmus test for popularity. I could never quite get it right. I could never come up with a funky and interesting homemade or thrift-shop costume and I didn’t have the money to just buy a cool costume. I managed to pass with some winners that I considered acceptable.  But it always felt like a test that I was somehow failing. 

So now? I don’t do it. And I’m happy with that. We carve ourselves a pumpkin or two and I dress up my kids and I enjoy that. So maybe that makes me a hypocrite? Whatevah. I refuse to feel like I’m missing out on something big by not dressing up when it makes me feel exceedingly awkward. Comfortable is the new black, y’all. And black is a Halloween colour, right?

So. I don’t dress up. I DO, however, do Halloween in the stuffing my piehole with chocolate and candy sense. Because if a holiday that’s all about candy is wrong, baby, I don’t want to be right. And isn’t it SO UNFORTUNATE that my 2 year old is still not allowed to eat anything with peanuts/peanut butter in it? It’s a complete and utter travesty that he will not be able to eat any Reese peanut butter cups until at least next year (assuming he doesn’t, in fact, have a peanut allergy) and instead, I will be forced (forced, I tell you!) to consume them in order to keep him (and my peanut allergic husband) safe.  Because that’s just the kind of dedicated mother I am. 

Happy Halloween, folks!

Canadian holidays, holidays, kids, parenting, the crazy | No Comments »

Oy. I have been meaning to write all week! But what with the very serious business of having coffee breaks and sitting around girl-talking and shopping…well, there just aren’t enough hours in the day! We have two years of face-to-face time to make up for!

Major moment of the week: My daughter told her auntie (my visiting best friend) that she KISSED A BOY IN HER CLASS!!!  I suspect this is the first of many moments when I lament that this is exactly the kind of thing you don’t tell your mom. And then I may have shed a tear or two. Because really? She’s chasing and kissing boys in he class? I was so NOT that kid. And she is so much like me that I expect her to be exactly like me. But she is that kid. So we had to have a talk about personal boundaries and the appropriate amount of contact between classmates. And NOT KISSING ANYMORE BOYS UNTIL SHE’S 45.  

More on this later. I’ll be back soon. Cheers!

Avery, parenting, random | No Comments »

First means that the first time I held you in my arms I was terrified. Excited, happy, and scared. Simultaneously delighted and completely overwhelmed.

First means that your parents will always be just trying to figure out how to be parents. It means you will have parents who don’t really know what they are doing and are just making it up as they go along.

First also means that you are on an epic journey along with the people you call mother and father. Learning as you go.  Discovering the joy of many firsts together.  The exhilaration of first steps, first bike rides, and first dates will always be an extra special part of our bond because it is our first time, too. 

First means that you will often bear the brunt of the blame, be striving to meet high expectations, and feel that you always have the most restrictive rules compared to your counterpart. We notice you too much. I know this because I was first, too.

First means that you get the kind of undivided attention and concentrated vigilance in your first few years of life that only the first gets. It means you were our first great passion, the object of unending fascination and scrutiny.  We noticed everything. How could we not? 

First means, whether right or wrong, we sometimes claim your accomplishments and successes as our own. Because in some small way, your victories are ours, too. First means privileges and first means responsibility. First to delight me in ways I had never imagined. First to open my heart to sacrifice and the absolute fulfillment of you walking around holding my heart in your tiny fingers.

First. My first joy. We walked over the precipice of parenthood together, you in my arms. I gave birth to you and you birthed motherhood in me. First means you are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night.

Second means that the first time I held you in my arms I was confident and in love.  I had already learned how to be a mother and I could relax and enjoy you more fully.

Second means your parents might be over-confident, thinking they know just who you are and not always recognizing your unique and distinct gifts and challenges.

Second means your parents are more experienced, more relaxed. Second means a little more freedom a little earlier.

Second means you might sometimes dwell in the shadow of your sibling. You were not first. You will always be second. You may sometimes be disappointed in what you will interpret as your parents’ lack of enthusiasm over your achievements.  This is not the truth. But simply the harsh truth of resources spread thin.

Second means you are in the unique position of being a constant surprise. Every time someone thinks they know you based on your family history, you will be able to startle them with how very special you are. Second means your difference is part of your charm. Second also means that you might be the same. But never a duplicate. Because the second time we appreciate so much more how fleeting every moment is.

Second means you might sometimes feel overlooked. Forgotten. Second means you will think you can get away with things because of this very problem. You won’t be getting away with them. We are just much cooler than we appear. Or we have become so after a few years of experience.

Second means that “it’s not fair!” will be an important part of your vocabulary.  Second means that even as I write this I am analyzing every word to make sure I do right by both of you. Don’t think that I resent this. It is just so very important to me that you never feel that second is somehow less. Because second is such a complete and utter joy. First arrived and granted my wish, making me a mother. Second arrived and reminded me why I made the wish in the first place.

Second. My second joy. We discovered the fountain of contentment together, you in my arms. I gave birth to you and you birthed peace in me.  Second means you are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night.

family, mommy stuff, parenting, the good stuff | 4 Comments »

Dear Creators of Turbo-Jet, Automatic Toilet-Flushers,

Do you have any idea how COMPLETELY TRAUMATIZED my daughter is (and has been since she started potty-training) by your clever little gadget? The power with which your toilets flush could not only remove the paint from the porcelain, it could shatter the toilet into a million pieces with the force of a thousand rocket launchers or a volcanic explosion.

Speaking of explosions. I think I’m going to be cleaning up after one if my daughter isn’t able to talk herself down from climbing the walls in time to get on the pot. Also? It’s not fun to crowd into a tiny bathroom stall just so I can cover the sensor so it won’t shower her from behind while she’s doing her business. Just so you know, I already put in my potty-training time. I did so with the understanding that I would no longer have to witness excrement exiting a human body (at least, that particular human body). But the force and volume of the flushing is enough to propel her off the toilet and through the damn wall. No wonder she loses it every time we enter a public restroom to confront the menacing glare of your evil little sensors! As far as she is concerned the devil himself lives in that tiny metal box behind the toilet seat, and sitting her delicate little tushy down on that plastic cover is fifteen kinds of stupid.

It’s nice that you’re trying to save us the hard, hard work of flushing public toilets ourselves, but honestly? I’ll pass. Especially if it means I get to pee without an audience. Frankly, after five years of dragging my firstborn into bathroom stalls with me, I’ve earned it.

Respectfully yours,
A Soggy Parent

Avery, mommy stuff, parenting, public toilets | 2 Comments »

I may have mentioned that my daughter has developed a little problem recently.  The problem manifests itself like this: my five year old turns into a 42 year old, disgruntled and cranky product of middle-management, a micro-manager.

You know that boss you have who doesn’t trust any employees to use their common sense and interprets any individuality or spontaneous action as a threat to their authority? The one who constantly interferes with your projects, asking questions and making suggestions, even though they are incapable of understanding your plan or contributing in any useful way?  That’s my kid.

She has her (uninformed) ideas about how the world works and she always has A PLAN for everything and God forbid I should deviate from THE PLAN. Half the time her plans are made without my knowledge or guidance which means they will almost certainly not be viable because, hello? Just because you PLANNED to play with your favourite Cinderella barbie before bed, does not mean that it’s the best time to do so.  

I feel exactly like I have an annoying manager following me around, getting in my way, and questioning my judgement and reasoning on every decision and making foolish suggestions, just to piss me off.  

I know, I know, she’s five. She is just exploring her personality and the limits and all that stuff.  It doesn’t mean she’s not irritating the hell out of me! I try to encourage her to do all kinds of things in life. But aggravating me (or others) does not make my list of Important Skills To Learn Before Graduating High School. Of course, like most micro-managers, she throws a complete hissy fit when her suggestions are thwarted.  The anguished weeping and frustrated arm flailing and unintelligible wailing is enough to make me want to say “If you think you can do a better job, BE MY GUEST!” 

Is it bizarre that I’m questioning myself because of the constant badgering of a child who has only been out of diapers for a couple years??? I think it is.

Yeah…I’m going to have to ask you to go ahead and come in on Sunday to organize the toilet paper and scrub the bottoms of my shoes. Ummm…thanks.

Avery, kids, mommy stuff, parenting | 1 Comment »