Everyone always talks about the terrible two's. I'm wondering if anyone was ever going to let me in on the secret that terrible three's exist too.
I picked Adrian up from pre-school yesterday and was told by his teacher that he had a "great day!".
Apparently he decided to save the worst part of his day for me.
How thoughtful.
It started off innocently enough. He asked to go to Tim Horton's as he always does. After a bit of hesitation from me and after he implored pathetically "Pleeease Mumma" about 5 times his big blue eyes on mine...I totally gave in.
Mistake number one.
Off we walked down to the end of the plaza where the Tim Horton's is located (between which is a barber, a dry cleaning place, massage therapy, a variety store and an abandoned Swiss Chalet....just to give you an idea of how much of a walk it is, especially with 2 little ones).
I'm sure it's the only one in existence that does not have a drive through.
A drive-through would've made my life a helluva lot easier and would have completely avoided the hysterics that I now have the pleasure of letting you in on....
We arrived at a very busy Tim Horton's and in we trooped. Today Adrian decided he wanted a croissant and an old fashioned glazed timbit. I also purchased a plain timbit for my little guy. As I handed them their timbits, Adrian insisted he hold the paper bag with his croissant in it. He then quietly and politely asked for a chocolate milk. I said okay. Manners and good behaviour so far. Check.
Uh-uh!
Mistake number two.
As we got back in line for the chocolate milk he stated that he wanted to sit at the table to eat his snack and drink his chocolate milk. It was getting late and I knew John was going to be home from work soon and I had to get dinner ready, which is what I gently tried to tell my 3 year old.
Mistake number three.
He turned around, hit the garbage can door that was situated behind us and it began to swing wildly back and forth. His eyes filled with tears and he demanded loudly "NO, I want to stay HERE!"
After that display of behaviour I told him we were leaving without his chocolate milk.
This is when it gets gooood folks.
He screamed in a pitch so high I was convinced the dogs living in the nearest homes began to howl.
He was so angry that he clenched his fists (thus crushing his timbit) and started to vibrate. I'm not kidding.
I admit. I was a little bit scared of him.
Now, if it was just Adrian and me it would've been easy to simply pick him up and leave the place so as not to become a complete spectacle. (well as easy as it is to pick up a 40 pound 3 year old that's thrashing around like a fish out of water)
Too late for that. The stomping of the feet, swinging of the arms, writhing of the body and screaming continued as I attempted to maneuver him out the door with an almost 30 lb baby in my arms.
Okay, so I practically dragged him out. I was THAT Mom.
All the way back down the sidewalk of the plaza towards the truck (as I carried Finley in my arms so that he wasn't bulldozed by his unhinged brother....I'm in pretty good shape but my arms were feeling like they were about to become unhinged) he vacillating between ramming his head into my legs and then stopping dead in his tracks to advise me "I stopped crying Mumma...can we go get a chocolate milk now?"
Yeah right kid.
He continued his tirade, throwing his untouched croissant to the ground, mere crumbs of his timbit left in his clenched hand.
It was awesome. I had to hold back a bit of laughter...mostly nervous laughter because I didn't know what else to do. My hands were tied. I had to ride it out. There was actually a point in time where I was running with Finley in my arms just to keep Adrian from continually ramming into me.
Um. That's bad isn't it?
Finley, thank God for Finley, did not even make a peep the entire time.
I love that kid.
We eventually made it to the truck in one piece. Barely. Well, except the forsaken croissant and pulverized poor timbit. Nonetheless, Adrian seemed to have run out of steam. As I buckled him into his car seat he grabbed me close and mumbled tearfully into my jacket..."I love you Mumma".
Awww.
Then he noticed the timbit in his hand crushed beyond recognition and therein began a whole other wave of tears.
Of-course, Finley, having had enough of the maniacal madness of his brother, started to cry.
Lord, have mercy on me. Please.
I wearily climbed into the truck, giving myself a big pat on the back for keeping it together fairly good thus far.
I put the key in the ignition and started up the truck. On the radio was Jennifer Lopez's On the Floor.
I love that song.
It was like a little sparkle of happiness in a cacophony of craziness.
I turned the volume way up hoping to drown out the chaos in the backseat imagining myself in a dance club so that I too could "Dance the night away, grab somebody, drink a little more."
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Let the guilt go and be FREEEE!
The other night as I was getting my daily facebook fix I saw a status update of a friend of mine. She recently returned from a trip to Costa Rica with her husband. She has a 9 month old son and I wondered if she had brought him with her. As I looked at the comments, I read that another one of her friends had inquired how long she was a away and if she brought her son with her. It was an innocent question to me but I noticed my friend's response bordered on a bit defensive. She explained that her and her husband were the photographers and videographers for the wedding and to bring the baby with them and do their job too would've been impossible, so they left him with their family. Although she missed him (of course - we always do) he did wonderfully without them. She also encouraged the commenter that she too should book a trip without her babe.
I wondered....was I reading too much between the lines or was it because I too am a Mother that could I detect a bit of the guilt that she possibly felt for having had a great time away from her baby OR was it that this "friend" possibly made her feel like an inferior Mother for having "left" her child behind? (other Mom's are great at doing that and it needs to STOP)
In any case I decided that I would "like" her comment. I loved that her and her husband took a trip together (whether it was work, business or both). I have yet to see her personally with her son but I know her to be a fantastic person who is amazing at anything she does, besides that, I think that more Mom's would do well to take some time away from their babes once in a while. If not just to "get away" from the everyday monotony of changing dirty diapers, washing bottle upon sippy cup, doing what seems like a never ending pile of laundry, playing peek-a-boo and "This little piggy" too many times to count, but also to reconnect with your husband and/or friends.
No excuses necessary.
The first time my husband and I went on a date after Adrian was born was when he was 6 months old. We left him with a good friend of mine and it was his bed time by the time we left the house. He would simply go to sleep and she could just relax.
Not really. He cried the entire 2 hours we (tried) to enjoy our supposed romantic, Italian dinner and alone time, as my boobs leaked and my husband kept checking his phone to make sure it was on so as not to miss the frantic call from my friend yelling at us GET HOME NOW while our baby wailed in the background.
Okay, so it didn't exactly end like that.
But close enough.
When Adrian was about 9 months I went to a friend's wedding out of town while my Dad and his wife babysat him overnight. My husband was on a business trip so he unfortunately couldn't join me. Adrian had a great time with his Poppa and Nana. He was well taken care of, spoiled with affection and love. I had a great time catching up with great friends and watched two amazing people get married.
When he was about 18 months old, my husband and I were invited to a friend's wedding in Montreal. I was 8 months pregnant and very unsure as to what we should do. This would have to be a 2 nighter! My Mother-in-law offered to take care of him for an entire week-end (not a small feat let me tell you). Then she said something that has stuck in my head since...."I wish I was more "free" with my time when the kids were little". As I contemplated the decision her words kept repeating in my head.
After much deliberation (on my part - due to my moody and very pregnant, uncomfortable state) we went and I'm so happy we did. My husband and I explored Montreal, eating at amazing restaurants and attending a lovely wedding where I shook my booty and (very large) belly, thoroughly enjoying a very romantic, MUCH needed week-end away. Adrian had a wonderful time bonding with his grandparents and his Tia and Tio.
Since my second son was born we've been a lot more "free" about our time without the kiddies. We've taken 2 overnight trips together and had a blast both times.
The biggest "test" for me came last December. My best friend got married in Mexico, I was to be her Matron of Honor. Although my husband couldn't join me he encouraged me to go, go, go! He stated it was important for me to see Erin get married. She was there for mine and did an incredible amount of work leading up to and on my wedding day although she lived in a totally different province.
I was terribly conflicted. I felt weird about going to Mexico without my husband and also for leaving my babies for longer than a 48 hour period. This was not a trip my husband and I could take "together" for various reasons....and if I was to go to Mexico for a romantic wedding shouldn't my husband be there with me?
In an ideal situation, YES. With the kids? NO WAY! Bringing a 2 year old and a 1 year old with us to a tropical destination is not our idea of a good time. If you're a parent that has and does bring your child(ren) with you on these types of trips - all the power to you!!! Seriously. If you survive the plane ride and the week in an unfamiliar setting with two kids under 3 without losing it on your spouse or just losing it all together you are a better person than I.
In the end, I went to Mexico. By myself. For 4 nights.
Besides the pathetic situation the night before I left, when my husband found me in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, sobbing into a towel.....
Mexico. was. absolute. BLISS.
As I sat around the pool under the blazing hot Mexican sun chatting with friends and having my fifth mojito for the day I admitted something that until the moment it came out of my mouth had not occurred to me. I got "a piece of January back" during my trip. And indeed I did. While I was there, I wasn't a wife, I wasn't a mother, I wasn't a cook, a slave, a housecleaner or a homemaker. I was just me.
I had missed her and welcomed her back with open arms.
Of-course all of those titles came tumbling back at me as soon as I stepped off the plane and into the truck with my husband and 2 sleeping babes.
It sure was lovely while it lasted.
The advice I will give you all so generously, my Mommy (and Daddy) and Mommy and Daddy's to be is to be more free with your time without your beautiful children. Find yourself once in a while beneath the title of Mommy or Daddy.
Leave the guilt behind! (that's for the Mom's)
You are not a better parent for feeling guilty.
Let it go.
It feels damn good.
I wondered....was I reading too much between the lines or was it because I too am a Mother that could I detect a bit of the guilt that she possibly felt for having had a great time away from her baby OR was it that this "friend" possibly made her feel like an inferior Mother for having "left" her child behind? (other Mom's are great at doing that and it needs to STOP)
In any case I decided that I would "like" her comment. I loved that her and her husband took a trip together (whether it was work, business or both). I have yet to see her personally with her son but I know her to be a fantastic person who is amazing at anything she does, besides that, I think that more Mom's would do well to take some time away from their babes once in a while. If not just to "get away" from the everyday monotony of changing dirty diapers, washing bottle upon sippy cup, doing what seems like a never ending pile of laundry, playing peek-a-boo and "This little piggy" too many times to count, but also to reconnect with your husband and/or friends.
No excuses necessary.
The first time my husband and I went on a date after Adrian was born was when he was 6 months old. We left him with a good friend of mine and it was his bed time by the time we left the house. He would simply go to sleep and she could just relax.
Not really. He cried the entire 2 hours we (tried) to enjoy our supposed romantic, Italian dinner and alone time, as my boobs leaked and my husband kept checking his phone to make sure it was on so as not to miss the frantic call from my friend yelling at us GET HOME NOW while our baby wailed in the background.
Okay, so it didn't exactly end like that.
But close enough.
When Adrian was about 9 months I went to a friend's wedding out of town while my Dad and his wife babysat him overnight. My husband was on a business trip so he unfortunately couldn't join me. Adrian had a great time with his Poppa and Nana. He was well taken care of, spoiled with affection and love. I had a great time catching up with great friends and watched two amazing people get married.
When he was about 18 months old, my husband and I were invited to a friend's wedding in Montreal. I was 8 months pregnant and very unsure as to what we should do. This would have to be a 2 nighter! My Mother-in-law offered to take care of him for an entire week-end (not a small feat let me tell you). Then she said something that has stuck in my head since...."I wish I was more "free" with my time when the kids were little". As I contemplated the decision her words kept repeating in my head.
After much deliberation (on my part - due to my moody and very pregnant, uncomfortable state) we went and I'm so happy we did. My husband and I explored Montreal, eating at amazing restaurants and attending a lovely wedding where I shook my booty and (very large) belly, thoroughly enjoying a very romantic, MUCH needed week-end away. Adrian had a wonderful time bonding with his grandparents and his Tia and Tio.
Since my second son was born we've been a lot more "free" about our time without the kiddies. We've taken 2 overnight trips together and had a blast both times.
The biggest "test" for me came last December. My best friend got married in Mexico, I was to be her Matron of Honor. Although my husband couldn't join me he encouraged me to go, go, go! He stated it was important for me to see Erin get married. She was there for mine and did an incredible amount of work leading up to and on my wedding day although she lived in a totally different province.
I was terribly conflicted. I felt weird about going to Mexico without my husband and also for leaving my babies for longer than a 48 hour period. This was not a trip my husband and I could take "together" for various reasons....and if I was to go to Mexico for a romantic wedding shouldn't my husband be there with me?
In an ideal situation, YES. With the kids? NO WAY! Bringing a 2 year old and a 1 year old with us to a tropical destination is not our idea of a good time. If you're a parent that has and does bring your child(ren) with you on these types of trips - all the power to you!!! Seriously. If you survive the plane ride and the week in an unfamiliar setting with two kids under 3 without losing it on your spouse or just losing it all together you are a better person than I.
In the end, I went to Mexico. By myself. For 4 nights.
Besides the pathetic situation the night before I left, when my husband found me in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, sobbing into a towel.....
Mexico. was. absolute. BLISS.
As I sat around the pool under the blazing hot Mexican sun chatting with friends and having my fifth mojito for the day I admitted something that until the moment it came out of my mouth had not occurred to me. I got "a piece of January back" during my trip. And indeed I did. While I was there, I wasn't a wife, I wasn't a mother, I wasn't a cook, a slave, a housecleaner or a homemaker. I was just me.
I had missed her and welcomed her back with open arms.
Of-course all of those titles came tumbling back at me as soon as I stepped off the plane and into the truck with my husband and 2 sleeping babes.
It sure was lovely while it lasted.
The advice I will give you all so generously, my Mommy (and Daddy) and Mommy and Daddy's to be is to be more free with your time without your beautiful children. Find yourself once in a while beneath the title of Mommy or Daddy.
Leave the guilt behind! (that's for the Mom's)
You are not a better parent for feeling guilty.
Let it go.
It feels damn good.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Happy 5th Birfday Honey!
It was with sheer luck and the good grace of God that John's birthday did not turn into a barfday what with the boys being so sick mere days before.
I had decided that since his family was coming to celebrate I would make my famous lasagna (requested by my hubby) and a chocolate cake. Now, I do pride myself on being a pretty good cook however, baking is not my forte. I had a boxed mix of Betty Crocker Devil's Chocolate Cake and I purchased 2 containers of Betty Crocker's French Chocolate Icing. I am all about cooking from scratch for the most part...with the exception of cake baking. I'll take any help I can get.
I found out that the key to an extremely moist cake is to add 1/4 cup of mayo to it. Sounds weird? Sure does but I dare you to try it...you'll never NOT add it again!
I baked the cake on Friday night after the boys were asleep for the night and decided it would be a lot of fun for Adrian to help decorate it. After icing the cake (which is so, SO much harder than it sounds) it was not the prettiest looking. The sayings "Don't judge a book by it's cover" and "It's what inside that counts" were going on in my head as I iced this baby up. And I'll hand it to myself...eating this cake made my taste buds feel the most incredible joy of taste sensation they've never felt before.
Of-course, Adrian had another idea of what his Dad's birthday cake should be and this is how the conversation went one morning last week:
"Daddy, I'm going to make a birfday cake for you!"
"You are?!"
"Yes, it's going to be a chocolate cake with pineapple, chocolate chips and mango!" Okay, so his tastes are not what you would call middle of the road and though he could be onto something there, I decided to leave out the pineapple and mango but did throw in the mix a handful of milk chocolate chips.
When Adrian awoke from his afternoon nap on Saturday the decorating began!
I had decided that since his family was coming to celebrate I would make my famous lasagna (requested by my hubby) and a chocolate cake. Now, I do pride myself on being a pretty good cook however, baking is not my forte. I had a boxed mix of Betty Crocker Devil's Chocolate Cake and I purchased 2 containers of Betty Crocker's French Chocolate Icing. I am all about cooking from scratch for the most part...with the exception of cake baking. I'll take any help I can get.
I found out that the key to an extremely moist cake is to add 1/4 cup of mayo to it. Sounds weird? Sure does but I dare you to try it...you'll never NOT add it again!
I baked the cake on Friday night after the boys were asleep for the night and decided it would be a lot of fun for Adrian to help decorate it. After icing the cake (which is so, SO much harder than it sounds) it was not the prettiest looking. The sayings "Don't judge a book by it's cover" and "It's what inside that counts" were going on in my head as I iced this baby up. And I'll hand it to myself...eating this cake made my taste buds feel the most incredible joy of taste sensation they've never felt before.
Of-course, Adrian had another idea of what his Dad's birthday cake should be and this is how the conversation went one morning last week:
"Daddy, I'm going to make a birfday cake for you!"
"You are?!"
"Yes, it's going to be a chocolate cake with pineapple, chocolate chips and mango!" Okay, so his tastes are not what you would call middle of the road and though he could be onto something there, I decided to leave out the pineapple and mango but did throw in the mix a handful of milk chocolate chips.
When Adrian awoke from his afternoon nap on Saturday the decorating began!
 |
| After icing a very shaky "Happy Birthday Dada!"... |
 |
| ...we decided that the ultimate candy decoration of choice... |
 |
| ....would be Smarties (Daddy and Aidy's fav) and some sprinkles. |
 |
| One for the cake and one for me! |
 |
| There's the birfday boy and .... Gary Busey junior?!! Must've been a gooooood nap! Eeek. |
 |
| Making sure the sprinkles and Smarties are juuust right |
 |
| In the meanwhile Gary Busey junior is on a tirade.... |
 |
| Let's keep him quiet by throwing him some Smarties....yes, that's a fantastic idea (ahem - not mine!) |
 |
| Okay, so noting the beautiful script I am going out on a limb and admit that cake decorating may not be my calling. |
 |
| Adrian even decided where the candles went and how many...this year Dad's turning 5! |
 |
| Later that evening, enjoying the scrumptious chocolate cake and champagne! (and acting like total goofs) Happy 5th Birfday Honey! I love you! |
Monday, March 28, 2011
Puke, Poop and Pedialyte
It was a puke, poop and Pedialyte filled day last Thursday. I could have written a whole blog entry about it but since we all know how awesome it feels when you are spewing out both ends I decided to spare you all the grisly details. That and the fact that the mere thought of vomit puts my gag reflex into overload (which tells you how great I am dealing with my 3 year old throwing up in my hands at 2 am to save my white comforter). I not only spared you but myself.
You can thank me in my comment section if you wish.
I'll just leave you with this sweet but oh so sad picture of what my boys looked like all day long. I hated seeing them so sick, with such little energy but at the same time, since I was up all night dealing with Mr Pukey and Mr Poopy I was so exhausted that it was my only saving grace to get through the day. Instead we all hung out, watched movies between napping, as they drank gallons of Pedialyte and ate pretty much nothing at all.
I'm happy to report that today they are healthy, happy and hyper once again.
You can thank me in my comment section if you wish.
I'll just leave you with this sweet but oh so sad picture of what my boys looked like all day long. I hated seeing them so sick, with such little energy but at the same time, since I was up all night dealing with Mr Pukey and Mr Poopy I was so exhausted that it was my only saving grace to get through the day. Instead we all hung out, watched movies between napping, as they drank gallons of Pedialyte and ate pretty much nothing at all.
I'm happy to report that today they are healthy, happy and hyper once again.
 |
| My sickies. |
That's me! A Lazy, Leash Lovin' Mumma!
I read an article last night...all right, I admit, I just skimmed through it and went directly to the comments to see what others thought of this very accusatory, ridiculous piece of "literature". I almost don't want to place a link to it here because that would mean I'm supporting them in some way but for all of you taking the time to read my article, take a moment and skim this, trust me it won't even take that long; Leashing your child makes you a LAZY parent! (so that wasn't exactly the title - it was titled "Would you leash your child?")
And yes, yes I have "leashed" my child. This article is particularly annoying to me because it's assuming a few things...and as my Mother always taught me, never, ever assume because assuming makes an ASS out of U and ME.
The writer clearly states that although she's not outright calling us "bad parents" but parents that leash their children are lazy. Oh, thank you for sparing me the ultimate insult of calling me a terrible parent but if you want to really tick me off you can call me lazy. Secondly, she only has ONE child. ONE. Anyone that has 2 or more children knows that having one child is a heck of lot easier than having 2, 3, or more. It's also a heck of a lot easier keeping your eye out on one child because although us Mother's like to tell our children we have "eyes in the back of our heads", unfortunately (or fortunately as no one would like to resemble a creepy alien-like creature) we do not. Thirdly, I think (though I will not assume) that she's assuming all of us lazy leash using parents use them at all times, in all places. Maybe I could be totally wrong but that's the feeling I get reading this back.
The half a dozen times that the leash has come in handy ( I will tell you right now that Adrian who was 2 at the time actually LIKED his back pack horsey leash) have been when I've had to take the odd mandatory trip to the mall or store and I know he will freak out if left in the stroller or cart for longer than 10 minutes. Excuse me for not wanting the added stress of taking a field trip with 2 children and having to deal with one that won't stop screaming. I'm sure other people appreciated that too.
The times I have used the leash I received many smiles from strangers (mostly from amusement I'm sure), inquiries from other parents as to where I bought my leash and comments about what a great idea because it not only allows your child to walk and get a bit of exercise it also keeps them safe. Now, this author also assumed that us lazy parents don't want to teach our children to "behave" and stay by our sides at all times when in public. I guess she had a perfect toddler that always listened to everything she said or her child miraculously skipped toddlerhood entirely. She must be a perfect parent too.
I almost posted a comment on her very judgemental article but then saw that about 50 others had firmly put her in her place as it was. I have recently made the decision to try to NOT to judge other bloggers by also putting my own judgement on them.
Instead I'll write an entire blog entry about it for those that actually want to read about my thoughts, insights and stories of my life.
I will conclude this by quoting the brilliant Forrest Gump "and that's I have to say about that."
And yes, yes I have "leashed" my child. This article is particularly annoying to me because it's assuming a few things...and as my Mother always taught me, never, ever assume because assuming makes an ASS out of U and ME.
The writer clearly states that although she's not outright calling us "bad parents" but parents that leash their children are lazy. Oh, thank you for sparing me the ultimate insult of calling me a terrible parent but if you want to really tick me off you can call me lazy. Secondly, she only has ONE child. ONE. Anyone that has 2 or more children knows that having one child is a heck of lot easier than having 2, 3, or more. It's also a heck of a lot easier keeping your eye out on one child because although us Mother's like to tell our children we have "eyes in the back of our heads", unfortunately (or fortunately as no one would like to resemble a creepy alien-like creature) we do not. Thirdly, I think (though I will not assume) that she's assuming all of us lazy leash using parents use them at all times, in all places. Maybe I could be totally wrong but that's the feeling I get reading this back.
The half a dozen times that the leash has come in handy ( I will tell you right now that Adrian who was 2 at the time actually LIKED his back pack horsey leash) have been when I've had to take the odd mandatory trip to the mall or store and I know he will freak out if left in the stroller or cart for longer than 10 minutes. Excuse me for not wanting the added stress of taking a field trip with 2 children and having to deal with one that won't stop screaming. I'm sure other people appreciated that too.
The times I have used the leash I received many smiles from strangers (mostly from amusement I'm sure), inquiries from other parents as to where I bought my leash and comments about what a great idea because it not only allows your child to walk and get a bit of exercise it also keeps them safe. Now, this author also assumed that us lazy parents don't want to teach our children to "behave" and stay by our sides at all times when in public. I guess she had a perfect toddler that always listened to everything she said or her child miraculously skipped toddlerhood entirely. She must be a perfect parent too.
I almost posted a comment on her very judgemental article but then saw that about 50 others had firmly put her in her place as it was. I have recently made the decision to try to NOT to judge other bloggers by also putting my own judgement on them.
Instead I'll write an entire blog entry about it for those that actually want to read about my thoughts, insights and stories of my life.
I will conclude this by quoting the brilliant Forrest Gump "and that's I have to say about that."
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Is this what YOU would call a tantrum?
As I've mentioned before, my 2 boys could NOT be any more different. And I absolutely love it. Both my boys have big personalities but they show them in totally different ways. Adrian has an extremely fiery spirit with a dramatic flair and Finley is an easy going, funny, independant little guy. They've both shown these traits from the moment they were incubating in my belly. Adrian was a kicker and a mover, at times I felt like he was beating me up from the inside out. Finley moved of-course but always more like gently rolling. He never made me suddenly grab my big belly and yell out randomly in public places "OH! Ouch! Yikes! AH!"
Not one time. Thank you for that Fin.
Now that he's almost 17 months he is showing a bit more of his "spirited" side.
He has yet to throw what I would consider a tantrum. I'm pretty sure Adrian had about a thousand tantrums by this age...so when I see Finley have a "fit" because something might not be going his way...it makes me giggle. A little bit.
Okay, a lot.
Is that bad?
I will share with you an example of what would be considered Fin's tantrum. He was frustrated trying unsuccessfully to "fix" the handle on the play fake food container.
**As a side note, I highly recommend NEVER buying play fake food for your children...especially if you have a dog. It ends up that the "cereal boxes" get crushed or fall apart the first time the kids play with them upon which your children will ask you to continually keep putting them back together (until the 50th time when you get fed up and/or smart and throw them all out when they're napping) and the kajillion fake french fries that come with it end up in the most obscure places (ie; in a plant or in the drawer under the stove where you keep your pots and pans) or your dog eats the pear which she ends up throwing up...no, not on your hardwood floors (where it would be easy to clean up) but on an area rug where it's next to impossible to get all the tiny green chewed up plastic pieces out. So if you decide not to heed my advice...well, don't say I didn't warn you.**
So tell me...at what age did your little ones start showing their "spirited" side?
Not one time. Thank you for that Fin.
Now that he's almost 17 months he is showing a bit more of his "spirited" side.
He has yet to throw what I would consider a tantrum. I'm pretty sure Adrian had about a thousand tantrums by this age...so when I see Finley have a "fit" because something might not be going his way...it makes me giggle. A little bit.
Okay, a lot.
Is that bad?
I will share with you an example of what would be considered Fin's tantrum. He was frustrated trying unsuccessfully to "fix" the handle on the play fake food container.
**As a side note, I highly recommend NEVER buying play fake food for your children...especially if you have a dog. It ends up that the "cereal boxes" get crushed or fall apart the first time the kids play with them upon which your children will ask you to continually keep putting them back together (until the 50th time when you get fed up and/or smart and throw them all out when they're napping) and the kajillion fake french fries that come with it end up in the most obscure places (ie; in a plant or in the drawer under the stove where you keep your pots and pans) or your dog eats the pear which she ends up throwing up...no, not on your hardwood floors (where it would be easy to clean up) but on an area rug where it's next to impossible to get all the tiny green chewed up plastic pieces out. So if you decide not to heed my advice...well, don't say I didn't warn you.**
So tell me...at what age did your little ones start showing their "spirited" side?
Peanuuuuuuut, peanut butter! (sorry no jelly)
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| Peanut Butter Face!!! Scrump-diddly-umptious! |
Finley had his first peanut butter sandwich today. I had to take some pictures of-course....and video (see bottom) Before people freak out about me giving my son anything peanut related before the age of 2, not to worry. He had his first taste of the good stuff by plucking a peanut butter and honey sandwich out of Adrian's dish and taking a good chomp out of it when he was about 8 months old. He was fine.
I am very thankful my kids haven't shown any signs food allergies thus far. I cannot fathom the stress of having a child with anaphylactic allergies on top of the other daily stresses parents already have to deal with.
I'm sure I would be an absolute basket case anytime I would have to take my kids in public. Anywhere.
Back to the peanut butter story...as soon as I gave him his folded in half pb sandwich he promptly dissected it....opened it up, took it apart and proceeded to poke, prod and lick as his mouth was full of the sticky stuff.
Enjoy the latest footage and don't mind the lack of table manners. He's not quite there yet. ;)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Abandoned
A blizzard on a spring day. What the? Seriously. Like we haven't had enough snow.
Winter! Do you HEAR ME???? GIVE IT UP ALREADY!!!
Enough about the weather although it had a lot to do with the height of my anxiety levels today. Not that I HAD to go out in it....no, that was not the plan. You see, John took the truck today because we're refinishing our kitchen cabinets and our little car....is well, too little to fit all the cabinets into.
He also took Adrian to school today.
4 o'clock in the afternoon rolls around. I was playing with Finley in the family room when my husband calls to tell me that his work had let everyone go home early today because of the weather.
So WHY was he still at work?
He thought it would be a good idea to wait for the traffic to die down and he would leave at 5 (and he had a ton of work to do still)....oh and by the way...."what is the latest I can pick up Aidy?"
That would be 6.
And then the dooming words after hearing a huff, a puff and a sigh from yours truly...
"It's not going to take me an HOUR to get home"
Even though he works a half hour away from our house and about 45 minutes away from Adrian's pre-school. Oh and it's been snow storming.
All. Day. Long.
I should have demanded he leave that very minute! That very second dammit!
But, oh no, against my better judgement, I trusted my husband's instincts as I quietly freaked out on the inside.
The phone rings at 5:15 pm.
It's my husband again.
Telling me he's been stuck in traffic for a half and hour and is no where near home.
Our other car had about 2 feet of snow on it and frankly is not exactly a car anyone would want to be driving in the middle of a snow storm. A bit sketchy to say the least. Plus it only has 1 car seat in it.
All I could picture was Adrian waiting....and waiting.....and waiting for Mommy or Daddy to come pick him up from school.
The last little kid in his school...wondering if he's been abandoned.
Okay, so I was totally projecting onto him a horrible memory of when I was in summer camp at age 7 or 8 and me and my brother were the very last kids to be picked up on a Friday night. My parents were separated when I was 5 and my Dad took us every other week-end; maybe they switched up week-ends and forgot who was to pick us up? Miscommunication??? I'm still not sure the back story. In any case, it was an awful, terrifying feeling that I'll never forget and that I hope to GOD my kids never, EVER feel.
For a few hours (or what felt like hours at that age...in reality it was probably 20 mins) I felt what it was to be abandoned...forgotten.
Melodramatic much, you say? Hey, that's how I felt!
Okay. Back to the present crisis at hand.
Thank goodness my lovely neighbor Csilla was home who has 2 boys the same age as mine...hence also a van with 2 car seats which she so generously and trustingly lent to me.
Whew!
I didn't have a lot of time. It was 5:30 after I'd gotten Fin and I dressed in our winter attire. It usually takes me 15 mins to get to his school on a good day....if I'm lucky I'd be there just in time.
Dear God, please, please, please don't have him sitting all alone.
Please, please, please!
That was what I silently chanted to myself. Over and over...and over again.
I pulled into the parking lot at 5:50 pm and was in the school with 5 minutes to spare.
And there he was. My sweet curly headed little boy. His back was to me.
He was the only child left. Sitting at the table reading a book. With his teacher.
Okay so he wasn't totally alone. But none of his little buddies were there.
Oh the guilt!
As soon as he saw me he was all smiles and "Mummy!!! Can we go to Timmies???"
He wasn't traumatized. He likely never felt those terrifying feelings of fear and abandonment that I had all those years ago.
He still requested what he wants every other time I pick him up from school after a choke inducing hug...
A Tim Horton's timbit.
Winter! Do you HEAR ME???? GIVE IT UP ALREADY!!!
Enough about the weather although it had a lot to do with the height of my anxiety levels today. Not that I HAD to go out in it....no, that was not the plan. You see, John took the truck today because we're refinishing our kitchen cabinets and our little car....is well, too little to fit all the cabinets into.
He also took Adrian to school today.
4 o'clock in the afternoon rolls around. I was playing with Finley in the family room when my husband calls to tell me that his work had let everyone go home early today because of the weather.
So WHY was he still at work?
He thought it would be a good idea to wait for the traffic to die down and he would leave at 5 (and he had a ton of work to do still)....oh and by the way...."what is the latest I can pick up Aidy?"
That would be 6.
And then the dooming words after hearing a huff, a puff and a sigh from yours truly...
"It's not going to take me an HOUR to get home"
Even though he works a half hour away from our house and about 45 minutes away from Adrian's pre-school. Oh and it's been snow storming.
All. Day. Long.
I should have demanded he leave that very minute! That very second dammit!
But, oh no, against my better judgement, I trusted my husband's instincts as I quietly freaked out on the inside.
The phone rings at 5:15 pm.
It's my husband again.
Telling me he's been stuck in traffic for a half and hour and is no where near home.
Our other car had about 2 feet of snow on it and frankly is not exactly a car anyone would want to be driving in the middle of a snow storm. A bit sketchy to say the least. Plus it only has 1 car seat in it.
All I could picture was Adrian waiting....and waiting.....and waiting for Mommy or Daddy to come pick him up from school.
The last little kid in his school...wondering if he's been abandoned.
Okay, so I was totally projecting onto him a horrible memory of when I was in summer camp at age 7 or 8 and me and my brother were the very last kids to be picked up on a Friday night. My parents were separated when I was 5 and my Dad took us every other week-end; maybe they switched up week-ends and forgot who was to pick us up? Miscommunication??? I'm still not sure the back story. In any case, it was an awful, terrifying feeling that I'll never forget and that I hope to GOD my kids never, EVER feel.
For a few hours (or what felt like hours at that age...in reality it was probably 20 mins) I felt what it was to be abandoned...forgotten.
Melodramatic much, you say? Hey, that's how I felt!
Okay. Back to the present crisis at hand.
Thank goodness my lovely neighbor Csilla was home who has 2 boys the same age as mine...hence also a van with 2 car seats which she so generously and trustingly lent to me.
Whew!
I didn't have a lot of time. It was 5:30 after I'd gotten Fin and I dressed in our winter attire. It usually takes me 15 mins to get to his school on a good day....if I'm lucky I'd be there just in time.
Dear God, please, please, please don't have him sitting all alone.
Please, please, please!
That was what I silently chanted to myself. Over and over...and over again.
I pulled into the parking lot at 5:50 pm and was in the school with 5 minutes to spare.
And there he was. My sweet curly headed little boy. His back was to me.
He was the only child left. Sitting at the table reading a book. With his teacher.
Okay so he wasn't totally alone. But none of his little buddies were there.
Oh the guilt!
As soon as he saw me he was all smiles and "Mummy!!! Can we go to Timmies???"
He wasn't traumatized. He likely never felt those terrifying feelings of fear and abandonment that I had all those years ago.
He still requested what he wants every other time I pick him up from school after a choke inducing hug...
A Tim Horton's timbit.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Eleven years ago....
11 years ago this week my husband turned 27 and got the best present of his life.
ME!
Oh, I'm so funny!
But this is a true story I'm about to share with you all.....it's a pretty neat one too, if I do say so myself.
John and I got to know each other when we worked together for about 4 months at a restaurant. He was the hot bar manager / bartender and I....well I was the hot waitress.
Oh, I kill myself.
That's not exactly how we met though.
He likes to say I fell for him first.
Which I suppose is true. John got to experience one of more embarrassing moments in life.
It was the summer I was 22. My best friend and I decided we were going to check out this new restaurant. Eat some appies and have a couple of cocktails. It was early summer and so the tank tops and sandals were out in full force. I happened to be wearing some black wedge sandals and as I stepped out of her car and started to walk toward the restaurant I somehow landed face first on the pavement with a broken sandal. I'm still not quite sure what happened.
Yes, I was stone sober.
I got up, dusted myself off as Erin laughed her ass off at me and I too, at myself. I'm a bit of a clumsy creature and embarrassing things seem to happen to me quite regularly but that's a whole other set of stories.
As we walked into the bar area, it seemed as though everyone was staring at us. And laughing.
AND why were they clapping?
And WHO was that amazingly hot guy walking towards us with the biggest smile ever and gorgeous legs to boot?!
And why was HE laughing...and clapping too?
Oh God.
NO!
It turns out, folks, that although you could not see INSIDE the restaurant from the outside, all of the people inside the bar area could clearly see my graceless face plant that happened outside. Directly in front of them.
Awesome.
So not only did I look like a complete idiot in front of total strangers but also in front of the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen.
It turns out he was quite charmed by my klutzy nature.
Erin and I sat down and ate. We had some cocktails and flirted with the baseball players. Well, Erin did. Me? Not so good at the art of flirtation.
And John? Well, he tried to hold a conversation with me but he made me so nervous it was like my mouth was full of marbles. I couldn't even talk for fear of sounding like a total nincompoop, instead I just sat there and looked like one.
That's the story of the very first time I met my future husband.
Fast forward 6 months and I ended up working there. Conscious or subconsciously? I'm not sure.
A bit stalkerish? Possibly.
I wondered where he was the first couple of shifts I served tables. It turns out he still worked there but went on Christmas holidays to spend time with his family out of town.
A family guy.
Noted.
I liked that.
It also turned out that he actually REMEMBERED me. Not only did he remember me and the total moron I made of myself...he remembered what I was wearing that day too.
Noted.
And I LOVED that. (a bit stalkerish? possibly. still....LOVED)
We had been working together for a couple of months when out of the blue in the middle of being slammed on a Friday night he was passing by the restaurant owner and me. He put his arm around my waist and said to our boss;
"I'm going to marry this girl someday. We're going to have 2 kids. NOT 3 because I don't want any child of mine to be scarred with middle child syndrome". Can you tell he's a middle child?
I took it all in stride. I certainly wasn't going to take him THAT seriously. Besides, this was all news to me. We'd never even shared a kiss at this point!
Turns out that my husband might have a few psychic abilities, friends.
Now look at us, 11 years of togetherness. Almost 5 years of marriage and 2 kids (with none on the horizon) later.
What can I say? I got lucky. He's everything I ever dreamt of marrying as a little girl. Not only is he tall, dark and handsome but he's the calm when I'm storming, the rock that I lean on, the reasoner when I'm being a little unreasonable, the logic when I'm being totally illogical. The yin to my yang.
To quote Phoebe from Friends "He is my lobster"
He's my biggest supporter in all that I do...including this blog. Even though, at times, a different light other than amazing has been shone upon him. He takes it all in with great humor.
John is also an amazing parent and we complement each other very well in that department.
Like, when I feel like I'm going completely berserk and my head might start spinning, he takes over....and lets me run away.
For a couple hours anyway.
I also love watching and listening to him with the boys. He is fun, super affectionate, is great at making up silly songs and bedtime superhero stories and when the time comes for it, a good disciplinarian. I mean that in the best way. He always ensures that his boys know he loves very much them no matter what their behaviour entails. That's quite a skill.
John, you are the best thing in my life.
Happy (early) Birthday to you.....
Love,
The gift that keeps on giving; aka January, your loving wifey, Baluuuuga
ME!
Oh, I'm so funny!
But this is a true story I'm about to share with you all.....it's a pretty neat one too, if I do say so myself.
John and I got to know each other when we worked together for about 4 months at a restaurant. He was the hot bar manager / bartender and I....well I was the hot waitress.
Oh, I kill myself.
That's not exactly how we met though.
He likes to say I fell for him first.
Which I suppose is true. John got to experience one of more embarrassing moments in life.
It was the summer I was 22. My best friend and I decided we were going to check out this new restaurant. Eat some appies and have a couple of cocktails. It was early summer and so the tank tops and sandals were out in full force. I happened to be wearing some black wedge sandals and as I stepped out of her car and started to walk toward the restaurant I somehow landed face first on the pavement with a broken sandal. I'm still not quite sure what happened.
Yes, I was stone sober.
I got up, dusted myself off as Erin laughed her ass off at me and I too, at myself. I'm a bit of a clumsy creature and embarrassing things seem to happen to me quite regularly but that's a whole other set of stories.
As we walked into the bar area, it seemed as though everyone was staring at us. And laughing.
AND why were they clapping?
And WHO was that amazingly hot guy walking towards us with the biggest smile ever and gorgeous legs to boot?!
And why was HE laughing...and clapping too?
Oh God.
NO!
It turns out, folks, that although you could not see INSIDE the restaurant from the outside, all of the people inside the bar area could clearly see my graceless face plant that happened outside. Directly in front of them.
Awesome.
So not only did I look like a complete idiot in front of total strangers but also in front of the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen.
It turns out he was quite charmed by my klutzy nature.
Erin and I sat down and ate. We had some cocktails and flirted with the baseball players. Well, Erin did. Me? Not so good at the art of flirtation.
And John? Well, he tried to hold a conversation with me but he made me so nervous it was like my mouth was full of marbles. I couldn't even talk for fear of sounding like a total nincompoop, instead I just sat there and looked like one.
That's the story of the very first time I met my future husband.
Fast forward 6 months and I ended up working there. Conscious or subconsciously? I'm not sure.
A bit stalkerish? Possibly.
I wondered where he was the first couple of shifts I served tables. It turns out he still worked there but went on Christmas holidays to spend time with his family out of town.
A family guy.
Noted.
I liked that.
It also turned out that he actually REMEMBERED me. Not only did he remember me and the total moron I made of myself...he remembered what I was wearing that day too.
Noted.
And I LOVED that. (a bit stalkerish? possibly. still....LOVED)
We had been working together for a couple of months when out of the blue in the middle of being slammed on a Friday night he was passing by the restaurant owner and me. He put his arm around my waist and said to our boss;
"I'm going to marry this girl someday. We're going to have 2 kids. NOT 3 because I don't want any child of mine to be scarred with middle child syndrome". Can you tell he's a middle child?
I took it all in stride. I certainly wasn't going to take him THAT seriously. Besides, this was all news to me. We'd never even shared a kiss at this point!
Turns out that my husband might have a few psychic abilities, friends.
Now look at us, 11 years of togetherness. Almost 5 years of marriage and 2 kids (with none on the horizon) later.
What can I say? I got lucky. He's everything I ever dreamt of marrying as a little girl. Not only is he tall, dark and handsome but he's the calm when I'm storming, the rock that I lean on, the reasoner when I'm being a little unreasonable, the logic when I'm being totally illogical. The yin to my yang.
To quote Phoebe from Friends "He is my lobster"
He's my biggest supporter in all that I do...including this blog. Even though, at times, a different light other than amazing has been shone upon him. He takes it all in with great humor.
John is also an amazing parent and we complement each other very well in that department.
Like, when I feel like I'm going completely berserk and my head might start spinning, he takes over....and lets me run away.
For a couple hours anyway.
I also love watching and listening to him with the boys. He is fun, super affectionate, is great at making up silly songs and bedtime superhero stories and when the time comes for it, a good disciplinarian. I mean that in the best way. He always ensures that his boys know he loves very much them no matter what their behaviour entails. That's quite a skill.
John, you are the best thing in my life.
Happy (early) Birthday to you.....
Love,
The gift that keeps on giving; aka January, your loving wifey, Baluuuuga
| Franklin P. Jones |
A Sick Day...not like they used to be...
I'm calling in sick to work today.
Oh, wait a minute.
I can't call in sick because I'm a full time stay at home Mother that will never, ever, ever have that option.
Well, not for another 18 years or so.
The upside of today is that at least on top of myself being sick I don't have to care for little ones that are also feeling like snivelling lumps of phlegm, snot and lethargy.
My babies are actually not sick for once.
Yet.
The downside of today is that I still have to meet the trillions of demands, needs and wants that my little ones cry, whine or yell at me while feeling like a snivelling lump of phlegm, snot and lethargy.
I told Adrian at breakfast that he had to be "extra good today and listen to Mummy really well".
"Why Mumma?" Always a why. Why do we have to wear clothes outside? (because it's cold and you'll freeze), why do I have to brush my teeth? (because if you don't bugs will eat holes in them), why is ketchup red (because it's made from tomatoes and tomatoes are red) why is ketchup made from tomatoes? (um...because it is?) Why, why, why.
"Because Mummy doesn't feel very good today."
"You should go sleep in your bed or watch one of your favourite shows". How astute my dear son. I wish I could.
Sniffle, sniffle.
Cough, cough.
Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, sneeze...
SNEEZE!
HeAd PoUNd, HEaD PoUNd.
How I wish I could.
By the way, never, ever ask your three year old to be extra good and listen especially well because ultimately he will do the exact opposite.
Another tidbit of advice, no matter how sick you're feeling, don't take those daytime cold medicines because it ends up drying out your mouth and throat completely neglecting your nose so that it still feels stuffed up to your eyeballs yet somehow keeps dripping like a faucet, at the same time making your stomach feel like it's on the verge of upchucking the chicken noodle soup and oj you've been consuming in vast quantities.
They also make you feel so agitated and edgy that anything you say comes out sounding a lot sharper and louder than it was meant so that subsequently you not just feel awfully terrible but you also end up feeling like an awfully terrible parent.
(admittedly I didn't have any patience for my children's antics today)
Or maybe I just don't react well to those particular medications.
In any case, all Mother's have to deal with this scenario too many times so we all know how difficult it can be dealing with the long day ahead especially when feeling like you want to curl up into a ball and die.
Or just sleep.
Forever.
However, now that my boys are napping I'm going to heed my son's excellent advice.
If I'm lucky I might get in 45 minutes of bad daytime t.v. as I hunker down on my couch with five blankets heaped on me and box of tissues in hand.
Oh how sometimes I wish it was still the good ol' days BK when I could call in sick whether I really was or not.
Not that I EVER did such a thing.
Ah, but I have a better job now.
The best job in the world.
Motherhood.
Ain't it grand?
*BK - Before Kids*
Oh, wait a minute.
I can't call in sick because I'm a full time stay at home Mother that will never, ever, ever have that option.
Well, not for another 18 years or so.
The upside of today is that at least on top of myself being sick I don't have to care for little ones that are also feeling like snivelling lumps of phlegm, snot and lethargy.
My babies are actually not sick for once.
Yet.
The downside of today is that I still have to meet the trillions of demands, needs and wants that my little ones cry, whine or yell at me while feeling like a snivelling lump of phlegm, snot and lethargy.
I told Adrian at breakfast that he had to be "extra good today and listen to Mummy really well".
"Why Mumma?" Always a why. Why do we have to wear clothes outside? (because it's cold and you'll freeze), why do I have to brush my teeth? (because if you don't bugs will eat holes in them), why is ketchup red (because it's made from tomatoes and tomatoes are red) why is ketchup made from tomatoes? (um...because it is?) Why, why, why.
"Because Mummy doesn't feel very good today."
"You should go sleep in your bed or watch one of your favourite shows". How astute my dear son. I wish I could.
Sniffle, sniffle.
Cough, cough.
Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, sneeze...
SNEEZE!
HeAd PoUNd, HEaD PoUNd.
How I wish I could.
By the way, never, ever ask your three year old to be extra good and listen especially well because ultimately he will do the exact opposite.
Another tidbit of advice, no matter how sick you're feeling, don't take those daytime cold medicines because it ends up drying out your mouth and throat completely neglecting your nose so that it still feels stuffed up to your eyeballs yet somehow keeps dripping like a faucet, at the same time making your stomach feel like it's on the verge of upchucking the chicken noodle soup and oj you've been consuming in vast quantities.
They also make you feel so agitated and edgy that anything you say comes out sounding a lot sharper and louder than it was meant so that subsequently you not just feel awfully terrible but you also end up feeling like an awfully terrible parent.
(admittedly I didn't have any patience for my children's antics today)
Or maybe I just don't react well to those particular medications.
In any case, all Mother's have to deal with this scenario too many times so we all know how difficult it can be dealing with the long day ahead especially when feeling like you want to curl up into a ball and die.
Or just sleep.
Forever.
However, now that my boys are napping I'm going to heed my son's excellent advice.
If I'm lucky I might get in 45 minutes of bad daytime t.v. as I hunker down on my couch with five blankets heaped on me and box of tissues in hand.
Oh how sometimes I wish it was still the good ol' days BK when I could call in sick whether I really was or not.
Not that I EVER did such a thing.
Ah, but I have a better job now.
The best job in the world.
Motherhood.
Ain't it grand?
*BK - Before Kids*
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Does being a Mommy = being a Micromanaging Martyr?
Sometimes I wonder why families with small children bother to go out beyond the comfort of their homes at all. Or maybe it's just my family.
It inevitably happens that I end up not only having to get myself ready but also two little ones while also packing and ensuring the diaper bag is properly stocked with snacks, sippy cups, extra clothing, diapers and wipes.
It also inevitably happens that I get frustrated and annoyed at my husband for not helping me do these things thus causing myself and my husband unmitigated stress which spills out onto the boys at which point one or both end up fussing, having a tantrum and/or melting down as I'm trying to stuff them into their jackets, hats and boots.
But then I think quite honestly, if my husband did assist me I would likely be trailing him around the house interrogating him to make sure he packed said snacks, sippy cups, clothing, diapers and wipes or he would be asking me a hundred questions as what to exactly to pack and where precisely to find said snacks, sippy cups, clothing, diapers and wipes which would more than likely irritate me even more.
Which is why I end up doing it all anyway.
I have also made an interesting observation about the whole situation of leaving the house with and without my husband. I am far less stressed when it's just my kids and me leaving the house than when my husband is involved. When it's just the boys and me, at least I KNOW I have no one else to rely on and if something doesn't get done fast enough or things aren't packed properly I'm the only one to blame.
Are all Mom's micromanaging martyr's or is it just me?
Please tell me I'm not alone here.
PLEASE NOTE**This is nothing against my husband or any other father for that matter...I do believe this circumstance to be true in MOST households**
**But then again, I could be totally off base here which is why I need to know that I'm not alone!**
It inevitably happens that I end up not only having to get myself ready but also two little ones while also packing and ensuring the diaper bag is properly stocked with snacks, sippy cups, extra clothing, diapers and wipes.
It also inevitably happens that I get frustrated and annoyed at my husband for not helping me do these things thus causing myself and my husband unmitigated stress which spills out onto the boys at which point one or both end up fussing, having a tantrum and/or melting down as I'm trying to stuff them into their jackets, hats and boots.
But then I think quite honestly, if my husband did assist me I would likely be trailing him around the house interrogating him to make sure he packed said snacks, sippy cups, clothing, diapers and wipes or he would be asking me a hundred questions as what to exactly to pack and where precisely to find said snacks, sippy cups, clothing, diapers and wipes which would more than likely irritate me even more.
Which is why I end up doing it all anyway.
I have also made an interesting observation about the whole situation of leaving the house with and without my husband. I am far less stressed when it's just my kids and me leaving the house than when my husband is involved. When it's just the boys and me, at least I KNOW I have no one else to rely on and if something doesn't get done fast enough or things aren't packed properly I'm the only one to blame.
Are all Mom's micromanaging martyr's or is it just me?
Please tell me I'm not alone here.
PLEASE NOTE**This is nothing against my husband or any other father for that matter...I do believe this circumstance to be true in MOST households**
**But then again, I could be totally off base here which is why I need to know that I'm not alone!**
Saturday, March 19, 2011
An Awkward Walk
While John took Adrian to soccer this morning I decided to take Riley and Finley for a walk. She's gotten a bit pudgy over the winter....sadly she doesn't get walked nearly enough anymore.
Unfortunately along with John, Adrian and the truck went the single stroller, so I had to dig out my sling hoping upon hope that Finley wouldn't mind being in it....even though he's almost 17 months old and can walk like no one's business.
Off we go! I decided to let Fin walk on his own for a bit....you know, maybe tire him out a little then he might not mind being attached to me for the next half hour. But he kept on truckin' ahead of me, his little legs a pumpin'. After about a quarter of a block (well, that's a big walk for little legs!) and after a few attempts to run onto the road I decided that it was time to put him in the sling.
Thank goodness he didn't mind it at all. It had been a few months since I'd last used it but it worked like a charm...
For about 10 minutes and then he tried to escape by bending at the waste, squirming and squiggling almost falling head first onto the concrete sidewalk.
I managed to keep him somewhat distracted, pointing out cars and birds along the way until we reached the pathway to the park. I put him down to toddle his way towards the swings as I called out to him to stay out of the puddles. Like he's actually going to listen.
A girl came around the corner...she was adorable and looked to be about 19 or 20 with Starbucks in hand. She wasn't wearing the warmest of clothing (I notice these things as a Mother now)....I kinda wanted to give her my scarf, tie it tight around her and exclaim "You're going to catch your death!" That's what being a Mom has done to me.
I refrained of-course.
Immediately upon seeing this young girl Riley went ballistic, whimpering and crying, her whole butt vibrating. As Starbucks girl approached she asked to pet Riley. I obliged as Riley then dropped onto her side wiggling and panting at the girls feet. She's a ridiculous suck, what can I say. I thought by the age of seven this behaviour would cease but embarrassingly, it has not.
As Starbucks girl is petting Riley, she mentions that her puppy is coming around the corner. I thought it was odd that she was walking so far ahead of her dog....but who am I to judge? Sure enough 30 seconds later a tall man holding the leash of a bull terrier, a miserable looking woman and a 15ish year old boy who was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and chewing on the drawstring ambled around the corner.
Tall man called out "Is she laying in the water?" I looked down at Riley, sure enough she was sorta kinda near a very shallow puddle and the concrete around her was wet. I wasn't sure why he was asking....if he felt sympathy for me that I have a dirty wet dog or what???
Clearly that was NOT why he was asking.
I told him "Yeah, but that's okay"
He replies in an irritated voice "Okay for you maybe."
Ooookay. He clearly didn't want my dog anywhere near his...or him.
Oops.
After the dogs did the standard butt smell greeting, I let my dirty, wet dog wriggle and smell all over his very white bull terrier as he held his dog's leash as far away from him as possible.
I'm sorry, he has a DOG and it's almost SPRING. His dog was going to get wet eventually. This was my way of helping him get over it.
He looks at Starbucks girl and asks stiffly "So are you going to walk with us now?"
"Depends" says Starbucks girl with seemingly no emotion. I had to admire her stoicism.
"Well, maybe if you did, you and your Mother could make peace." he says with a strange smirk. He then notices Finley staring unabashedly up at him. "Hello there!" Tall Man says all jovially looking down at my son like the discommodious exchange between him and his daughter never happened.
Well, time to go!
I attempt to rally up the troops, pulling at Riley's leash while trying not to dislocate my shoulder, as I simultaneously gently tugged at Finley's hand so that he'd put one foot in front of the other and stop staring wide eyed and disconcertingly at Tall Man.
Can you say awwwkwarrrd?
Unfortunately along with John, Adrian and the truck went the single stroller, so I had to dig out my sling hoping upon hope that Finley wouldn't mind being in it....even though he's almost 17 months old and can walk like no one's business.
Off we go! I decided to let Fin walk on his own for a bit....you know, maybe tire him out a little then he might not mind being attached to me for the next half hour. But he kept on truckin' ahead of me, his little legs a pumpin'. After about a quarter of a block (well, that's a big walk for little legs!) and after a few attempts to run onto the road I decided that it was time to put him in the sling.
Thank goodness he didn't mind it at all. It had been a few months since I'd last used it but it worked like a charm...
For about 10 minutes and then he tried to escape by bending at the waste, squirming and squiggling almost falling head first onto the concrete sidewalk.
I managed to keep him somewhat distracted, pointing out cars and birds along the way until we reached the pathway to the park. I put him down to toddle his way towards the swings as I called out to him to stay out of the puddles. Like he's actually going to listen.
A girl came around the corner...she was adorable and looked to be about 19 or 20 with Starbucks in hand. She wasn't wearing the warmest of clothing (I notice these things as a Mother now)....I kinda wanted to give her my scarf, tie it tight around her and exclaim "You're going to catch your death!" That's what being a Mom has done to me.
I refrained of-course.
Immediately upon seeing this young girl Riley went ballistic, whimpering and crying, her whole butt vibrating. As Starbucks girl approached she asked to pet Riley. I obliged as Riley then dropped onto her side wiggling and panting at the girls feet. She's a ridiculous suck, what can I say. I thought by the age of seven this behaviour would cease but embarrassingly, it has not.
As Starbucks girl is petting Riley, she mentions that her puppy is coming around the corner. I thought it was odd that she was walking so far ahead of her dog....but who am I to judge? Sure enough 30 seconds later a tall man holding the leash of a bull terrier, a miserable looking woman and a 15ish year old boy who was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and chewing on the drawstring ambled around the corner.
Tall man called out "Is she laying in the water?" I looked down at Riley, sure enough she was sorta kinda near a very shallow puddle and the concrete around her was wet. I wasn't sure why he was asking....if he felt sympathy for me that I have a dirty wet dog or what???
Clearly that was NOT why he was asking.
I told him "Yeah, but that's okay"
He replies in an irritated voice "Okay for you maybe."
Ooookay. He clearly didn't want my dog anywhere near his...or him.
Oops.
After the dogs did the standard butt smell greeting, I let my dirty, wet dog wriggle and smell all over his very white bull terrier as he held his dog's leash as far away from him as possible.
I'm sorry, he has a DOG and it's almost SPRING. His dog was going to get wet eventually. This was my way of helping him get over it.
He looks at Starbucks girl and asks stiffly "So are you going to walk with us now?"
"Depends" says Starbucks girl with seemingly no emotion. I had to admire her stoicism.
"Well, maybe if you did, you and your Mother could make peace." he says with a strange smirk. He then notices Finley staring unabashedly up at him. "Hello there!" Tall Man says all jovially looking down at my son like the discommodious exchange between him and his daughter never happened.
Well, time to go!
I attempt to rally up the troops, pulling at Riley's leash while trying not to dislocate my shoulder, as I simultaneously gently tugged at Finley's hand so that he'd put one foot in front of the other and stop staring wide eyed and disconcertingly at Tall Man.
Can you say awwwkwarrrd?
Friday, March 18, 2011
What happens I'm not looking....
My son has figured out how to use my laptop....he particularly likes to play on photo booth. He LOVES taking pictures of himself and looking at pictures of himself.
I may have a three year old narcissist on my hands. Not that I've had anything to do with encouraging that behaviour by constantly telling him he's so cute I could eat him.
But anyway...this is what happens when I turn my head for a moment to attend to my crying little one with the computer wide open on the kitchen table....
I may have a three year old narcissist on my hands. Not that I've had anything to do with encouraging that behaviour by constantly telling him he's so cute I could eat him.
But anyway...this is what happens when I turn my head for a moment to attend to my crying little one with the computer wide open on the kitchen table....
He makes me so proud.
Phew!
This morning while eating breakfast Adrian was muttering some words in between bites of his blueberry waffles.
They sounded like "hump, hump, hump, kill, kill, kill"
I was totally freaked out. What, where, who would he learn these words from???
With heart pounding, feeling a bit ill, I asked Adrian as calmly as I could, "Honey, can you say that a little louder?"
"Hump, hump, hump! Kill, kill, kill!" That's what I heard.....again!
Oh dear God.
"It's a song" he tells me.
A song?! Where was he listening to RAP music?!!
Oh man.
"A song? Can you sing the song for me?"
"Alice the camel has 4 humps!" he sings proudly holding up 5 fingers
Okay. So he needs to work on pronouncing the word "camel".
And maybe his math skills.
How relieved do I feel right now.
They sounded like "hump, hump, hump, kill, kill, kill"
I was totally freaked out. What, where, who would he learn these words from???
With heart pounding, feeling a bit ill, I asked Adrian as calmly as I could, "Honey, can you say that a little louder?"
"Hump, hump, hump! Kill, kill, kill!" That's what I heard.....again!
Oh dear God.
"It's a song" he tells me.
A song?! Where was he listening to RAP music?!!
Oh man.
"A song? Can you sing the song for me?"
"Alice the camel has 4 humps!" he sings proudly holding up 5 fingers
Okay. So he needs to work on pronouncing the word "camel".
And maybe his math skills.
How relieved do I feel right now.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Are you smarter than a 3 year old?
Adrian gasps "Mummy! How did that happen....beneath Finley's right eye?"
I'm sorry. Pardon?
I follow where his little index finger is pointing to on Finley's face. Sure enough, there's a good gouge "beneath Finley's right eye".
This is my THREE year old uttering the word beneath and actually being correct in pointing out the direction of right. And I'm not talking about a 3 year old that is turning 4 next month. He just turned 3 last month. Like 5 weeks ago.
Okay, alright, we all believe our children are geniuses in some capacity.
I'm no different.
I am afraid he's smarter than me some days.
Actually, most days.
Terrifying.
And absolutely amazing.
Oh, and the gash under Fin's right eye? Just a self induced scratch.
Might be time to trim his nails.
That's always a fun time.
A blog entry unto itself.
I'm sorry. Pardon?
I follow where his little index finger is pointing to on Finley's face. Sure enough, there's a good gouge "beneath Finley's right eye".
This is my THREE year old uttering the word beneath and actually being correct in pointing out the direction of right. And I'm not talking about a 3 year old that is turning 4 next month. He just turned 3 last month. Like 5 weeks ago.
Okay, alright, we all believe our children are geniuses in some capacity.
I'm no different.
I am afraid he's smarter than me some days.
Actually, most days.
Terrifying.
And absolutely amazing.
Oh, and the gash under Fin's right eye? Just a self induced scratch.
Might be time to trim his nails.
That's always a fun time.
A blog entry unto itself.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Drawing the Line
A recent blog article I read made me think. (I think I love my son a litte bit more than my daughter) It was not what this article was specifically about that made me think because this was not an article I could relate to much at all (thankfully), however, it was definitely thought provoking. I have 2 sons that are 21 months apart and very, very different. I relish those differences and though my 3 year old has typical 3 year old behaviour and can be quite challenging at the best of times I've never had the darkest thoughts that this woman has had. I feel quite lucky that I haven't because although she did receive some pretty harsh comments, she also had some people that agreed with her. Clearly she is not alone with her unsettling thoughts. However, she did receive many, many negative responses about this quote in particular "There are moments – in my least sane and darkest thoughts – when I think it wouldn’t be so bad if I lost my daughter, as long as I never had to lose my son (assuming crazy, dire, insane circumstances that would never actually occur in real life). I know that sounds completely awful and truly crazy"
We all have crazy, nutty and insane thoughts at some points, in the worst moments of our lives, and at times when things seem to be spinning beyond our control. I get that. I totally do. I just wonder...at what point should we draw the line as bloggers? At what point do bloggers help others we don't know at all, relate to us, while at the same time hurting and possibly forever damaging those relationships the closest to us. All bloggers have a reason for sharing their thoughts, and feelings with the outside world. Those that have the great opportunity to make money from doing it have their own motives. The woman that wrote this controversial article does make money from blogging which could give a whole other twist to the reason behind this article...shock value can also equal more people hitting on your blog which equals more moola in her pocket. Not that I'm saying that's why she wrote what she did but it crossed my mind. My reason for blogging is clearly quite different than hers. I love that it allows me to record these amazing (and not so amazing) moments in time that go by so quickly we forget most of them if we don't. This is also my only creative outlet at this point in my life. It's not all roses and rainbows. Of-course it isn't. There are okay days, great days and pretty crappy, challenging days too. I am honest in the blogs I write. But I suppose as bloggers we also have the ability to "choose" in what light others can see us. We also have our own style of how we express ourselves. Sure, I'm honest in what I share, but I also feel the need to censure some things. Or perhaps edit out the less than desirable things I could say but don't because I have other people in my life to think about that I love and care about far too much to expose such private moments and thoughts on a public forum.
Since this is my blog and considering I am a pretty light hearted soul this is how I would like to "portray" my personal blog. I am okay with my son reading about defecating on his foot 20 years from now and that there are days that him and his brother drive me absolutely crazy bananas. I am okay with my husband knowing he makes me steaming mad sometimes and I'm really fine with my children reading about that 20 years from now too. John and I argue in front of our children....yes we do. They're certainly not knock down, drag out fights. My husband and I are both very strong minded BUT we don't "fight dirty". I am fine with my children seeing that it's OKAY to disagree. Nobody gets along 24/7. That is NOT reality. Of-course we now have a 3 year old referee with the name of Adrian who will tell us to "Calm down guys" at which point we let him know that Mom and Dad are okay, we're just having a disagreement. And many times, 2 minutes later we're laughing about whatever. That's the way John and I work. We lay it all out immediately and (usually) it's done. I know that some people might be uncomfortable with this, they may not agree that this is a part of "good parenting" (God knows we ALL parent differently) and I'm okay with that. My children also see John and I hugging, kissing and giving affection to one another on a daily basis.
I understand that some people may feel the need or want to read the deepest, darkest thoughts of another and I really do believe that good that comes from those blogs too. It may possibly help someone else feel that they're not alone in their thoughts, however, this is not the kind blog you'll get here. I would like my blog to be something a person can relate to whether they happen to be parents or not while at the same time entertaining them for a moment or two. I also want my boys to look back on these entries with good feelings and the peace of mind knowing that although we had our struggles that they were and always will be loved as equally and as intensely by their Dad and me.
That's all. If I've done that, I've done what I've come here to do.
We all have crazy, nutty and insane thoughts at some points, in the worst moments of our lives, and at times when things seem to be spinning beyond our control. I get that. I totally do. I just wonder...at what point should we draw the line as bloggers? At what point do bloggers help others we don't know at all, relate to us, while at the same time hurting and possibly forever damaging those relationships the closest to us. All bloggers have a reason for sharing their thoughts, and feelings with the outside world. Those that have the great opportunity to make money from doing it have their own motives. The woman that wrote this controversial article does make money from blogging which could give a whole other twist to the reason behind this article...shock value can also equal more people hitting on your blog which equals more moola in her pocket. Not that I'm saying that's why she wrote what she did but it crossed my mind. My reason for blogging is clearly quite different than hers. I love that it allows me to record these amazing (and not so amazing) moments in time that go by so quickly we forget most of them if we don't. This is also my only creative outlet at this point in my life. It's not all roses and rainbows. Of-course it isn't. There are okay days, great days and pretty crappy, challenging days too. I am honest in the blogs I write. But I suppose as bloggers we also have the ability to "choose" in what light others can see us. We also have our own style of how we express ourselves. Sure, I'm honest in what I share, but I also feel the need to censure some things. Or perhaps edit out the less than desirable things I could say but don't because I have other people in my life to think about that I love and care about far too much to expose such private moments and thoughts on a public forum.
Since this is my blog and considering I am a pretty light hearted soul this is how I would like to "portray" my personal blog. I am okay with my son reading about defecating on his foot 20 years from now and that there are days that him and his brother drive me absolutely crazy bananas. I am okay with my husband knowing he makes me steaming mad sometimes and I'm really fine with my children reading about that 20 years from now too. John and I argue in front of our children....yes we do. They're certainly not knock down, drag out fights. My husband and I are both very strong minded BUT we don't "fight dirty". I am fine with my children seeing that it's OKAY to disagree. Nobody gets along 24/7. That is NOT reality. Of-course we now have a 3 year old referee with the name of Adrian who will tell us to "Calm down guys" at which point we let him know that Mom and Dad are okay, we're just having a disagreement. And many times, 2 minutes later we're laughing about whatever. That's the way John and I work. We lay it all out immediately and (usually) it's done. I know that some people might be uncomfortable with this, they may not agree that this is a part of "good parenting" (God knows we ALL parent differently) and I'm okay with that. My children also see John and I hugging, kissing and giving affection to one another on a daily basis.
I understand that some people may feel the need or want to read the deepest, darkest thoughts of another and I really do believe that good that comes from those blogs too. It may possibly help someone else feel that they're not alone in their thoughts, however, this is not the kind blog you'll get here. I would like my blog to be something a person can relate to whether they happen to be parents or not while at the same time entertaining them for a moment or two. I also want my boys to look back on these entries with good feelings and the peace of mind knowing that although we had our struggles that they were and always will be loved as equally and as intensely by their Dad and me.
That's all. If I've done that, I've done what I've come here to do.
Monday, March 14, 2011
A Shitty Situation
As parents we have to deal with far too many shitty situations. And I mean that in the most literal sense.
Starting from when they are itty bitty babies and an explosion happens of such epic proportions that the only way to get out of that situation is to cut your way around it.
Yes, I've had to cut off my sons onesies with scissors lest not exposing their adorable little faces to feces.
It's been known to go up the back and down the pant leg...and God forbid they catch a flu bug. You wanna talk about a shitty situation. There's a good example for you.
I thought with Adrian being toilet trained since the fall, that dealing with his crap, for the most part, was over.
But today....today was the day I realized it was soooo not over.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes while the boys played. Adrian decided he wanted to actually put some clothes on for the second time in his life and went upstairs to get dressed.
Or so I thought.
A few minutes passed and I started to feel a bit uneasy....it was way too quiet upstairs. I didn't hear any thumping, bumping or yelling coming from him which was very, very unusual.
"Aidy? Adrian?! Are you okay?" I call up the stairs.
"I'm just pooping!" He calls back.
DING, DING, DING!!!! Alarms start going off in my head. Within seconds he comes to the railing and peers at me from the upstairs landing with a very mischievous smile on his face. And I noticed something else very disturbing.
He had no underwear on. Did I hear him correctly....did he say he was pooping?!
I bolted up those stairs so fast that he barely got a chance to escape under our bed. I grabbed onto his leg and pulled him out as he was cackling. Evil, evil child of mine.
Sure enough, as I carry him (in football hold - I certainly didn't want his ass anywhere close to me) into the bathroom I see that he indeed, had a poop...
As I cleaned up his butt while lecturing him not to get off the toilet until I wipe his ass (of-course I didn't word it like that entirely) I'm not sure how I noticed, but I happened to see there was shit on the bottom of his left foot!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
I totally freak out now thinking he must've done his business somewhere other than just in the toilet. I scrub his feet in the bath tub and told him not to move as I remembered Finley is still downstairs by himself. I grab our phone and page John who is working from home in the basement. No answer. I run downstairs to find Finley had climbed into his booster chair looking so proud of himself, smiling away, waiting patiently for his morning snack. Oooooooo, that face!
"John! John???!! I need you're help....I'm dealing with a shit situation upstairs. Can you look after Fin for a minute?" I hear him get off the phone and sprint up the stairs.
Thank God he was home.
I bolt back up the stairs and see what I hadn't before...little footprints of crap going from the bathroom, into our room, across the hall with the most concentrated ones in Adrian's room.
GROOOOOSS!!!!!!!!!!!
John comes up the stairs and puts Finley in his room to play (thankfully the trails of brown did not enter into his room).
John enters the scene of the crime. Turns out my 3 year old has the capacity to also plug our toilet. Awesome.
I start scrubbing with a vengeance, rags in one hand and a bottle of Folex in the other (Folex - best stain remover ever)
He fills the bath tub asking Adrian what happened....his answer being "I'm sorry Daddy...it was a mistake."
I am not sure how shit ending up on the bottom of your bare foot in your house is a mistake, however, I don't think we're getting any answers today.
I am just praying to God we won't be finding any more shitty surprises.
And hope that's the end of today's shitty situation.
Starting from when they are itty bitty babies and an explosion happens of such epic proportions that the only way to get out of that situation is to cut your way around it.
Yes, I've had to cut off my sons onesies with scissors lest not exposing their adorable little faces to feces.
It's been known to go up the back and down the pant leg...and God forbid they catch a flu bug. You wanna talk about a shitty situation. There's a good example for you.
I thought with Adrian being toilet trained since the fall, that dealing with his crap, for the most part, was over.
But today....today was the day I realized it was soooo not over.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes while the boys played. Adrian decided he wanted to actually put some clothes on for the second time in his life and went upstairs to get dressed.
Or so I thought.
A few minutes passed and I started to feel a bit uneasy....it was way too quiet upstairs. I didn't hear any thumping, bumping or yelling coming from him which was very, very unusual.
"Aidy? Adrian?! Are you okay?" I call up the stairs.
"I'm just pooping!" He calls back.
DING, DING, DING!!!! Alarms start going off in my head. Within seconds he comes to the railing and peers at me from the upstairs landing with a very mischievous smile on his face. And I noticed something else very disturbing.
He had no underwear on. Did I hear him correctly....did he say he was pooping?!
I bolted up those stairs so fast that he barely got a chance to escape under our bed. I grabbed onto his leg and pulled him out as he was cackling. Evil, evil child of mine.
Sure enough, as I carry him (in football hold - I certainly didn't want his ass anywhere close to me) into the bathroom I see that he indeed, had a poop...
As I cleaned up his butt while lecturing him not to get off the toilet until I wipe his ass (of-course I didn't word it like that entirely) I'm not sure how I noticed, but I happened to see there was shit on the bottom of his left foot!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
I totally freak out now thinking he must've done his business somewhere other than just in the toilet. I scrub his feet in the bath tub and told him not to move as I remembered Finley is still downstairs by himself. I grab our phone and page John who is working from home in the basement. No answer. I run downstairs to find Finley had climbed into his booster chair looking so proud of himself, smiling away, waiting patiently for his morning snack. Oooooooo, that face!
"John! John???!! I need you're help....I'm dealing with a shit situation upstairs. Can you look after Fin for a minute?" I hear him get off the phone and sprint up the stairs.
Thank God he was home.
I bolt back up the stairs and see what I hadn't before...little footprints of crap going from the bathroom, into our room, across the hall with the most concentrated ones in Adrian's room.
GROOOOOSS!!!!!!!!!!!
John comes up the stairs and puts Finley in his room to play (thankfully the trails of brown did not enter into his room).
John enters the scene of the crime. Turns out my 3 year old has the capacity to also plug our toilet. Awesome.
I start scrubbing with a vengeance, rags in one hand and a bottle of Folex in the other (Folex - best stain remover ever)
He fills the bath tub asking Adrian what happened....his answer being "I'm sorry Daddy...it was a mistake."
I am not sure how shit ending up on the bottom of your bare foot in your house is a mistake, however, I don't think we're getting any answers today.
I am just praying to God we won't be finding any more shitty surprises.
And hope that's the end of today's shitty situation.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Crayons with a side of Ketchup please!
It baffles me what my children find to be irresistibly delicious. I mean, okay, the teething issue is one thing. I kinda get that they want to gnaw on something chewy and plasticky to get those pearly whites out. I remember dropping Adrian off at my gym daycare centre when he was teething outrageously at about 6 or 7 months. The first thing he did was grab a toy and shove it in his mouth (he also liked to chew on his own feet). The lady working there told me that until about 18 months everything goes into their mouths.
REALLY?
So can you tell me why my 3 year old is still putting things in his mouth then? I'm starting to worry he has some weird pica thing going on. Then I feel all guilty because when I was pregnant with both boys I had smell pica (believe it...this is a real condition...the actual pica itself it quite common in pregnancies. My Mum worked with a pregnant woman who's mouth would water when she would drive passed a just plowed farmer's field or piles of soil. Now THAT is strange.) For me though, I LOVED the smell of gasoline, permanent markers and garages. I didn't go out of my way to sniff these things of-course but when the smell happened to waft under my nose...mmmmmm. I couldn't get enough. Well, I didn't get enough because I didn't want to damage my unborn babies brains....or my own. But then I wonder anxiously....if I had smell pica while pregnant...what if I passed it on to them?
With the boys the weird eating and chewing obsession started with toys, then went to dog food (baby's breath after dog food has been munched on not so sweet...more like puppy breath) now it's anything made from a tree. Paper towel, cardboard, tissue, and books. Adrian will sit there and masticate on the corner of one of his books.
As for Finley, well he's been known to drool a rainbow of colours only to find bits of orange, yellow or red crayon in his pried open mouth chewed beyond recognition.
How does this happen when I'm right there?!!! Children can be sneaky when they know Mommy might not approve. Verrrry sneaky indeed.
Finley amazes me and simultaneously grosses me out with what he finds delectable. Right now he loves to dip EVERYTHING in ketchup. Eggs, grilled cheese and french fries aren't the only foods that taste great with ketchup. Clearly. Cheerios, apples and raisin bread are also quite scrumptious dipped in the yummy red stuff. He also tried to feed me a cheddar rice cake dipped in strawberry yogurt once. I wasn't convinced. Okay, so it was sweet and salty which does seem to be a big food trend right now (it is quite possible he could be onto the next taste sensation) but for some reason the texture didn't quite do it for me.
The days when they refuse to eat really tasty, edible human foods that I've taken the time to cook for them make me crazy.
You'll find me frustratingly exclaiming, arms and fingers jabbing the air all over the place "You'll eat dog kibble but you won't eat this delicious lemon chicken I slaved over for you! What is the matter with you!?"
Well, if it's not one thing it's another.
In another 10 years I'll be complaining that they're eating me out of house and home while gesticulating wildly at my empty fridge and barren cupboards, yelling about the dirty dishes trailing out of the sink and onto the counter top instead of being put in the dishwasher. Where they're SUPPOSED to be!
I can see it alllll now.
*deeeep breath*
I can't wait.
REALLY?
So can you tell me why my 3 year old is still putting things in his mouth then? I'm starting to worry he has some weird pica thing going on. Then I feel all guilty because when I was pregnant with both boys I had smell pica (believe it...this is a real condition...the actual pica itself it quite common in pregnancies. My Mum worked with a pregnant woman who's mouth would water when she would drive passed a just plowed farmer's field or piles of soil. Now THAT is strange.) For me though, I LOVED the smell of gasoline, permanent markers and garages. I didn't go out of my way to sniff these things of-course but when the smell happened to waft under my nose...mmmmmm. I couldn't get enough. Well, I didn't get enough because I didn't want to damage my unborn babies brains....or my own. But then I wonder anxiously....if I had smell pica while pregnant...what if I passed it on to them?
With the boys the weird eating and chewing obsession started with toys, then went to dog food (baby's breath after dog food has been munched on not so sweet...more like puppy breath) now it's anything made from a tree. Paper towel, cardboard, tissue, and books. Adrian will sit there and masticate on the corner of one of his books.
As for Finley, well he's been known to drool a rainbow of colours only to find bits of orange, yellow or red crayon in his pried open mouth chewed beyond recognition.
How does this happen when I'm right there?!!! Children can be sneaky when they know Mommy might not approve. Verrrry sneaky indeed.
Finley amazes me and simultaneously grosses me out with what he finds delectable. Right now he loves to dip EVERYTHING in ketchup. Eggs, grilled cheese and french fries aren't the only foods that taste great with ketchup. Clearly. Cheerios, apples and raisin bread are also quite scrumptious dipped in the yummy red stuff. He also tried to feed me a cheddar rice cake dipped in strawberry yogurt once. I wasn't convinced. Okay, so it was sweet and salty which does seem to be a big food trend right now (it is quite possible he could be onto the next taste sensation) but for some reason the texture didn't quite do it for me.
The days when they refuse to eat really tasty, edible human foods that I've taken the time to cook for them make me crazy.
You'll find me frustratingly exclaiming, arms and fingers jabbing the air all over the place "You'll eat dog kibble but you won't eat this delicious lemon chicken I slaved over for you! What is the matter with you!?"
Well, if it's not one thing it's another.
In another 10 years I'll be complaining that they're eating me out of house and home while gesticulating wildly at my empty fridge and barren cupboards, yelling about the dirty dishes trailing out of the sink and onto the counter top instead of being put in the dishwasher. Where they're SUPPOSED to be!
I can see it alllll now.
*deeeep breath*
I can't wait.
An Ode to mOm
I could possibly be an anomaly when it comes to how I feel about my Mother-In-Law.
I'm pretty sure I won the Mother-In-Law lottery actually.
I adore her to no end.
I will never forget the first time I met Nancy. John and I had been dating for about 6 months and it was clear to me right away that he had an incredible amount of love and respect for his Mom which made the anticipation of meeting her even more nerve wracking.
After meeting her, it was clear I had nothing to be nervous about. She welcomed me into her home with open arms and had a grace and style about her that was insurmountable. I remember the sweater she wore out for dinner that night. It was cream in colour and had a large cowl neck with these different sized rings hanging from it that were wrapped in the same material as the sweater. It's difficult to explain in words. I remember that sweater not only because it was probably the most unusual piece of clothing I'd ever seen but also because I thought to myself "Only she could pull a sweater like that off!" I wonder if she still has it....and if my memory serves me correctly...
That was 11 years ago. Wow.
In the past 11 years I've had the honour of marrying her amazing son and having 2 beautiful boys with him. Seeing her as a grandmother makes me wish I could dive into a porthole to go back in time and see her as a Mother.
She is full of warmth, love and patience with all of her grandchildren. It's quite a lovely thing to watch.
Knowing all 3 of her children it is clear that she was (and still is) nothing less of an amazing Mommy to them. Having 3 babies under 4 years old at one point I have to give her huge kudos. Especially knowing that Adrian is a miniature version of his father.
John always jokes that his Mom is like a white Oprah. We all laugh when he makes the comparison but it's a pretty accurate statement to make. I think Nancy has a far more gentler and subtler personality than Oprah's, although generally speaking, her wise manner and love all things good for the soul make her quite similar.
But I think there's no one like mOm. She is one in a million.
I'm grateful for all that she is and all that she has done and continues to do for us.
Thank you, mOm for being so generous with your love, your heart, your soul.
I only hope to be half the Mom and Grandma you are one day.
Happy Birthday to you mOm.
I only wish we lived closer so that we could celebrate your special day with you, enjoying one of our great conversations while sipping on a glass or 2 of white wine.
I love you! And so do your grandsons......
**Now all of you ladies with Mother-In-Laws - whether you love them or not raise a toast to them as it is because of these women we have the wonderful men in our lives.**
I'm pretty sure I won the Mother-In-Law lottery actually.
I adore her to no end.
I will never forget the first time I met Nancy. John and I had been dating for about 6 months and it was clear to me right away that he had an incredible amount of love and respect for his Mom which made the anticipation of meeting her even more nerve wracking.
After meeting her, it was clear I had nothing to be nervous about. She welcomed me into her home with open arms and had a grace and style about her that was insurmountable. I remember the sweater she wore out for dinner that night. It was cream in colour and had a large cowl neck with these different sized rings hanging from it that were wrapped in the same material as the sweater. It's difficult to explain in words. I remember that sweater not only because it was probably the most unusual piece of clothing I'd ever seen but also because I thought to myself "Only she could pull a sweater like that off!" I wonder if she still has it....and if my memory serves me correctly...
That was 11 years ago. Wow.
In the past 11 years I've had the honour of marrying her amazing son and having 2 beautiful boys with him. Seeing her as a grandmother makes me wish I could dive into a porthole to go back in time and see her as a Mother.
She is full of warmth, love and patience with all of her grandchildren. It's quite a lovely thing to watch.
Knowing all 3 of her children it is clear that she was (and still is) nothing less of an amazing Mommy to them. Having 3 babies under 4 years old at one point I have to give her huge kudos. Especially knowing that Adrian is a miniature version of his father.
John always jokes that his Mom is like a white Oprah. We all laugh when he makes the comparison but it's a pretty accurate statement to make. I think Nancy has a far more gentler and subtler personality than Oprah's, although generally speaking, her wise manner and love all things good for the soul make her quite similar.
But I think there's no one like mOm. She is one in a million.
I'm grateful for all that she is and all that she has done and continues to do for us.
Thank you, mOm for being so generous with your love, your heart, your soul.
I only hope to be half the Mom and Grandma you are one day.
Happy Birthday to you mOm.
I only wish we lived closer so that we could celebrate your special day with you, enjoying one of our great conversations while sipping on a glass or 2 of white wine.
I love you! And so do your grandsons......
**Now all of you ladies with Mother-In-Laws - whether you love them or not raise a toast to them as it is because of these women we have the wonderful men in our lives.**
Monday, March 7, 2011
Skelebones and Moneypockets
My 3 year old says the most amazing things. Most 3 year olds do. The greatest part about him saying these wondrous things is that some of the terms he comes up with make perfect sense.
I'll never forget the first "made up" word that came out of his mouth. The gym that I go to has those candy donation bowls where you donate 25 cents and you can pick one of the (very chewy, deliciously stale) candies. Of-course, like any normal child Adrian is drawn to those bowls of yumminess like a moth to a flame. Much to my dismay. Saying no to a 2 or 3 year old in public is like going to combat without your armor on.
You know you're being judged for how you handle the battle. At least in your own house you can give a time out or simply just ignore the freak out. Not so easy to do when all eyes are on you in a public place.
I quickly figured out that telling him I don't have any money with me satisfied him....although he still asks every time "Mommy....do you have your moneypocket?" How brilliant is that? Moneypocket! Not a "real" word but it sure makes sense. Of-course sometimes not having your moneypocket can backfire. Like the time when my 2.5 year old decided to take matters into his own hands. Literally. After leaving the gym and buckling him and Fin in the truck, he decided to show me his special treat. I had a 2.5 year old criminal on my hands! Back into the gym we went to return the stolen goodies and apologize. I'm happy to say another crime hasn't happened since!
We went to the Children's Museum a few weeks ago with my Mum. They have quite the display of dinosaur skeletons which he was very impressed with. Of-course to Adrian, these aren't merely skeletons...these are "skelebones".
Again, my child pulls a made up word out of his bright little mind that makes perfect sense.
It's when your child starts to imitate you that it gets really entertaining..... and a little scary. Going through the Tim Horton's drive-thru my son is known to yell from the back seat as I'm ordering "I'D LIKE A LARGE COFFEE PLEASE!".
Well, at least he has manners.
Occasionally, he'll come up to me and ask me if I'd like a glass of wine or his dad if he'd like a beer. (okay, okay this might not be something I should be admitting to but the precocious way he says it is too much)
When you ask him about what day something happened it's always on a "Fursday".
He never just wants one or two or even three of something such as a cookie or cracker...it's always "I'd like 1,2,3,4 please".
If he's doing something such as a puzzle that he can't quite figure out he'll mutter under his breath "What the heck?"
I let it go. It's a lot better than some other words I can think of.
There have been a few times when I may have been preoccupied as he's asked me something upon which he'll say loudly "Mummy! Mum! Do you hear what I'm saying?! Yes or no?!" Yikes. I'm not sure I like the sounds of that.
Other times he blows me away with random facts at the most random times. Like the time I was wiping his butt (sorry for the visual but this is part of my job) and he asks me if I knew what a mackerel was...then proceeds to inform me that it's a fish. He learned this from my Dad 3 months before and it happened to pop in his little mind at that particular point. 3 year old minds work in mysterious ways.
It's times when I listen to him talking to Finley when he's being fussy, in a very sweet high pitched voice Adrian will tell him "It's okay little buddy. You're okay" Or he'll sing to him "Twinkle, twinkle little star" Melts my heart. Hearing him call Riley "Baby girl".... soooo incredibly sweet.
Lately it's all about making up entire words rather than taking existing words and melding them together as earlier described.
He likes to remove the vacuum tube attachments from the back of the vacuum to play superheroes. The other day he told us as he put it down to "make sure that Finley doesn't touch his 'kram'"....today it was a 'fedgit'. I cannot wait to hear more. If only we could bottle up the imaginations of 3 year olds.
When he sees anyone that looks sad or upset on t.v. or in a book he will tell me quite frankly "They miss their Mommy and Daddy" That makes perfect sense doesn't it?....because at his age aren't we their whole world?
On the topic of worlds, yesterday we went for a walk and Adrian stopped to play in a pile of snow. After a few minutes we asked him to catch up to us. As I looked back at him standing on top of the snowbank he calls out:
I'll never forget the first "made up" word that came out of his mouth. The gym that I go to has those candy donation bowls where you donate 25 cents and you can pick one of the (very chewy, deliciously stale) candies. Of-course, like any normal child Adrian is drawn to those bowls of yumminess like a moth to a flame. Much to my dismay. Saying no to a 2 or 3 year old in public is like going to combat without your armor on.
You know you're being judged for how you handle the battle. At least in your own house you can give a time out or simply just ignore the freak out. Not so easy to do when all eyes are on you in a public place.
I quickly figured out that telling him I don't have any money with me satisfied him....although he still asks every time "Mommy....do you have your moneypocket?" How brilliant is that? Moneypocket! Not a "real" word but it sure makes sense. Of-course sometimes not having your moneypocket can backfire. Like the time when my 2.5 year old decided to take matters into his own hands. Literally. After leaving the gym and buckling him and Fin in the truck, he decided to show me his special treat. I had a 2.5 year old criminal on my hands! Back into the gym we went to return the stolen goodies and apologize. I'm happy to say another crime hasn't happened since!
We went to the Children's Museum a few weeks ago with my Mum. They have quite the display of dinosaur skeletons which he was very impressed with. Of-course to Adrian, these aren't merely skeletons...these are "skelebones".
Again, my child pulls a made up word out of his bright little mind that makes perfect sense.
It's when your child starts to imitate you that it gets really entertaining..... and a little scary. Going through the Tim Horton's drive-thru my son is known to yell from the back seat as I'm ordering "I'D LIKE A LARGE COFFEE PLEASE!".
Well, at least he has manners.
Occasionally, he'll come up to me and ask me if I'd like a glass of wine or his dad if he'd like a beer. (okay, okay this might not be something I should be admitting to but the precocious way he says it is too much)
When you ask him about what day something happened it's always on a "Fursday".
He never just wants one or two or even three of something such as a cookie or cracker...it's always "I'd like 1,2,3,4 please".
If he's doing something such as a puzzle that he can't quite figure out he'll mutter under his breath "What the heck?"
I let it go. It's a lot better than some other words I can think of.
There have been a few times when I may have been preoccupied as he's asked me something upon which he'll say loudly "Mummy! Mum! Do you hear what I'm saying?! Yes or no?!" Yikes. I'm not sure I like the sounds of that.
Other times he blows me away with random facts at the most random times. Like the time I was wiping his butt (sorry for the visual but this is part of my job) and he asks me if I knew what a mackerel was...then proceeds to inform me that it's a fish. He learned this from my Dad 3 months before and it happened to pop in his little mind at that particular point. 3 year old minds work in mysterious ways.
It's times when I listen to him talking to Finley when he's being fussy, in a very sweet high pitched voice Adrian will tell him "It's okay little buddy. You're okay" Or he'll sing to him "Twinkle, twinkle little star" Melts my heart. Hearing him call Riley "Baby girl".... soooo incredibly sweet.
Lately it's all about making up entire words rather than taking existing words and melding them together as earlier described.
He likes to remove the vacuum tube attachments from the back of the vacuum to play superheroes. The other day he told us as he put it down to "make sure that Finley doesn't touch his 'kram'"....today it was a 'fedgit'. I cannot wait to hear more. If only we could bottle up the imaginations of 3 year olds.
When he sees anyone that looks sad or upset on t.v. or in a book he will tell me quite frankly "They miss their Mommy and Daddy" That makes perfect sense doesn't it?....because at his age aren't we their whole world?
On the topic of worlds, yesterday we went for a walk and Adrian stopped to play in a pile of snow. After a few minutes we asked him to catch up to us. As I looked back at him standing on top of the snowbank he calls out:
"This is my world to stay in!"
Now if that isn't a profound sentence especially coming from a 3 year old, I don't know what is.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
What!?? Marriage isn't Glamorous!??
"No one ever told me that marriage wasn't glamorous!"
I won't mention names but that was the start of a phone conversation I had with .... someone .... who I love dearly. Who was just recently wed.
I'll leave it at that.
No, glamour would be the last word to describe marriage to be sure.
There's nothing glamorous about someone who sees you first thing in the morning. Stinky breath, messy hair with sheet wrinkles embedded on your makeup-less face. Nothing glamorous about that at all. I scoff at the movies and shows that portray the woman walking around in her husbands white button up shirt looking all perfectly dishevelled with damp hair and make up on.
In a more realistic scenario we would have NO make up on and we're wearing baggy pajama pants with one of our husbands extra large t-shirts on from university. Yes, university. My husband is going to be 38 this month and still has clothes from when he was in UNIVERSITY! What is up with that?!
But I benefit from it. The t-shirts are very comfortable.
Marriage is a lot of things...but glamourous would not be one of the words to describe it. Not that I'm some expert in the area of marriage. I've been married for all of
4.75 years. (we've been together for 11 though - that should count for something!) But I hope that it's the one thing I succeed at besides being a good Mother.
My Dad's parents were married for over 55 years. Seriously. 55 YEARS. And happily! That's what I call successful.
Being in a good marriage is awesome. It's having your best buddy there to root you on, to give you a different perspective on things, to lighten your load in life.
I love being married but most importantly I love being married to John. In my humble opinion the most important thing in life if you choose to get married is to marry well. In that, I mean, marrying someone who matches your ideals, your morals, your values and your outlook on life. I think I did pretty good.
In my last year of high school we had to submit our "goals" in life along with our graduation picture.
I didn't think much about it. I simply wrote something like "Marry a rich guy and have his babies". I was, of-course, being sarcastic. I had no clue what I wanted at the age of 18. None whatsoever. So that was the only thing I could come up with. Now, looking back, I suppose I knew somewhere deep in my subconscious that I wanted to get married and have children.
But if anyone truly knows me they know that I'm the least materialistic, gold digging person around, so the rich part was all for jokes. I grew up with enough and that's all I aimed for. Does that sound less than ideal? I suppose. However, enough for me is knowing I have family that loves me and a decent roof over my head.
I got more than "enough" though. I married a phenomenal man who provides for his family. Emotionally, physically and monetarily (although we certainly aren't considered "rich" in the traditional sense of the word) and I get to stay home with my babies which is all I ever wanted. I knew from a young age that if I were lucky enough to become a mother that I wanted to stay home with them for as long as I could. I've fulfilled that wish so far. I'm very grateful.
So, no, marriage is not glamorous. In fact it can be a lot of anything but. Throw children in the mix and well.....if you've ever seen a live birth, you know there's nothing glamorous about that!
But it's all beautiful. The good, the bad, the ugly. The ups, the downs and the in betweens when you're so bored you could run screaming from your house. The in love, the out of love, the just plain loving. The not necessarily loving everything about your husband or wife because, really, that's a lot to live up to.
There are lots of things my husband loves about me (I hope) but I'm sure it's not the fact that I occasionally stuff the garbage so full it's next to impossible to close the lid and my bad moods that are difficult to get me out of...and I love my husband to death but I don't love that he tends to hog the t.v. remote and leaves his clothes everywhere but in the hamper...(what? your husband too?!)
It's about loving that person enough that you know you want to commit to spend the rest of your life together.
And compromise. Compromise is HUGE.
That's really what marriage is all about.
To me anyway.
I won't mention names but that was the start of a phone conversation I had with .... someone .... who I love dearly. Who was just recently wed.
I'll leave it at that.
No, glamour would be the last word to describe marriage to be sure.
There's nothing glamorous about someone who sees you first thing in the morning. Stinky breath, messy hair with sheet wrinkles embedded on your makeup-less face. Nothing glamorous about that at all. I scoff at the movies and shows that portray the woman walking around in her husbands white button up shirt looking all perfectly dishevelled with damp hair and make up on.
In a more realistic scenario we would have NO make up on and we're wearing baggy pajama pants with one of our husbands extra large t-shirts on from university. Yes, university. My husband is going to be 38 this month and still has clothes from when he was in UNIVERSITY! What is up with that?!
But I benefit from it. The t-shirts are very comfortable.
Marriage is a lot of things...but glamourous would not be one of the words to describe it. Not that I'm some expert in the area of marriage. I've been married for all of
4.75 years. (we've been together for 11 though - that should count for something!) But I hope that it's the one thing I succeed at besides being a good Mother.
My Dad's parents were married for over 55 years. Seriously. 55 YEARS. And happily! That's what I call successful.
Being in a good marriage is awesome. It's having your best buddy there to root you on, to give you a different perspective on things, to lighten your load in life.
I love being married but most importantly I love being married to John. In my humble opinion the most important thing in life if you choose to get married is to marry well. In that, I mean, marrying someone who matches your ideals, your morals, your values and your outlook on life. I think I did pretty good.
In my last year of high school we had to submit our "goals" in life along with our graduation picture.
I didn't think much about it. I simply wrote something like "Marry a rich guy and have his babies". I was, of-course, being sarcastic. I had no clue what I wanted at the age of 18. None whatsoever. So that was the only thing I could come up with. Now, looking back, I suppose I knew somewhere deep in my subconscious that I wanted to get married and have children.
But if anyone truly knows me they know that I'm the least materialistic, gold digging person around, so the rich part was all for jokes. I grew up with enough and that's all I aimed for. Does that sound less than ideal? I suppose. However, enough for me is knowing I have family that loves me and a decent roof over my head.
I got more than "enough" though. I married a phenomenal man who provides for his family. Emotionally, physically and monetarily (although we certainly aren't considered "rich" in the traditional sense of the word) and I get to stay home with my babies which is all I ever wanted. I knew from a young age that if I were lucky enough to become a mother that I wanted to stay home with them for as long as I could. I've fulfilled that wish so far. I'm very grateful.
So, no, marriage is not glamorous. In fact it can be a lot of anything but. Throw children in the mix and well.....if you've ever seen a live birth, you know there's nothing glamorous about that!
But it's all beautiful. The good, the bad, the ugly. The ups, the downs and the in betweens when you're so bored you could run screaming from your house. The in love, the out of love, the just plain loving. The not necessarily loving everything about your husband or wife because, really, that's a lot to live up to.
There are lots of things my husband loves about me (I hope) but I'm sure it's not the fact that I occasionally stuff the garbage so full it's next to impossible to close the lid and my bad moods that are difficult to get me out of...and I love my husband to death but I don't love that he tends to hog the t.v. remote and leaves his clothes everywhere but in the hamper...(what? your husband too?!)
It's about loving that person enough that you know you want to commit to spend the rest of your life together.
And compromise. Compromise is HUGE.
That's really what marriage is all about.
To me anyway.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
"It's our God-forsaken Right to be Loved"
I think everyone should have an anthem....or two. A song or songs that pertains to their life. Past, present and/or future.
In my life I've had a lot of them!
As a little girl it was, of-course, Girls Just Wanna Fun by Cyndi Lauper
As a 12 year old dealing with my first 'broken heart' it was Must've Been Love by Roxette. Oh the tears I cried over that boy while singing that song over, and over and over....and over at the top of my lungs.
When I was 14 or 15 I loved Blind Melon. Tones of Home was my anthem song from this album.
The summer I was 16 the whole album of Counting Crows "August and Everything After" was all I listened to. I particularly identified with Anna Begins. Now, when I hear any song from that album it whooshes me right back to that tortuous age. Whoever made up the term "Sweet 16" either skipped that age entirely or was completely delusional.
As a 17/18 year old Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill" was I'm sure every girl's anthem album. At that time I was still feeling quite tormented by love I guess.
In my early 20's I loosened things up a little bit. Since I was "of age" it would only make sense that Pink's Get The Party Started was one of my anthem's.
I couldn't help but turn up the volume when the radio played Meet Virginia by Train. Virginia seemed like such a cool chick, she didn't give a crap about what anyone thought.
I danced my little butt off to Bootylicious and Survivor by Destiny's Child. Pretty apt considering my body was pretty bootylicious when I was 20 and I ended up surviving the angst of my teen years.
Quite the spectrum of artists I liked looking back...
Then I met my husband and as we fell in love with each other we also fell in love with jazz music. Diana Krall "Love Scene's" takes me right back to the beautiful days of when John and I were first dating. Ahhhhh, the first year of love. It's magical isn't it?
If only I could get him to Peel Me A Grape now....
Shortly after Adrian was born, John and I were driving in the truck listening to the radio when Jason Mraz's song "I'm Yours" came on. It seemed to be playing everywhere we went. So we decided from that day that "I'm Yours" would be our "family song".
Try not to barf okay?
If this song doesn't make you bop your head and sing along I don't know what will!
I will leave you with the video....enjoy!!! And while your toes are a tappin' think about what the anthem of your life would be.....
Just humour me.
In my life I've had a lot of them!
As a little girl it was, of-course, Girls Just Wanna Fun by Cyndi Lauper
As a 12 year old dealing with my first 'broken heart' it was Must've Been Love by Roxette. Oh the tears I cried over that boy while singing that song over, and over and over....and over at the top of my lungs.
When I was 14 or 15 I loved Blind Melon. Tones of Home was my anthem song from this album.
The summer I was 16 the whole album of Counting Crows "August and Everything After" was all I listened to. I particularly identified with Anna Begins. Now, when I hear any song from that album it whooshes me right back to that tortuous age. Whoever made up the term "Sweet 16" either skipped that age entirely or was completely delusional.
As a 17/18 year old Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill" was I'm sure every girl's anthem album. At that time I was still feeling quite tormented by love I guess.
In my early 20's I loosened things up a little bit. Since I was "of age" it would only make sense that Pink's Get The Party Started was one of my anthem's.
I couldn't help but turn up the volume when the radio played Meet Virginia by Train. Virginia seemed like such a cool chick, she didn't give a crap about what anyone thought.
I danced my little butt off to Bootylicious and Survivor by Destiny's Child. Pretty apt considering my body was pretty bootylicious when I was 20 and I ended up surviving the angst of my teen years.
Quite the spectrum of artists I liked looking back...
Then I met my husband and as we fell in love with each other we also fell in love with jazz music. Diana Krall "Love Scene's" takes me right back to the beautiful days of when John and I were first dating. Ahhhhh, the first year of love. It's magical isn't it?
If only I could get him to Peel Me A Grape now....
Shortly after Adrian was born, John and I were driving in the truck listening to the radio when Jason Mraz's song "I'm Yours" came on. It seemed to be playing everywhere we went. So we decided from that day that "I'm Yours" would be our "family song".
Try not to barf okay?
If this song doesn't make you bop your head and sing along I don't know what will!
I will leave you with the video....enjoy!!! And while your toes are a tappin' think about what the anthem of your life would be.....
Just humour me.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Squish, Squish! MMMMM Delish!
There are many times throughout my day that I squeal in a high pitched tone at my children, a very intelligent monosyllabic "Oooooooo!!!!"
This, I know, drives my husband up the wall but it can't be helped.
Sometimes I cannot bear their cuteness.
I can't possibly be the only Mommy out there that does this.
This is usually followed by the question "Can I eat you?!" Fin usually just looks at me like I'm a crazy person but Adrian loves it. He thinks I'm the funniest person in the world. Which makes me so happy.
I wouldn't ACTUALLY eat them of course....that would be awful and then I'd have nothing left to squish. With pure love of-course.
Their super soft, sweet smelling skin, chubby cheeks, big blue eyes, button noses and kissable lips. Not to mention their chunky legs, protruding buddha bellies and little bums. Ooooooooo!!! Their little bums! Simply irresistable. How can one not want to bite it!? (when it's clean of-course)
So yeah. My babies are cute. So adorable that the thought of them getting older and not wanting to even give me a simple hug stabs me in the heart so hard that I lose my breath for a moment.
But for now I feel so incredibly lucky to be at home with them (good, great, bad and ugly) and to be able to kiss them, squish them and bite their bums all I want.
Which leaves me with a little diddy that I made up when Adrian was just a wee little guy that I'll share with you....say it to your little ones for as long as they'll let you. They'll love it. I promise.
"Can Iiiiiii......kiss ya, kiss ya, kiss ya
Can I squish ya, squish ya, squish ya
Can I hug ya, hug ya, hug ya
Can I love ya, love ya, love ya"
It may be cheesy but it's guaranteed to make you both smile. :)
This, I know, drives my husband up the wall but it can't be helped.
Sometimes I cannot bear their cuteness.
I can't possibly be the only Mommy out there that does this.
This is usually followed by the question "Can I eat you?!" Fin usually just looks at me like I'm a crazy person but Adrian loves it. He thinks I'm the funniest person in the world. Which makes me so happy.
I wouldn't ACTUALLY eat them of course....that would be awful and then I'd have nothing left to squish. With pure love of-course.
Their super soft, sweet smelling skin, chubby cheeks, big blue eyes, button noses and kissable lips. Not to mention their chunky legs, protruding buddha bellies and little bums. Ooooooooo!!! Their little bums! Simply irresistable. How can one not want to bite it!? (when it's clean of-course)
So yeah. My babies are cute. So adorable that the thought of them getting older and not wanting to even give me a simple hug stabs me in the heart so hard that I lose my breath for a moment.
But for now I feel so incredibly lucky to be at home with them (good, great, bad and ugly) and to be able to kiss them, squish them and bite their bums all I want.
Which leaves me with a little diddy that I made up when Adrian was just a wee little guy that I'll share with you....say it to your little ones for as long as they'll let you. They'll love it. I promise.
"Can Iiiiiii......kiss ya, kiss ya, kiss ya
Can I squish ya, squish ya, squish ya
Can I hug ya, hug ya, hug ya
Can I love ya, love ya, love ya"
It may be cheesy but it's guaranteed to make you both smile. :)
How can you NOT want to munch on these little faces?!
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