Motherhood: The Ultimate Survivor

Corporations Need To Get Their Heads Out of Their Asses

2009-03-27T08:00:00.002-04:00

New blog at http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/part_one_pay_attention_big_corporations

Had I Been A Second Later....

2009-03-16T15:01:00.006-04:00

It's spring break and I was getting ready to take the boys to the local Maple Syrup Festival. It's called spring break but the weather is still cool and the boys wanted one last shot at climbing the Mountain of Wonders, a snowhill in our backyard that got larger and larger over the winter as we shovelled pathways from our garage to our door. At one point so large, they felt it would never melt and their winter shananigans would play out in the heat of the summer. The Mountain of Wonders has been reduced to a small pile of dirty crunch snow that they can only stand on one at a time. But it's still wonderous, this mountain. Kept alive because they believed in it.

While I was scurrying about packing last minute items - camera, cell phone, drinks and snacks, they ran outside to play. I could hear yelling and screaming, but they're boys - they yell a lot. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate the screams. Everything packed, I opened the back door just in time to see Adam with a rock the size of a baseball in his hand turning, preparing to throw. He spotted me out of the corner of his eye and quickly dropped it. Momentarily slack-jawed, I managed to ask in a quiet voice "What were you doing with that rock Adam?"

"I was about to throw it," he replied.

Angry, so incredibly angry, I needed a moment. I closed the door, leaned my head against the wall and took in three long slow breaths. I re-opened the door and asked "Where were you going to throw it?" knowing full well the response I was going to get but completely unprepared for it.

"At Liam." he said quietly with no defiance in his face or voice. My quiet voice and door closing had shocked him. Normally I raise my voice and my quiet anger had spoken to him louder than any yelling I could have done - we were both in shock.

Trembling with anger, I spoke quietly "Do you understand what would have happened if you had thrown that rock at Liam, Adam? Do you understand how badly he could have been hurt? Do you understand that throwing a rock that size at your brother could have killed him? You are never ever to throw rocks. Ever. Do you understand?

He responded yes to each of my questions, contrite and quiet but as each of the questions came tumbling from my mouth, I could feel the anger welling up in the pit of my stomach because I didn't believe he understood. How could he? He's seven. How could he understand that this one moment of impulse could have changed all our lives.

So I told them I needed a few moments and closed the door again and sat down. Breathing deep, fighting back the tears. I was so angry and also so scared. What if I had stopped to answer the phone that had been ringing on my way out the door? What would have happened if I hadn't walked out at that moment?

Five minutes later, more composed, not quite calm but able to face the situation, I walked out the door. They were both still standing exactly where I had left them, quiet.

I did what I thought would convey to him the importance of what could have happened. I took away his most prized possession - his coin collection, the one he carries everywhere, talks about non-stop and covets more than anything - for a month.

One of the hardest things about being a parent is turning things around when they've gone to shit. If you're a parent, you know what I mean. I was still angry and panicked about what might have been yet here we were supposed to be going on a fun outing. How do you turn that around? How do you go from being so angry one moment that there is a rage in the pit of your stomach, from wanting to grab him by the shoulders and yell at him, to doing a complete 180 and having a fun outing?

I let it go, but not completely. It still niggled at me. We had a fun time with lots of laughter and silliness. I watched them hold hands and play together on a tractor and couldn't get the what if picture out of my head.

So when we got home, instead of going straight inside I told them I wanted to show each of them how serious throwing rocks can be. I walked over and picked up the rock that Adam held in his hand only hours before. It was the size of baseball and weighed about four pounds. I asked them each to come over and I lightly tapped it on my head and then on theirs, one at a time.

Ow! Adam said. That hurt.

I know Adam. And that's just a gentle light tap. Think about how much it would hurt if I had thrown it at you. Think of how much it would hurt if I threw it like this. And I threw it at the fence. Both boys stood wide-eyed, staring at the newly formed dent that had appeared.

I got down on my knees and brought them close. And that's why you never ever ever throw rocks.

Ever.

And we went inside and had lunch.

Who knew?

2009-03-09T14:49:00.001-04:00

Well colour me happy! Turns out I'm a doctor. And a self-medicating one at that...

http://trinaread.com/blog/2009/03/08/bet-you-didnt-know-this-about-vibrators/

It's not me, it's you....too

2009-02-26T09:07:00.003-05:00

I'm making an assumption, and it's quite possible I'm wrong but I'm hoping that's not the case because then all hope will be lost and I'll have to throw in the towel, along with all the other towels in my overloaded laundry hamper, crawl into bed and fantasize about Edward and Bella and how I want to become a vampire too but not before I lose ten pounds 'cause I'm not walking around all eternity with this ass.

I can't possibly be the only person who suffers from Chronic Chaotic School Mornings. I know can't because walking my own crying child to school this morning I encountered another mother with her crying child. And then on my way home from dropping them off there was the mother with her three children in tow running to the school five minutes after the bell rang, clearly flustered about being late.

Why don't these kids understand that we parents

Just
Want
A
Peaceful
Morning

No fighting, no arguing, no pursed angry faces when asked to brush their teeth, no pokiness causing last minute rushing.

A peaceful morning.

That's it.

I'm so tired of it I'm almost passed the point of yelling.

Almost.

This morning, was yet another case CCSM starting at 3:00 a.m. when Adam had a nightmare and spent the rest of the night in my bed and continued on like this....

7:00 a.m. - Liam enters room, slams open bathroom door to stare at me groggily? angrily? sleepily? I don't know. But to burn holes through me with his glaring eyes and tell me "I'm awake". Neither one of us ever wakes up on the right side of the bed and the two of us in the room together before coffee or food is served? Nuclear is the word that comes to mind. I manage to pawn him off on his father "go ask daddy to make you breakfast while I have two minutes to myself to put my hair in a ponytail and wash my face"

Disaster averted.

7:23 a.m. Liam: poke poke poke "I'm a spy Adam" poke poke poke
Adam: Liam! Stop! Poking! Me!
Liam: poke poke poke
Adam: LIAM! STOP IT!
Me: Both of you stop it right now
Adam: I'm gonna clip you with this clothes pin (where the hell did he get that?)
Liam: Adaaaaaaaaaammmmmmm! Nooooooooooo! Mummy! Adam's gonna pinch me.
Adam (with clothespin two inches from Liam: snap snap snap
Liam: MUMMYYYYYYYYY!
Me: stomp stomp stomp. grab clothes pin. walk away...

And ya know....I'm tying this all out and I really don't want to relive this morning. I'll leave it at it didn't get any better. It got worse. With kids being locked in the bathroom and lights shut off (wasn't me), stomping and crying at the prospect of going to school, tantrums in the middle of the living room, crying on the entire walk to school, lego helicopters falling apart and trying to find pieces in the snow...

It's exhausting.

So if you have any tips on how you keep your mornings peaceful, or if you had a morning worse than mine, I'd love to hear it.

I need to hear it.

I Had A Great Week!*

2009-02-13T14:39:00.003-05:00

What an amazing week! I wish I could relive it over and over and over like in the movie Ground Hog Day!

That editor with all the great feedback like "I missed the bulls-eye" and "I painted a good picture, it's just no Van Gogh" Wow! Love the criticism. Keep it comin!

And the guy who gave me the finger when I stopped at an orange light? Awesome! Totally made my day. I especially like how my kids are flipping the bird to everyone and their gramma when we're out in public now. Makes me chuckle every time.

Oh....and speaking of kids. Let's not forget the joyful walks to school with my kids every morning. Just warms the cockles of my heart thinking of the singing birds, warm sunshine and hand holding.

Well.....I'm off to experience more of the wonderfulness my life has to offer! Toodle-oo

*This blog brought to you by sarcasm. The official sponsor of my life.

The Cure To a Suck Ass Week

2009-02-11T09:20:00.002-05:00

So I'm having a suck-ass week. It started off good. Great Even! Because I got my first paid writing job! Yay! I happy danced my way around my house and life that day.

Then I submitted my Kick! Ass! Article! The article I Sweated! Over! The article I wrote while listening to the audio interview 752 times in a row. So much so that my husband started blasting classical music so he wouldn't have to listen to it......again.

I believe the exact feedback I received was "I completely missed the bulls-eye" and to top it off, while slightly tipsy, I commented over on DadGoneMad about my shitty writing and managed to type it in as "bulleye" so now on top of my crap article rejection, I also look like a complete moron. Not too far from the truth but normally I don't like to publicly announce it.

So ya....bit of a crap day....plus my hair frizzed because it's raining. And you'd think nothing would be able to change my mood around but then I came across this...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I7C6ym5gf5s (the embedding option is off so you actually have to link through to watch it)

Enjoy.

The Prayer

2009-02-05T19:00:00.003-05:00

Hi! You're looking for a blog aren't you? Well it's over here today.

I know, I know. I don't mean to make you click all over the internet looking for my blogs. But I swear I have a good excuse for only putting up one. So just click here.

or here*

or here*

*They all go to the same place, I just want to make it super easy for you to get to it. 'Cause I've probably already pissed you off enough and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate you coming here. I really do, you have no idea. I check every single day and if I could, I'd send each of you cards and presents and flowers.

Video Blog

2009-01-31T12:43:00.003-05:00

I just made my first video blog. Cause I'm hungover. And typing is hurting my head and making my eyes bleed. Must go chew tylenol now.

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

Happy Friday Video

2009-01-30T07:51:00.003-05:00

Coffee, spewing out of my nose. Snorting. Tears running down my face. 'Nuff said.

Awarding Attempts or Results

2009-01-25T11:48:00.010-05:00

Adam started playing hockey this year. It began in September when they had a skills session where all the kids demonstrate their skating to see what team level they would play on - Blue, Red or White. Blue is the lowest level and I had no doubt in my mind that Adam would be blue. Skating isn't his forte and I don't care. What I care about was the smile on his face when he got into his equipment and the excitement in his voice when he talked about finally being on a real hockey team "with a real jersey mom!" So I sat in the stands and watched him go through the drills.

It was a long process. We're Canadian eh and everyone and their sled dog wants to play hockey. Finally it was Adam's turn for the first drill. They were to skate as fast as they could to the centre of the rink and jump over three hockey sticks laid out on the ice about 15 feet apart. Adam skated up to the first one, jumped and fell. My stomach was clenched, my heart in my throat and my hands pressed up against my face. He picked himself up, went back and attempted to jump the first hockey stick again. This time he made it. He went on to the second stick, jumped and fell. Don't ever kid youself, this parenting thing isn't for the weak or faint of heart. But then he did something unexpected. He picked himself up, went back to the first stick and started all over again. And he did this until he made it across all three sticks in a row.

It's January now and Adam's skating has gotten better, but not as quickly as the rest of his blue team. It takes him longer to turn, he's a little slower to stop, by the time he gets to the puck, it's on the way down to the other side of the rink. Adam's oblivious to his lack of skill. He loves hockey. He loves going, he loves getting dressed, he loves the practices, he loves being part of a team. And his coach? His coach may as well walk on water. Adam loves him too.

Saturday Adam had a game. I sat in the stands and watched as he skated his little heart out. And in one miraculous moment, Adam and the puck were at the same place at the same time. My heart was racing. All Adam ever wants is to be able to hit that puck just once in a game. His pride when he tells anyone and everyone about his hockey/puck connection is palpable. He took his stick and hit that puck with all his might.....in the wrong direction.

In the stands, I was trying to reverse the puck's direction with my mind. Apparently sheer willpower isn't enough.

And then a little later on in the game, he got the puck again. It was near the net and his team members were yelling for him to pass, but his control isn't that great and he hit the puck, not to one of his fellow skaters or in the net, but off to the side.

By the time I got to the changeroom, the awards for the game had already been given out. The awards are given out every week whether the team won or lost and it's not even an actual award, only the coach calling out the names of the kids who had done a great job that game. Adam was sitting on the bench with his head down. I came over and he had tears in his eyes.

What's wrong honey? I asked.

How come I never get an award? he asked back.

My heart broke for him. Because, yes the kids who did an exceptional job should be praised. The goalie on Adam's team busted his ass this Saturday and made some incredible saves. I'm not a parent who believes every child should get a trophy just for showing up. If your child wins the 100 yard dash, they should get the first place trophy. But when you're on a team, should it always be the number of goals or passes that are rewarded? The results? Or should effort be rewarded as well.

And so I quietly tried to explain to Adam that one day his name will be called out too and think of how special it will feel because he's waited so long to hear it.

Life is competitive, sports are competitive. Right now, Adam's the weakest player on his team and he doesn't know and doesn't care. Maybe that'll change and he'll come into his skating like he's come into other things in his life. If not, the day will come he's going to realize he's the weakest player. I can't stop that day from happening but I'll do my damnedest to postpone it for as long as possible.

Saturday I overheard one of the other kids say to his dad that they could have gotten another goal if Adam had just passed the puck. We were yelling at him to pass, why didn't he?

I heard the dad reply, Adam's doing his best.

Shouldn't that be rewarded too?

Is there a camera hidden here somewhere?

2009-01-22T09:08:00.002-05:00

Do you ever feel like you’re on a hidden camera show? Those ones where they set up a crazy scenario on some poor unsuspecting soul and everyone laughs their asses off at the ensuing antics?

Because the other day I called my doctor's office and I’m quite sure you’ll be seeing it on a show sometime soon. I still haven’t found the hidden camera but I know it’s around here somewhere.

Nurse: Hello?

Me: Hi. It’s Sharon D. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Fix-It. Is she available today or tomorrow?

Nurse: Can I ask what it’s about?

Me: It’s a lump in my armpit that I wanted to follow-up on.

Nurse: I can fit you in with Dr. Fix-It tomorrow at 10:50.

Me: 10:15 or 10:50? (I’ve gotten fucked over by that one before)

Nurse: 10:50

Me: Perfect. Also, my son had an ultrasound last week so while I’m there, I’d like to talk to her about the results.

Nurse: How old is your son?

Me: Four and a half.

Nurse: So you’re making an appointment for him as well?

Me: No, he’ll be in school. I just want to discuss the results from his test.

Nurse: We can’t pull his file unless he’s here.

Me: Pardon?

Nurse: We can’t pull the file unless your son is here.

Me: Is there a special key?

Nurse: What?

Me: A special key. Like for a safety deposit box – he has a key, you have a key and you both turn it at the same time to access the file.

Nurse: No, the file is in a filing cabinet.

Me: But you can’t get the file from the filing cabinet unless he’s here?

Nurse: Correct.

Me: Will he be helping you get the file?

Nurse: No, we get the file.

Me: You understand he’s 4 1/2, right?

Nurse: Yes, you told me that.

Me: And that I’m his legal guardian.

Nurse: Yes

Me: And any decisions made about his health will be made by me. He’ll have absolutely no input ‘cause heeeee’s…….four and a half. Right?

Nurse: Yes.

Me: And that if any results came in from his test that were worrisome, I’d actually send him out in the hallway while I discussed it with his doctor. He wouldn’t even be in the room.

Nurse: Yes

Me: So just to clarify. You can’t pull his file unless he’s physically here even though I’m his legal guardian who will be making all medical decisions on his behalf with absolutely no input from him and he in fact, will be sitting out in the hall when any results or decisions are being made and I need to take him out of school and make an appointment to do this.

Nurse: Yes

Me: Who’s on first?

Nurse: silence

Me: Ha ha ha…just kidding. Let’s just go with my appointment for now and we’ll make one for Liam at another time.

Nurse: Okay Sharon. We'll see you tomorrow at 10:50 for your appointment with Dr. Fix It.

Money Well Spent?

2009-01-21T10:47:00.001-05:00

New blog at http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

Would love to hear your opinion

Aging Gracefully....Or why the hell would I ever use that?

2009-01-15T10:50:00.001-05:00

Occasionally I come across a product that leaves me befuddled and confused as to why anyone would ever buy it, let alone use it. A few months ago while reading O Magazine, I came across such a product.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head in disbelief. Why? I asked, Why?

Until of course, the Gods of Irony decided to teach me why someone, at some point in their life as they are getting older and strange things happen to their body, things that although you knew subconsciously would happen but never thought in a million years would happen to you per se, could possibly want to use it.

This is a delicate topic but one that is necessary because at some point ladies, this is going to happen to you. And unless your name is Samantha and you’re part of the of Sex In The City cast, it’s not going to come up in a normal everyday discussion with your girlfriends. So being the Yummy Mummy I am, I’m going to discuss this very delicate topic. And maybe some day in the future, you’ll thank me for it.

So….let’s see…..how to begin….

Let’s just say your partner likes to Go DownTown ummm… Vacation South of The Border hmmmm Yodel at the Canyon….no….umm……Pearl Diving.

Yes. That’s it. Let’s say your partner likes to dive for pearls.

And let’s just say your partner is a very good pearl diver. An excellent pearl diver! In fact, it’s possible one of the reasons you’re with your partner is because of their amazing pearl diving abilities. And let’s just say your partner loves to dive for pearls. And can hold their breath for a very long time. And let’s just say your partner finds a pearl Every! Single! Time! they go diving. And they’re beautiful pearls. So beautiful they make you oooooo and ahhhhhh at the immense beauty. Maybe they even bring tears to your eyes. And let’s just say one day, your partner is pearl diving and he’s so close to finding that pearl. So close. You’ve almost got it! you yell. It's there! Right there! And suddenly your partner stops and comes up and says “Did you know you have a grey pubic hair?”

All I’m saying ladies, is if anything like this ever happens to you, there’s a product out there for that.

*By forwarding this blog on to your girlfriends, it will let them know that they are not alone in this thing called "aging gracefully" (a.k.a. What the hell is happening to my body? and Didn't those used sit two inches higher?). It will also help you avoid having to discuss it with them in person. So go on....forward it. They'll thank you. Seriously. They will.

p.s. Yes, this is a reprint, but it's one of my favoritest blogs of all time (that I've written - I have favorites that other people have written but I can't post them here cause there's copyright rules and stuff)

Bad Parenting Moment 2,700,458

2009-01-08T11:01:00.009-05:00

Otherwise known as:

The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf When This Time There Actually Might Be A Wolf And The Mother Who Didn't Believe Him

Liam, who I affectionately call Button Pusher, can also be a wee bit of a manipulator.

If he's being sent into a time out for say ....hitting his brother or calling his mother a fuckin', he will promptly burst into tears and cry "I miss Daddy!!!" This happens each and every time a time out occurs in our house. Suffice it to say, the first few times I was sucked in - oh honey. I miss him too. We'll call daddy as soon as your time out is over so you can talk to him.

After about the tenth time, I caught on. Turns out, I'm a bit dense and guilt will multiply that denseness by about a trillion. So now when the "I miss Daddy" phrase comes pouring from his mouth while he trudges to the dreaded four minutes of time alone (and p.s. Liam. When you're grown up, you'll be BEGGING for four minutes alone. Begging.), I look up and say "me too" and go back to whatever I'm doing.

'Cause in the words of Bush..."fool me once, shame on... shame on you. Fool me - you can't get fooled again."* or something like that.

So a few weeks ago when Liam said to me "My tummy hurts." I was all "Sure, honey. Now eat your dinner"

Because kids will lie and say their tummy hurts when they don't want to eat brocolli and if I had a dollar for every time one of my kids said their tummy was upset or hurt because they didn't want to eat something, I would be typing this while laying poolside at the Atlantis Resort and Rico Suave, my poolside attendant, fanning me with ostrich feathers.

And because at some point in my life, I convinced myself I'm smarter than my children (dumbass), I played the treat card and offered him a cookie. Suddenly his tummy was "Jesus has laid his hands upon your belly and healed you, it's a miracle" fine. And so we went on about our day, him playing and acting like his usual self and me forgetting about the tummy.

But the next day, it came up again. In a distracted sort of way, I asked "where does it hurt honey?"

"All over" he replied.

This time he wasn't eating. Hmmmm....I thought. Maybe he is telling the tru... And then he went off and running to play with his brother. Nyah. He's fine.

And it happened again the next day.

Insert ringing alarm bells and flashing lights here.

Which is how I found myself at the doctor's office at 8:00 a.m. this morning holding his hand and while he put on his bravest face and held back the tears as the doctor did an ultrasound on his tummy. And why I'll be collecting his poop and putting it in a jar later today.

So if you happen to be having a bad parenting day and feeling like you're the worst parent in the world....you're not.

I already beat you to it.

*That's an actual quote from Bush. Seriously. You can look it up.

Resolutions

2008-12-31T08:02:00.003-05:00

For the past three years, I have only resolved each New Year's Eve not to make any resolutions. To date, this is the only resolution I have ever kept.

But this year, I'm changing things up and making not one, but three New Year's Resolutions.

1) Try Harder. I'm not perfect and never will be *sigh* But I guess I can always strive to be better. So that's all I'm promising. I'll continue to try harder.

2) Let It Go. Kids acting like meth addicts with a caffeine drip? Let it go. Cut off in traffic? Let it go. The doctor's running half an hour late with her appointments? What the fuck? My appointment was for 9:30. I'M here on time. Maybe I'll lock the door of your little "doctor's room" and keep YOU waiting. Oh wait....let it go. House full of dust? Already accomplished.

3) You'll find the last one here http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

'Twas The Day After Christmas

2008-12-28T21:17:00.001-05:00

‘Twas the day after Christmas
Santa snug in his bed
The sleigh safely parked
The reindeer brushed, bathed and fed

In homes everywhere across cities and towns
Children looked at their gifts with small grumpy frowns

The grumbling was low, soft like a whisper
Then it grew louder, stronger and crisper

The shouts were soon heard all ‘cross the land
Did they all band together? Was this shouting a plan?

They didn’t see all the gifts they had scored
Instead they screamed out.
Mom! Dad! We’re so bored!

Tears flowed down flushed cheeks
Fights broke out among siblings
Parents were drinking to drown
out the quibbling

So parents I give this last present to you
Not wrapped in a box, in a sock or a shoe

It’s to remind you to relax, have fun, hold your cool!
‘Cause it’s only six days til they’re all back in school.

I Hate Snowstorms

2008-12-20T08:19:00.004-05:00

After enduring the untold pain, the intolerable conditions, the mental anguish. Thinking it would never end. A hell that was infinite. Always at the cusp of being defeated.

Finally, the victim and the torturer will meet face to face.

Arms, meet shovel.

Shovel, arms.

Never Again

2008-12-19T07:34:00.003-05:00

I swore last year that I wouldn't do it this year and I failed. I think I forgot. Forgot the horror. Forgot the frustration. Forgot the rolls of tape.

But this year I promise! I swear to God! Cross my heart and hope to die, poke a needle in my eye.

I will not, ever, ever, ever, never, so help me god, ever buy a present that isn't a square or a rectangle ever again.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Santa's Present To Me

2008-12-14T08:36:00.004-05:00

I took the boys to visit Santa last week. They waited in line, eyes wide, turning to me excitedly when Santa would glance in their direction. He looked at me Mummy! Santa saw me!

Finally it was their turn. The boys marched over to Santa, all the questions they had rehersed in line forgotten in the presence of His Jollyness. The man with the magic. The man who could look into his crystal snow globe and switch them over from the naughty to nice list in the blink of an eye.

Santa turned to Liam and asked the $25,000 question. What would you like for Christmas?

Liam, suddenly rendered mute, shyly looked from Santa to me with a little smile on his face. Adam quickly jumped in to help. He'd like a Ponyville Amusement Park Santa.

And what would you like, Santa asked Adam.

A Magic Kit. Even the request for "real" magic momentarily forgotten.

I think that can be arranged, Santa replied. But you have to promise me that as soon as you get home, you'll both clean up the toys you left laying all over the floor.

Adam's mouth was agape as he slowly nodded his head in agreement. He turned to me and said He really is magic mummy! He can see us! He knew there were toys on the floor. We have to clean up as soon as we get home!

Yes, I replied, Santa really is magic and I mouthed thank you to him as we walked away.

It's Time To Teach Them About Religion

2008-12-07T10:15:00.002-05:00

I had an inkling I might be in trouble two years ago when, as we were about to turn into the church parking lot where we were going to the funeral for Paul's grandfather and Adam looked up and said "What's the building with the big "T"?

But after the following conversation, I've come to the conclusion that I cannot avoid it any further and need to teach my children about different religions around the world...

Adam: How long has Erica been British?

Me: British? What do you mean?

Adam: How long has she been British?

Me: Why do you think she's British?

Adam: You said she celebrates Hannakuh.

Me: That's Jewish Adam, not British.

It's Only a Tooth*

2008-12-04T07:35:00.006-05:00

My son lost his first tooth. It was a long time coming; all the other kids in his class had already lost one, two, even three teeth. Each of them got their name on the tooth tally chart at the front of the classroom; in the last few months of school, the tooth fairy was flitting about his grade 1 class like tissue paper caught in the wind.

Adam was the last man standing.

A month before school ended, Adam came running to me excitedly exclaiming “Mom! I have a wiggly tooth!” He wanted more than anything to have his name on the tooth tally chart.

I stuck my finger in his mouth and one lone tooth when pushed with great force, moved ever so slightly. It was a long way off from coming out but I wasn’t going to dampen his spirits. “Way to go buddy!” I said as I high-fived him.

Over the next month, Adam prodded, pushed, pulled, wiggled, and worried his tooth to the point of exhaustion. His questions were constant “Is it ready mum? Do you think it will come out today? Is it more wiggly today?” Even his tooth was tired.

And then today in the midst of breakfast and cartoons it happened. Chewing his bagel, he went to prod his tooth with his tongue only to discover an immense cavernous space. “Mom!” he yelled frantically, little pieces of bagel flying from his mouth “My tooth is gone! Where did it go?”

“Spit your bagel onto your plate honey.” I replied calmly. But on the inside I was frantic too. I didn’t want him to have swallowed his first tooth, the tooth he had coveted for so long. Please don’t have let him have swallowed the tooth, please!

And there lying amidst the bits of bagel on his plate was his tiny white tooth.

It looked so small lying on the plate. How did that little tooth fit into the enormous gaping hole it left behind?

Adam was ecstatic. We took pictures and a video and sent them off to everyone who would appreciate Adam’s milestone…and everyone who wouldn't too.

And while all of this was going on, I felt a deep, starting from the pit of my stomach and working it’s way up to my heart, making me choke back the tears, sadness. Where had the time gone?

It seemed only moments ago that I was waiting for that same tooth to press it’s way up into the sunlight and show itself in his gummy smile. When will it come? Is he cranky because he’s teething? Maybe he’s not sleeping because his mouth is sore. Should I give him Tylenol? Advil? Rub alcohol on his gums? When will it come?

As new parents, we’re always waiting for that next moment. When will he smile? When will he crawl? When will he walk? Talk? What will he be like? Will he be sporty? Will he like to read? Will he be an intellect? Will he save the world?

And all I could think when looking down at that tiny white tooth was…

Did I waste the time I had with him or did I make the best of it?

And like most parents, the answer is yes…and yes

Yes, there were days I wished it all away. Days when I was so tired, when my patience was so low that I felt I might snap like a twig. The days when I put him to bed early because I knew he couldn’t tell time. Or when I plopped him front of the t.v because I needed to recoup. The days I yelled. The days when I was so exhausted I would sit down and cry because I had no energy to do anything else.

And then there were days when I held him up to the sky and twirled him around to watch the smile appear on his face. Or the day we sat underneath a forest of trees and we watched the leaves dance in the wind. We went to the park and I was the customer and he was the ice cream man. We read books. We laughed at silliness. I volunteered in his class and saw his face beam with pride when he said “That’s my mom, she’s going to be in our class today helping.”

Tonight Adam wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy. It said, “Dear Tooth Fairy, I want to keep my first tooth but can you leave me money? Love Adam.”

The Tooth Fairy responded, “Dear Adam, I saved my first tooth too. A first tooth is special, you’ll never get it back. Love the Tooth Fairy.”

Today I made the best of it.

*This is a very special story to me and was written last July. I never posted it as I was submitting it to be published. It was never accepted and I only received some very nice rejection letters and emails. But I love it and hope you do to.

All I'm Saying.....

2008-11-23T07:56:00.004-05:00

Is there may be a very good reason as to why some animals eat their young.*

That's all I'm saying.

*Am typing this while sitting in a doctor's office to see if I have a concussion from being hit on the base of my skull with a hockey stick. You know that really soft place where the skull ends and the rest of your body starts? That place kinda behind and below your ear? Are you feeling it? That's it. Right there.**

**Adam is in a time out until 2010***

***Not really. And I'm not in a doctor's office. But I did get hit in the head with a hockey stick and I did remain calm and patient while I explained to Adam that hockey sticks are meant to stay on the ground and not to be waved around recklessly in the air.****

****Because we were in a public place

Apologies and Christmas Gifts

2008-11-19T09:09:00.005-05:00

Oh hi! How are you?

Just give me a second while I put this bag down.

Yes, it is huge. What's in it? Oh, it's just my bag of apologies I now carry with me everywhere I go to apologize for, but not limited to:

Forgetting appointments
Missing deadlines
Missing my volunteer day
Showing up late to the appointments I do remember
Not writing my blog
Ignoring the kids while doing my other writing
Snapping at everyone because I'm stressed
Turning into psycho-mom in the hockey change room while getting Adam into his 750 kajillion pieces of hockey gear while Liam ran around pretending he was a minion of Satan
And a multitude of other things that I'm sure I'm forgetting - so I apologize for that too.

On a good note, I've already started Christmas shopping! And with the help of Grand River Toys, I have completed shopping for Liam. Unfortunately, Adam is a bit more difficult. This year he has requested:

Bow ties (black and maybe some other colours if you can find them)
Tuxedo Shirt
More Ties
A Real Estate Agent Lockbox
A Fire Proof Safe
A No Smoking sign for his room*
and last but not least...a Magic Kit. But not a magic kit that has illusions mummy, a magic kit with real magic. Not sure how I'm going to pull that one off but I have a feeling I'll be digging into my trusty bag o' apologies on Christmas morning.

*No one in our family smokes. Not even extended family. Unless he's referring to my cooking, I have no idea where this "no smoking" idea came from

My Apologies

2008-11-06T09:50:00.005-05:00

I apologize to everyone who has been coming here over the past week only to see the same bloody blog up from last Sunday.

I've been trying to find Balance only it seems she's a professional, world-class, going to the Olympics Hide and Seeker and I haven't been able to find her. Even now, as I sit here by myself screaming Olly Olly Oxen Free, she's nowhere to be found. At first I was okay with not finding Balance but now it's gotten to the point that when I finally find her, I'll have to kick her ass for leaving me hanging for so long. And while I'm at it, I'll tie her ass to a chair and make her watch Dr. Phil for 48 hours straight until I find out where her cousin System is. Because I need a blogging system to keep both going and last I heard, System was lying on a beach in Antigua tossing back marguirtas (systematically, I might add)

So if you're interested, there's a new blog at the Yummy Mummy Club about how I got my job. And in the meantime, if anyone out there has seen Balance or System, please let them know it's safe to come out....Walmart hasn't started selling guns and alcohol here in Canada...yet.

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

A topic not often covered

2008-10-21T16:31:00.004-04:00

Okay....so this is a bit annoying and I promise I'll only do this once in awhile. Like when I write awesome blogs on a topic such as........Pubic Hair Dye. Which I did for Yummy Mummy Club and I can't believe they even let me post it because it's about.....well Pubic Hair Dye. So I can't post it here being as it needs to be new and unused material there. But I think it 's worth the trip over there for just a few minutes. 'Cause how often do you get to read blogs about Pubic Hair Dye? And maybe some day when you're old and the carpet's not matching the drapes, it'll come in handy. And then you can say "Well now I know what to do because Sharon wrote a blog about it and even though at the time, I was slightly annoyed at having to go to another blog to read it, I'm certainly glad I did now.

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

Silence

2008-10-19T09:06:00.007-04:00

It's 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning and Paul just took the boys out so I could have a morning off to DO! WHATEVER! I! WANT! It was an odd offer, one that left me feeling a bit guilty. We've both been working very hard. We're trying to open a new store and he's been there almost every night until 1 or 2 a.m. for the past three weeks, most nights driving home to say goodnight to the boys and then driving back to get more work done.

When he works more, it's doubles my work load because I still have to do my paying job (BTW - new post about my inappropriate emailing is up) and my non-paying job (taking care of the kids), on my own. So even though I'm tired and a bit burnt out (my apologies to the two moms at the schoolyard who witnessed my bizarre "That's It! I've Had Enough! When We Get Home The Both of You Are Going In A Time Out! I! Have! Had! It!" outburst. I'm not sure where it came from. Normally my response to jacket tugging and MummyMummyMummyTapTapTap interruptions aren't that intense. I'm a bit embarrassed. Although it would have been fun to get a picture of both of you with your mouths agape. We could send it in to Ellen and maybe she'd invite us on to play Snap. Anyway...my apologies for the awkardness of the moment. Kind of makes it hard to turn the conversation back to pole dancing after an outburst like that. Will have to have you over for wine so you can see me in my natural environment where turret like yelling doesn't normally occur.

So here it is ....a Sunday morning and the only sounds I can hear are the buzz of the computer hard drive and the odd creak as the house settles. Our house is silent. There are no boys screaming and running after each other. There's no chatter. No t.v. No fighting. No doors opening and slamming, opening and slamming. No footsteps. No laughter. No crying.

Just silence.

Complete silence.

Maybe I'll turn on the radio.

There. That's better.

And I can do anything I want! I can write, I can read, I can go for a run. I can even go back to bed. But I won't because then I'll fall into a deep sleep and wake up an hour later feeling like Night of the Living Dead with drool hardened on the side of my face.

Hmmm.....still really quiet. Let's see what's happening on the news.

Where was I? Oh yes....maybe I'll go for a run. Haven't been on the treadmill for awhile. My Spanx were painting picket signs yesterday. I think they're planning to go on strike. Yep. A run would be good.

This quiet is wonderful. I can't remember the last time it's been this quiet. With quiet like this, I bet I could find a solution to world peace and hunger.

I wonder if my voice still works. Maybe I'll call Paige and see what she's doing.

Hmmph. Paige not home.

So I was talking about running! Yes. I'll run. Maybe I'll even start training for another half marathon. That's it. Half marathon. I'll become a runner again.

I wonder if I even have enough time to go for a run now. It seems like they've been gone for hours. It's already.....oh. 9:33 a.m.

I bet they're driving Paul crazy in the van right now with their fighting and and hitting and questions and annoying sounds and burping.

I wonder what time they'll be home.

You Put What, Where?

2008-10-12T12:52:00.003-04:00

You can live next door to someone for years and not really know them. Like my old neighbours, Neelin and his wife Krupa. Really nice nice people but we never really got to know them. Just neighbourly conversations on the front porch about the weather, the kids, their nephew, upcoming weddings. This was actually our most frequent conversation as they seem to attend an inordinate amount of weddings.

Then they moved away - not far - just far enough that they wouldn't have to listen to the incessant banging and crashing at five in the morning (the boys) or the non-stop yelling (me)

From time to time, Neelin or Krupa would swing by the old hood and we'd chat. It was during one of those chats we all exchanged email addresses. And lo and behold, Neelin and I are now email buddies. Not on a frequent basis. The occassional email to see what's up, how many weddings he's attended that week (seriously, I've never met a couple who goes to as many weddings as they do) and if my kids are still alive - frivoulous shit like that. And as Neelin so delicately pointed out "not like the lame-o conversations we had when we were neighbours".

The other day Neelin emailed me things that he learned that day. The first being that the Toronto Board of Trade has only three menu options and he hated all of them. To which I replied that I learned I'm jealous of anyone who has menu choices no matter how sucky they are.

And then it got me to thinking of the new and fun things I learn every day.

Like the other day when I learned that when you volunteer for a field trip at the safety village and you email while the "Safety Teacher" is giving a speech about safety, you'll get in trouble. Or that letting 10 kids drive battery powered vehicles around a miniature village is the same as trying to get 10 million people out of New York via the Brooklyn Bridge. Lots of bottle necking and none involving beer.

But by far the most interesting, compelling, never to be forgotten lesson I learned this week is that no matter how many times they swear to you they will be careful, never ever ever let your children play with your keys. Ever.

And I also learned that to fish those keys from the 1inch wide by 8 inch deep crack between the steps and the back door, a coat hanger works best as opposed to the a fork, knife, tweezers, spatula or needle nose pliers.

And that it would probably take less than 20 minutes to fish those keys from the crack if said child wasn't interrupting every 17 seconds with "Did you get dem out yet mummy? Are dey out? Am I in trouble mummy?"*

And I probably shouldn't keep every single one of my keys on one key chain.

And most importantly......we need to invite Neelin and Krupa over for dinner since we are all nowhere near as lame-o as we first thought.

*Of course Liam didn't get in trouble - I'm the dumbass who gave him the keys.

Bloggers I Love

2008-10-08T10:12:00.010-04:00

Being a blogger is a weird thing. You lay your heart the line and open yourself up to accolades and criticism. It's not for the faint of heart. Hopefully you will receive more accolades than criticism but somehow no matter how many generous, warm comments and emails you receive, the critical stings have a way shooting an arrow straight to your heart and sticking around for a much longer time.

Because I spend so much time writing, I don't have alot of time to read other blogs. But the few I read...they make my day. They're precious jewels dug up from within the internet, some more hidden than others.

So today, I'm going to let you know about a few of my favorite blogs. Somedays I lurk, other days I post a comment, but make no mistake, I visit them daily.

The first is Dad Gone Mad. Danny Evans has been blogging for years and has a fan base that will only reach by multiplying my viewership by 10,000. He has a mouth pottier than mine and when he writes, he evokes emotion - each and every time. But mostly he is hysterically funny and makes me laugh on a daily basis. He is also a god among us mere mortal bloggers - earlier this year, a week after being laid off, Danny got a book deal and his book will be coming out in August 2009. But this god doesn't lay on his laurels. He still updates his blog every few days which makes me shout with glee. And when lowly bloggers with low viewership who continue to write because they love it, email him and ask questions about writing he takes the time to read their lowly blog and email back suggestions and encouragement. Thanks Danny.

The second blog I read is Finslippy. Alice is a phenomenal blogger who writes honestly and has taken the brunt of that honesty in a sometimes brutal way. But she comes back swinging and hasn't let it temper her writing to suit those few who have criticized her. When Alice writes how she agreed to let her six year old have a sleepover for her birthday because "at the very least, it will make a good blog post", it makes me feel like we're soul sisters in parenting. Because on my worst days when the boys are melting down and I'm about two seconds from losing it, the mantra "this will make a great blog" is what keeps me from plummeting into the crevice of bad parentdom.

And the last blog that I visit daily, and isn't updated enough (sorry Wendi but you really need to spend more time entertaining me), is this rare jewel I found simply called Wendi-Aarons. I don't even know how I stumbled across it but suffice it say, I'm forever grateful that I did. Wendi has had me laughing hysterically with tears rolling down my face. When I go to her blog and it isn't updated, I re-read previous posts and they still make me laugh. She isn't a high profile blogger.....yet. But she will be. And you need to read her because she's fabulous.

So go take a look-see and then let me know about your favorite bloggers. We all need a little lovin' sometimes.

BTW - there's a new post from me at http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/the_inside_scoop

A New Blog!

2008-10-01T14:32:00.006-04:00

I feel a bit bad because I had to keep a secret from you. We've been working like crazy around the clock - literally - to get the new Yummy Mummy Club website up and running. And now it's live so that means it's true, really true, and I can finally tell you. I promise never to keep a secret like this from you again. 'Cause what kind of relationship would we have then? Me being all secretive and you wondering where the hell I've gone. Wouldn't be good. So no more secrets. Unless my jeans make my ass look fat - you can keep that a secret from me. I can't see it so I like to pretend it looks like Cameron Diaz's ass - you'd just be hurting my feelings if you told me otherwise and I'd need a whole new set of drugs to put me back into my delusional world. But other than that, no secrets.

Sorry! I'm blathering away and I still haven't told you the secret. I'll stop babbling now. 'Cause you probably want to know what the secret is (not good ending a sentence in a preposition - have to stop that). So no more blathering. I'll stop right now. This very second.

Are you ready?

I have a new blog on the Yummy Mummy Club website! It's called The Inside Scoop and it's about my work at the YMC and how I have to balance it while being a full time stay at home mom to two boys who don't really believe I work and that I'm sitting in front of this screen only to print out colouring pages and listen to music...which is true somedays. But mostly I'm working.

And even more exciting....I have a web banner! If you go to the front page of the Yummy Mummy Club, you'll see a big box that says Welcome and below that box you'll see the words Welcome, This Month, M.I.L.F. and Blog. I want you to go click on blog. No, seriously. Go. Click on it. 'Cause I don't know when they're going to take it down. It's only featured a week at at time and there are like, six other blogs, so you won't see it again until Christmas.

Sadly, it's the only useable picture I had, taken last year at African Lion Safari - and I had to cut four kids to be able to use it. Which means my husband better start taking more pictures of me otherwise I'll die and my kids will be forever asking about the five pictures of the mysterious woman in the sunglasses.

So go check it out. And leave comments! I love comments. I will adore you if you leave comments. I will name any future children after you if you leave comments. Unless your name is Apple. If your name is Apple, I'll just send you an email.

And while you're at it, check out the other great blogs and the rest of the site. I consider it my third baby.

p.s. My other baby Motherhood: The Ultimate Survivor will continue to grow and thrive because my kids don't listen to me, my husband lives in filth and my parenting is a disaster which means I will have enough stories for both blogs - hooray for you!

Odds and Sods

2008-09-27T10:42:00.005-04:00

Paul came to me this morning and said "I know we've both been really busy so if you'd like, we can hire someone to clean the house for the next month or so until things get back to normal"

Talk about foreplay! It was a phrase delivered straight from heaven by angels with golden halos and wings softer than baby kittens. What woman wouldn't swoon at the hearing those romantic words?

But strangely enough, I felt I had been doing a great job keeping the house clean even though I'm working full-time hours, taking care of the kids and volunteering at their school.

I wonder if I have some sort of disability that allows me to see clean where there's dirt, organization where there's chaos. Maybe those drugs I experimented with in my teens are flashing back and causing me to hallucinate a neat and orderly house.

Maybe Paul is right and I'm completely wrong and and we really do live in a cesspool of filth.

Maybe I seriously need to take time to reassess my perspective on how clean our house is.

Nyah......it's fine.

On to more important things like vegetables.

My boys are great at eating fruits and will eat any fruit I pack for school. But the only vegetables they'll eat in their lunches are raw carrots and cucumbers. I need some ideas on other vegetables they can take with them that are easy to eat and that will be eaten - they're taking on an orange hue and it's making me a little afraid.

So I'm going to the experts....You!

What vegetables do you pack for your kids? And what are some of their favorite lunches?

Poor Kid Doesn't Have a Chance

2008-09-22T12:31:00.006-04:00

We haven't even finished the first month of school and I've gone and lost:

Adam's home reading book
Adam's home reading log
Adam's school library book

Three books not 20 days into the school year. That's gotta be some sort of record. In fact, as soon as I'm done typing this I'm going to call Guinness World Records and see if I qualify for a category. Like Dumbass Mother of 2008. Or barring that, I can write a book - How To Mortify Your Son in 60 Seconds or Less - A lesson in making your child hate school more than they already do.

After that I'm going to call the other Guinness to see if they deliver and drink until I forget that tomorrow I have to face his teacher and explain in person how my mothering skills are so lacking, so completely hopeless, that even though I had a homework system in place, that system was a wee bit too close to a pile of last week's newspapers and was taken to the recycling bin and hauled off by our garbage collectors.

I wrote all of this in a heartflet 75 word apology in Adam's agenda but the space is only two inches high and I had to write it in teeny tiny letters this morning after madly scrambling around trying to find the three books before using my mad Sherlock-like detective skills (and 10 minutes digging through the recycle bin) to come to the conclusion that the three items are now currently being made into toilet paper - all pre-coffee.

Obviously the agenda makers were thinking that mothers are normal, high-functioning members of society. Adults who are capable of reading with their children and marking it in the reading log without throwing the whole lot away in the garbage when they came up with the idea that two inches of space would be sufficient to communicate the day to day goings on with your child's teacher. And to the Agenda Makers I say......you have met your match. Increase the space.

So unless Adam's teacher had a magnifying glass handy my written note will most likely be indecipherable and I will be making my humble apologies when I go volunteer in his class tomorrow.

Time to go make some calls. Will call the beer Guinness first.

Coming Soon: How throwing the baby out with the bathwater isn't just a euphemism in our house.

Playtime

2008-09-19T09:16:00.018-04:00

My kids are like all other kids - they like to play.

I've mentioned before that they are completely opposite. Had I not squeezed them out of my body myself (after 27 and 26 1/2 hours of labour respectively, so no you can't have a puppy. Why? Because unlike the usual bullshit story I tell you about how the doctor just pulled you out of nowhere, I actually squeezed you out of the nether regions which, if I have my way, you will not learn about until you are say, 30, and both of you were big babies because your mother ate like she was a dyslexic anorexic and never felt she was big enough. Not to mention the phrase "abnormally large heads" that was thrown around the delivery room like some sort of ultimate frisbee game. So abnormally large in fact that vacuums were involved and the Dr. almost had to put a drawstring in my va-jay-jay to bring it back to some set of pre-birth normalcy. So, no, you can't have a puppy) I would have thought they were from two different sets of parents.

These differences can be seen throughout the day as they choose what they would like to play. *

Scene 1 - Adam

Me: Whatcha doing honey?

Adam: Nothing

Me: How about we play a game together?

Adam: Sure! How about we play Lightning McQueen. I'll be Lightning McQueen and Mac and you can be To-Mater, Doc and Chick. So first I'llraceLightningaroundthetrackandthenChickwillcrashintohimandthey'llalltietheraceandyouneedtobemeanwhenyou'replayingChick'causehe'sreallymeanandLightningandChickwillhavetogotocaliforniabutMackgetsrunofftheroadandLightningwillendupinasmalltownbutbeforethathappenssherriffwillarresthimandsay"boy,you'reinaheapoftrouble"andthentakehimofftojailwhereLightningwillhavetofixtheroadandToMaterwilltakehimtractortippingandhe'llsaythatLightningishisbestfriendandthenDocwillteachhimhowtoturnlefttogorightandeventuallyLightningwilluseitinthebigracebutfirstwehavetohavetheracebetweenLightningandChick. 'kay?

Me: Can I get a coffee first? **

Scene 2 - Liam

9:45 a.m.
Me: What would you like to do today Liam?

Liam: harpen pentils

Me: Really? Sharpen pencils? How about we go to the park?

Liam: No mummy. I jut want to harpen pentils.

Me: Okey dokey, let's sharpen some pencils then.

10:45 a.m.
Me: Are you sure you don't want to go to the park? How about we colour?

Liam: No. I happy harpening pentils.

11:15 a.m.
Me: Okay Liam, we did it. There's no more pencils left to sharpen. What do you wanna do now?

Liam: Harpen crayons.

*Both stories written here today are true and not exaggerated in any way, shape or form. I did spend a morning last week "harpening pentils" and have become an expert on the movie Cars so that I can get every single one of my lines right or suffer the ultimate consequence of starting the game over from the beginning.

**By coffee I mean copious amounts of alcohol.

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

2008-09-13T19:56:00.018-04:00

I’ll admit it. I lie to my kids. But only ~~when it’s necessary~~ ~~rarely~~ ~~occasionally~~ ~~once in a blue moon~~ all the time.

There it is. The truth in eight words. I lie to my kids all the time. Daily. I’m a daily liar. Probably closer to hourly. That just about sums it up. I lie to them almost every hour of every day.

I lie about a lot of thing but most of my lies revolve around time. In the morning, I lie about how much time we have to get ready for school subtracting ten minutes from the actual time to provide us with some leeway, keeping me from screaming like a banshee at an Irish wake. I have forever screwed up their ability to understand the length of a minute with my never ending mumbled phrases “in a minute, just a minute, I’ll do it in a minute, hold on a minute, wait there just a minute, give me a minute please” And before my oldest could tell time (and seriously, do schools really need to start teaching kids how to tell time in grade 1? Can they not hold off until grade 3 or 4? Or never?) I lied about the time, "no I swear on my mother’s grave", it’s 8 o’clock, and would put him to bed early.

But here’s the truth, when a mom highly and mightily says to me she never, ever lies to her kids, what kind of mother lies to her kids?, I want to turn around and ask Really? You don't think there's any time where it's appropriate to lie? Ever? In that case, yes, those pants do make your ass look fat. Like two pigs wrestling under a blanket. Let's just stencil Good Year on that puppy and send you on your way.

Can you imagine? Never lying to your kids? I may be cynical when I say any parent who says they’ve never lied to their kids is lying but it’s the Jim Carrey, Liar Liar movie, "Ummm that was incredible. Was it good for you? I've had better" truth.

‘Cause let me tell you…..when your kid comes to you crying a gut wrenching, body shaking, can’t breathe, heaving sob cry because her favorite grandmother passed away and wants to know what happens to Gramma’s body after she dies, you’re not going to be mentioning decomposition and worm food. You’ll be pulling out every angel, halo and wing story you can find from your handy dandy bag of tricks. Or at 4:00 a.m. when you’re finally drifting off to sleep after hours of repositioning your fat pregnant belly trying to stop the stomach acid from eroding what’s left of your molars and your three year old climbs into your bed and asks “how did da baby get in your tummy, mummy?” somehow I don’t think the words penis, vagina, sperm and penetration will be entering into your little early morning tete-e-tete.

And don’t tell me, in that one rare moment when you finally had 60 seconds to pee in private without someone slamming through the bathroom door asking to turn on the t.v., you didn’t hear your little munchkin yelling your name the first five times and when you finally answered on the sixth cry of Mooooommmyyyyyyy, it was with a relaxed innocent…. “Did you say something honey? Oh sorry! I didn’t hear you” that you replied.

So if you come to me and say you never lie I will lift my nose in the air, sniff, turn to you and say……I smell smoke….I think your pants or on fire.

Or maybe I’m lying.

Our Messy House

2008-09-10T11:11:00.034-04:00

Dear Paul,

In a way I can understand. Somedays I’m frozen to the spot with no idea where to begin. So I can understand why you feel the house is not as clean as it you’d like it to be although my assessment is a bit more lenient. If I were to walk in off the street to view the destruction and chaos, I would judge it as mussy. Not quite a cesspool of filth but not neat as a pin either. It’s really not for lack of trying on my part. Every day I wake up with the notion that the house will be cleaned first thing in the morning and will stay that way throughout the day. But then little things crop up throughout the day that tend to set me back. Take today for instance.

While doing work on the computer (actual work that brings in money and not just surfing the net to find out if George Clooney is coming to TIFF this September), I left the kids to their own devices and from the sounds coming from above, they were having a good time; no yelling, fighting or crying. I could even hear words like build, fort and snacks along with the laughter so I figured I should leave well enough alone. When I was done my non-George Clooney work, I went upstairs to fold laundry. I should have known that something was wrong when the boys, upon hearing my footsteps, quickly ran to shut their bedroom doors and appeared in the living room with joker-esque smiles plastered on their faces but I was so happy that I was getting chores done and was able to cross things off my to-do list that it didn’t occur to me that something was amiss. Or to notice that all the couch cushions were missing. In hindsight, I recognize my error and it will never happen again. Ever.

So I sat down and started to fold laundry which was actually quite enjoyable because Ellen was on and the kids were playing well and it the day seemed to be starting out as almost promising. Today I was even attempting a record of having to fold the clothes only once. I’m not sure you know this but folded laundry is the equivalent to piles of leaves and if you leave it for even thirty seconds because you need to do something unimportant like say, pee, you’ll come back to find children leaping about tossing the neatly folded piles like frenzied leprechauns.

I try to involve the kids in keeping the house clean even though that typically it makes more work for me but if I don’t teach them, how are they going to learn right? So while I’m folding, I ask if they’ve picked up their dirty clothes from the bedroom floor and put them in the hamper and each of them responds with a yes which startles me because normally they respond no accompanied by moaning and loud foot stomping at the prospect of having to lift and carry the weight of the world, otherwise known as socks, to the laundry room and I ask if they’re absolutely sure there’s no dirty clothes on their floors because I’m going to go to their rooms and check and if the clothes are there, there’s going to be big trouble. But they are adamant and so I leave the folded laundry piles to go take a look-see.

And as you can see, they weren’t lying. There is not one piece of clothing on Liam’s floor.

It did help me locate the missing couch cushions. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I got to the very last cushion which was covered with crackers and solidifying cheese, that I realized the very reason Liam built this fort was so he could “eat nacks mummy.” And by the way, I’ve given up on trying to teach Liam the “S” sound because all my attempts have left him thinking that a snake says “Shhhhhhhhh” and since he’s starting school, I’m hoping his teacher will know how to teach him because I hure as hit don’t.

I may be getting a bit off track here but since we're on the topic of Liam's room, I thought I'd take a moment to explain the piece missing from his wall.

He was attempting to pull open his blind and it was a great attempt. How was he to know he should remove the string from the hook before pulling. I say kudos to Liam for even being able to reach that sucker – we may have an Olympic high jumper on our hands (those blind strings have been known to cause strangulation and if anything is going to strangle the kids, it’s going to be my hands and not a bloody blind string). Admittedly, he had a great time swinging from the string until the hook was ripped from the wall and he landed on his bed. Fixing the wall and putting up a new hook is on my list of things to-do.

Now back to our day……after I clean the couch cushions and put them back on the couch, I realize I’m running late as I'm supposed to be at Rosanna’s in 15 minutes with lunch. So I step over all of the now unfolded laundry and go to the kitchen where I proceed to cut up a cantalope to go along with the two boxes of macaroni and cheese and box of goldfish crackers I’m bringing for lunch because even though it's putting me behind schedule, there should be at least one healthy food, right? Turns out some good actually comes from the cantalope cutting because it’s at the exact moment I open the green bin to dispose of the cantalope rind that I learn where all the fruit flies have been coming from so even though I now have to empty the green bin and wash it, I’m able to strike something off my to-do list.

Green bin cleaned and fruit flies banished, we’re on our way to Rosanna’s but first I need to swing by the post office to pick up the ants for Adam’s ant farm we sent away for six weeks ago. And I know it doesn’t make the nicest table centrepiece but at least it’s not the bowl of apples covered with fruit flies and I kinda like them. It’s like having our own little cannibalistic ant soap opera.

The abbreviated version of the rest of my day is that we went to Rosanna’s (the cantalope was a big hit!) and to Adam’s school to fill out anaphylaxis forms which went well until the Vice Principal told the boys they could each take home a toy from his toy box. A child choosing one cheap dollar store toy from a box of fifty is the equivalent to an adult having to shit after ten days with no fibre, it is a long and painful process. The toy decision resulted in one fight, two sets of tears and 8 flailing limbs. I was this close to cancelling the trip to the movie store but then Adam reminded me I promised and that breaking promises is like breaking trust and although I have no compunction whatsoever about lying to the kids, he's right. I don't break my promises. And besides, the movie store gives away free lollipops so the day had to get better right? But no, because the movie store stopped giving away free lollipops which brought onmore flailing arms and tears.

Finally we’re home and even through the house is still a disaster, I need to make them dinner because low sugar levels are not condusive to a peaceful house. And besides, I'd have plenty of time after dinner to finish tidying only it was after dinner that the s’mores accident happened.

Funnily enough, I was running the burn under cold water when you called to tell me you’d be late. As an aside, when I call you back and ask you to pick up wine, your response shouldn’t be “why”, it should be “how much”. Fixing the oven door is now a top priority on my to-do list.

And yes, I know our front porch is beginning to resemble something found in a trailer park of inbred hillbillies but it's all there for a reason. The bucket is filled with crayfish that they wanted to keep as pets and although the snails are allowed in the house, I need to draw the line somewhere and my particular line happens to be crayfish. The habitat with snails was starting to smell so we put it outside to clean it but haven't gotten around to it yet. The plastic bags are filled with acorns and the boys like me to draw faces on them (the acorns not the boys) and create acorn families which explains the markers strewn about as well. And the book? Every once in awhile I like to read because life at home tends to be a bit chaotic and if I can read for a few minutes, it calms me. Not as well as valium, but it does the job.

How is it chaotic? Well.....remember that day you were home a few weeks ago and Carter showed up at the front door wearing nothing but underwear and a bike helmet (safety first!), and I walked him home to get clothes and then he wanted to eat lunch at our house so I traded Kerrie and she took Adam and I took Carter but then Elliott and MacKenzie also came over and they were running through the house and playing in the backyard and then Carter decided to strip down again so he could be Captain Underpants! and Liam threw Carter’s clothes in the pool so I put them on the chair to dry and took Carter home again to get more clothes? It’s not just like that when you’re home, it’s like that Every Day. Which is why there are always footprints on our wood floors.

So you see? It’s not that I don't care and I’m not trying to keep it all together. It's just that I'm trying harder to keep it all from falling apart.

You’re loving wife

p.s. I was able to cross off number five on my to do list. Your glasses were in Liam's underwear drawer.

It's All In The Details

2008-09-01T12:56:00.016-04:00

I took the boys apple picking at a local farm and with the exception of what I'm about to write, which surprisingly has nothing to do with my kids, I have nothing to blog about because we had a great time without any of the usual disasters that make me daft and wonder why I take them anywhere let alone some place fun because I swear the next place I'm going to take you is a child labour camp where you'll work 27 hours a day and eat only brussell sprouts and pigs feet and then you'll see how good you have it.

Nope, today was a good day.

As an aside, if you choose apple picking as a fun family outing, pick the apples at the end of the apple picking trip and not at the beginning unless you bring a yoke in which case pick the apples anytime you want. But if you're yokeless like me, you'll end up with two very sore arms from lugging around copious amounts of apples the likes of which you will never eat but picked anyway because picking 10 apples takes approximately 9.2 seconds and after driving 1 hour to get to the apple farm, you really want to make the trip last which is how we ended up with 50 apples in 46 seconds. So bring a yoke. Or wait until you're about to leave before you pick. Learn from me. I'm typing this with a pencil and my mouth.

At this particular apple farm there is a large sand pit filled with trucks and diggers of every make and model (and most likely animal feces because it does resemble a large litter box) which attracts the kids like moths to a flame and as my kids are no exception, they ran off to play in the feces filled sand while I planted myself on the grass to relax and pray the sensation would return to my arms.

Given that I was in such close proximity to the ~~litter~~ sand box, it was only a matter of time before I was run over by a wayward dump truck. This particular truck happened to be to attached to the hands of a cute two year old who felt my toes would make good speed bumps. Since I have two boys myself and having my toes run over is a daily occurance, I laughed and asked if he wanted to do it again which is when I heard I heard....

"Ethan! You! Don't! Run! Over! People's! Toes! With! Trucks!"

I turned to see a frazzled mother, madly gesturing at Ethan while trying to feed a fussy baby. Remembering how difficult it was to take an active two year old with a six month old baby in tow, I told her it was okay, I have kids of my own, not to worry, it was an accident, he's having fun and I'm scheduled for a pedicure tomorrow anyway.

"No, it's not okay" she replied. "It's all in the details, that's what I say."

Hoping to lighten the mood, I said "Yes, well you know how it is .....at this age they think details are what's on the back end of de-cats"

Which is when I learned that when you're busy concentrating on the details, there is not much room left for humour.

Back To School

2008-08-30T08:05:00.003-04:00

I’d like everyone who’s excited about school to please raise your hand.

Hey, look over there! Nudge nudge. Sharon doesn’t have her hand up. Do you see that? Can you believe it? She’s actually sitting on her hands. Oh my god, is that a tear? Is she crying?

Sharon, why don’t you have your hand raised? Both your kids are going to school this year! Both! You’ll have free time! You’ll be childless two days a week! Sometimes three!

**************************************************************************

This is my confession. My dirty little secret typed out in black and white, proof that I’m not what I appear to be. Yes, I can be sarcastic and cynical. Yes, I complain about my kids and how they never listen to me and misbehave. I have yelled at them and rolled my eyes at their drama. I have even been known to gesture like a madwoman while giving them the evil eye trying to get them to be quiet when I’m on a business call and they barrel into the room asking for food.

And I will cry like a baby when they go back to school.

My oldest will be in grade 2 this year. I sobbed when he started JK, I sniffled when he began SK and I bawled for three days straight when he marched headlong into the school system full time in Grade 1. I know that I will feel sad watching him go to school this year but I also know that he’ll be okay because he’s done this before, he’s a pro at this school thing at the ripe old age of six.

And because I will volunteer in his class so I can spy on him.

What will be my downfall this year is watching my youngest son Liam start his journey into the world of education. It makes me happy and proud and nervous and profoundly sad all at once, a rainbow of emotions. He is starting JK with enthusiasm and excitement because he wants to be just like his older brother. And I’m sure he’ll have a terrific time once his backpack to body ratio equals out and he stops tipping over.

The truth of it is, no matter what everyone else says, no matter what you witness other parents doing, your reaction when you watch your own little munchkin stand in line and march into their brightly decorated classroom with 19 other little munchkins, some who will become your munchkin’s new best friends and others who will cause your munchkin pain and distress*, will be as individual and unique as you are.

There will be mothers who are jumping for joy. Hooray! I made it! Finally, after “fill in the blank” years, I have free time! Time to myself! With their children barely through the door, they will run to the nearest Starbucks in celebration.

There will be mothers sobbing unable to even piece together a coherent sentence. Easy to identify, these mothers will be seen standing outside the gate waiting to catch a glimpse of their child through the wired glass ten minutes after everyone has entered the building and the parking lot is empty. When they are finally able to drag themselves away, they will spend the day crying at home then madly trying to de-puff their eyes ten minutes before pickup.**

And somewhere between these two emotionally opposing mothers will be every other parent.

Take head in the fact that there are no right or wrong emotions, no right or wrong reactions, and if you too turn out to be a blubbering mass like me, chant this mantra:

“This too will pass.”

Because no matter how awful you feel, no matter how many tears you shed or how overwhelmed with guilt you feel because suddenly you think you wasted away those first five years (you didn’t), these feelings will pass.

Remember when your school age child was a wee baby and you thought he/she would never sleep through the night? How you bargained with any god that would listen and promised to give up chocolate for the rest of your life if you could simply get four consecutive hours of sleep? Or maybe like me, that happened to you just last night so probably not the best example but you get my drift.

This too will pass and eventually you will have fond memories of that first scary, exciting, nerve-wracking, pride inducing day when your child starts school.

Now off you go, it’s time to pack lunches, fill up the backpacks and send them off! The first day of school is a momentous, unforgettable experience…..sometimes even for our kids.

*Yes, there will be times when your child will be distressed by another child and you will want to go to the school ala Rebecca DeMornay in Hand That Rocks The Cradle and threaten to rip that child’s head off but please refrain from doing so as next week it will be your child who is the distresser instead of the distressee. That’s what happens when you stick 20 children ages 3 to 6 in one classroom and why teachers are professionally trained and not just some hobo dragged in off the street.

**Based on a true experience – namely mine. If you too are feeling this way on the first day of school, please email me and we can sob together and maybe even rent a George Clooney/Brad Pitt movie. If you bring the coffee, I will supply the kahlua.

Kids Being Kids

2008-08-27T12:46:00.017-04:00

What do you get when you add 10 mothers, 26 kids, 18 buckets, 9 nets and one freezing cold, muddy, stone infused creek?

No. That’s not it. Guess again.

Nope. That’s not it either.

What? How could you even think that?

Jaysus, with answers like that, we’re gonna be here all day. It’s crayfishing. The answer is crayfishing. What kind of perv are you anyway?

It was our second annual crayfishing pilgrimage to Lowville, a picturesque park with trees, picnic tables, a playground and the above mentioned freezing cold, muddy stone infused creek. And okay, maybe pilgrimage is a bit of an exaggeration since the journey wasn’t that long and there was no shrine or moral significance. Unless you call me not yelling at my kids for a whole 5 HOURS morally significant, which I do, so we’ll stick with pilgrimage although I won’t refer to myself as a pilgrim since I’m not going to wear a heavy long-sleeved dress with a lace collar and petticoats.

We arrived at 11:00ish with the essentials needed to have a fun, productive day of crayfishing, coffee and timbits being at the top of the list. The kids ranged in age from 3 weeks to 11 years and although we drew the line at letting the 3 week old sludge through the water, the rest of the kids jumped in the ice cold creek and except for breaks to eat, pee and play in the park, that’s where they stayed for the next four hours. As mothers, and the responsible adults on site, our jobs were to chat amongst ourselves, make sure none of the kids drowned (because nothing puts a damper on a fun outing like a near death experience and frantic calls to 911), and put out the occasional fire by breaking up fights “I only pushed him because he threw my crayfish back in the river and now I’ll never get it back!" And yelling mommy-esque phrases like “Put your clothes back on!” or “Get the net off her head this instant!” A few of us went into the water with the kids to play for a few minutes here and there but for the most part it was about the adults enjoying themselves and the kids enjoying themselves, separately.

It was a day that reminded me of my childhood. A time when summers were about playing with friends for hours on end……..unsupervised. My parents didn’t play with us, nor did they hover over us like stealth helicopters swooping in when fights started or dangerous activities occurred like hanging upside down on the monkey bars or riding our banana bikes with no hands. There were no structured activities, no summer camps, no video games. My parents sent us out to play and we were to come home when it was dinnertime and after dinner, when the streetlights came on. If a fight broke out among our group of friends, we were left to figure out how to fix it or risk being ostracized for the rest of the summer. If one of us got hurt, the rest banded together to help us hobble home for the age-old remedy of mecurichrome, bandaids and a freezie. 9 times out of 10, we were off and running again within minutes.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t supervise our children and there are definitely things that have changed for the better.

Like pointed metal lawn darts. I have great memories of playing lawn darts with my family in our back yard. My sister and I would pair up with one of our parents and stand behind the yellow hoops watching as the pointed metal projectiles came sailing across the yard towards us, sometimes missing us by mere inches while we looked on and laughed. My mom, all long legs and blonde hair, would clap her hands in encouragement and help us throw, my dad with his straw cowboy hat perched upon his head, a beer in one hand and red lawn dart in the other, would occasionally take a break to see if the charcoal on our bbq had finally heated to the point where it would cook food thoroughly enough to avoid sending us rushing to the nearest hospital, our insides liquified and pouring out our bums from food poisoning. More often than not, it needed more lighter fluid resulting in a burst of flames and singed eyebrows.

In retrospect, I wonder what the hell they were thinking letting us stand three inches behind the hoops watching javelins speed through the air towards our bodies like we had a target painted on our chest. So it’s a good thing that metal lawn darts have been banned and now come with a round, weighted bottom. Still all the fun minus the element of death.

But I wonder what our kids are missing out on now that free time needs to be penciled in after homework and structured activities and playing unsupervised is almost unheard of? How will they learn to resolve conflict if parents are swooping in to resolve it for them? How will the learn independence when parents are there to watch over their every move and drive them wherever they need to go?

Recently, I hooked up with some old friends on facebook, people I went with to elementary school. And talking with them brought back great memories from my childhood. There was Alan who was like a brother to me. We used to go bike riding with our other friend Ron almost every day after school and on weekends. We’d ride throughout the neighbourhood and to parks miles from home, out for hours on end running home only to eat or get changed. Or when Barb, Lynn and I, unbeknownst to our parents, pooled our money and bought a pet gerbil, each bringing him home for one week at a time until we got busted.

I admit that my childhood consisted of stupid dangerous stunts. I once jumped off my best friend's garage roof onto a pile of sand (but only once since I sprained my ankle and was yelled at by both my mom and my friend's mom and we were banned from her backyard for a good part of the summer), put pennies on railway tracks seconds before the train came along, gave my friends rides on my handlebars - no helmets for either of us - and there was the time my dad thought it would be a good idea to teach a 10 year old how to drive a moped – I still have a scar where the exhaust pipe landed on my leg when it tipped over.

Perhaps the pendulum swung a bit too far in the other direction when it came to supervision back in our parents' and grandparents' day. But somewhere in between there has to be a happy medium where we can ensure, to some degree, our kids are safe and then it's up to us to let them go be kids, unstructured and free where they can run and play without toys or video games, without having to be the best, without worrying that they are falling behind. Playing with their friends and figuring things out on their own and yes, making mistakes. And one day they too will grow up and look back and think "what the hell were my parents thinking?" And like me, it will be with a smile on their face.

In the words of Dory from Nemo………..Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun for little Harpo.

The Reason My Son Understands Sarcasm

2008-08-24T20:41:00.008-04:00

Good morning Honey! How was your sleep? Did you have good dreams? Kisses!

Mummy, did you know that your breath smells really yucky in the morning?

Honey, did you know I wiped your ass for 6 years and contrary to popular belief, it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Breakfast?

All I'm saying

2008-08-22T08:16:00.005-04:00

All I'm saying is don't get on one of these

If you don't want these

That's all I'm saying.

When Ya Gotta Go, Ya Gotta Go

2008-08-19T08:16:00.007-04:00

Before I write what I’m about to write, I’d like to preface this by saying I love my in-laws to the ends of the earth and back. They are good, kind, loving people who welcomed me into their family with open arms. These are two good good people. Good in the sense that everything they do is because they have your best interest at heart. Good in the sense that when they completely bugger up, you can’t get mad because at the core of the buggering, they had your best interest at heart. Even when you accidentally find out your son really isn’t allergic to sesame seeds because they scraped them off the bagel before they fed it to him. Good people. Love em.

Having said that, and there is always the possibility that I am wrong, because it does occasionally happen although I will deny any wrongness I may have accrued during this lifetime until they have dragged my cold dead body from my house.

So it’s quite possible I’m wrong when I say I think my father-in-law peed on our house today. Literally. Peed. On our house.

I could be wrong.

But I really think he did.

He’s been coming to our house every few days to make out coach house liveable – for free – and he brings me coffee when he shows up to do work (See what I mean? These are good good people) so we can rent it out and continue to live in our house without fear of the bank people showing up at our door with a lighter in one hand and our mortgage papers in the other due to Lackeous o’ Casheous (also known as “your writing better start making us money otherwise the next thing you’ll be typing is a Walmart application”).

So there I was at the computer typing non-Walmart related words, although nothing quite as compelling as house-peeing, when I saw his car pull up and with lightning speed he jumped out of the car, slammed the door and raced down the side of my house like a man being chased by the Hound of the Baskervilles.

Curious, I walked to our back door to see what was making my Father-in-law the new Usain Bolt. But even more curiously, he was nowhere to be seen. So I walked to our front door and waited. Abut 30 seconds later he reappeared, walking, not running, and proceeded to open the trunk of his car, remove his tools and nonchalantly walk to our coach house to resume his work.

Like I said, I could be wrong…

I have nothing against peeing in odd places. Having two young boys, it stands to reason that my life is filled with inappropriate peeing.

They have peed in parks, on trees, in laneways, on the floor, and in every body of water imagineable. Our backyard fence is a particular favorite having been peed on spring, summer, fall and one penis freezing day in the midst of winter, with their backs turned to me, snowpants bundled at their ankles and parkas covering only the top half of their shivering white bums. I was grateful that they took off their mittens before attempting to draw frosty the snowman with their vitamin-colored, neon-yellow pee.

My most memorable inappropriate pee was when he promised before we drove up to the doors of the car wash, “No mummy, I no need to pee. Let’s go!” Once trapped inside, his little bladder started expanding by the second and the water spraying in every direction quickly turned a code yellow situation into a code red, it was only with a steady hand and empty plastic bottle that we managed to avert disaster.

I’ve been known, from time to time, to partake in inappropriate peeing myself. Occasionally even sober.

The fact is, young or old, boy or girl, standing or squatting, peeing is the great equalizer. If ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

Which I do, right now.

The Floods

2008-08-12T14:51:00.011-04:00

Sorry I haven't written. I've been busy. Building an ark.

Bloody rain.

I'm sure you all have your own list of Things That Suck. No. 1 on my list is having both kids all summer long, day and night, week in and week out in what has turned out to be the wettest summer in the history of summers. I didn't even have to make that up. We broke a record. There's never been a summer this wet...EVER. These are the same kids I didn't sign up for camp because I was planning on being able to take them.......out. Anywhere. Except the mall. Thirteen times in one week.

It turns out that having both kids holed up in the house during the Ark Festival has left me without fodder for my blog. Actually, not so much without fodder. Just the same fodder every single day.

Wake up
Fighting
Timeout
Whining
Timeout
Hitting
Timeout
Crying
Timeout
Namecalling

I'm bored Mom, there's nothing to do
You have 7 kajillion toys, go FIND something

Lunch

Wakeup
Fighting
Timeout
Whining
Timeout
Hitting
Timeout
Crying
Timeout
Namecalling

Bedtime

In between all the fighting and name calling, I did manage to create a new calendar system. I'll be the first to tell you that my initial reaction at the toilet backing up - twice - was not necessarily a positive one (&*%$#&%) but it turns out you can turn anything into a positive including shit overflowing on to your floor.

While standing helpless in front of the toilet as I watched the water rise.....and rise.....and rise "How much toilet paper did you use Adam?" at first silently praying that it would stop before it reached the edge and then as it continued to creep up towards the rim, the panic set in and deep down inside I knew that all the handle jiggling in the world was not going to stop this sewage from rising to overflowing levels but I kept jiggling just in case this was the one time in the history of overflowing toilets that it would work and my silent prayers were no longer silent and phrases like "please god, don't let this toilet overflow" turned into "where's the fucking plunger?" Yep, wasn't exactly sending out the positive vibes at that particular moment in time.

But in the end, it turned out to be a good thing because all the rainy days trapped inside with two boys hell bent on killing each other were blending and I was having a difficult time differentiating Monday from tuesdaywednesdaythursdsayfridaysaturdaysunday. So having Niagara Falls in my bathroom turned out to be a good marker for my days. The first toilet backup happened on a Friday, that was three days ago, so it must be Monday. It's a great system. Only I don't think it will last much longer as I've implemented a new Toilet Paper Boot Camp in hopes of teaching Adam that it's not necessary to use 13+ wipes when going to the bathroom and if the wipes don't have anything on them, the job is done even if he "senses" there is more poop to be wiped. Clean wipe = no poop.

So I apologize I haven't written. The ark is only half done and my hands are raw from the bleach.

If you're really bored, Danny Evans from Dad Gone Mad is hoping to break into the Dick Spam writing business and needs creative references for penis. Go help him out - he'll even give you credit when he starts writing dick spam.

Do You Miss It?

2008-08-01T19:34:00.020-04:00

I went to a meeting in the Big City today, not to be confused with the Small City where I currently reside which is on the outskirts of said Big City where I resided pre-children. The Small City is reserved for suburbanites, people with children and those who cannot afford to live in the Big City. Currently we fall into all three categories.

When I worked in the Corporate Finance Department of Mega Bucks Bank, the meetings were limitless: daily meetings, weekly meetings, numbers meetings, idea-generating meetings, strategic meetings, meetings in person, meetings on the phone, meetings in offices, meetings with graphs and my particular favorite… meetings about meetings. No meeting was too big or small for the likes of those bankers. In retrospect, it's a miracle the bank made money with the lack of work going on due to Pointlessinus Superfluous Meetinginus.

I left that job 6 ½ years ago when Adam was born. For the most part I’m happy and content with my decision to be a stay at home mother but there are those odd moments, mostly after a day of Button Pusher pushing every single one of my buttons...twice

Or a day refereeing fights about who got their milk first (I swear I put them down at the Exact. Same. Moment.) and why they need to brush their teeth daily – yes EVERY day. Because I said so. Your teeth get dirty when you eat. No you can’t skip a day. Because your teeth will fall out of your head and you won’t be able to eat cookies anymore, now go brush!, when I look back and miss those days. The days when I worked outside the home and contributed financially to our household and was invited to meetings. The meetings made me feel important.

This particular meeting I needed to attend was organized weeks ago because the Yummy Mummy Club is launching a new website and after many months of work, it’s almost ready to go live so we now had to learn the ins and outs of making it work.

As a stay at home mother, my life is no longer filled with meetings in the Big City, it is not usually filled with meetings of any kind, a fact that became all too apparent when I rifled through my closet to find “meeting” clothes. It seems my meeting clothes had hooked up with my fancy dress clothes and taken off to the local bar for a night of drinking and debauchery leaving behind 3 pairs of Bermuda shorts, two pairs of sweatpants, a $16 cotton dress and 17 white t-shirts. I’m drawn to white t-shirts with their crisp, luminous, brand-new feel. Their freshness calls out to me and fools me into believing I too will feel fresh and new if I wear them, only to be disappointed five minutes into my crisp, fresh adventure when my children manage to stain my virginal shirt with some substance that will never be removed no matter how many pre-treatments or how much bleach I use.

Decked out in my t-shirt dress which graduated to meeting wear by default, Paul and the kids drove me to the train station for my trip to the Big City. Kisses planted and pre-emptive threats firmly in place “If you don’t listen to Nonno and Nonna when you’re at their house today, I swear to god you will never be able to bring a snail into this house again (Adam) and I will grind Beary Bear into mulch (Liam)” off I marched alongside my fellow brothers in arms to make my way to the Big City. Only my brothers in arms all brought laptops and newspapers and blackberries… and nobody really likes to talk. Especially not the man in the navy suit sitting next to me who put in his ear plugs when I asked how he was doing this morning.

Oh well…..I guess I’ll just sit and think of all the smart questions I’ll ask at my meeting.

Hmmmmm…….

Or maybe I’ll just meditate.

Not soon enough, the train pulls into the station and the crush of people pushes off the train to make their way to the subway. In case you too, in your current life, do not have many meetings held in the Big City, crushes of people are rude. Very rude. And angry too. Made even angrier when you happen to stop in your tracks to read a sign that will tell you where the fuck you are because the train let you off in some godforsaken underground rat maze. So stop bloody well pushing me. I don’t know where I am, do you fucking understand that?

Shoving aside, I manage to grab a bagel and find the subway which gives me a feeling of accomplishment so vast I can only compare it to that of an archaeologist finding the Lost City of Atlantis (which I would imagine is a very Big City so I’m not sure how it can be so elusive but I bet when they do find it, they’ll feel like I did when I found the subway and kept my sugar levels from plummeting to the depths of hell) and make my way to Erica’s house where we hop in her vehicle and make our way to the meeting.

Only to find out there is no meeting, it has to be rescheduled because there was a glitch in the programming and the website is not working.

Fuck.

But all was not lost. Erica and I had a great lunch and managed to do some other work that was much funner in person than over the phone.

With the adventure now behind me, I made my way back home and as I walked through the door to be greeted by a stampeding herd of two, faces beaming as they threw their arms around me in welcome, I couldn’t help but think….I don’t miss it at all.

Something In Common

2008-07-30T17:50:00.007-04:00

I took the kids to an indoor playground today called Balls of Fun which is ironic since it's the name of the indoor playground Paul and I have been entertaining ourselves at for 12 years.*

* 9 1/2 years if you are my inlaws.

The Accident

2008-07-29T21:13:00.006-04:00

I saw the aftermath of an accident today. A horrible accident. I must have missed it by only a few moments - but it was a moment for them that may become the new timeline of their lives, a timeline they wish they never had. Before and After the Accident. Everything was changed in an instant.

A mini-van was hit by a semi-tractor trailor. A semi-tractor trailor against a mini-van. There is no competition. I froze at a green light and couldn't move. I don't how it happened but the end result was a van almost bent in half, airbags deployed on all sides. Good samaritans were already at the scene helping, offering comfort and doing the best they could, but no ambulances or firetrucks had arrived yet.

Were there children in the van? Was there space between the crumpled van wall and their seats? Was there any room for leeway? Were they hurt? Because I can't imagine anyone walking away without injuries from the tangled debris that only moments before was a vehicle. Did they see it coming and say "oh my god" like I did? Where are they now?

I've had two glasses of wine tonight and can't get this van, this family, because who drives a mini-van except for parents wanting more room for their brood and all the "stuff" that entails, out of my head. I told my husband about the accident when I got home and as we were talking we heard the sirens. I think they were going to the accident. I hope they helped. I hope that nobody was hurt. I hope their children got stuffed teddy bears like mine did. And I hope like mine, their bears will only be to help with the emotional aftermath and not because they were scared and trapped and hurt. I hope they were all able to walk away. I hope that when they drive again, they don't flinch everytime a car passes. I hope they don't have to give their kids car accident magic every night before they go to bed. Or maybe I do....because that means they're okay and unscathed.

I'm so not over our accident.

New Blogs

2008-07-29T08:30:00.002-04:00

Although there isn't anything new posted here, I did write two articles and submitted them to a contest. Have a great read and if you like them, take a moment to vote.

The Mom I Admire

The Little Lie

Thunderstorms and Nightmares

2008-07-26T08:09:00.005-04:00

Sleeping alongside a six year old boy is like sleeping alongside a skittish pony........... with eight legs.

The Mom Show - Part Deux

2008-07-21T21:26:00.011-04:00

It turns out that someone on the Mom Show has replaced their morning coffee with hallucinogens because two weeks after my disastrous Marilyn Mansonesque, head banded hair, spitting out brand names like a wood chipper spitting out…..well wood chips for crying out loud – where did you think that metaphor was going - child with spatulayan refusal taping, I received an email that said this:

Hi Sharon,
A Colleague of mine at the Mom Show passed along your information stating that you did an excellent job here on that show, and that I should invite you to be part of our show: Doctor in the House, a family medical health program now filming our second season.

Suffice it to say, after I picked myself off the floor and changed my wet pants from laughing so hard, I ran out to tell my dear husband.

After he picked himself up off the ground and changed his wet pants, he suggested that this time I actually have a shower before going on t.v.

11 years together and his brilliance still astounds me.

So off I went again to tape not just one show but five shows in one sitting with four other women I've never met. This time though....I was prepared. I was resolute in the fact that I would NOT, absolutely and without a doubt, as god as my witness they're not going to lick me! I'm going to live through this, and when it's all over - If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness, I will NOT make a complete ass of myself again (sorry Scarlett).

And just because going on t.v. a second time ensconsed in the idea that I would need to be more brilliant than I have ever been in my whole entire life (topping even the brilliance of pitching to Tostitos a commercial with the theme song Nacho Nacho Man. I've got to be, a Nacho man. Nacho nacho man. I've got to be a Nacho. Ow!) wasn’t pressure enough, I thought it would be a good idea to bring both boys along for the ride. Two of them. Boys. Ages four and six. Forced to be quiet for four hours. The same boys who fight when they pee "look at my light sabre Adam pa-chow!" I guess I like a challenge.

Or I’m insane.

And possibly because I didn’t realize that it would be taped in the second floor of a house that was converted into a bookstore in 36 degree – humidex included at no extra charge - weather.

But it wasn’t as bad as I imagined.

Except for my bobble head. And my zoning out. And forgetting my question 10 seconds after having it read to me. And the hands that were surgically removed from a mime on amphetamines and transplanted onto my wrists. Why won’t these things stop moving?

I’m hoping the Doctor in the House will be able to prescribe me some sedatives.

Moments

2008-07-19T19:51:00.007-04:00

A lifetime is made up of moments. Good moments, bad moments and the moments in between that are so beige in their mediocrity we barely notice as they march past us flaunting their blandness. But those are the moments we should notice. The beige moments make up the biggest part of our lives. It’s never an all encompassing high followed by a gut wrenching low like some outlandish roller coaster made by Walt Disney on acid. Our lives have good moments like births and birthdays, weddings and anniversaries, silly giggles and guffaws of laughter followed by complete utter normalcy. So normal we recognize it only by its monotony and boredom. But then boredom is torn apart by death or illness, by accidents and wars and we find ourselves wishing for beige again.

Parenting is all moments; second to second, minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day, until one morning you wake up and realize your children have grown. The pink, wrinkly stranger you took home from the hospital is now a toddler, a child, a teenager….an adult. Parenting has to be about moments. If you spend too much time staring directly into the face of the big picture pondering every move you make and how it will affect the outcome, their outcome, the fear will immobilize you.

Of course it’s good to occasionally step back and take a look at the bigger picture because we all have a sense of what we want our kids to be and how we wish them to be raised. Catholic or Jewish, university or trade school, acceptance or judgement, forgiveness or grudges. The bigger picture is there to see if we’ve veered off course and if so, allows us to use our parenting radar to find the blips onscreen that will get us back on course. Ahoy Matey! Little Johnny was sent home for bullying! Iceberg straight ahead!

But for the most part, it’s about the moments. The quiet moments when you sit down and read with the kids. The stressed out moments trying to get them ready and out the door for school “C’mon! We’re going to be late again! What do you mean you don’t know where your boots are? What project?” The happy moments when you were drenched to the bone from an impromptu water fight or giggled at something silly.

And then there’s the tearful moments where you put them to bed, found a quiet corner and cried silently. Because today there were more bad moments than good. Today there was more yelling than laughing. There was more irritation at the muddy footprints on the floor than excitement at the seed they had secretly scooped from their apple and planted in the garden in hopes of growing a tree.

Today there were battles over homework and nagging about clothes on the floor. Today there was even a smack as frustration levels grew to the boiling point and beyond.

So tonight there is a tearful moment and your mind can’t help but wander into the unmitigated territory of the Big Picture. Was today the day I sent them off course for the rest of their lives? Will they need therapy? Will they forgive me?

Will the memory of this bad moment day be forever engraved in their brains never to be forgotten?

The irony is that you will only know when they have grown into adults. When they have children of their own. You will watch from the sidelines and hear the words you spoke to them throughout their childhood come from their mouths. Words that will either make you glow with pride or cringe with shame.

Adam is six and is just coming to a point in his life where he’s defining his own moments and learning how it intertwines with the big picture.

When he came up with the idea to raise money for cancer, it was all about the big picture and helping people he didn’t know. He had never met an individual with cancer nor could he understand what it encompasses. But along the way while running through the park and asking for donations, he also had moments that helped define his big picture.

One moment came when he was asked to present the money he had collected to the Terry Fox Tour of Hope. His excitement at meeting Darrell Fox and being able to go in the Terry Fox van “The actual van he slept in Mum! Not an actor van like in the movie!” was electric. Unless you were comatose, you couldn’t help but be caught up in his enthusiasm.

Below is a video of Adam presenting his money to Darrell Fox. For me, it was a moment of such magnitude, of such pride, I felt I might burst into a million pieces of confetti and float to the ground.

But this isn’t about my moment. It’s about Adam’s moment and it's near the end of the video. It’s the moment after Adam is presented with a specially minted Terry Fox coin. When he is first given the folder you can see he doesn’t understand the prize that is within. While the MC is still talking, Adam opens it and is looking with curiosity at his newfound treasure and then it happens. His eyes spot the coin and he has his moment, a moment so full of pure joy and excitement “oh my god” that it makes my heart ache. Ache because once you reach adulthood, those pure joyful moments are few and far between. And ache because I want him to remember this moment forever with every ounce of my being. It’s a moment I hope is forever engraved on his brain.

And for all of you who are now reading this and thinking I have lost sight of the big picture….that there are too many good stories about my kids and not enough bad….while taping this video, my ass was soaking wet. Why? Because Liam felt he was not experiencing enough good moments for himself while Adam was practically bathing in them. Being his mother, this was my fault. So he dumped a bottle of water on me. I at least had the presence of mind to turn off the camera before I started swearing.

It’s all about the moments.

Why is there a penis in my garden?

2008-07-11T14:17:00.012-04:00

One thing you should know about me is that I will try anything once. I have tried and failed more activities than I can count. And counting is one of the things I can do. I'm a good counter. Not to brag or anything but I can count quite high although most days I am only given the opportunity to count to three.

The one thing I can not do.... and oh how I've tried time and time again, wishing and praying that just this once I will be successful....is growing plants. I am the Medusa of plants and can turn any thriving lush green vegetation into shrivelled tumbleweeds blowing in the wind with a mere glance. Horticulturists run screaming when they see me approach, ripping their own plants out of the ground rather than leave them to my blackened thumb.

My problem seems to lay not so much in in growing the plant as it is in maintaining the plant. The growing is easy. Seed. Dirt. Water. Sun. Plant grows.

Simple

But it seems that once the plant has grown, having enough gall to pop through the soil in an attempt to garner sunlight, I simply forget it needs maintenance. I will remember to water it only when it has wilted and is mere seconds away from certain death. I don't know why this happens. I've never forgotten to feed my children. Nor have they ever become dehydrated on my watch. My only explanation for my watering defect is that I'm missing the genetic genome which allows human beings to remember to water their plants.

So when my friend Kym dropped by with Hens and Chicks for my garden, I explained that she would better serve those cute Hens and Chicks by driving to the nearest desert, throwing them out the window at 100 km an hour in hopes that they will somehow root in the sand and thus giving them a much better chance at surviving than being left alone with me.

No Sharon, she said. Nobody can kill Hens and Chicks. It's simply not possible.

I put my hand on Kym's arm, glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot and explained in a hushed whisper.....I've killed a cactus.

But like my husband who keeps hoping and praying every month I will pay the bills on time, Kym had faith in me. Apparently Sempervivum globiferum is latin for "yes, even a dumbass, slack-jawed yokel like you can keep us alive." So off I went to my garden to plant the unkillable, hardy Hens and Chicks.

Kym was right. I didn't kill them. And now every day when shuffle through my back door into our yard to sit and enjoy my morning coffee, this is what I'm greeted with.

My Dilemma

2008-07-11T08:30:00.005-04:00

I apologize to everyone who has been swinging by MTUS this past week only to view the same blog about botox that has been up since July 1. It seems I have somewhat of a writing dilemma.

You see, I love to write. I never actually knew I could write until last year when I started this blog. My dad is a writer so there was always the nagging voice in the back of my mind that maybe I could too but my mom also had a talent for knitting and crocheting beautiful sweaters and blankets. I only ever ended up entwined in wool like a fly in a spiderweb. When I was finally able to crochet my first line of intricate knots, I went running to the next room proudly waving the links in her face only to realize they had unravelled on the short trip from living room to kitchen.

I tried other things. Painting, pottery, running, calligraphy, creative photo albums....the underside of my bed is filled with projects started with enthusiasm but never completed. In the words of Jim Morrison they didn't light my fire.

And then I tried writing.

I knew I could tell stories and make people laugh but I had never put ~~pen to paper~~ fingers to keyboard. The reason I started this blog was to see if I could get what's in my head onto ~~paper~~ screen and even in the year that I've been writing, I've seen a marked improvement. There is less babbling and more story telling (I apologize to my friends, family and husband as this hasn't trickled over into real life).

Well...what's up Sharon? What's the dilemma then?

The dilemma is that I've started to write articles to submit for publication. Normally anything I write I put on my blog. In fact, I'm one of the few people who actually writes ON the blog template itself. I don't write in Word, edit and re-edit and then cut and paste into the blog. I actually write in the blog. Some of you may have noticed this when you've read a blog entry only to come back later and find it slightly changed. You're not insane. I changed it.

You're submitting articles Sharon? That's great!

It is great but it's also not so great. Most publications want first printing rights to an article. This means it can't have been published anywhere else......even a blog.....especially a blog.

Hmmmmm......I see where you're going with this Sharon.

So there's my dilemma. I've written over the past ten days. I wrote a fantastic article - probably one of my best ever - on Adam losing his first tooth.

And I want to put it up on MTUS for everyone to read.

But I've also submitted it to some magazines and would like to have it published.

I'm on vacation for the next week so I'm going to leave the question with you, my trusted readers.

What's a girl to do?

Botox - Love it or Hate it

2008-07-01T08:29:00.003-04:00

This month at the Yummy Mummy Club, Erica and I wrote conflicting articles on botox.

To Botox or Not To Botox...That is the Question

I Hate Botox

I'd love to hear your comments and viewpoints on both the articles! If you leave a comment here, please let me know if it can be published on the Yummy Mummy Club website.

Grocery Shopping Should Not Be a Full Contact Sport

2008-06-25T10:15:00.011-04:00

There was an interesting article in Maclean’s magazine last month. Turns out that Loblaws, the country’s largest food retailer, suffered a loss for the first time in 19 years. And in order to turn that around, Galen Weston Jr. is turning his attention to healthy products that have a conscience.

Well let me fill ya in on a little secret Mr. Executive Chairman of the Loblaws companies. In order to get people to shop at your stores, you may want to spend a little less time meeting with your executives and a little more time talking to your customers. Because it’s not a lack of healthy products with a conscience that’s driving away your customers.

Have you actually shopped in one of your stores lately? Actually gone incognito and bought food and experienced the “joy that is shopping at Loblaws?” I’m pretty sure you haven’t. Nor have any of your marketing executives. Or any of the other underlings who are coming up with your idiotic marketing schemes to promote your chain of stores. In fact, I’d lay down good money and say wife is lying to you when she says she shops at your stores.

We’re good friends, right Galen? I’ve been shopping at you chain of stores for years and feel like we’ve reached the point in our relationship where we can be honest with each other. A little bit of honesty between friends. No harm done.

You’re customer service bites the big one Galen. It’s total crap. And as an aside, you run out of staples. Staples Galen. No, not the staples that hold paper together. Staples as in things we moms need to buy on a regular basis, like ketchup. Do you have any inkling what it’s like to have no ketchup and go to one of your stores and find it’s sold out? And not just the healthy ketchup with a conscience, Galen. You’re out of the cheap, crappy no name brand too. Do you have kids Galen? ‘Cause if you do, you’d know that ketchup is not a condiment, it’s a food group. When I run out of ketchup and go to your store to buy more and find that you too have run out, it really throws a wrench into our family dynamics Galen.

But back to customer service. You know how you’ve come up with those cute little signs above cooking stations that offer freshly prepared takeout meals? Like “Scrumplings” and “Gotcha Foccacia”. Probably took quite a bit of money to pay the marketing execs to come up with those catchy slogans. Gotcha Foccacia! Whew! That one gets me every time Galen.

Here’s a bit of friendly advice for you. Use the money to teach the people behind the counter that their job is to serve customers, that when they see a customer standing waiting to be served, they should actually be served (I know, I know....it’s a weird concept but after a few intensive training sessions, they should get the swing of it). What they shouldn’t do is turn away from the customer, proceed to prepare two pizzas, put them in the oven, clean up, wipe their hands and only then finally come over to see if we want anything. Especially when the customer in question has two boys a fightin' (but thankfully no partridge in a pear tree) and yelling “Why is this taking so long Mummy?”

Here’s another pertinent fact that you may wish to teach your counter people - if there were no customers, there would be no need to put the pizzas in the oven at all. Do you get that? You see Galen….when a mother is at your cooking station wanting a freshly prepared takeout meal, it’s because she’s exhausted and at the end of her rope. She’s had a rough week and on a Friday afternoon at 5:00, she’s at her wits’ end and her last resort is to pick up dinner and stick her kids in front of a DVD while she pours a glass of wine in hopes of having 10 seconds of peace and quiet and regain her sanity. So when your counter workers decide to cook food instead of serving the mothers who are hanging by a thread, they are actually taking their lives in their own hands. Hey! There’s an idea. Take some of that marketing money you spent on “Scrumplings” to raise the counter height so mothers can’t jump over and strangle your servers with their bare hands. Might save you a bit on insurance Galen.

Sadly the Gotcha Foccacia counter is not the least of your worries. Oh no, you have much bigger fish to fry Galen. Namely, the medieval, torturous gauntlet, the area of your stores that causes such fear and anxiety, mothers have been known to lose control of their bowels as they approach. I believe you refer to it as “the checkout counters”.

Nobody can accuse you of not having a sense of humour Galen. Especially not the hopeful mothers who walk in and see Twelve! Checkout! Counters! Twelve. You are a god Galen. Only as we approach the gauntlet, it appears…no this can’t be, can it? There are only two checkout counters open. Two? And each checkout has a line all the way to the first food aisle so that the rest of us who are still shopping can’t get through. By the way, good going on making that first aisle your cookie, candy, mint and gum aisle. It makes the whole line up experience that much more enjoyable when we have to stand and listen to our children asking, Can we have some cookies mummy? Can I have some gum? Why not? Please Mummy? Pleeeeeeeeeeaase? I'll promise I'll never ask for anything again. Why not Mummy? I HATE you mummy. You're the worst mummy in the world. Shopping is stupid.

So there we are, two line-ups of harried women with hair greying by the second and carts full to the brim with melting ice cream and screaming, crying, whining, “I’m so tired, why is the taking so loooooooooooong Mummy?” children. Why only two Galen? I’ve tried to figure it out. I’ve spent hours pondering the question…Why are only two checkout counters open when they built 12? The only answer I could come up with is that you’re a closet sadist and enjoy inflicting pain upon exhausted, sleep-deprived, trying not to scream at their children, mothers.

I will give credit where credit is due. Whoever came up with the idea of placing the wine store right outside the checkout area was brilliant. Brilliant! Should be giving that guy a raise Galen. That was a winning idea - I bet that wine store makes a killing on Friday afternoons when the two checkout lines are moving slower than a turtle stuck in molasses.

The fact is, I could go on and on and on – this would be the never-ending blog with my what were you thinking questions. The hot wheels cars dangling in every aisle like carrots on a stick? The milk that is on the complete opposite end of the store from the bread forcing me to run a short marathon every week? The self-checkout counters? Let’s not even go there Galen because I think in your heart of hearts (and sorry to get all Oprahish here on you), that a mother with children forced to use the self-checkout counters is the cosmic equivalent to back waxing Robin Williams. Excruciatingly painful and not over fast enough.

So what are we going to do about this situation Galen? Healthy products with a conscience is just not going to cut it, you need to back it up and make shopping at your chain of stores, dare I say, enjoyable. I may be over-stepping the boundaries of our friendship Galen but I feel I must, even if it means losing our blossoming relationship. I'm willing to take one for the team Galen. Here it is….one word that will hopefully change the way you view your stores….are you ready…...

Longo’s.

You need to run, run Galen, not walk to your nearest Longo’s and learn the difference between good customer service where people leave the store with a glowing almost orgasmic high or bad customer service where your customers leave in handcuffs charged with assault.

At Longo’s they not only allow you to sample fruit, they encourage it. Thanks to Longo’s my boys now like starfruit and some prickly looking thing that they never would have eaten for me even if threatened with no treats for the rest of their lives.

When I ordered party platters from their “ready made” counters, they not only had them ready and waiting, they helped me carry them through the store because it was a bit busy, being Christmas Eve day. Christmas Eve Day Galen! One of the busiest shopping days of the year and they had someone maneuver through the throngs of people and help get me out of the store.

And when we’re waiting in line at the checkouts? You’ll recognize it right away because it’s the line of counters at the front of the store with a cashier in every single one. Those ones. While we’re waiting in line and the boys are turning into werewolves without the help of a full moon, the checkout person will lean over and whisper “would they like a lollipop?” It’s at this point that I jump over the counter and kiss her screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!” It really is like an orgasmic high Galen. And just when you think to yourself that it can’t get any better, as my kids are happily licking lollipops and my bags are packed, loaded and ready to go, …..they call someone to push my cart to my van and help me unload the groceries. Unload my groceries Galen!

There you have it Galen. Just a friendly piece of advice from a mother who wants to help make your chain of stores a better place to shop. Healthy products with a conscience is good. Good customer service is better.

Gotta go now. I’m going shopping……I'll leave it to you to figure out where.

Monday Morning Ponderings

2008-06-23T07:44:00.005-04:00

I don't know what's worse.

Feeling terrible about being snappy and bitchy to my husband early Sunday morning

or

Calling him later on at work to apologize and having him tell me he didn't notice I was being snappy and bitchy.

Look Who Inherited My Cliff Claven-like Memory

2008-06-22T13:01:00.004-04:00

This is the reason I don't listen to my Eminim CD's in the van anymore.

The Fun Fair

2008-06-20T12:50:00.004-04:00

7:45 p.m. – Exterior shot - Adam’s schoolyard. Liam screaming at the top of his lungs, covered form head to toe in mud as his exhausted and frazzled mother carries him kicking and screaming across the blacktop in front of 150 parents, teachers and kids.

Mummy! You’re choking me Mummy! You’re choking me! It hurts! Stop it Mummy! Stop! You’re hurting me.

Hmmphhh….that’s only number five on the list of things I want to do to you right now Liam. Not another word or so help me god…..Oh great!! You’re in SO much trouble for kicking me with those muddy feet. Liam. Liam! Get back here right now!

Two hours earlier

Get ready boys! We’re going to the Fun Fair!

Every year at Adam’s school they have a Fun Fair to raise money for the school and give the kids a chance to celebrate the beginning of the end of the school year.

Or so they say.

‘Cause I know the teachers are all laughing at us parents as we try to corral our little angels, the same angels who got notes home from school because they weren't listening, who were sent to the office for talking back, who refused to sit when the teacher said sit, from one game to another and waiting ten minutes in a line-up for a bouncy slide ride that is completed in 7.6 seconds – I know, I timed it. Ha ha ha, they laugh as the kids whine about the long wait. “Look at that one over there”, they say “if she thinks two are hard, she should try twenty. Did you know she didn’t volunteer once this year?” snicker snicker.

But I was determined that we would have a Fun! Time! at the Fun! Fair! We packed up our blanket and wet naps and trodded over to the school, the boys giddy with anticipation, to get our pizza and drinks and have a picnic in the schoolyard before the fun ensued.

It was a beautiful evening. It had rained throughout the day, quite the downpour actually, but the evening was warm with a slight breeze and warm fluffy clouds strewn throughout the sky. That should have been my first warning that I was screwed.

Pizza finished, off we went to play games, enter the draws and have fun on the different bouncy castles. It was all going quite well. Perhaps I am a good mother. Maybe our family was meant to have a fun time. Maybe all the previous episodes of tantrums and meltdowns during our outings were just freakish nightmares and I’m really the June Cleaver of the New Millennium with well-behaved kids, freshly baked desserts, a perpetual smile, white pumps and string of pearls.

Huh? Where did Liam go?

Or maybe I’m just fucked.

Oh ya…there he is…in the giant mud puddle caused by the torrential downpour earlier today. Oh..look at that. The mud is actually so thick it pulled the shoes off his feet. Hmmm….he’s not liking that so much. Opa. Here we go.

Liam! Stop walking around in the mud. Just stand still! I’ll come and get you. Liam! LIAM! For crying out loud, stop freaking out and just stay still. DON’T! Don’t sit down. Jaysus! I’ll get your shoes! Just stay still. Why are you screaming? Take your hands out of the….Oh for Pete’s sakes. What is your problem. That’s just great. Now you’re covered in mud. Don’t even think about coming near…….stop hitting me right now! That’s it. You’re going home and going to bed. Enough is enough. Fine. You don’t want to walk? I’ll drag you if I have to.

7:45 p.m. – Exterior shot - Adam’s schoolyard. Liam screaming at the top of his lungs as his exhausted and frazzled mother carries him kicking and screaming across the blacktop in front of 150 parents, teachers and kids.

Mummy! You’re choking me Mummy! You’re choking me! It hurts! Stop it Mummy! Stop! You’re hurting me…

Next year I’m volunteering on the parent council to make sure there’s a tequila tent for the parents.

What The Hula's That?

2008-06-18T14:00:00.006-04:00

A few week’s ago while waiting for the end of day school bell to ring and the herd of kids to come barrelling through the doors, run up to their parents, hurl their backpacks on the ground and complain about their tough day at school, I started talking to one of the other mom’s. It was easy to start a conversation with Tori since she was the only person on the playground carrying a colourful, striped hula hoop.

Is that for one of your kids? I asked.

No, she replied. It’s a hula hoop for adults. I started my own business making and selling weighted hula hoops.

I responded in my typical eloquent fashion when confronted with startling news about something I know nothing about.

Huh?

Apparently Hooping is the newest, biggest trend in exercising. There are people all over the world finding their inner child and joining the Hooping craze, widdling down their waists in the process. If you want rock hard abs and some solid lower back muscles, hooping is the way to go. Who knew?

As usual, not me.

Since I like to try new things, I asked if I could borrow one. You can’t go to your local Walmart or Toys R’ Us store to buy a hoop made for exercising (at least not if you’re over 10). These customized hula hoops are weighted and have a larger diameter than the ones found at your local toy store. The larger size and added weight means it will rotate more slowly around your body, allowing even the clumsiest, most rhythmless, awkward, bumbling, uncoordinated amateurs to hoop with enthusiasm. Perfect! Sign me up!

Since I was new to the hooping craze I decided to start with a 1 ½ pound hoop and once I got the okay from my physiotherapist to hoop to my heart's content, I was off and ~~running~~ hooping.

I hadn’t hula-hooped since I was a kid and wasn’t hopeful about keeping it at my waist for any period of time. Between work, volunteering, two kids, a sore back from the car accident and the bevy of other activities in our family life, my hips haven’t been getting a lot of action lately. *wink wink nudge nudge*

But hooping was surprisingly easy. Too easy in fact. I hooped for a good 10 minutes on my first day. It made me feel like a kid again. Remember when you'd hula hoop as a kid and start to lose the rhythm and the hoop would slowly inch it's way down past your hips and you’d have to speed up like mad to get it back up again? Between the laughter and the challenge, I didn’t feel like I was getting a workout at all. It wasn’t until the next day when I could barely move and it hurt to laugh that I realized I had gotten a really really good ab workout (note: later after doing a search online I found out that you should start hooping at only 2 minutes a day to avoid being unable to move or laugh).

By far, the best thing about hooping was that it was fun. It didn’t feel like exercise and from the way my abs were feeling, it was much more effective than typical crunches.

So there you have it! I’m hooked on hooping. I’m actually part of a trend while it’s still cool and hip.

If you’re interested in hooping or buying a hoop (Canadian Made eh!) , visit Tori’s website at http://www.hoopingeh.com/.

I'm Going To Be On What?

2008-06-16T07:42:00.013-04:00

Last week I had the exciting opportunity to bring Adam to a taping of The Mom Show. Having me on The Mom Show is the equivalent of asking Rosanne Barr to conduct a seminar on the finer points of proper etiquette or Rachel Ray extolling the virtues of carefully marketing your name and not whoring yourself out to every offer that comes along (Dunkin' Donuts anyone?).

The taping of The Mom Show was early and we needed to be at the studios by 7:00 a.m. I woke up at 5:00 and decided against having a shower so I threw my hair in a headband, put on some makeup in the dark, got Adam ready and we were out the door by 6:00. We get to the studio and were seated in the Green Room which is very aptly named since I wanted to throw up when I finally woke up and realized that not showering, headbanded hair and Marilyn Mansonesqe makeup might not have been the best choice for appearing on t.v. Crap! I screamed running to the nearest bathroom, digging madly through my purse for a comb and some lipstick in hopes of improving a dire situation. Once again, my purse failed me offering up only three crumpled kleenexes, four wet naps, one button, one sippy cup half filled with old juice, the lense from a pair of Lightning McQueen sunglasses and $34.23 in change.

When I got back, they moved us to the studio to get ready for taping where they hooked us up to portable microphones (Lesson for the Day: If you're ever on a t.v. show and need to use the bathroom, have them shut off the microphone before you go. Probably not the best day for me to have bran for breakfast. Bran was a bad bad choice).

For those of you who have never seen The Mom Show, the set is the inside of a house. They shoot in the kitchen and the living room and have a playroom in the back where the children of the guests appearing on the show are playing. We were waiting in the playroom for the taping to begin and Adam, who is normally quite good at sharing, decided right then and there that nobody N-O-B-O-D-Y was going to use the plastic barbeque set except him. Especially not the two year old boy who was now attempting to abscond with the spatula and plastic hamburger creating the great 2008 spatula tug-o-war. I don't think Adam was expecting the two year old to have a meltdown due to spatulayan refusal, I know I wasn't. So there I am, a guest on The Mom Show, with my six year old traumatizing a two year old boy and all eyes are upon me to see what I'll do.

I did what any good mother would. I calmly walked over with a smile cemented on my face, knelt down beside Adam and said quietly through gritted teeth......"Give him the spatula or so help me god, I will never bring you anywhere ever again. Ever!"

Why Mummy?

Oh Jaysus, mary and joseph! (I get very religious when I'm mad) Now is not the time for questions. Give the boy the spatula. NOW.

Spatulas and plastic hamburgers now being shared, I sat back as the producers go over the last minute small details we need to know like not hitting our microphones and to HAVE! LOTS! OF! ENERGY! AND! FUN! Hmmm......They do know it's 7:00 a.m., don't they? But most importantly, the rule we need to remember at all times, the most important rule, we can't stress this enough....Do not use brand names. I repeat, do not use brand names. Kleenex is now tissue, Tylenol is acetaminophen, Bandaids are....what the hell would bandaids be? Mental Note: Bandaids are off limits, bandaids are off limits, bandaids are off limits.

Turns out I focused too much on the bandaids.

Today on The Mom Show we're talking about what we have in our medicine cabinets. Sharon, what's the most important thing you have in your medicine cabinet?

Tylenol.

Fuck.

I don't think they'll be asking me back.

Happy Father's Day

2008-06-15T09:30:00.009-04:00

When you write, your writing is from your viewpoint alone. That means the people you write about can get the shit end of the stick, in this case, my husband. This isn't going to be a Father's Day post slagging Paul. It's quite possible that you may have gotten the wrong idea about Paul and his parenting from my blog but contrary to popular belief, I actually appreciate Paul and all he does for me, for the boys, for the family and everyone else who is lucky enough to have him in their lives.

So today there is something I want to make abundently clear.

For every blog about Paul chasing the kids around the house with bags on their heads until they crash into the table, there are ten blogs I didn't write about the cool stuff he does with the kids and how he starts playing with them them moment he gets home from work, even when he's exhausted.

For every blog I write slagging him for not doing his share of the housework, there are one hundred I should write about how much he actually does around the house.

For every blog I write cursing his lack of romance, I'm actually relieved that his love is more practical because I'm not a flower person and the gifts he gives me are reminders of how much he loves and thinks about me when he's not here. Plus they won't die and leave me cleaning mogey water in a week's time.

For every blog I write about his occassional lapses of judgements, lapses so greased in ridiculousness that if I were to kill him, a court would set me free as it would be deemed justifiable homicide, there are one thousand I could write about how I aspire to be the parent he is.

For every blog I write about how he's trying to kill me, there are an infinite number of stories where Paul patiently walked with the our babies all night long to let me sleep because giving birth makes me go crazy, how he will calmly take over when I'm about to lose it, or how he will simply rub my back when it's sore.

So this one's for you Paul. You have more patience in your little finger than I have in my entire body. You are thoughtful and loving. Our boys will be great fathers some day because you have shown them what a father should be. You are the parent I aspire to be and I am thankful every single day that you are in our lives.

I'd tell you all of this in person only it's Father's Day, the boys are fighting, I'm doing laundry and you ran out of the house at 8:30 this morning to "go to Home Depot" and haven't been seen since.

Cause ya gotta have faith

2008-06-13T10:54:00.013-04:00

Being a parent means you have to answer questions each and every day. Not a day goes by where parents aren't asked an onslaught of different questions.

Some of the questions are easy. Mummy, can we go to the park? Sure. Can I have ice cream for dinner? No.

Some of the questions need to be researched before they are answered. Mummy, what do snails eat? I don't know hon, let's google it.

Some of the questions can be lobbed off to someone else. Mummy, why is Nonno bald? Since it's Nonno's head, let's call him, I'm sure he'll be able to explain it.

Other questions can be deferred to a later time. Mummy, what's sex? Ask your father when he gets home.

And then there are the questions that need to be answered even though you may not have the answer, may never have the answer, like the question Adam asked me the other day.

What is faith Mummy?

What is faith.

What IS faith?

It's a simple question with a difficult answer.

Adam comes by his questions honestly because I too am a questioner. I question anything and everything and my search for knowledge knows no bounds. I simply can't take an answer at face value, I need to know the who's, what's, where's, why's and when's. Faith is a difficult concept for me because faith is believing even when there is no proof. It is believing in something with your whole heart and sould even though you can't see it, hear it, smell it, feel it or touch it.

I went to church when I was growing up but was always unsure about the whole concept of God. It was confusing to me that I was to believe in a God I had never seen. And heaven? How could I believe we went to this wonderful place called heaven when nobody had any proof it existed? Life after death? There's only one way to find out and I wasn't about to volunteer. So I wavered back and forth in my beliefs for many many years.

My mother passed away unexpectedly 6 years ago when I was a few weeks pregnant with Adam. It was the most devastating period of my life. Everyone told me that it would get easier with time and in some ways it has, but in others it gets more difficult. As the boys get older, I miss her even more because I know how much she would have enjoyed being with them and watching them grow. I don't really like going to visit her grave because I find it awkward and strange but I do think about her every single day. Not a day has gone by that she isn't in my mind. And there are days when I'll talk to her but this feels awkward and stange too. Is she really there listening? Can she hear what I'm saying? Or am I talking to the air? I waver.

Then on Mother's Day we got into the car accident. But before that, before we were hit by a drunk driver, before we had even left the house, something happened. Anyone who knows me will tell you one thing that never changes about me. I always wear my sunglasses. Always. I wear them when it's sunny, I wear them when it's cloudy and when it's raining. I wear them winter, spring, summer and fall. I don't go out without sunglasses because sunlight of any kind bothers my eyes. There is not a day where I go out without my sunglasses. Not one.

Until the day of the car accident.

We were getting ready to leave, the kids were already waiting in the yard and I was walking towards the back door when I stopped and turned to get my sunglasses. They were 10 feet away from me in the front hall and I stopped, turned around and right then and there made the decision not to grab them. Just like that. This one day, the only day I can ever recall, I decided not to wear my sunglasses. Had I grabbed my sunglasses, we still would have gotten in the car accident. We stopped for an orange light at the intersection by our house right before the accident. Grabbing my sunglasses would have only meant the light would have been red and not orange.

Both Paul and I were hit face on by the air bags. Paul was hit with such force that it gave him a bleeding nose. My face had abrasions all over but the most prominent scratch was on my left eyelid. What would have happened if I had worn my sunglasses? I would venture to say alot more than a scratched eyelid.

Why did this happen? Why did I decide not to wear my sunglasses? I believe, believe with my whole heart and soul, that on this particular day, Mother's Day no less, my mother was there with me and she somehow made me walk away from my sunglasses.

How do I know?

I have faith.

Just Because....

2008-06-09T20:48:00.004-04:00

I don't know why. Maybe because Adam followed me around the house all day long, shadowing my every step singing angry songs about the injustices of timeouts. Maybe because Liam hasn't let me sleep past 5:30 a.m for 3 years, 11 months and 20 something days. Maybe their fighting put me over the edge. Or maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of bitchy. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, Super Sour Skittles are the best form of entertainment I've had in years.

He Lives in the House, We Live in the Neighbourhood

2008-06-05T13:40:00.012-04:00

I live in the best neighbourhood in the world. I'm not being sarcastic when I say this. And when I say I'm not being sarcastic, I'm still not being sarcastic. Still not sarcastic. Nope. Not yet. No sarcasm. Sarcasticless. Still not saracastic.

It's the people who make the neighbourhood and we scored big time.

Take Kerri for instance. On the day of our move, she brought over lunch for us and the men we hired to move our furniture. Considering they were two and a half hours late showing up and we were trying to make up the time so we wouldn't be moving furniture by the light of the moon, feeding them wasn't really on my list of priorities. Actually didn't even make the list. But I'm a bitch and Kerri isn't and she showed up at our door, toddler in tow, with a sandwich made from a whole loaf of sourdough bread like you see in the magazines, watermelon, olives, homemade squares and gummy candies all neatly delivered to our house in a Red Flyer wagon. Paul was in awe. Does Todd get to eat like this all the time he asked?

On the day we moved in, Kerri said she'd bring us dinner. "That'd be great Kerri, we really appreciate it", I replied, fully expecting the pasta and jarred sauce I would typicallly bring. But Kerri is amazing and she showed up with BBQ'd ribs, grilled portobello mushrooms, greek salad, ceasar potato salad with REAL bacon (I love you Kerri) and homemade squares for dessert because she actually bakes more than once a year and it's not from a box. I thought you told me that Todd doesn't eat like this all the time, Paul said eyeing me suspiciously.

And when we got in the car accident, Rosanna, she of the four children who's ages range from 6 years to less than a year, the kids who listen to her and read at an 8th grade level, swung by the house with all four kids strapped into the mini-van bringing us a baked pasta dish, salad, homemade dressing and brownies with a cream cheese filling. After Rosanna left and Paul closed the door, he turned to me and in more of a statement than a question said Rosanna made this dinner for us and she has four kids?

Or Lisa, who's reputation for being late precedes her but has a heart the size of Mount Rushmore. She's not much of a cooker that Lisa, but she knows a good gesture when she sees it. The day after the accident she brought over a gift card to Swiss Chalet, walkie talkies for the boys and crappy gossip magazines. In one fell swoop she gave me comfort food, occupied the boys for two hours and took my mind off the accident for a few minutes while I checked out which stars have cellulite. Doesn't she work?, Paul asked. When did she have time to do this?

There were also the offers to look after the boys while I packed and moved. The meals. The last-minute babysitting when something comes up. The car seats that showed up at our door after the accident, the people who babysat while we went to physio. Who wouldn't want to live in a neighbourhood like this?

BUT...and this is a big but (*fill in joke here*), ladies....

You need to stop. I'm begging you, I'm imploring you. I'm on my hands and knees begging because Paul is no longer believing the party line I've been feeding him for all these years. Each of those good deeds - the babysitting, the meals, the offers to clean even though you have 10 children of your own, is a nail in my coffin. The blinders are coming off and he's seeing the light.

There is scepticism in his eyes when I say all kids know that clean clothes come from the dryer. There is now the scrunched up look of doubt when I tell him that knowing what's going on in The Pizza Delivery Guy's life is normal (congrats on the new baby Dan!). He no longer believes that the dust around the house is to help build up the kid's immune system. Or that weeds are actually better for our lawn as they use less water. He doesn't accept that other neighbourhood houses are clean only because the husband's do most of the cleaning. All kids use the ironing board as a surfboard Paul. Really.

So ladies, my dear friends who pull me through my day sometimes kicking and screaming, who make me laugh when I'm about to cry, who call me during commercials to dish about the insanity of Survivor, who help so much in my daily life......as much as I believe that our husband's may live in the house but we live in the neighbourhood, this has to stop. You're screwing up my life.

Housewife Award

2008-06-05T13:15:00.002-04:00

I won the bi-monthly Momma Said Housewife Award. Think about it.....there are so many stories out there describing the absolute insanity of being a mother that it has to be done more than once a month just to keep it up. Don't you just love when your misery wins you an award? Check it out

http://www.mommasaid.net/housewifeawards.aspx

A Conversation Between Friends

2008-06-04T18:29:00.016-04:00

Virginia! Funny running into you here. How are you? It's been way too long. Where have you been hiding?

Hi Peter! I was just thinking about you the other day. Didn't you hear about the strike?

No....What strike?

Well, the lady I work for felt there was an unfair division of household work and duties and decided to go on strike. We closed doors about a week ago and apparently unless we can come to some sort of agreement, they're going to stay shut permanently. I've been laying low trying to ride it out. What's new with you?

Oh...you know. Same ol', same ol. Just kicking back with the boys - you remember them, don't you?

Oh yeah, of course I do - laid back, liked to hang around. Nice guys....but they were kinda....ummmm......well they were a bit, you know..... sweaty. Nice though. Quiet. Didn't always have to be the centre of attention like someone else I know. *ha ha ha* So that's it? Just hanging out?

Nah.. my guy has me really busy with jobs. It seems as soon as one job is done, he wants to start another. It's never ending. A job here, a job there. I'm exhausted and sore from all the work. The guy is like a machine. I've never seen him like this before. Doesn't matter how many jobs I do or how hard I work, it's never enough.

So you wanna get together? I could pop on over for a quick visit. There's no way she would know. You could sneak me in while she's sleeping. I promise, I won't make a sound.

Are you kidding me? That's all I need. If you came over now, the doors would never open again. Hopefully this strike doesn't last much longer. As soon as the negotiations are complete, you can come all you want. Gotta go......bikini wax at 11:00.

Just a simple conversation between two friends.

Now go back and read it using the names Vagina and Penis.

Adam - 1 Mummy - 0

2008-06-03T20:53:00.033-04:00

Had a little issue at the park yesterday with some sand. As in Adam decided to wash Liam's face with it. Liam being the complainer he is started crying. Oooooo...it hurts mummy, it hurts. Oh, poor you. Boo Hoo Hoo....Let me tell ya, I pay money to get that done to my face. It's called exfoliation and it's good for you, helps regenerate your skin and keep it young. You'll thank Adam when you're older.

Unimpressed with my dermatalogic explanation on the merits of exfoliating, Liam continued to cry and since ~~other parents were looking at me~~ I'm a parent who believes in following through, I had to give Adam a ~~punishment severe enough to ensure the next time he even looked at sand, he would tremble in fear and pee his pants~~ consequence for the face washing.

We're going home and you're going in a time out.

A timeout? Why Mummy? I didn't do anything. How long will the time out be? Do I lose anything? Can I bring my wallet in the timeout? Will it be a long timeout or a short one? You won't forget me in there, will you? (Hey, I never clamed to be perfect and in all fairness, it was Oprah's Favorite Things episode...) Mummy? Why are you grabbing my arm Mummy? Ow that hurts.

Off we went, Liam in the stroller finger up his nose to the second knuckle trying to get out the imbedded sand....hmmm...right, can't really blame it on the sand, his finger spends so much time there, it actually pays rent at La Vie En Nose. Adam is trailing along behind asking a question and protesting his innocence each and every step of the way. It took us 1,252 steps to get home and by the time we got to the door, I was a teeny tiney bit cranky.

So when Adam protested one last time that he didn't wash Liam's face with sand, even though I actually saw it with my own two eyes, and was looking directly at the face washing while wearing my prescription glasses, it kind of pushed me over the edge and turned me once again into the Maker of Irrational ~~Punishments~~ Consequences.

You lose all your ties, shirts and anything dressy for a week, now go to your room.

Ha! So there! That'll learn ya to mess with your sweaty cranky mother.

Oh, don't sit there in judgement. Yes, I'm talking to you. Yeah you....the one right over there. I can see you looking at me all wrapped in judgement like a mummy from a cheap horror flick. You know who you are. Nod your head. Yeah, that's it. You can't hide, I can see you. It's sooooo easy to sit back and judge but you know you've done it. You jumped on the happy dance bandwagon after dolling out a ~~punishment~~ consequence just like the rest of us. You're groovin' and shakin' and showin' your moves. Doing the washing machine, a little bit of the white man overbite going on....adding in a some lawn mower for good measure and then you pull out the showstopper, ass slapping with the lasso. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have started singing I ammmmm the winnnnnner and you arrrrrrre the looooooooossser. That might have been a bit much. Gotta learn to rein it in a bit. Wonder if there's a class on that.

Needless to say, Adam was beyond upset. But Mummmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeee I HAVE to wear my dress shirt and tie. I CAN'T go to school without them. I CAN'T believe you're doing this. You're the meanest Mummy ever. What am I going to wear?

Hmmm....let me think about that.....you're six and I spend more money on your wardrobe than my own.......how about the other 500 pieces of clothing you own like your t-shirts and sweatpants and shorts and jeans and jackets? Things that won't get hooked on a playstructure and hang you like you've been lynched. How about any of that?

So off I went, feeling quite secure in the fact that I had dolled out a punishment that would forever end sand exfoliation and lying in our house. Because really at the end of the day, it's all about ~~who won~~ good parenting.

Which brings us to the next morning.

Adam, it's time to get dressed for school.

I don't have anything to wear and I'm not wearing any of that boring stuff.

Well you don't have a choice buddy, that's all there is until next Monday when you get your ties back.

Adam grudgingly stomped upstairs (Hey Adam, here's a little tip for ya. It's much more effective if you have shoes on) and I sipped my coffee with a smug smile on my face knowing that once again, I held my ground, I didn't back down, ~~I won~~ I was a good parent.

This is what Adam wore to school today. Or I should say Dr. Adam as he asked me to address him for the remainder of the day.

Adam - 1
Mummy - 0

Fake or Real...The Great Debate

2008-06-03T08:19:00.003-04:00

It turns there really is a great debate about fake or real breasts and the comments are flying in faster than we can get them up. Who woulda thunk that a hunka hunka burning....... silicone love (or gel as the case may be) would cause such an uproar. Check out the article at the Yummy Mummy Club this month.

http://www.yummymummysite.com/index.cfm?PID=20294&PIDList=16915,15873,20294

37 Minutes

2008-06-02T18:46:00.008-04:00

Hey Hon! I'm going to take a quick run out to Home Depot. You want me to take the kids?

Na...go ahead, I'm fine. It's not like I don't have them all the time anyway. What's the worst that could happen. Ha ha ha...*snicker snicker*

37 minutes later......

Hi Hon. How are youuuu.... What the? What's up with the wine?

Adam pooped his pants. Shelly died. Adam cried so hard he threw up and Liam fell down the stairs.

Cheers!

She Was A Good Snail

2008-06-01T20:53:00.003-04:00

Shelly passed away today somewhere between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m. A tragic accident occurred at about 4:00 p.m. and we knew it was only a matter of time. At 8:00 p.m. tonight, I tried to revive Shelly but to no avail.

Curse you oh neighbourhood girl with the freakishly strong fingers!!!!!!!!!!

Shelly was a good snail. A kind snail. A snail who gave great joy to a boy with gentle fingers.

Adam will miss you Shelly.

I'm just fucking glad I didn't actually have to give her mouth to mouth in my resuscitation attempts.

Our Newest Addition to the Family

2008-06-01T08:21:00.012-04:00

No, I'm not pregnant. Not unless it's the immaculate conception and I'm giving birth to the new christ.

Hmmmm......come to think of it.......wouldn't that be coolest kid ever? I wouldn't even have to change poopy diapers. I'd be all "hey jesus, if you can walk on water, I bet you can whip off that dirty diaper all by yourself too." or "oh crap, I don't have enough cream for my coffee.....can you make me a few gallons from this teaspoonful?" I'd have great skin from all that fish too. Yep....nothing like securing your place in heaven by giving birth to the new saviour. He could probably even stop that pesky little annoyance of me bursting into flames every time I walk into a church too.

Anyway, I'm not pregnant. The new addition to our house is Shelly the Snail. Just like on Franklin Mummy! Shelly is quite taken with Adam as his is the only arm she likes to climb and as you can see below, the feelings are reciprocated. Adam is smitten with his girl.

I do fear that Shelly's life may be shortened by a few ~~months~~, ~~weeks~~, ~~days~~.......minutes (does anyone know how long a snail lives?) from the frequent plucking she endures as she is taken from the top of Adam's arm and placed at the bottom so she can crawl up again. Quite the exerciser that little Shelly!

Adam was crushed when I made him leave her out on the porch over night. Ya right.....'cause I'm really going to let her stay the night? I live in a house surrounded by males. I clean enough things off of the bed sheets and I'm not adding snail slime to the list.

The first thing Adam did this morning was run to the porch to see if Shelly was still there. She was and the relationship between this boy and his snail is blossoming.

Things I would rather hear from my husband

2008-05-31T14:20:00.009-04:00

A sprinkling of phrases I've heard throughout my day that would sound much better coming from my husband...

Yeehaw! Ride 'em cowboy! (Carter - age 2 pretending to be a cowboy)

You are more bee-ooo-tiful than anyone ever (Liam trying to earn a popsicle)

Can you suck off the drips? But promise not to bite it (Liam not liking the melting drips coming off his popsicle)

I could do this for hours! (Adam having a watergun fight with his brother)

Whoa! That's so cool! How did you get that in there? (Using my magic to pull a marble out of Adam's ear)

Wanna see my new trick? (Adam)

It doesn't matter how much it costs, you should get it (Adam's response when I told him why I wasn't buying new clothes)

Watch how big I can make my light sabre (Elliott, age 5 - light sabre owner, Star Wars aficionado and protector of the universe)

Different Even When They're Sleeping

2008-05-31T07:59:00.016-04:00

I'm not the first parent to say this and I won't be the last. My boys are so completely different in their personalities and traits, even in the way they look, it amazes me that they came out of the same body. Mind you, I was completely drugged and couldn't feel anything from my waist down so it's quite possible they didn't.

They are completely different. Yin and Yang. Oscar and Felix. Hot and Cold. One is quiet and logical, he doubts everything put before him and must question it until he's satisfied that we're not trying to dupe him. The other constantly screams and carries his emotions on his sleeve like a badge of honor. It's his job to run through the full spectrum of emotions each and every hour. He usually succeeds. The opposition of their personalities causes catastrophic fights on a daily basis. One fights with his words, the other with his little hands and feet. They both produce wounds.

Every night before I go to bed, I head to their rooms to kiss their warm heads and whisper I love you in their ear, re-tucking them in if their blankets have gone askew.

Liam is still in the same position I left him a few hours before, not moving so much as an inch. He is curled up into a little ball, the pudginess of his babyhood still rounding out his little body. His head is resting atop his ratty, stuffed bear that he's carried with him day and night for three years and a knitted blanket made by my aunt is the only thing he'll use as a cover. He refuses to use the pillow and comforter we bought for him and we remove them from his bed each night. The moment I walk into his room, he's awake and sitting up. Mummy? Mummy? Shhhhh......it's okay Liam, lie down. I love you, I whisper. Me too he says so quietly I barely hear it. By the time I close his doors, he's asleep again.

In the next room, Adam is laying across his bed horizontally. The blankets are so twisted and pulled, I don't even know where to begin untangling the mess. Even in the few seconds I'm there, he's moving. He moves constantly day and night trying to use up every ounce of energy compacted into his little body. He's a six year old boy and stillness is not an option, even while sleeping. I move his body so his head is back on his pillow and arrange his blankets on top of him. He's a boy now, the toddler years are gone, and his body is all angles, long limbs and sinewy muscle. He continues to sleep through this bodily arrangement like almost every night I move him. I lean over and kiss his warm head and whisper I love you in his ear. Tonight I'm lucky. He wakes just enough to smile at my words. Most nights he sleeps through our whole routine. He never even knows I'm there.

They're completely different yet they came from the same body. Two sets of personalities that are in such complete opposition to one another they are even different when they sleep.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

I Wonder What He's Doing Today?

2008-05-27T07:33:00.012-04:00

Physio, doctor's appointments, filling out forms, visit with the lawyer, phone calls, renting a vehicle, buying a vehicle (okay...that one fell on Paul's sore shoulders), submitting receipts....that's our lives now.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still grateful that we're all okay and healthy. Don't want ya to think I forgot about that. But my life is consumed with appointments and the aftermath of the car accident. Only it's not an accident, is it. Because he chose to get behind the wheel of the car and drive drunk.

Our lawyer, who deals with this sort of stuff all the time so I guess he should know, insists that it is an accident because the drunk driver didn't deliberately get behind the wheel with the intent of getting into a collision "No matter how much that may piss you off to hear it Sharon".

"Uh hello! Of course it pisses me off because it's wasn't an accident. He was drunk! He hurt us!" I yelled as I jumped over his desk and wrapped my hands around his neck.

Oops. Sorry. Taking my anger out on the wrong person. You'll still take our case, right?

I go to physio three times a week to an incredibly beautiful and funny physio therapist who is hell bent on killing me. She has this great sense of humour and is always making me laugh. Take yesterday for instance. She told me to climb on a big giant exercise ball on my hands and knees and balance in that position for a minute. Ha hahahahahah.......Whew! Got a workout just from laughing. Ya missed your calling in life Ro - shoulda been a comedian!

oh, you're serious. ummm....I'll just get on the ball now.

But she's doing a great job because my abs and legs are so sore today that I've forgotten all about my neck and back.

And let's not forget how I need to go and speak to someone to work out my issues of wanting to kill the drunk driver, how I jump out of my skin everytime I hear a loud noise, that when I'm a passenger in a car, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Or the big one....the ever present fear that my boys are going to get hurt and I won't be able to do anything about it. Yep. That "what if" movie running through my mind during every waking hour is fun fun fun!

They're playing in the park......what if that car loses controls, drives up on the sidewalk and kills them?

I'm boiling water.....what if the pot somehow spills on one of them?

We're driving in the car.....what if their seatbelts aren't on tight enough? Maybe I should pull over and check again.

It's constant and exhausting.

Insurance forms are exhausting too. All 750 kajillion forms, each having approximately 10 pages, that need to be filled out properly "or your claim will not be processed" asking the same questions over and over and over again. If the car accident doesn't kill you, the monotony and boredom of filling out insurance forms will.

This accident has been like a ~~pebble~~ boulder thrown in the water and watching the ripples spread. The accident was over in a split second but now our lives are being consumed by the after effects.

I wonder what he's doing today?

P.S.

Dear Ro,

If you happen to be reading this, I think you are a wonder of the physio therapy world. You rock! A Goddess among mere mortals. That balance thing? Lots of fun. Like being part of Cirque du Soleil! I'm looking forward to Wednesday and all the new, fantastic stuff you have planned for me! You're the nicest physio therapist ever. Please don't hurt me.

Sincerely,

Your forever grateful patient,
Sharon

Brilliant or Cruel, You Decide...

2008-05-25T07:41:00.011-04:00

In a moment of complete and utter desperation a few weeks ago (BCA - Before Car Accident), I came up with an idea. It was spur of the moment and I was down to my last ounce of patience. The boys were yelling, fighting and making horrid noises If you're the mother of a boy, you know what I'm talkin' abou. Mmmhhmmm...oh yes you do. The rasberries, the sucking on their lips, the screaming like an injured Raptor, the horking noises....if it's annoying, they'll do it. And I'm not even going to get into the whole whipping out their penises and pretending to pee...pssshhhhh

I'd had enough. E-N-O-U-G-H! What in God's name do I have to do to make these kids listen to me without me having to yell and sound like a psychpath all of the time?

Marbles

Let me just say it one more time in case you didn't get it.

Marbles

In my desperate moment, I knelt down on the floor and told them that when they showed good behaviour and followed the house rules, they would earn a marble. When they earned ten marbles, they would get a surprise.

"What's the surprise Mummy?"

I had just thought of the marbles, had yet to go out and even purchase the marbles, so I had no idea what the surprise would be. But they didn't need to know that and with a grin plastered on my face so large it hurt my cheeks I replied cheefully "If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise!"

Ha ha!

Why are marbles so brilliant, you ask. You may even be thinking....I've done marbles at my house and they didn't work. Well prepare yourself because the marbles aren't the brilliant part of my idea. The brilliant part is the thinking behind the marbles.

You see, a few years ago, I read an article about an experiment done with rats. I have no idea why they were doing this experiment but my Cliff Claven-like-memory for mundane and useless facts stored it in the far reaches of my brain until it was needed on that clear sunny morning, when my desperation dug deep down into my subconscious to bring it to the surface.

There were three sets of rats. The first set of rats would press a bar and every single time a food pellet would drop out. The second set of rats would press the bar and food would never drop out. The third set of rats would press the bar and sometimes a pellet would drop out and sometimes not - it was completely random.

The findings? The rats who got a pellet every single time got bored and stopped pushing the bar. The rats who never got a pellet finally gave up. But the rats who got the pellets randomly, they kept pressing that bar until the fell down exhausted. Exhausted! Those poor little rats kept pressing because they couldn't figure out when or how or why they would get a pellet. When will I get a pellet? If I press it this time? Nope. This time? No. This time? YEESSSS!! Again? YES! Again? No. Huh? Where's the pellet? Press. No! Press. Crap! Press. Crap. Press. Yes! Hooray! Press. Yay! Press. Crap. Press press press press.....no rhyme or reason, no pattern, no clue.

All I can say is Welcome to my world of marble distribution.

"Adam, you said thank you to Liam when he gave you a toy, you earn a marble"

"Mummy, thank you for making me breakfast. Do I get another marble?"

No.

"That's great sharing Liam, you earn a marble"

"Here Liam, you can use my new toy truck. Do I get a marble Mummy?"

Nope.

It's amazing. They never really know when they'll get a marble so they're all over themselves to try to figure out how to earn them. The pleases and thank you's are flying around our house like confetti on New Year's Eve. The noises are fewer and farther between. The yelling is down to a dull roar. They're sharing toys. They're playing together.

And the cost?

So far one popsicle each and maybe a few years in therapy when they find out about the rats.

Have I Lost My Edge?

2008-05-22T08:32:00.008-04:00

I felt many things after the accident. Shock, anger, pain, sadness...but mostly a sheer overwhelming love and gratitude that the boys were and are okay. I was so grateful that they were alive and healthy, they could have asked me for anything and I would have obliged.

Cotton candy and ice cream for dinner? Sure. Spend our life savings at Toys r' Us? Absolutely! Sleep in our bed with us every night? What a great idea! You don't want to go to school? Let's skip it and we'll go to the park instead!

And bad behaviour? What bad behaviour? For the past 10 days nothing has fazed me.

Mummy, you're a fuckin! *Chuckle chuckle....I love you Liam*

"Adam, can you please go get ready for bed?" NO! I'm not going to bed! I HATE bed! Bed is STUPID! *Way to share your feelings bud...you're the best son ever*

The accident had caused me to lose the last thing in the world I ever thought I would lose. My edge. I was unable to write because all I wanted to write about was my wonderful boys, how much I love them, how beautiful and perfect they are, how this experience has changed me forever.

Then Liam got up at 2:00 a.m. last night to play with the cat.

My edge is back.

Coming soon: How glad I am that my husband survived the accident and is alive and well so that I can kill him myself.

I'll Never Meet Oprah

2008-05-15T20:46:00.011-04:00

It turns out I will never be one of those wonderful, empathetic women you see on Oprah who forgives the person who hurt them. There will never be a Hallmark movie made about me. Nope. Not gonna happen. Because I want to see the bastard who crashed into us hurt. Hurt alot. Hurt more than he's ever hurt. And I want to be the one who provides that hurt.

Thankfully I don't have to refer to him as the "alleged" drunk driver anymore because he's been officially charged. So I will now refer to him as the Mother Fucker Who Almost Killed My Children. And somehow I don't think Paul will even get mad at the swearing.

Here's the update....the person who crashed into us from behind walked away with no injuries.

Liam is completely fine. There is the odd reference to how he "really loved da ambu-anse ride but I no like da crash, mummy."

Adam has whiplash and today was the first day he didn't carry the teddy bear the police gave him to school. When I asked him yesterday why he was carrying it, he said that it was the only thing that could keep him safe. If the MFWAKMC had been in front of me at that moment, NOTHING would have kept him safe.

Paul and I both have whiplash and I have a small fracture in my little finger which makes it hard to type letters like "p" - we both start physio tomorrow. We're both fine with the fact that we scrambled past each other with nary a glance while trying to get the kids. What can I say? We love each other but ya can't fight instinct.

I finally remembered the complete crash on Tuesday morning while I was in the shower. 'Cause seeing my white, cellulitey thighs in the shower isn't traumatizing enough, I had to remember the actual collision too. But I got back on the horse and drove by the site of the accident because if MFWAKMC thinks he's going to take over and control our lives through fear he's not. Fuck him.

I wasn't sure what direction this blog was going to go when I started to write it. I never really do. It seems to take on a life of it's own when I sit down to type.

One thing I want is to thank everyone who posted a comment but more than comments, I want each of you to pass my last blog on to your friends...not because I want them to become readers but because my message is the most important one I have, or ever will have (knock on wood), to pass on.

What I do know is the direction I want it to end and that's to tell you this...

Today, I took Adam to our local Canadian Cancer Society office where he presented them with a cheque for $100 that he raised by running around the park by our house and having people sponsor him. He's been doing this since February and has run that park when it was covered in three feet of snow and he had to wear boots, snowpants, jacket, hat, mitts and scarf, he ran it in the rain, he ran it when it was hot, he ran it when he didn't feel like running and stopped halfway through to walk. A photographer was there to take his picture and Adam told his story of how he came to want to raise money for cancer. He was nervous. I was nervous. He spoke more eloquently than I ever could. I was so proud that I thought I would burst.

He'll be in our local paper encouraging other children to raise money for cancer this week.

And that's who the MFWAKMC almost killed on Sunday.

A funny thing happened on the way to my blog...

2008-05-12T07:43:00.020-04:00

It's given me a voice.

When I first started writing this blog, it was a place for me to try out my writing chops and see what I've got and then a funny thing happened. People started to read it and I was given a voice.

Normally I use my voice to write about my family and my kids, something that will give you, the reader, something to laugh about and maybe even make you feel semi-normal about your own parenting. But today I'm not going to regail you with stories about my family, or the sweet gifts my boys got me for Mother's Day, or funny anecdotes about our day or how we were going to have a wonderful dinner at my mother-in-laws to celebrate mothers everywhere.

Today I'm going to write about how, on the way to my mother-in-laws to celebrate Mother's Day, we got into a head on collision with an "alleged" drunk driver. This isn't about drama so I will let you know right off that everyone in the family is okay. Every ounce of grace that I have in this life was used up yesterday when the boys (and Paul and myself) walked away from an accident described by one of the policemen as "one of the worst he's seen.

The "alleged" drunk driver hit the cement divider in the centre of the street and flew into the air, into our oncoming van head on. We were then hit from behind by another car.

So the first thing I'm going to use my voice for today is this......always always always wear your seatbelts and make sure you're children are strapped into their proper car seats and restrained tightly. Because it wasn't just grace that kept us from being killed yesterday, it was seatbelts.

The crash happened in seconds. There was a "C" shaped curve in the road and I saw the other car keep going straight instead of turning. I saw him hit the cement divider, I saw the car fly into the air, hit a sign and the next thing I saw was the airbag deflating and white dust floating around. Then I saw Adam's face covered in blood and heard the screams coming from both of them. I don't really remember much - just jumping out, slamming open the van doors and unstrapping Liam while slightly registering that Paul was doing the same with Adam.

We then went and sat on a hill by the side of the road. The accident actually took place close to our home, right in front of a park where I take the kids to play. There were about 10 adults watching (along with their children). This is where I'd like to use my voice for a second time.

When you see someone who has been in an accident, get involved. I was on the grass with one little boy bleeding and both boys crying and screaming. Paul was bleeding and on the phone calling an ambulance. One man who witnessed the accident came over to move us farther back on the hill in case a fire started but other than that, with all those people who stopped to watch, no one else came to see if we were okay, or to offer a jacket, or to just sit until the ambulance got there. Please people....get involved. Even if you can't offer any physical assistance, a word of kindness will go a long way to offer comfort in a traumatizing situation. Please get involved.

I won't go into the details of the rest of the day. Suffice it to say the hospital staff was wonderful and caring, the policemen were beyond fantastic - I will be forever grateful to their calming presence (and for holding us back when we wanted to beat the shit out of the driver who crashed into us as he sat in a wheelchair ahead of us in triage unable to answer the questions the nurse was asking him) and for giving the boys each a teddy bear and telling them how brave and courageous they both were.

And lastly, I'll use my voice today to say this.....If you are drinking, do not drive. It's simple. Don't do it. Drinking and driving hurts people. It traumatizes people. It kills people. I've referenced "alleged" in my post today because the driver will obviously have his day in court and you're innocent until proven guilty. But have no doubt, I WILL be there when he has his day so that my family can have their day. So he can see who he almost killed. I will tell him how we slept with our boys last night and how they both had nightmares about the accident. I will tell him that we have had to answer questions that should never need to be asked by a 3 and 6 year old. And finally, I will tell him that if he ever so much as looks at alcohol, if he even breathes in the smell of alcohol and gets behind the wheel of a car, I will make it my life's ambition to see that he is put into jail until the day he dies.

If you're going to swear, get it right

2008-05-10T20:21:00.008-04:00

Hi Hon,

You're not going to want to read this post today. Lots of curse words. Curse words galour. It's a Curse-o-rama. Cursing at the Cursefest. Curse-meister. Maaaaking Cuuuuuuursses. The swears are coming at a rate of 2.3 a second. Keep on movin' Paul, don't stop to rubberneck because you won't be able to escape the onslaught of cursing that's about to occur.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, on to my life which is so much fun!

Liam has developed quite the potty mouth. Both boys can sling the potty talk with the best of them - you're a poopoo head, my penis can pee psssssshhhhhhhhhh, I gonna poop on you you big poo poo head, look at my bum bum, that's where the poop comes from, I gonna pee on you with my penis - but Liam has taken it to a whole new level.

You're a fuckin'

That's what he screamed at me tonight when I tried to undress him for bed in the middle of a full blown, nuclear scale, meteorite slamming into our earth and causing the next ice age, temper tantrum that included, but was not limited to, door slamming, biting, spitting, hitting, thrashing, running away and door kicking in a rapid stacatto beat *thump thump thump thump thump* the sound not unlike the drums playing as the gates of the hidden jungle city are about to open to reveal King Kong waiting for his new bride.....and finally, the pièce de résistance, the icing on the cake...

You're a fuckin'

Huh?

I'm a fuckin?

A fuckin' what?

A fuckin' asshole for not wanting you to kick holes in the walls of our brand new house after we spent a whole day patching up the old ones when we moved?

A fuckin' shithead for not giving in to your loud, so loud that people on our new street could hear the screams of protest, because I wouldn't give you chips after you refused to eat both lunch and dinner?

A fuckin' stupid ass because I removed your teeth from my arm when you tried to bite me?

Nope. Just a fuckin'. Mummy's a fuckin'.

Apparently I'm a fuckin'. I don't even make the fuckin' *fill in the blank* list. That's me. A fuckin'.

I could make a new song to Gwen Stefanie's "I'm Just a Girl"

Cause I'm just a fuckin', little ole' me. Cause I'm just a fuckin' I'd rather not be. I'm just a fuckin', Take a good look at me Just your typical prototype.

Poor Liam

If you're going to curse for effect.....at least get it right otherwise you will just make your mother laugh until she almost pees her pants.

Disclaimer: my husband, who will read this blog even though I told him not to, does not like my cursing, nor does he feel I need to add cursing to my blog posts. I on the other hand feel that some days it adds to the blog and is necessary. Since I am the writer and he is the reader, I win.

Moving and Music

2008-04-29T20:30:00.005-04:00

It's 8:30 on Tuesday night. Both kids are at my inlaws and the truck comes tomorrow. We are waist deep in the mire of moving and my use of curse words has gone up 10,000% in the past two days. Paul is quite concerned with the way the word fuck comes flying out of my mouth every 3.6 nanoseconds. He thinks I should get checked for turrets syndrome. Fucker.

I will be offline for a few days but I will leave you with this.

Last night Adam and I were watching videos of my friend Rachel who I met through the Yummiest Mummy contest. She's an amazing singer and has more talent in her little finger than I have in my whole body. She also plays the guitar and Adam, dear sweet Adam, who chases me around the house making up songs while strum strum strumming his guitar (Mummmyyyyyyy......I am maaaaadddddd at youuuuuuuu. Youuuuuuuu took away my tiiiiiiiiiiiiie and I am maaaaaaaaaadddddddd), is totally and completely in awe of her. So much so that he wanted to ask her some questions.

So while Adam sat on my lap and asked questions I typed them out verbatim and we sent them off to Rachel who was kind enough to respond.

Hi Rachel! Adam and I were sitting together watching one of your videos and he has a few questions for you that I'm going to type out as he asks.......

Hi Adam, its nice to meet you, I have seen you in your Mommy's videos, your guitar playing is very good. I would be happy to answer your questions. :)

How many years have you been playing the guitar?

In total about 5, but this last year has been the one year where I tried the hardest, and improved the most.

Are you famous?

Nope. (but I do have a job that kinda feels like being famous sometimes, because I get to sing in front of an audience. People are very nice to me when they like my music, and they come to meet me and say hello to me after my shows. That feels kinda neat. :) )

How many songs did you write?

I don't know a number exactly, more than 10 for sure, and I plan to always keep writing because I still have a lot to learn!

How do you know which chord you have to do?

It takes a lot of practise and listening to music. Also, I get help from teachers and books and the internet. It sure makes me work hard, so that my fingers hurt, but now I know, that it just makes them nice and strong, and helps me get better and better, so I keep trying even when its a little hard.

How do you know where to put the clamp?

The clamp is also called a capo, and when it moves up and down the neck of the guitar, it changes the sound. I just choose the sound I like, and put it there.

Do you like playing the guitar?

I LOVE playing the guitar.

Do you have fun playing the guitar?

It makes me very happy to play the guitar and I have a lot of fun doing it.

Do you like music?

I love music, all kinds of music. I think music is good for the soul.

Do you have a guitar pick?

Yes I have many, many guitar picks.

Uhh....that's it.

Wow that was fun, I am so glad you asked Adam, oh yeah, and give your Mom a BIG HUG for me. :)

Not only is Rachel talented, she is incredibly kind and sweet to take the time to write out the answers to a very curious, very interested in playing the guitar little boy.

Thanks Rach!

To listen to sing (and I can't believe she doesn't have a recording contract yet!) go here: http://www.youtube.com/user/rachaelpachel

You can also visit her website here: http://musicbysol.com/

And if you're in the Vancouver area, go shopping at her store Belly & Beyond or shop online here: http://www.bellybeyond.com/

2-1-4-3

2008-04-27T08:46:00.006-04:00

For a long time, and still to this day, Adam has had a fascination with locks. Specifically with combination locks and bicycle locks. There's the the occassional padlock but those don't hold his interest as much. When he's not buying ties or cuff links with money he's earned, he's buying locks.

He then takes the locks and locks up whatever he can, whenever he can. Thus the reason for conversations in our house like this:

Me (sitting on toilet): ADAM!!!!!

Adam: Nothing. Complete silence. Crap! Where the hell is he?

Me: ADAM!!!!! ADAM!!!! Where are you?

Adam (from somewhere downstairs): Yes mum?

Me: Come up here and undo the combination lock on the cupboard handles - I need to get some bloody toilet paper!!!!!!!!!

What's really fascinating is that Adam remembers all of his locks by their combination. I will see a silver combination lock with a green front and he will see combination lock 35-12-17.

In the fall, Adam locked a bicycle lock onto our deck where it stayed all winter. Yesterday as we were in full packing mode, Paul said to Adam "Do you remember the combination for this lock? If you don't, we're going to have to cut it off"

To which Adam responded in his "you're such a dumbass" tone....Uhhh.....of course dad. It's 2-1-4-3.

Sure enough, 7 months after putting the lock on the deck, the combination was correct.

So what's the point of this whole blog?

The point is.......what the hell was I thinking when I thought I would give away their toys and they wouldn't remember? I am SO fucked when we get to the new house.

On a Scale of One to Ten....

2008-04-22T19:01:00.002-04:00

How bad is it when I tell the boys that the current toy they are looking for is just "packed in one of the boxes" when in reality I have shipped it off to Goodwill and am hoping and praying that by the time we move into the new house they will have completely forgotten about it?

Why Do People Litter Mummy?

2008-04-20T21:05:00.008-04:00

We’ve been out cleaning up our community this past week. Earth day is on April 22 and Adam is into it just like he is everything else in his life – Fully and Completely – which means on top of packing for our move, working and taking care of the kids, I spent three days tracking down gardening gloves that would fit Adam and Liam so we could go pick up garbage without me having to worry about them catching some crazy disease from the filth. And no, I’m not a clean freak – quite the opposite as a matter of fact – I think a little bit of dirt does the body good. “Builds up the immune system and makes ‘em strong!” I say.

We actually do this picking up of garbage on a frequent basis – grab a garbage bag and clean up the park by our house or even just pick up garbage on the way home from school to dispose of properly. Come to think of it, we spend an inordinate amount of time on garbage at our house – there’s our regular garbage, recycling, the green bin, taking clothes and toys to good will, bringing old magazines to our local hospital, donating books, freecycle….. So with all of this work I do on our own garbage, it’s not really surprising that there are days I’m really not in the mood to pick up other people’s stinky, dirty garbage.

Go figure.

I know, I know….it seems like a really fun thing to do, traipsing around in fields, picking up garbage thrown there by people you don’t know. Especially when you add in the fun of playing “I wonder where this piece of garbage has been?” You can even earn bonus points if the garbage has been laying in wet, swampy marshland and hundreds of little bugs with a million legs run in all directions when you pick up a piece of said garbage. I’m up to about 200,000 myself. Call me crazy but it’s just not my idea of a fun, sunny afternoon outing.

Take Friday for instance. Adam really really really wanted to go out and pick up garbage. Did I mention the kid is like a pitbull? Once he grabs onto an idea, the jaws of life can’t pry him off of it. Anyway, it was a beautiful day, one of the first that we’ve had so far this spring and I would have rather been playing with the kids, or going for a bike ride or maybe even just reading a book while they played in the backyard. But instead I was at the park picking up a rather large amount of garbage.

Oh, How I was tempted to convince the boys to do something else. Something! Fun! But my stupid bloody conscience kicked in (that thing is harder to get rid of than my ass) and seeing as I’m supposed to be teaching the boys useful stuff like respecting the planet they live on and all, I grudgingly took them to pick up garbage. We picked up a lot. A whole garbage bag actually.

Then to add to our garbagey weekend, Saturday morning was the “garbage picking up outing” for Adam’s school arranged by two amazing teachers who are the official school "Green Team." We picked up two bags worth of garbage on Saturday morning – in the exact same park we cleaned the day before I might add – and one bag of recycling – all before 10:00 a.m. And that was just us. There were about twenty other people there who also picked up large amounts of garbage.

Which brings me to Adam’s question of the day.

Why do people litter Mummy?

That’s a good question. Why DO people litter?

Hmmmm………

Because they’re a bunch of dumbasses?

Because they're lazy?

Because they don’t care about the world we live in?

Because they’re going to die so who gives a crap what condition the world is in when they leave it to the next generation?

I still haven’t come up with a proper answer for Adam. So if you’re reading this and you’re one of the litterers who has been filling my days with garbage, drop me a quick line and let me know which one it is so I can explain it to Adam.

The Positives, The Perils and the Practicality of Working From Home

2008-04-12T21:32:00.008-04:00

I work from home.

It’s a blessing and a curse all at the same time.

Working from home definitely has its advantages. Take right now for instance. It’s 8:00 at night, the kids are in bed and I’m in front of the computer with a glass of wine. Certainly couldn’t do that when I worked at the Fancy Schmancy Investment Banking firm, could I? Uh-uh. No Sir-ee!

Well….. actually, on Friday afternoons, they DID send around a beer cart and we could have drinks from 3:00 p.m. on….and there were snacks….good ones too….nice cheeses and crackers, a fruit tray, sometimes little sandwhiches.......and then they sent us home in cabs…..

But they wouldn’t let me wear sweatpants like I am right now. And for some reason, they thought brushing your hair was a positive. Same with not sitting down at your desk right after you’ve done a half hour run. Or cramming your face full of Cheetos because you had a craving. Or wearing your I-pod and singing “Low” at the top of your lungs while chair dancing. Weird stuff like that.

BUT….it’s also 8:00 at night. And I’ve already had a full day in which I’ve tried to squeeze in my work while Son No. 1 is at school and Son No. 2 snacks, watches t.v. or naps because I don’t have a nanny and my kids don’t understand that when I’m in front of the computer, it’s not just so I can print out Max and Ruby colouring pages or go to the John Deere website to look at tractors, it’s because I’m WORKING AND TRYING TO MAKE MONEY TO PAY THE BILLS AND PUT A ROOF OVER THEIR HEAD AND BUY THEM SILLY THINGS LIKE FOOD ALL WHILE STILL TRYING TO BE ABLE TO PICK THEM UP FROM SCHOOL AND LOOK AFTER THEM.

Sorry….got a bit side-tracked.

So yes, it’s 8:00 at night and I’m tired. And also American Idol is on which I really want to watch. And the phone is ringing so I know it’s my friend Lisa who calls me during the commercial breaks so we can dish about who is the bitchiest girl on America’s Next Top Model and who will get kicked off of Survivor. But I’m working because if I don’t finish it during the day, it’s got to get done at night. And a lot of the times when Son No. 1 and 2 are at home together they are racing their plasma cars (fucking Easter Bunny) around the kitchen and living room upstairs which, from the basement, sounds like large 747 jet engines overtop of my head.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I work in the basement. No nice executive office for me. Nope. I’m in the basement with an electric heater blasting beside me because it’s freezing and its dark and damp and a bit lonely. We’re moving in less than a month and I’ll actually have a New! Office! On! The! Main! Floor! Hooray! It was my idea because I’m tired of being the girl in the iron mask hidden away in the damp, dingey basement (FYI: if you happen to be the people who bought the house, I’m just using damp, dingey and dark metaphorically….ha ha ha…..oops). I’m even getting built-ins which sounds really elaborate and expensive and maybe it would be if I was married to someone else, but seeing as my blog doesn’t make any money and my work for the Yummy Mummy Club is only part-time, my husband isn’t about to spend a kajillion dollars just to make me more comfortable while I write. Mostly it’s just so I can close off the insanely disorganized area I call a desk when company comes over.

Those are some of the perils of working from home. I’m stuck in a basement, it’s late at night and my kids don’t think I actually have a job although they seem a bit more convinced since they met Erica. Seeing as she was all “fancy” (as Adam so eloquently put it), she had to be my boss as opposed to the sweatpantedness that they see me in every day. They’re still a bit sceptical though. Might have had something to do with them bouncing downstairs to see me watching the “I’m bleeping Matt Damon” video yet again.

But it’s practical and has great bonuses like being able to wear a mud mask and put deep conditioner in my hair while I’m working. I’m able to drop Adam off and pick him up from school every day. When it’s nice, the three of us go to the park or go bike riding or just play. I even volunteer at his school one day a week. I get to stay home with Liam and we have the one-on-one time that I missed during his first two and a half years.

Liam will be going to school in the fall and starting his big journey into the world, which makes me proud and sad all at once. This time with both of them is important to me and unless I can convince Paul to have another baby (read: be able to ply him with just enough alcohol to get him to agree to having another baby while still being able to perform the act), I'll be feeling very sad and empty this coming September.

Fear not though! There was a sale at the beer store this week and I'm completely stocked up. If Paul doesn't read my blog this week, the pieces will all fall into place and I will be able to carry out my diabolical getting pregnant plan, hijack some nuclear weapons and hold the world hostage for One... Hundred... BILLION DOLLARS!...... Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

But in the meantime, I’ll take the jet engine plasma cars, and the Max and Ruby printouts, the darkness, dinginess and dampness and the complete disbelief that I’m actually working while I’m sitting at the computer because the money I don’t make while working from home is made up for in a hundred, million ways each and every day that I get to spend with my kids and means more to me than all the money in the world.

Except when I need botox……..

Auuuggghhhhhh!!!!!!!

2008-04-09T08:53:00.005-04:00

They've done it. It took a few years but they have actually driven me insane. My kids may not have a license but they sure do know how to drive their mother to crazy - first stop Looneyville.

I have a house to pack. In three weeks we are moving and I need to pack. In between taking care of the kids, working and all the other day to day ~~shit~~ stuff , I need to pack an entire household in a somewhat organized manner so that we can move to our new house. Not to mention, give away toys to Good Will while the boys aren't looking. Today is normally the day that Liam goes to Nonna's house which means I would have the WHOLE day to pack while Adam is at school and Liam is gone.

Do you know how much you can get done when your kids aren't around? Do you have any idea? If you're a singleton with no kids, you need to understand how much you can do in a day. I don't want to hear that you're tired, or you don't feel like it or you don't understand where the time goes. When you don't have kids around, you can take over the world in a day if you put your mind to it.

So as typical in my life when I have plans to get stuff done, the kids use their specially synced "my mummy should know better than to plan something" telepathy to completely screw up those plans.

Liam woke up this morning feeling sick yet again (our house has been a giant petri dish for the past month and with Pukefest I and II behind us, we're currently gearing up for the Pukefest III) and the first words out of his mouth were "I don't want to go to nonna's house today. I want to stay home with you."

Now I would love to say that my first reaction was to hold him in my arms, cuddle him and tell him "that's okay sweetie, you stay home and mummy will take care of you." No, that would make me a GOOD mother and this blog would be completely boring. The whole point of this blog is to make you, the readers, feel good about your parenting. like how I feel when I watch Super Nanny. Nope, my first reaction was "crap (note: insert much larger and more graphic curse word here) - I'm supposed to be packing today!". And I then spent the next hour trying to trick him into going to Nonna's.

7:31 a.m. - How are you feeling right now Liam? Okay Mummy. Do you want to go to Nonna's then? No.

7:33 a.m. - How are you feeling baby? Good. Then you can go to Nonna's! (big smile plastered on my face). No.

7:37 a.m. - I bet you're going to have fun at Nonna's today (big smile now permanently frozen on my face). I NOT GOING TO NONNA'S MUMMY!

And so it went for an hour until I finally got it through my thick skull that he wanted to stay home with me. Crazy kid wanting to stay with his mother when he's sick. What's up with that? So I made the call to Nonna and gave her the news - "he's really sick and it's very contagious, I wouldn't want to get the whole family sick so he's going to stay home today." As I hung up the phone, Liam said to me...

"I change my mind mummy, I go to Nonna's"

&#$%##......and that is why I'm now completely insane.

But It Will Be A Great Quality When They Grow Up

2008-04-07T12:18:00.010-04:00

I don't like to generalize, but all children seem to have one (or two or three) traits that drive their parents completely insane. I'm not immune.

I have been ~~screwed over~~ blessed with a boy who questions everything.

EV-ER-EE-THING.

He questions every single little request, every word out of my mouth and even questions my questions. To say it makes me crazier than a shithouse rat is an understatement. Just once, I would like to ask him to do something without having to answer 15 consecutive questions in a row. Even when he’s sick, he questions me. Last week, after throwing up for the fourth time in two hours, our conversation went something like this:

Me: Honey, if you feel like you’re going to throw up again, call me.
Him: Why? What will you do?
Me: I’ll come in and help you and try to make you feel better.
Him: How?
Me: I don’t know honey, I’ll just do it.
Him: If you don’t know how, how will you do it?
Me: I’m not sure, I just will.
Him: Will you make me stop throwing up?
Me: I can’t make you stop throwing up. Throwing up is your body trying to get better again.
Him: Why does throwing up make me better?

This went on until he threw up again.

It is like this with every teensy tiney little minute detail that occurs in our lives. Everything from why is he getting at timeout and how do I decide a punishment to why do policemen carry tasers and how do they make bad guys cooperate.

He will question my answers. "Mummy, I can barely see my ladybug on the seat, is she camouflaged?" Yes Adam. "But the seat is black and she's red and black, she can't be camouflaged." Well you can't see her so it doesn't matter what colour she is, she could be purple, pink and neon gree, if she's blending in and you can't see her, she's camouflaged. "But..." Enough, you can't see her - she's camaflouged - go get ready for bed.

He asks questions that don't make sense. "Mummy, if I add together Santa and a snow globe, what do I get?" Ummm.....hmmmm.......a free pass to crazy town?

I'm quite sure there are times, he questions things just for the sole purpose of driving me nuts. Adam, if you don't stop being pokey, you're going to lose your laying down time with Mummy and Daddy. "How many minutes did I lose mummy? Was it three? Am I still losing minutes? How much time will I have to lay down with each of you? Will I lose equal minutes or will I lose more with you or more with daddy" I'm not sure about minutes but Mummy has currently lost her mind.

I’m told all the time by other parents that this is a fantastic trait. That when he’s an adult, he’ll make great changes in the world by questioning the status quo….blah blah blah, yada yada. These of course are the same parents that complain about their children for talking back (future lawyer), running everywhere they go (Olympian), over-analyzing (scientist), day dreaming (movie director) and whining (okay…that one’s just annoying). Maybe once they're finished telling me about how great it is "Johnny stop running and get over here this instant!" they can come over to my house and answer the non-stop onslaught of questions.

When Adam’s older, I DO want him to question everything because questioning everything is a wonderful trait…..when you’re older. But when you're six and your mother has answered her hundredth question in an hour and has simply run out of patience and answers.....it's not all it's cracked up to be. Right here and right now, I would just like him to, occasionally, not make a simple request into a ten minute conversation. I want to ask my child to do something and not have a question asked back. I just want him to do it. And if I tell him “no”, the reason is

Because.

I.

Said.

So.

There! I said it. I want my children to listen to me and do as I say unequivocally, no ifs, ands or buts, just do it, because I said so. This is a dictatorship, not a democracy. When I say “you lose your tie for two days and you can’t wear it again until Wednesday morning for telling Nonna’s best friend of over 40 years that he should pee his pants”, the response should not be “do I have to start right now? You didn’t say right now. You said Monday and Tuesday. It’s Sunday. You didn’t say Sunday. Sunday’s not Monday or Tuesday” Your response should be “okay mom”. That’s what I want.

I think…..

Because truth be told, if I were to question myself about all the questions in my house and why it drives me so completely insane, my frustration doesn’t lie in all the questions that are asked. The truth, the deep down truth in my heart of hearts, is that I’m frustrated because I don’t have all the answers.

Sex And The City

2008-04-06T19:44:00.010-04:00

The Sex And The City movie is coming out on May 30th. I want to see it but somewhere deep inside a part of me is desperately screaming “Don’t do it Sharon! You’ll be disappointed! Remember them the way they were!”

You see, I loved Sex And The City. I was late getting into it – not until Season 3 did I start watching - but once I did….I was hooked.

Sex And The City was the first television series, at least for me, that showed women as more than one dimensional characters. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda had something that most female t.v. characters didn’t have, depth. Sure they all had one main characteristic that stood out among the rest but there was so much more complexity and depth to each of them.

Samantha was the ~~slutty~~ sexually uninhibited one. But who could ever forget the time she started giving a stilted speech about breast cancer and finally, in a moment of sweaty, frustration, ripped off her wig and said “fuck it!” In that moment, she bared not only her head, but her soul. Or when she gave up her hair appointment and offered to babysit Brady so Miranda could go get her hair cut. Yes, Samantha was slutty and self-involved, but you were able to see past that and view her vulnerable side. The side that finally conceded that holding hands in public wasn’t so bad.

Or Charlotte. Dear sweet Charlotte. Charlotte who’s main goal was to get married. Charlotte who through Seasons 1 to 6 looked for her knight in shining armour to come valiantly riding up on his white horse and sweep her off her feet. Only, in the end, she met Harry. Short, bald Harry who liked to walk around naked and leave used tea bags strewn about her impeccably decorated New York apartment. We all watched as Charlotte struggled with and then finally revised her version of what a knight and shining armour really was. It was Harry.

Miranda. Miranda was my favourite. Smart, sassy and witty. A high achiever who made partner in her law firm; tough and cynical with a side of sharp, self-depricating humour. Miranda who gave her all to break through the glass ceiling of the man-eat-man world of law only to find herself pregnant by her ex-boyfriend after a one-night stand she had with him to make him feel better about his uni-ball. Miranda was the friend who always gave her honest opinion even if she knew that it would make you mad. The friend who told Carrie she was making a big mistake if she moved to Paris. If I could choose any of the Sex In The City girls to be my friend, it would be Miranda.

And last but not least….Carrie. Carrie was the most complex out of everyone. In love with Big. Trying to make it work with Aidan. Still in love with Big. A romance with Aleksandr Petrovsky and a move to Paris. And still in love with Big. In between, she was struggling with being single in the city. Balancing her life with her friends and dating. Writing a poignant column each week and then moving on to the epi-centre of fashion - Vogue. At times so needy I wanted to yell at her and other times so independent.....well I wanted to yell at her again. But always caring and concerned and making her friends a priority. And all while wearing very funky (albeit, on occassion, over the top) outfits.

I was compelled to watch these ladies because they were more than one dimensional characters. They were layered and complex like real women. Like my friends. Like me.

If someone were to ask me who my one-dimensional self was, I would say “funny”. My one dimension is humour. I need to be funny, to entertain, to make people laugh. But if you were to look deeper into my layers you would see someone who is sometimes insecure, someone who uses humour to make everyone else feel at ease even when I’m feeling uneasy myself. Someone who is cracking jokes even when I’m feel sad on the inside. Someone who pushes aside offers of help with a witty remark and a smile not because I don't need the help but because I don't want to inconvenience anyone.

This is why I’m afraid to see the Sex And The City Movie. For fear that two hours won’t be enough time to delve into the complexities of these four women. That they will be one-dimensional characters who tie up their lives neatly at the end of the movie and I’ll be left missing the women who I came to love and adore.

Without A Net

2008-04-04T21:14:00.012-04:00

I read an article this morning about leading a balanced life.

Reading is actually too strong a word. I didn’t read it so much as I skimmed it. Reading an article in depth at 8:00 a.m. while trying to get everyone ready and out the door is never going to happen. The irony of being able to only skim an article on leading a balance life is not lost on me.

But skimming aside, the article made me ask myself some very important questions. Do I have a balanced life? What is a balanced life? Is it some sort of zen thing where you reach one level of balance and then move onto the next level? Does anyone actually have a balanced life?

A typical day for me is where I drag myself out of bed, get myself ready, get the kids (with the help of my dear husband) ready for the day, make Adam’s lunch, send Adam to school, squeeze in a short workout, do some work for the Yummy Mummy Club, run errands, make lunch, do more work while Liam is napping, pick up Adam, play with the kids, do homework, make dinner, clean up, bathtime, put the kids to bed, do more work and if I’m lucky, squeeze in time for my writing. I finally drop into bed late at night, exhausted in hopes of getting enough sleep to do it all again tomorrow.

So where is the balance? What is balance?

“Balance” seems to be the new catch phrase made up to encompass all that we don’t have or maybe all that we wish to have. We’re now expected not only to have it all but to balance it too. Only balance isn’t some invisible scale of life where you put equal weights on both sides to have it sway ever so gently never more weight on one side than the other. Because life isn’t even. Life has a way of throwing curve balls like births and deaths, promotions and demotions, celebrations, moves, deadlines….or even simply running out of milk at ten o’clock at night.

If balance means that you manage to give equal amounts of time to your children, to your husband, to your friends, to your family and to yourself, then I don’t have it. At least not all the time. On rare occasions, when the sun, moon and stars are in magical alignment, I have those days or even weeks, where it all comes together and I feel like I do have it all. I am one of the Amazing Walendas balancing precariously on a tightrope doing dangerous, adrenaline-rushing feats without a net.

Then life tosses me a curveball and my routine is gone. I feel overrun, overwhelmed and am barely hanging by a thread. There is too much thrown at me all at once and I’m afraid my shoulders will crumble and my trembling legs will not be able to support the weight that I am expected to bear. Just as I think I will not be able to do it, I will not be able to keep all the balls in the air for one more second, time passes and some of the weight is lifted. I look around and everything is all right again. I’m not balanced just yet, but I can manage.

It’s like marriage. Everyone says that marriage is a 50/50 partnership. Then you get married and you realize it’s never 50/50 because there are times when your husband depends on you and there are times when you need and depend on him. Some days it’s 80/20 or 40/60 or 99/1. Then you look back over 10 or 20 or 30 years and you see the sum of the whole. You realize that, yes, it was 50/50. Just not all at once.

Balancing motherhood is like that. We don’t get an even 50/50 split every single day. It sometimes feels that you don’t get that even split ever. But if you’re doing it right, if every so often you find that time you so desperately need for yourself, for that person you were before you had children - the person who had dreams, the person who had passions, the person who had loves and inspirations - you’ll look back over time and realize that even though there were those days where it was 100/0, you still somehow managed to have balanced life.

What the Hell Was I Thinking?????

2008-03-31T12:46:00.008-04:00

Working for the Yummy Mummy club has been a fantastic creative outlet for me - I get to write (and get paid!!) and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't learn something new.

One of the things that I've been asked to do for the YMC is to use my creativity to come up with video ideas for Yummy Mummy Club TV. So in February I came up with the BRILLIANT idea (brilliant after a night out sans kids, a quiet evening of good food with my husband and a whole bottle of wine) of stripping down to my skivvies to talk about my body issues, what I love and don't love about my body and the healthy changes I'm going to make.

Well it's up. Me and my nakedness are now twirling around on Yummy Mummy Club TV for the world to see. If it had been anyone else doing it (i.e. Jamie Lee Curtis posing in a magazine a few years back with no makeup, no stylists, no special lighting), I would be applauding them. Hooray for you! Let's get rid of all the airbrushedness that permeates through our society.

But it's me. Naked.

Me.

My cellulite. My thighs. My dimples on My butt. My rolls. My nakedness.

Suffice it to say, I'm a bit mortified.

But I'm also proud too - it's a good message even if the medium for the message turned out to be my ass. So go check it out http://www.yummymummyclub.tv/

I've also written a follow up about my progress to date which you can read here.

If you have any comments, I'd love to hear them! Really.

When you bare your ass and your soul to the world, you really need some positive lovin'. Seriously.

Post them here or send them to the Yummy Mummy Club.

Celebrating Good Friday by Being a Bad Mother

2008-03-25T21:24:00.010-04:00

I am a bad mother. Seriously bad. Like I would be stoned in other countries for my bad mothering bad.

Why am I so bad?

Laughing has always been my downfall. I laugh alot. I sometimes laugh at inappropriate situations. I laugh when I'm nervous. I laugh when I'm trying to discipline the kids. I'm working on keeping it under control but to date, no success.

On Friday, Good Friday no less, we took the boys bowling. No this isn't about how I'm a bad mother because we took them bowling instead of going to church.

This is about how I'm a bad mother because we took the boys bowling and Adam got his finger caught in the bowling ball, a giant pink five pound bowling ball, and I started laughing so hard I couldn't help him. My hysterical laughter wouldn't even allow me to breathe let alone help him remove the gigantic pink bowling ball off his hand. I will type this out slowly so you can understand how deep and bad my badness runs.

I. Could. Not. Help. Adam. Because. I. Was. Laughing. So. Hard. I. Couldn't. Breathe.

And then he said to me in a panicked voice, "mummy, help meeeeeeee......I can't get my finger ouuuuuuuttttt. Helllllllllllp Meeeeeeeee." Which made my laugh go from about a 6.5 on a scale of 1 to 10 to about a 52. At one point, I thought my abs were going to explode. I managed to ask how he got them stuck and he replied "I wanted to see how far in my fingers would go." I was now at a 79.

And while all this laughing was going on, there was this small part of my brain that was still functioning and instead of using it's brainy power to think of a way to help my son, it was digging deep into the recesses of my bad mommy mind and thinking "I wish I was recording this."

Paul left to go get help, i.e. the 16 year old boy at the shoe counter who gave him the fantastically great advice (yessss.....I'm being sarcastic) to go the restaurant to get butter, and I was left with alone with Adam trying to pluck a five pound bowling ball off his finger.

And in between my laughter and gasping breaths, I would tug at the ball which made Adam yell things like "Mummmmmyyyyy, that huuuuurrrtttss. Stop itttttttt!" As the gails of laughter burst forth again, I started to pray. Not pray to get the bowling ball of his little finger - I'm a realist - I knew he wouldn't be 16 still walking around with this ball on his finger (although it would certainly put an end to him ever flipping anyone the bird) - but pray because even I could see that I was now truly headed to an afterlife filled with an eternities worth of suntan lotion and sweating...... Tears were streaming down my face and I could barely see Adam, let alone help him. He was just a blurry little figure with a tie and a giant pink ball on his right hand. And if all of this wasn't enough, the gods of comedy sent in Liam who started to yell, "Adam took my ball! Make him give me my ball! Dat my ball mummy! He won't give me back my ball Mummy!!!!!!"

I thought I would have a stroke I was laughing so hard.

Finally, I gave one last tug (with visions of an afternoon at the emergency ward where doctors and nurses would trapse through our curtained area to see the parents of the kid with the bowling ball on his hand) and it popped off.

"Why were you laughing mummy. That wasn't funny. It could have been stuck on there forever. How would I play my guitar"

Yep. Bad Mommy. But if you can't laugh at your kids when they get a bowling ball stuck to their finger, who can you laugh at?

Breaking The Sleeping Through The Night Myth

2008-03-24T11:39:00.008-04:00

A few weeks ago, Paul promised Adam that they would have a “sleepover” together on Saturday night. Sleepover is in brackets because it basically consists of Paul and Adam sleeping together in Adam’s room. I guess Paul figured that Adam would forget about the sleepover promise by the time Saturday rolled around. Not sure why – Adam still remembers the time I did an egg allergy test on his back when he was two years old and brings it up every chance he gets.

“Mummy…remember the time you did the egg test on my back? That hurt. Never ever ever do that again. Why would you do that mummy?”

Jaysus - one egg test four years ago and he still can't let it go - the boy is like a pitbull.

So now here was Saturday rolling around and Paul was left having to sleep in a bed that is exactly 4 inches too short for his body. Ha! That’ll learn him to make promises that he thinks they'll forget!

Anyhoo…I wouldn’t even be writing about this sleepover since it was just a fun little sleepover in Adam’s room, i.e. It was only affecting Paul and Adam. But once again, I got screwed and this fun little sleepover ended up affecting ME! Do I have to repeat the mantra once again? Do you not know it by now? Mummy needs 8 hours of sleep to function. Mummy needs 8 hours of sleep to function.

Liam heard about this fun little sleepover and not wanting to be left out, happily pronounced he was going to sleep in Adam’s room too. This wasn’t going to work because (a) the bed is barely big enough for two children to sleep in it, let alone two children and an adult and (b) as much as I love to reap my vengeance on people who take away my sleep, I couldn’t let Paul suffer through the night with two boys who have proven that perpetual movement really does exist – even while sleeping.

So I told Liam he could sleep in my bed. Which means nobody got any sleep that Saturday night. Which brings me to breaking the myth of Sleeping Through The Night.

If you’re a mother of a newborn and are perhaps somewhere into your 5th or 6th week of sleep deprivation….please stop reading as I fear that any continued reading will cause you to hunt me down, tie me up with your Baby Bjorn carrier and beat me with your Angel Care Monitor.

Like most parents, when I had Adam, I had no idea what I was doing. And I didn’t read any books on how to take care of baby while I was pregnant because I was too busy reading all the pregnancy books, buying cute maternity clothes and throwing up. Besides, buying a book on taking care of a baby would have been too much like being…..what’s the word I’m looking for?…….Oh ya. Smart.

But after about one week with my little bundle of joy, I went to Chapters and bought every book I could get my hands on about babies and sleeping because I couldn’t understand why this sweet little baby of mine was doing nothing but crying and keeping me awake 24 hours a day!!!!! What the hell?

Sure, other mothers had told me that babies wake up a lot but they didn’t say anything about this every two hours crap. I mean there had to be something wrong with my baby that he was waking up this much, right? Babies don’t do this or someone would have mentioned it to me. Right? Wouldn’t they? Because otherwise that would just be cruel.

No, not cruel. Genius. Because other mothers who have gone through this know two things.

(1) If they tell anyone about the true meaning of newborn lack of sleep, the human race would probably come to an end and

(2) they know that newly pregnant women will never believe them. We’re too caught up in the joy of being pregnant.

Besides, our babies will be different. Our babies will sleep through the night, they will never cry because we will know exactly how to comfort them, we will walk them through the park with our pram, lie them on blankets in the grass and read while our new baby calmly nestles into our bodies breastfeeding, smiling and cooing while people passing by point and smile at our Madonna-like picturesque world (No, not the Madonna who sings Like a Virgin and has arms like steel pipes – the other one).

So I come home with all my new books and am reading step-by-step on how to get my dear little Adam to sleep through the night. Only all the books say different things. Co-sleeping, dream-feeds, routines, sugar water (seriously?)…….but one thing all the books said was that at about the three month mark your baby would be sleeping through the night.

On the day Adam turned three months old I had on my party hat and a glass of wine in hand (no horn because I didn’t want to wake him now that he was finally going to sleep through the night) Hooray! At last, I would get a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t wait! I put him down at 8:00 and stayed up until past 11:00, that’s how confident I was that he would sleep right through the night like the books said.

Apparently Adam hadn’t read the same books I did because that night, he still got up every 3 to 4 hours. And really, the writers of these books need to put in BIG BOLD LETTERS that the three month mark is NOT a definitive date and should just be used as a guideline because sleep deprived mothers will grab a hold of anything that will give them hope.

This brings me to busting the first part of the Sleeping Through the Night Myth.

Doctors consider sleeping through the night as 6 hours of consecutive sleep. That means if you put them to bed at 8:00 p.m., they’ll wake up at 2:00 a.m. ready to do the Lionel Richie and Party All Night Long. I’m a mother of two. My definition of sleeping through the night is ME being able to get six hours of consecutive sleep – not my children. Quite frankly, I'm not worried about them getting enough sleep. They can fall asleep in the van in a nano-second. If I did that, I'd get arrested and put in jail (where I could possibly get a good night's sleep)

And secondly, (and I hate to be the one to tell you this) after you have children, you will never sleep soundly again.

Let me repeat that…..YOU WILL NEVER SLEEP SOUNDLY AGAIN.

There I said it. I know it hurts you to read it. It hurt me to write it. I don't enjoy taking away your hope. And some of you might not even believe me. But you need to trust me on this, it’s true. I wouldn't lie to you. Not like all those mothers who lied to me (and yes, I'm still holding a grudge).

You WILL sleep through the night again because eventually, all children do (even if it feels like it will never happen, it will) but it will never be on a consistent basis.

Because if it’s not waking up to be fed, it’s waking up because they are teething, or waking up because they had a nightmare, or waking up because they are sick, or waking up because they heard a noise, or waking up because they are too hot, too cold, too sweaty, too chilly, their blankets came off, they have too many blankets, their stuffed animal fell..... or any of the other hundred million different reasons that will disrupt their sleep.

So get used to it. Enjoy the sleep when you can get it but also resign yourself to the fact that you will never again sleep like you slept pre-children. And that’s okay. It’s not perfect. Some days it even sucks. But it’s okay. Because all around you, you are surrounded by other sleep deprived parents who completely empathize with what you’re going through. We want to offer you our advice and sympathies but after years of being sleep deprived, we're left mumbling incoherently and chugging back copious amounts of coffee trying to stay awake.

Now stop reading and go take a nap.

I'm feeling blue.....

2008-03-23T08:15:00.004-04:00

and green and a nice turquoisey colour too.

You need to read this particular blog carefully. If I can save one parent from having to go through what I'm going through, then I should get some sort of medal or at the very least, a bottle of wine.

Ya know that Crayola colour explosion paper? The black paper that comes with the special pen and it makes all sorts of rainbow pictures? The kids love it and actually, so do I. We do lots of nice pictures together. Good ol' family fun.

Ya......so never ever ever ever ever (are you getting this?) EVER pick up that paper while your hands are wet. Because the black comes off onto your hands and turns them a cornucopia of colours - mostly different shades of blues and greens. Quite pretty actually. Yes, a beautiful rainbow of colours that is somewhat.......PERMANENT.

Oh, that's not right......I'm sorry. I didn't meant to yell. I just lost my head for a minute there.

It's just that it's now day two and my hands are STILL blue. I've scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and my hands are now not only different shades of blue and green, they are dry and sandpapery. They're a bit sore so it's hard to type. Makes me kind of grumpy.

So my advice to you, dear readers, is always make sure your hands are completely dry when playing with the black paper.

There! I've done my good deed for the day.

Now go colour with your kids. Just make sure your hands are dry.

A Goldmine of Fodder

2008-03-19T13:13:00.009-04:00

Dear Paul,

Hi Hon! Hope you're having a good day - I just have a quick question for you. How many of the brackets need to be removed from our breakfast bar before it actually comes crashing down?

I know, I know….kind of a strange question but I have a feeling you may know where I’m going with this.

You see, the other day, while I was taking a shower, I heard the familiar thump thump thump of one of our boys coming up the stairs to our room. "Oh crap," I thought, "here we go." It’s amazing how my instincts are always right on the ball. Turns out it was Liam, who was so proud of his latest accomplishment that he wanted to run up and show me – shower be damned, my mummy needs to see this - right away. He smashed open the door, flung open the shower curtain (very dramatic child – I don’t know who he gets THAT from) to show me the bracket he had removed from the breakfast bar with a screwdriver.

"What’s that Liam?" I asked with soap running into my eyes and goose pimples appearing on my skin faster than Lindsay Lohan ripping off her undergarments thanks to the sudden onslaught of cold air.

“It’s a backet mummy! Daddy taught me how to unscew the scews and take it off! I’m gonna go get another one!”

And off he ran. Needless to say, my normally lengthy 2 minute and 35 second shower was cut short as I had to run down to stop him from removing anymore brackets. Who would have thought a 3 year old would have such amazing manual dexterity.

And since we’re on the topic of screwdrivers and removing things…. when you taught Liam how to use the screwdriver, you probably weren’t thinking of the many creative ways he would come up with to use it. Like being able to remove the batteries from his toys, put the cover back on and then a day later FREAK OUT when the toy no longer works. By the way, I have a baggie full of batteries that I have found scattered throughout the house over the last month. You’ll need to check to see which ones are working and which aren't. Anyhoo….. before you teach him how to use his next tool, like a jackhammer or chainsaw, maybe give me a bit of a warning, ‘kay?

Well anyway……..who would have thought that you would be able to provide me with so much to blog about? You're a goldmine of fodder. Keep up the good work!

Love Sharon

I'm having a bit of a Chitty Day

2008-03-17T18:36:00.003-04:00

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - Good movie for a six year old and three year old.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - Bad title for a six year old and three year old.

I'm still here....

2008-03-17T07:38:00.003-04:00

Okay.....I swear I DO actually have stories for you and am going to go on a writing spree this week. They're trapped in my head right now - I can actually feel them trying to claw their way out, one of them is trying to pick the lock as we speak. They're good stories too. Like how Liam has learned how to remove the brackets from our breakfast bar and how many actually need to be removed before it falls. And how "they" are wrong when they say "We don't negotiate with terrorists" - they're just sending in the wrong negotiators - 10 minutes with Adam and Liam and the terrorist would be begging to be taken to Guantanamo Bay. Or our fun game of musical beds.

But the best one will be how I stripped down to my skivvies for the Yummy Mummy Club! Oh yes I did. And that'll be coming up soon.

So come back. There will be new blogs this week. I swear. Really.

One Day

2008-03-15T19:14:00.002-04:00

One more day and March Break is officially over!

What? You were waiting for something else?

Not To Be A Negative Nelly or Anything...

2008-03-11T11:09:00.007-04:00

But you wanna know what sucks? Really really sucks?

It really really sucks when you go to the wine store to buy wine because at the end of a hard day you like to relax and unwind with a good glass of wine. A little something to look forward to after a day of putting on and taking off two children's snow pants, jackets, hats, mitts and boots on three separate occassions, a day of answering a million questions - half of which you don't know the answer to, a day of breaking up fights, of negotiating meals, of running errands, of singing silly songs, of wrestling, of giving piggy back rides and of course, playing Bored Games. And while you're at the wine store, you decide to try a new wine because it says "Special Reserve" which makes it sound all delectable and fancy. "They must have put alot of work into making this wine in order to label it "Special", you think. I must try this special wine. It's reserved even. It's specially reserved wine just for me.

You bring the wine home, chill it so it's the perfect temperature, put the kids to bed and in quiet anticipation pour yourself a glass of this specially reserved, heavenly, must be fantastic wine, sit down on your comfy sofa with the book you actually now have time to read, take a sip...

and the wine tastes like shit.

And that my friends, really really sucks.

Raising Money for Cancer

2008-03-10T08:15:00.005-04:00

I've mentioned before in my blog that Adam is raising money for cancer. He is doing this by running laps around a park near our house. His sheer determination is remarkable and impresses me beyond belief. He will run that lap even after we've had a snowstorm and there is two feet of snow on the ground and no path for him to follow. He will run that lap when it's freezing cold and the wind is bringing tears to his eyes. He runs fully dressed in his boots, snowpants, snow jacket, hat and mitts and he has never stopped to take a break. He runs with a smile on his face each and everytime.

On the weekend, Adam made a spur of the moment song about cancer and raising money. What I love most about kids (and not just mine) is the freedom with which they speak. The honesty that resonates from them and how they just speak what they feel. That is Adam's song.

If you'd would like to support Adam in his run to help find a cure for cancer, please email me.

Welcome to the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom

2008-03-08T07:38:00.017-05:00

Kathy Bechtold wrote a very funny and insiteful article for the Yummy Mummy Club this month about being a recovering Mommy Martyr. She compared herself to Ernie and Bert. Normally she's Ernie who as you recall is a happy-go-lucky, easy-going, singing about his rubber ducky sort of guy. But she had recently morphed into Bert. Evil coneheaded Bert with his uni-brow and angriness permeating from his little yellow body. Not to mention the weird obsession with pigeons.

I've been feeling that way myself lately. Only instead of turning from Ernie into Bert, I'm more on the level of turning from Ernie into Freddy Kruger. Hmmmm....that reminds me...I need to book an appointment for a manicure.

Yesterday Adam told me that if he could, he would put a lever on my back and switch it to "nice" and just in case I wasn't getting the whole picture, he added that he would also include a button he could push that said "no yelling".

So what's up with all the angry yelling and Freddy Kruger slashing? These past few weeks I found myself falling down the slippery slope into the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom. The slippery slope is not a large mountain like Kilimanjaro where the moment you slip you come crashing down, arms and legs flailing, gaining momentum with every turn until you land in a heap at the bottom in great pain. No, Mommy Martyrdom is a low, gently sloping hill that you casually stroll along enjoying the view not even realizing that you're on a downwards path.

"Not to worry, I can hang your jacket and put away your boots. Of course I can babysit your kids. Don't worry hon, I know you have to work late, I'll do dinner, homework, baths and put the kids to bed by myself again. I have lots of time, I'll arrange the party. Oh, you're not able to babysit them? Okay, I'll bring Liam with me to my hair appointment - no worries. I'm too tired to workout, maybe tomorrow. Volunteer two days a week? Sure"

And then you stop for a moment and take look around and find yourself in the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom surrounded by other sad, overworked mother who are exhausted and feeling underappreciated.

Here's where I'm supposed to say something about these poor women and how something needs to be done to help them..........

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

Buck up! It's your own fault. We've got nobody to blame but ourselves. The fact is I should know better. I work for the Yummy Mummy Club for cripes sakes. The whole vibe at the YMC is that Moms need to be taking care of themselves. I shouldn't let it get to the point where my Freddy Krugerness rears it's ugly head. Where I'm crying and exhausted and I'm taking it out on the kids and my husband. Where my son is wishing he could insert a No Yelling button on my back.

So why did I let it get to this point? I don't know. Sometimes it's just easier to do things myself than to delegate. But really...that's a bunch of crap isn't it? Because having a breakdown isn't easy. And hearing your kids tell you that you need your lever pulled to nice isn't easy. And feeling guilty because you know you're behaving like a deranged woman isn't easy. Or taking your kids grocery shopping only to yell at them in the frozen foods section (If you were shopping or working at Dominion yesterday, I apologize for my slightly psychotic outburst in the frozen food aisle) isn't easy. Plus all the crying makes my eyes all swollen and yucky and I may act like Freddy Kruger but I sure as hell don't want to look like him.

Yep, the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom is not a fun place to be so yesterday, with Paul's help, I climbed back up that hill and am enjoying the view from top. We are in full emergency catastrophe clean-up mode and today I'm going to switch my lever back to nice. I'll probably have to oil it first - it's a bit stiff.

Another Blog for Paul

2008-03-04T11:03:00.011-05:00

Hi Hon! Looks like you're on a roll this week.

Listen.....I understand that dads play with their kids differently than moms. It's just one of those facts of parenting. And I love that you roughhouse with them and teach them how to use tools and trick them into thinking yardwork is fun. I love the fact that you play with them period. And I'm readily admitting to the entire blog world that Liam DID in fact laugh quite alot while you were chasing him around the house with the plastic bag over his head and that the crying didn't last nearly as long as I would have thought after he ran into the table.

But I was a bit worried when I came upstairs this morning and Liam told me that "Daddy showed me how to daw a picture with his ear by putting a pentil in it." Again, kudos for you for sitting on the floor and drawing and colouring with Liam. God only knows that there are days when I would rather stab myself with that pencil than draw yet another picture for 1000th time in an hour - "daw a monkey mummy, now daw a sun, how 'bout a house? 'Dat not a berry good monkey mummy" But I think I may have to draw the line at you teaching him to draw pictures with pencils in his ear. I know, I know.....he thought it was funny when you were showing him that was how Licorice would draw a picture (personally, I would think he would use his tail but whatever....it's your game).

I'm just a bit worried that he might start sticking other things in his ears and then I'm the one left at home trying to fish them out. Like the cheerio in the nose fiasco a few years back.

By the way, after Liam stuck his finger in Licorice's ass a few months ago, I implemented the "No Sticking Anything In Any Orifaces Anywhere" rule. That includes ears.

Thanks Hon!

Are They Awake Yet?

2008-03-02T13:31:00.015-05:00

The background music in a movie is the unmistakeable backdrop for what is about to happen. Who can forget the music from Jaws? The onimous music begins - da da da da dadadadadada - you know that something dreadful is about to happen. You want to scream at the people on the screen "Get out of the water!" But they never listen and you're left helplessly glued to your seat waiting for the carnage to ensue.

My life's background theme is not music per se, more the footsteps of horror climbing up the stairs and making their way toward my bedroom at 6:50 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Thump

Thump

Thump Thump Thump

Thump

Thump

Thump

Thump

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter

Tippy toe tippy toe tippy toe tippy toe

Suddenly it all stops and there is complete and utter silence except for the slow steady breathing two inches away from my face. I dare not move. If I can just stay completely still, I know the villainous beast will go away. Inside my head, I'm silently screaming......Go away beast! I was up late watching a movie. I drank wine. I need to sleep! Just one morning where I can sleep past 7:00 a.m. Please Beast, please! Oh dear God, make him go away and I'll never so much as look at another glass of wine ever again!

On the outside, I don't move a muscle, not so much as a twitch. I'm barely breathing. Please please please.....just go away and let me sleep....

The beast sighs deeply

Shuffle shuffle

Yay! It's working! The beast is leaving. I'm free to sleep for another hour!

tippy toe tippy toe tippy toe tippy toe

"Ya, d'ey're till teeping Adam!!! Come help me wake dem!"

Fuck

Oh well....at least I still get to drink wine.

No Calendar Necessary

2008-03-02T08:52:00.001-05:00

The hair on my legs is almost long enough to braid.

Must be March.

Your Friday Funny

2008-02-29T09:47:00.005-05:00

Nothing I could write today would be funnier than this.

The first video is a video Sara Silverman made for Jimmy Kimmel for his birthday....

The second is Jimmy Kimmel's retaliation video

I hope it makes you laugh as hard as I did.