A Sweet and Sour Chicken Bawlish Kind of Day

Oh ho ho and a mighty hey!  Today was an early start - 6:03 to be exact.  But that's all fine and good.  It was Friday and I deemed the day to be a good one already.  'Cause I'm annoyingly positive like that on Fridays.  Even though I'm a Mom now and Fridays really mean squat.  But today?  Oh today.  Well it was full of lovely (note extreme sarcasm) ups and....
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The day was peppered with good and bad.  Or sweet and sour as I'd like to so poetically put it.  I mean...it wasn't all a gong show of a shit storm.

Here's kind of how the day went:

Sweet:  My eldest wanted to do my exercise video with me.  We did the whole dern thing together.  And let me tell you - seeing your almost 5 year old do lunges and push ups is pretty freaking adorable.

Sour:  Having my 3 year old climb on me and cling to my leg like a chimpanzee as I'm doing lunges and squats.  Annoying as hell but also?  A little cute.

Sweet:  Having a play date with my littlest at my lovely neighbours home while my eldest is in school.  Bonus?   She made Smartie Cookies.

Sour:  Smartie Cookies.  There goes my morning work out.

Sweet:  Watching our little ones play together while having adult conversation (and eating cookies).  Oh and I got to hold a perfect little 6 month old baby girl.  Seeing, holding, talking to babies = major yearning uterus.

Sour:  Play date ended when child of mine decided to have a tantrum of epic proportions over ... a pear?  I'm not even sure what happened there but it was disastrous.

Sweet:  Picking up my eldest from school and getting to walk home with him just the two of us and talk about his morning while he held my hand and jumped puddles.

Sour:  Putting youngest child down for a nap as he continues to kick and scream like a wild banshee with rabies.

Sweet:  Playing Candyland and cards with my current favourite son.

Sour:  Hearing my youngest sneak down the stairs and announce he just crapped his pants.  Okay so those weren't exactly his words.  He simply said, "Poop".  And my heart sank to my toes.

Sweet:  Chatting with my BFF.

Sour:  Seeing my youngest once again sneak down the stairs  then down into the basement to watch cartoons with his brother WHEN HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE SLEEPING.  ARRRRRGH.

Sweet:  Finding them sitting as close as possible together on the giant sectional couch watching cartoons.

Sour:  Carrying very heavy 3 year old back up 2 flights of stairs screaming and crying because "I not tired!  IIIII NOT TIIIRRRRRED!"  Clearly.  He's not tired.  Right.

Sweet:  Quiet.  Green Tea.  Texting with friends about a girls night out for my birthday.  Party time.  Excellent.  That last saying?  Means I'm clearly cresting the hill you guys.  And if you know the origin of that saying you are too...if you're not already over it.  Because that movie was made in 1993.  WHICH WAS 2 DECADES AGO!  

Sour:  My littlest coming back down the stairs from his room where he's supposed to be sleeping.... AGAIN.

Sweet:  My neighbour texting me to invite my boys over.  Hallejuiah praise everything that is good though not so holy in an awesome neighbourhood.

Sour:  This means I actually have to be somewhat productive at home alone.  Which means I must finally tackle the 5 baskets of unfolded laundry in my room.

Sweet:  I'm folding laundry.  Sans children.  While watching adult television.

Sour:  Dinner must get made.  Children must come home.  Serenity. Ends. Now.

Sweet:  Boys behaved and had a blast.

Sour:  Forcing/Nagging Encouraging them to eat their dinner.

Sweet:  Mid dinner dance off when my eldest son asked me to dance to 'Beam me Up' by Pink.  We twirled and whirled and dipped and danced.  And then he smooched me when it ended.

Sour:  Right after that delectable dance he wanted dessert but somehow things got misconstrued and everything somehow went to hell in a handbasket. (what does that saying even mean?!)  Shit storm of major tantrum number 2 brewing at a fierce rate.

Sweet:  He eventually calmed down and made his way up the stairs.  We read books and snuggled.

Sour:  For some reason that I can't remember even though it was just over an hour ago but I probably blocked it out because ohmygodohmygod the crying!  I can't take it anymore.

Sweet:  Finley brought his big brother his giant stuffed puppy named Cuddles because 'he was crying' and then proceeded to make me the centre in a love sandwich when he climbed into bed with us instead up going back to his own bed because he didn't want Adrian to be sad but then got annoyed because he couldn't get the covers over himself just right while Adrian continued to sniffle and snuffle beside me and Cuddles the giant stuffed puppy threw his weight around on our faces.

The Sweetest:  having both of my baby boys asleep on either side of me.  Even if Cuddles the Giant Stuffed Dog practically suffocated us all.

The Drop Off Request

"Mumma you can just drop me off."

My eldest tells this to me from the back seat of the truck on the way to school.

He wanted me to do what I call the drive by drop off.  To pull into those diagonal yellow lines beside the school building that's intended for parents in a rush to get their children off to school.  Not because they don't care.  But because they have somewhere to be.  Like their workplace.

But my job is with my children. Always.  So why would I do that?  When I could stand around and watch him play in the fenced in supervised play area with his buddies until his little brother crankily protests his wishes for home.

I had to do the drive by drop off once before last month.  When Finley was sick and I had to get him to the doctor's.  It was cold and windy and simply not a good day to have him out in that weather  for any length of time.

Oh the guilt when I watched the back of him enter his playground gates.  The voice inside me berating with a tsk tsk.

He's too young, too little.

And you're totally being judged. 

By those playground teachers.  And the parents that care enough to stick around.  

What kind of mother are you anyway?  

What kind of mother am I anyway?  

Such a complicated question with an answer I'm not sure I'll ever know.

"You want me to go to the drop off zone?  You don't want me to walk you to the gate?"

"Yes.  Drop me off on those lines."  Those blaring yellow "uncaring" lines.

I had about 1 minute to mull over his request before the school came into view.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

This was on his terms.  His request.  My eldest who will be the giant age of five in a handful of weeks.

I could see the ghost of his umbilical cord unravelling at an uncontrollable rate.

I desperately wanted to clutch at it.

It's been gone for almost five years now.  Logically my mind is far too hyper aware of this fact.   My husband cut it on February 3, 2008 and that shrivelled brown crusty stump that fell off within 3 days?  Well I wasn't sentimental (or weird) enough to keep it.

But the ghost of it haunts me.  And taunts me, especially in times like these.

I pull up to those bright blaring yellow lines silently getting annoyed at the person ahead that didn't pull up far enough.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Okay buddy.  You have to promise me if you want to get dropped off here that you must give me one big smooch."

And with that he unbuckled his seat, slid his backpack on, leaned forward for that bittersweet kiss and opened the door to leave.

"I'll be here until you get into the gates. Have fun!  I love you!"

He jumped out of the truck.  He didn't say I love you too.  I call it out to him.

"I love you!!"

"Love you too."

The truck door shuts.

He steps up onto the sidewalk and without a glance back he walks into the gates of the school yard.

I linger for a moment.  The tears threaten but do not spill.

The emotions that trample through my heart and mind conflict.

Yes, I was a tiny bit heartbroken.  It didn't matter to him if I was there or not.  But more than the ache I felt proud.  My independent little soul.  What a wonderful, beneficial trait to have.

That is what I choose to celebrate.

And with my heart strings pulled tighter than ever,  the ghost of the cord faded even more I pulled away from those not so scary yellow lines with a last glance back at my son who was now playing happily with friends.

He Dreamed a Dream

Dreaming...what was it that he said the other night when I wished him sweet dreams at the frame of his doorway as his Twilight Turtle lit blue stars on his ceiling?

"I not have bad dreams Mummy.  I have good dreams.  'Member when I dream we on a rainbow?"

I couldn't recall him telling me about that awesome dream but I didn't let him know that.

I wanted to hear more so I walked to the side of his toddler bed and knelt down and lay my arms across the side rails that were really no longer needed but that he refused to let us take off.  Truth be told...at 3 plus years old he still would love to sleep in a crib.

"We were on a rainbow!  Yes!"

"Yeah.  You and Daddy and A-Dree-Ann (this is how he pronounces his brothers name now, enunciating every.single.syllable. It's super duper delightful) and me.  We slide down it."

"Wow.  I do remember.  I love that dream."

"Yeah me too.  Can Kristian come?"  How sweet.  He wanted his little buddy from across the street to ride rainbows with us in the night.  

"Well of-course he can.  You want to know the best thing about dreams baby doll?"  I asked him.

"What Mummy?"  his voice was soft and sleepy and delicious.

I bent over and kissed his nose and whispered, "Anything can happen."

20 Questions for my Kids

1. What is your favourite color?
A: Every colour
F: Blue

2. What is your favourite toy?
A: The Amazing Spider Man toy
F:  Blue Toy White Toy Red Toy Yellow Toy Orange Toy....and Black Toy and Brown Toy aaand Pink Toy  (I think he was still stuck on the color question....3 year olds)

3. What is your favourite fruit?
A: Apples
F:  Bananas

4. What is your favourite TV show?
A:  Spiderman Cartoon
F:  Wild Kratts

5. What is your favourite thing to eat for lunch?
A: Pizza
F: Pizza with macaroni and fruit!  (he means pepperoni and pineapple)

6. What is your favourite outfit?
A:  Red jogging pants and yellow Bumblebee Transformer shirt  (it`s a beautiful bright combo and those red joggers are total floods now.  He loves to pair any red shirt with his red pants regardless if red hues match - they never do...also?  Clearly he did not get his sense of style from his Mother)
F:  Orange  (must be reminiscing about question number one again)

7. What is your favourite game?
A:  CandyLand
F:  Toy Story Innotab game (he`s not so much into the board games quite yet)

8. What is your favourite snack?
A:  Animal Crackers
F:  Animal Crackers

(I honestly don`t remember the last time they had animal crackers.  Very random.)

9. What is your favourite animal?
A:  Cheetah
F:  Zebra  (this was my favourite animal as a child!)

10. What is your favourite song?
A:  What Makes you Beautiful by 1D (Oh man.  Really.)
F: Gangnam Style (I repeat my exasperation from above)

11. What is your favourite book?
A:  Pete The Cat:  Rockin in my School Shoes  by Eric Litwin (he loves it - came home singing it every day from school so I had to buy it)
F:  Finn Throws a Fit by David Elliot (Fitting. Very fitting.)

12. Who is your best friend?
A:  Andrew (this changes hourly however)
F:  Adrian - okay so this was admittedly a prompt by me...he didn`t know who to name

13. What is your favourite sport?
A:  Soccer
F:  Soccer

News to me.

14. What is your favourite thing to do outside? 

A:  Play on my skateboard
F:  Jump (on a trampoline)

15. What is your favourite drink? 

A:  Water (lies.  It`s juice or chocolate milk)
F:  Watermelon juice (interesting...pretty sure he`s never had such a thing)

16. What is your favourite holiday?
A:  Halloween
F:  Halloween


17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night?
A:  Froggy Doggy
F:  Sleepy Sheepy


18. What is your favourite thing to eat for breakfast?
A:  Waffles
F: Cheerios

19. What do you want for dinner on your birthday?
A:  Hamburgers
F:  Cake  (can`t blame the child)


20. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A:  A Ninja
F:  Daddy  (awwwwww!!!)

A Mix of Morning Breath and Chocolate slashed with Guilt

They teem with energy and I wish for quiet.  To be left.

Alone.

I wish for the bickering, for God's sakes! to end!

An empty tummy sloshing with coffee leaves me agitated.

They ask for some Christmas chocolate and though it's before 9 am I sigh and hand it over with guilt and wonder,

Am I the only Mother that gives in so easily in tired defeat?  To stop the whining?

Once it's gone.  It's gone.

Once it is gone.  It is gone.  

This reverberates in my mind and I gnaw at the meaning.

It drifts and I'm left with a sense of doubt.

Always the doubt.

They've had their breakfast after all.

They used their manners so I must be doing something right.  Right?

Right?

And they always share treats with their Mumma.

Sometimes I don't even have to ask.

Besides.  I could use a bit of sweetness right now.

My littlest approaches me with his 3 year old cherubic face inches from mine and his funny questions,

"Mummy 'mell my bweff?"

And I do.  Of-course I do.  Because Mothers?  We do all kinds of weird and gross things for our children.

I sniff into his mouth.

A mix of morning bweff and chocolate.

Delicious.

I pull him close.

Return of the Long Lost Zazzy

He handed me the small plastic blue object he'd found while cleaning up the dresser that I'd only nagged him about about ohhh 154 times over the past 2 weeks.

I took it from him and immediately, unsentimentally claimed, "Garbage."  But then I looked down at it as I descended the stairs to the kitchen. Light blue with a tiny picture of a yellow giraffe's face on it. I looked at it, contemplated getting rid of it and my heart physically felt like it might crack if I unceremoniously just threw it in the garbage.

I even found myself delicately sniffing it.

I know.

But I couldn't help myself.  I'm a scent sensory kinda gal.

I realized that it's quite hurl inducing if you're not the Mother of the sweet boy who pacified himself with it for over 2 years.

(And kind of even if you are.)

But wait.  When was the last time he used it?

"Honey when did Fin get rid of his zazzy?"

Zazzy.  The word came back to me just as if I used the word yesterday.  Zazzy.  The made up word that my little Fin used for his soother.

 Zazzy.  Soother.  I see no co-relation.

Then again if you knew my youngest you would simply nod your head, yes, that's about right.

In fact both my sons have the knack for randomness but that's neither here nor there at the moment.

"Oh gosh...like last year."

"Nooo.  It was sometime this year.  How come I don't know this?  I didn't even blog about it!"

I didn't even blog about it you guys.

For. Shame.

But I suppose I didn't blog about it because it wasn't made to be a big deal.  We thought it would be.  We clearly believed his addiction to be much worse than it really was.  But one night we simply put it away in a one of John's valet drawers on the dresser and that was that.

And here was now.

I didn't throw it out.  I simply left it on the counter for Finley to notice in the morning.  I wasn't sure what would happen.  I didn't have any real plan.

He came down this morning and noticed it right away.

"My zazzy!  You found it!"

Okay, so we may have told him the reason we didn't give it to him that last night was because we lost it.  I can't honestly recall.

"Daddy found it but you don't need this anymore do you?  You're not a baby anymore are you?"  I teased him.

Of-course he's still my baby though.

I smiled down at him and waited for his reply.

"I not a baby!  I'm fwee!"

"I know right!  Let's put it in the garbage okay?"  He opened up the garbage as I declared, "Bye-bye babyhood!"

"Bye-bye babyhood!"  he repeated with a giggle.

He gently placed that little piece of his babyhood very ceremoniously in the garbage.  Without complaint, delay or protest.

And after that last sentence I now feel the not so quiet urgency to scrounge around amongst the wrappers, kleenex and chewed up gum to retrieve it once more.

Except this time I probably wouldn't sniff it.

Ahhhh the sweetness.

Cheers to the Freakin' New Year

My favourite part about January 1st - other than the fact that I've narcissistically claimed it as 'my month' since it's my name and I happened to be born during this bitterly cold month (which is the only thing that makes it tolerable) - is reflecting back on the year that's passed.  A moment, a memory, a story, an adventure.  I try to recall one of those things for each month.  And while that's not an easy task, this is why I blog.  To preserve the moments so that I can look back upon them.  Moments that otherwise may have gotten lost in the shuffle and chaos of everyday life.  Such as...

The challenges.

The beauty.

The Poetry.

Tragedy.

Realization.

Brotherly love.

Terror.

Birthdays gone bad.

The heart aching sweetness.

Great Fun.

And...let's not forget about the time my husband almost lost a digit.

This year has been full of adventures and first times.

Looking back on my 2012 bucket list there were some things I did and loved doing.  I grew my first herb and vegetable garden.   I made scrumptious samosas from scratch that were heralded as so by my Indian neighbours so it must be true.

And some things that I realized I vehemently dislike and will likely never do.  Such as running more than 5-6k at a time.

But I also did lots of things I didn't list and things I didn't think I could or would do.  3.5 hour road trips by myself with 2 little ones and a dog to visit friends.  It was so much fun I don't even remember the stress if there was any.  (right).  My marriage survived an almost thumb dismemberment, which you may think is not a big deal - and it  isn't in the grand scheme of what else could go wrong in life - but it was challenging to say the least.  I even survived hosting our first Christmas dinner while feeling like I was going to croak at any minute on the kitchen floor.  Thankfully everyone pitched in while I admitted defeat when the gravy wouldn't thicken, the broccoli remained on the bbq for about 2 hours, long forgotten about and I had no clue what to do with the extra large head of cauliflower.  It was demanded of me to sit down and drink up when I told everyone somewhat hysterically to "stop asking me questions because I didn't have any answers". It ended up all fantastically delicious and even more so when my husband took a moment to say his toast and became verklempt.  Of-course then so did everyone else.

I've made new friends, kept up old and dear ones with fun trips and visits.

My eldest son started school..  Big deal.  Huge.

Yes, last year has begun many memories, traditions and I experienced many delicious moments with my sons.  Strawberry picking.  Market visits.  Zoos and beaches.  My boys are becoming of the age where their memories will begin now too which makes this year to come even more exciting.

In 2013 I shall extend my vegetable garden, take more road trips and experience new firsts.  I will continue to focus on the joy of my family and practice breathing out negativity, extending my hands and my heart to those that need it while keeping my own needs intact.  I hope to continue teaching my boys that life is what you make of it.  I liken it to a dance party where the music changes day to day from slow and melodic to upbeat and happy to melancholic and nostalgic.

Go with it, enjoy it, learn from it and move on to where the beat of your heart takes you. 

I Breathe

Their skin is baby soft and their eyes illuminate goodness and innocence.

I Breathe and Hold and Squeeze them to me.

They wriggle and giggle and push at me for space.

Then collapse back into me.

I Breathe and Hold and Squeeze them to me.

My fingers entwine with theirs and my heart expands and explodes at once.

They are here, they are safe.

My mind is a darkened haze that swirls with scenes I wish to block out.

The sweetness of having my sons with me is tainted with the darkness in my mind.

I Breathe and Hold and Squeeze them to me.

My eyes reflect relief, great love and tremendous sadness.

And yes.  Anger.

My sons' question why.

Why are you crying?

My eyes prickle.  My throat tightens.  My mind an array of nonsensical prayers and thoughts.

What can you say when something worse than your worst nightmares occurs?

What can you do?

How do I answer...what do I say?

Nothing seems right.

My spirit is adrift...but my babies are right here.  Giant pieces of my heart and soul.

As 27 families have just lost theirs.

I Breathe and Hold and Squeeze them to me.

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

It's been four days since the horrendous tragedy at Sandy Hooks and I just can't stop thinking and crying for those babies and brave souls.  I feel so small in the wake of such a nightmare.  My eldest stayed home from school today.  He was sick.  I was relieved to not have to say good-bye to him at the school doors...but there's always tomorrow.

Please....do your part -whatever you can.  I sent a card to Sandy Hook Elementary School...

Sandy Hook Elementary School
12 Dickenson DriveSandy Hook, CT 06482, USA

I know it's not a lot but it's something.

Send a note, a card that has nothing to do with Christmas to your child's teacher today.  Hug them if you wish.  I can't imagine being a teacher AND a parent in the wake of what's just happened.  They are struggling so much too.

RIP sweet angels and brave souls...may God be with you.

I Never Dreamed That I'd Love Somebody Like You

He sat at the kitchen table quietly playing with his play-dough.  I swept the sun spilled wooden floors and music played in the back ground.  I marveled at this time with my youngest while his big brother was in school.  So peaceful, calm.  I sighed and sang softly to one of the most beautiful songs ever written...one of my favourites, 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaac, when his soft voice piped up and asked me this..."Why not he want to fall in love?"

He glanced at me waiting for an answer then continued squishing his superhero figurines into the play-dough.  I stopped and stared at him in amazement.

Not only was my three year old listening to the lyrics of the music.  He was pondering them.

The wonder I have towards my kids never ceases as the years move...but grows. 

When he was born, his eyes were of quiet dark blue constant contemplation.  He didn't start talking until a little bit later than most boys his age.  

He has made up for it since.  So much so sometimes that I worry about tuning out some of the poetic gems he spouts.  At merely three he speaks of silver moons, blackest shadows and melting tears. (He also cackles when you say penis, pee pee and poop too...I like to think he's well rounded)  And now, now he's asking about something far beyond what he should really be interested in knowing.  

What does a three year old know about being in love anyway?  

"Why doesn't he want to fall in love honey?"

"Yeah - but why Mummy?"

"Well.  He's singing about how he's scared to fall in love because he doesn't want to get his heart broken."

Here I am talking to my 3 year old like he's 13.  Like he has a perfect clue what I'm talking about. 

"But why?"

And then there's the why's.  Always the why's. 

"Because it hurts to have your heartbroken."

"But Adrian not hurting.  He not fall in love."  I had no idea what his older brother had to do with this conversation.  None whatsoever. And I'm not even sure what he was saying made any sense at all. But I went with it.

"No, not yet.  But someday I hope he falls in love.  I hope you both fall in love.  More than once.  It's a beautiful thing.  And sometimes you will break hearts honey.  (oh will they) And maybe you'll have your heart broken. (God help the girls that do, for the wrath of this Mama)  It's not intentional when someone breaks your heart.  Not always. "  

And so there I was rambling on and on and on to my three year old about breaking hearts and falling in love like I knew what I was doing. 

So I brought it back to simple.  "Mommy's in love with Daddy you know."

He continued quietly playing with his play dough and then said..."But I am.  I'm in love with Daddy."

Oh those words.  Oh this boy.  

I walked over, placed my hands on either side of his scrump-diddly-umptious face and kiss, kiss, kissed it.  You know those moments when you wish you could inhale the very essence of your child, hold on to it and never let it go?

This was one of those times.

"I know you are my love.  I know.  You are sweet.  You are too sweet."

So there you have it.  Turns out 3 year olds do know what being in love is all about.  

And it begins.

With us.

Such wisdom in those eyes...at only 6 weeks old.

I fell in love with this little man before I ever met him.

John did too.  He is Daddy's little boy to the nth degree.

He's A Christmas Star

Cars lined every street within a kilometre of the school.  My presumption that the school parking lot would be packed full was correct but I had no idea that the streets would be too. This was simply a school Christmas concert after all, not a Justin Beiber one.

It became crystal clear to me suddenly that Beiber fans got nothin' on children's fans. Their parents.  Their families. Number one fans that is.  As it should be.

I parked on a side street probably illegally but time was closing in quickly and I had to find a decent seat in order to get prime camera angle.

I walked into the dim light of the gym and saw the stage in all of its magenta, deep red and purple glory, decorated with paper gold stars.  The excitement was palpable.  There was an undercurrent of sentimentality and a whiff of nostalgia from our own past early childhood school stage memories.

My throat caught unexpected tears.  I thought of my husband who was in another country missing this big moment and the tears that sprung suddenly were at once for him and for my biggest baby boy who had no idea what a big deal this was to me.  To us.

The gym continued to fill and fill until there was standing room only.  Cameras and camcorders sat in laps and were clutched in hands of almost every parent in the audience.

The first group of children blasted us with big voices and huge smiles.  You really couldn't help but beam back, giggle even.  Their enthusiasm was incredibly touching.  The next act was much subtler but just as sweet.

There really is nothing that makes your heart and soul smile bigger than children's innocent voices singing together.

Except maybe seeing their parents waving maniacally half standing and calling out their child's name.

Parental paparazzi.  It's nothing to sneeze at.  Serious, serious business in fact.

When I knew Adrian's class was coming up I, of-course, scooted out to the front...but made sure to stand behind the yellow Caution tape.  (I kid you not).

As the 4 year old boys and girls paraded in front of my camcorder, my throat once again, abruptly closed over and proud tears sprung fast to my eyes.  I had to tell myself to get a grip.  I mean really.  I had NOT come prepared with kleenex for this.  The tears held close at bay.

"Adrian!"  I whispered loudly as he passed by.  I lurched and waved but he did not see me.

The boys and girls lined up in their school uniforms and a green and red tie for festivity.  Their clear high perfectly uneven beautiful voices raised to sing "Mary O Blessed One".

Of-course my eyes saw only my son whose eyes seemed to seek mine but couldn't find me because of the bright lights.

I watched him sing.  I watched him so intently I felt as though my heart might burst into silver glitter and red and green confetti hearts.  I watched him sing his heart out and rub his nose.  I watched as his eyes wandered every now and again.

I'm right here honey!  Over here with the camera...I promise not to miss a minute of this.  Remember...Mommy doesn't break promises.  I'm right here baby boy...I always am.

I wanted so much for him to know I was right there.  I yearned for it. It hurt my heart for him to think I wasn't there supporting him. Watching him with such love and pride.

He knew, after I picked him up.  He knew when I hugged him close and kissed his soft cheeks and told him how awesome he did and how proud I was of him.

He knew when I made it extra special by taking him out for lunch.

Just the two us.

Our favourite moments.

Are these moments spent.  Just the two us.

Together.

He had 2 mini burgers and mashed potatoes.  And Skittles for dessert.

I did it. I bought The Elf.

I broke down and bought the Elf today.  If you need further clarification on that you're either not a parent of small children or have been hiding under a rock for over a year.

It was very anti-climactic actually.  I know you're supposed wrap him/her up and have her delivered to your house but since my husband has been away a lot of the month and won't be home too much until after the 15th which is a bit late to start the tradition I just went to Chapters and bought the darn thing with kids in  tow.

Of-course the questions from my 4 year old began right away and I cursed myself and all the legions of parents that indirectly peer pressured me into buying the darn thing.

Upon examining the Elf in Starbucks over delicious ridiculously expensive snowman cookies, this is how our conversation went...

"That's a boy."

No she's a girl.  Look at her earrings.

"But boys can wear earrings too."

You're right, they can.  But she's wearing red lipstick.

"But boys can wear lipstick too."

You're right.  Some boys do wear lipstick.  (where he's seen this is a bit troubling to me, though I do love his open mind)

"It's a boy."

No.  It's a girl.  It says so on the box.

"How does she get to the North Pole?"

She flies.

"But how does she fly?"

Magic.

"Why can't she talk to us?"

She isn't allowed to talk to us.  Remember?  Santa's rules.

"But why?  And does she have sucker feet?"

Santa's rules buddy.  And no, no sucker feet.

"Why is her hair fake but her clothes real?"

(Are you kidding me?  What?  Who asks that question?  And what does that even mean?)

When you're sleeping tonight her hair turns real.

???!!!  At this point I have no idea what I'm even saying.  I'm just trying to shut my twenty thousand question kid up.

The inquisition died down at long last and he kept saying, "This is so exciting!  I can't wait to wake up tomorrow and find her!"

Adrian named her Tracy eventually.  After mulling over the names Pelf, Sugar (I loved this one the best), Drew, Jack and Avery, I have no idea where he got the name Tracy from.  We don't hang out with anyone named Tracy - the only Tracy's I know are my cousin whom he's never met and my friend's sister whom he's also never met.  Last week when we built our first snowman of the year he named it Elaine.  We don't know any Elaine's.  And to my knowledge he's never seen an episode of Seinfeld.

He's so random I love it.

My three year old on the other hand couldn't give a two flying fairies about this thing.  Hated the book.  Refused to read it with us.  Doesn't even flinch when I utter those dreadful words, "You know Tracy can see everything you're doing right now.  She's going to be reporting back to Santa tonight!"

His brother will chime in at this point, "Yeah and she's going to say,  'Santa! COALS for Finley!"

Adrian - well it works like a charm for him. It actually makes me feel a bit guilty.  But the gleeful excitement on his face when he thinks about where we might find her tomorrow pushes most of that guilt away.  And of-course to make things a little more interesting and fun...not to mention more work because I love making my life more difficult then it needs to be, I've decided to leave little rhyming notes with her every morning.  Tonight I've propped her up in our Christmas tree with a rolled up note.

I'll leave you with what Tracy has written for them come morning...

Good morning boys and how are you?

I made it back from the North Pole just in time - PHEW!

My report back to Santa was more than just fine.

Your brotherly love and affection to watch is divine

However, please keep in mind to stop slamming doors

and clean your toys up off of the floors

Though Mommy's voice gets loud (it sound like she needs a good rest)

Remember she loves you so much and always knows best!

Love, Tracy xoxo

Tracy the Elf chillin like a villain in our tree...with note for boys to find in the morning.

First Crush

There is a girl in Adrian's life.  Girlfriend that is.  Actually, three if you were to ask him.  However one he sees only once or twice a year, the other is in his class and has no idea that she's his girlfriend so we need to keep it on the DL according to him and the third girl...last but definitely not least...well...she lives across the street from us.  And happens to be an older girl.  Like grade ONE older.  She's also his best friend's sister.

Things could start to get awkward soon.

At first I resisted this whole girlfriend/crush thing.  Four years old is far too young to be talking about girlfriends.  Am I right?  But then I took a minute and recalled my first crush.  Shall I just rewind about 30 years?  The scene takes place in my kindergarten class...

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

"He's really cute." she said to me.

I was bewildered.  Cute?  A boy?  But no.  That can't be. Cats are cute.

But a boy?  Cute?

I looked over to where she was pointing.  We stood by the cloakroom huddled in whispers.  He was standing at the paint station goofing around with a couple of other boys.

"He is cute."  The sandy reddish pin straight bowl cut, the sprinkle of light freckles across the bridge of his nose, his dimples.

It was like my eyes opened up to a whole new world at that moment.

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

So then I realized I shouldn't downplay my son's feelings.  They are real.  They exist.  I need to validate them without making a big fuss about it.

A fine balance.

Since then there have been pictures exchanged between the two of them. It seems the crush is not just one sided.  Her name's been written over and over on pieces of paper.  Accentuated by glittery heart stickers.  She drew him a picture the other day...with the words "I like you" written across the sky.

It really does make a Mother's heart feel conflicted.  For the past almost 5 years I've been the female who was the centre of his universe.  I knew the time would come eventually when I wouldn't be the only woman in his world.  The time has evidently come too soon. For me. At the same time I get to see the tender side of my rambunctious little guy.

And so here I begin the treacherously delicate road, guiding the way for my son, teaching him how a girl should be treated..

As well as, on an ongoing basis, his father does by the ever important example of how he treats me.

Adrian drawing her a pony.  And a Vampire Tooth Egg.

Ava's picture for Adrian.  So sweet.

Mall...Rats!

I took my kids to the mall today.  To see Santa.

Not the usual one story, dark, depressing mall that we usually go to only for the cheesy rides, the Kernels popcorn and the smoothies...no this is the big, sunshiny two story mall with stores like Aeropostle (I have no idea how to actually pronounce that store therefore I don't go into it), Bath and Body Works, Coach and Fossil.

After were scoured the parking lot for what seemed like an hour I admitted defeat and had to park in a spot just outside of Sears.

Does anyone else have anxiety when parking outside of a department store attached to a mall?  I feel like I will never, ever remember the doors upon which we entered.  And then when it comes to leaving time I panic because doesn't there seem to be about 89 different ways to get in and out of those places?  I have a hard enough time remembering where I parked when I come out of the grocery store let alone a massive mall with not one but TWO huge department stores attached.

I begin muttering to myself repeatedly about how we can't forget where we parked like the crazy woman that I am while unbuckling my littlest...because kids totally care and pay attention to that kind of stuff.

Not really.

In we walked to Sears.  I noted the lingerie section and prayed my boys wouldn't say anything completely inappropriate about the half dressed mannequins.

Whew.  They did not.

And then come anxiety number two...where the hell is the entryway to the mall?!

Luckily we found it with semi-ease and sans perfume assault and on we went to Santa search.

My heart began to drop little by little.  I had a bad, bad feeling.  When I approached the information desk and inquired where our rotund cheery  red-dressed friend might be he said the dreaded words far too happily in my opinion..."Oh Santa's not here today!  No, no.  Just Friday, Saturdays and Sundays.  Yep!  That's right boys!  He's busy getting your presents ready!"

Well there's one thing that the crappy other mall has over this one.  SANTA.

Clearly my disappointment was far more intense about this than my sons because they beelined it to the scary moving stairs...otherwise known to them as, "Excalators."

This was their first time experiencing such a thing.

I know.  Deprived much?

What can I say?  I'm 34 years old and excalators still make me a bit nervous.

I was traumatized as a young girl when my dear Mother took me to the mall and stepped onto one only to leave me behind.  I remember being frozen with fear watching my Mom ascending further and further and further away from me.  Until a sweet lady gently clasped my hand and helped me step bravely onto those scary teethy metally monsterish stairs.  I was once again reunited with my Mummy.

You see how childhood trauma works right there?  This was exactly what I didn't want to happen to my boys.

Well apparently they do not share the same (irrational) fears as me.  Which is and is not a good thing.  They rode those excalators up and down, up and down, up and down.

It became an obsession.

They also ran through the mall, hopping from patterned tile to patterned tile leaving their jackets for me to pick up and dust off.  They ate orange cream ice cream on waffle cones from Purdy's.  The most delicious ice cream I've ever had.

I mean.  They've ever had.

Okay.  So I admit.  I ate some of their ice cream.  It was just because it was going to drip down their cones and onto their arms resulting in a very sticky mess.  It was for the greater good.

As people passed us by while I was licking the ice cream that both my sons had been licking I began to wonder...and asked myself...is this really freaking disgusting or what?  I mean...it really is when you think about it.  But it's not possible that I'm the only Mother in the world that does this.  Right?

Oh whatever.  I don't give a rats ass.  That ice cream was freaking DELICIOUS.

And I'd do it again.

After about 67 more excalator rides, 3 stores visited and 2 hours later I told them it was time to go.

After all that chasing after them while hanging onto their winter jackets and still wearing mine I was roasting like a very large chestnut over a bonfire.

Oh but wait!  I almost forgot something.

I'm POTTY TRAINING YOU GUYS.  

Finley had to go the washroom.

TIME TO PANIC AND RUN WILDLY AROUND FOR THE NEAREST WASHROOM!

We ended up finding one fairly easily thank goodness.

But it was in the basement of Sears.

Again with my department store anxiety disorder.

How that hell do we get out???

We went up another escalator - yay - and I found our exit!  There was a bunch of half dressed women in underwear...just like we saw when we came in.

And just as a family of about 10 passed us...well that's when the inappropriateness began as I tried to wrestle them in their winter jackets.

"Sexy ladies."  Says my four year old.

!!!!!!!!

As I'm handing him his jacket and whisper-yelling for him to be quiet and put on his (damn) jacket...

there goes my 3 year old trying to pull down the mannequins UNDERWEAR.

Oh you think that's all?

He kissed the mannequin's ass.

Not once.

Not twice.

I frantically look around for my other child only to find him caressing the booty of another mannequin.

I wanted to die.  But apparently one cannot die of embarrassment.

Then I wanted to hide.  Desperately.  But the only place to hide was between a whole bunch of colourful negligees.  And well.  That would be a whole lotta weird.

I whisper-shouted to Finley to move away from the mannequin and somehow ushered them out the door to the blessed cool outdoors.

Only to realize.

It was the wrong exit.

The Haunted Cabin (and the moral of the story is?)

The night had long since fallen and I lay curled up beside Adrian in his bed, the dog warming our feet.

"What was your favourite part of the day today?"

"I don't know."

He was tired.  He'd been up for 14 hours.  Much too tired for this Mother's eager end of day questioning.

I pulled him in close and kissed his cheek.  "This is my favourite part of the day."

"This is?"

"Of-course.  Snuggling with you is always my favourite."  As I lay there, his breathing turning deep and even, a memory popped into my mind.  My heart constricted.  

I really, really miss my Mum.  It seems like I haven't seen her in forever.  Or 3 months to be more precise.  This memory that came to me out of the blue was such sweet comfort that my mind's eye peeked in towards it closer recalling the sights, the smells, the squeals.

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

It was a grade seven school trip to a summer camp-cabin getaway for a few nights.  The name of the camp started with an H but other than that I can't remember the name of it.  My Mother, for the first time that I can recall, had volunteered to be a supervisor.    

My Mother is not your typical Mother in that she's really not all that maternal.  She is the type of Mother - even then - that didn't talk down to you no matter what your age.  Of-course she was loving and caring - there were always I love you's and hugs in our home.  She was a single mom who worked her butt off to raise her children in the best way she could.  It was rare for her to take the time off work to volunteer for my school.  Let alone looking out for a bunch of squealy 12 year old girls. (Now that was brave...I listen to 12 year old girls talk nowadays and just cringe.)  My Mum volunteering, especially for something like this, simply wasn't something I had ever expected her to do.  But I loved that she did.  And now as a Mother I appreciate it even more.  

The days at the camp were very un-school-like and super fun.  We hiked through creeks, had bonfires and skits at night, played games.  Of-course a few of us girls got into trouble from the teachers for going over to the boys cabins and had to stand at the flag pole for punishment for what seemed like FOREVER.  I remember griping to my Mom when she came over to us standing around the forbidden flag pole about how lame it was that we got into trouble.  It wasn't like we went IN their cabins.  We were just talking to them through their windows!  So lame.  My Mum laughed and shrugged her shoulders.  Rules were rules.  

That night in our tiny little rustic cabin, curled into our sleeping bags on 4 sets of bunk beds, a few of the girls were having hard time falling asleep.  

They were homesick.  Missed their Moms.  

And of-course our cabin was haunted.  

Clangity, clang, clang, clang!  

Cue high pitched twelve year old girls screams as they all jumped and huddled in one bed.  

The coat hangers!  The coat hangers on the opposite side of the cabin were moving on their own! (we couldn't see a thing in the pitch black but of-course it was the ghost haunting us)

Eventually the dramatics subsided.  Still, not surprisingly, some of the girls were not at ease.  

My Mum's voice was clear and comforting in the pitch dark.  She talked with us calmly.  Asked questions.  Quite possibly she sang songs.  She always sang.  She still does. She told us when she was a little girl and had a hard time falling asleep she would practice saying the alphabet backwards.  (This really is one of her many talents to this date.)  Silence fell as the girls contemplated this.  I fell asleep easily of-course without saying the alphabet backwards - the thought of attempting that to this day makes my brain hurt.  And though I'm sure I would've been fine had my Mother not been in the cabin with us, having her there was reassuring nonetheless.  Especially since the cabin was totally haunted.

I suppose there's some point to this story.  Some sort of common thread here between the night time cuddles with my son and the story I just told you.

Quite possibly the moral of the story is, if there is one, it's always nice to have the comfort of your Mother curled in beside you, her hand rubbing your back or her soothing voice nearby.  I think of it as a small gift every night to my son but especially to me - these precious moments we share.  I've never felt comfortable with the crying it out method though that's not to say I haven't done it a couple of times in the beginning.  But I've come to the realization it's just not how I want my children to fall asleep at night...upset, stressed, tear stained.  Shouldn't we all feel safe and comforted the last few minutes before drifting to dreamland?  

That's my belief. 

Not Quite an Astronomy Lesson

We crossed the road hand in hand.

The night loomed just around the corner, dusk already bidding its adieu.

The one whose small hand clutched mine looked up into the misty sky and declared, "It's a silver moon Mommy!"

A silver moon.

Poetic words coming from my three year old son.

My head tilted toward the night sky.  It was dark, foggy and sure enough...there was a sliver of a silver moon.

"It is a silver moon!  How beautiful."

The moon hung hazy and alone.  Not a star in sight yet.

"But where's the Mommy and Daddy?"

"Where's the moon's Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yeah."  His voice lilted and soft. His perfect profile stared up in perfect wonder at the soft, vague ceiling above us.

"Well, the moon doesn't have a Mommy and a Daddy honey.  But I suppose the stars are his family. We just can't see the stars yet because of the fog in the sky." Oh do I love this age and how attached they get to everything having to have a Mommy and Daddy.

It shows just how incredibly important family is already becoming to them.

"But the stars are the moon's friends?"

"Sure they are."  Friends, of-course, being another way of saying family. Don't we all consider our great friends family anyway?  I do.

So of-course the stars are the moon's family and friends. Why not? 

It's not like he's not at an age for an official astronomy lesson quite yet anyway.

And thank God for that.

'Cause I'm not at the brain capacity to teach one.

A Rant, A Wall and Go the F&^% to Sleep

Do you mind if I rant for a few moments here?  If you do mind, kindly click off and find somewhere else to go.

Thanks so much.

My husband's been off gallivanting (aka working) in New Zealand and Australia for the past 11 days. Which is all fine and good. It is.  And it's been going really quite well at home base with the boys.  They have been unreasonably well behaved and I somehow found a reserve of patience that I had no idea about.  We've gone out to 'real' restaurants for dinner...the kind with actual menus and a liquor license.  Where you sit down in a nice booth and there are candles lit.  Which were promptly put out by moi.  I've seen what their father can do with one innocent candle at a dinner table so I'm not risking sitting at one with his 3 and 4 year old sons.

I've taken them to the movies and parks.  We've been invited over to a couple of our neighbours homes for dinner.  Which I certainly never expect but appreciate more than I can put into words.  Because if you've ever been alone with your children for long stretches at a time when that dinner time rolls around and you're used to having nice family meals around the table it can tend to be a bit lonesome when your husband isn't there.  I'm not a person that ever feels easily lonely but dinner time?  Lil bit lonely.  Since John's been gone I've dealt with an ongoing situation at my son's school and was told by the teacher that he is 'just a really nice good kid'.  This of-course made my mother feathers fluff out.  I may have preened and clucked around with my neck out for a moment.  It's so nice to hear that from another adult but especially from a teacher.

Someone (a parent) recently said they 'hate it when people complain about how hard parenting is'.  But you know what?  THAT'S CAUSE IT IS.  And if you're doing it right it should be motherlovin' hard.  Not all the time of-course - not every minute or even every day.  But if you can say you don't find parenting hard you're doing something really, really wrong.  Or your child is just abnormally angelic.  And if that's the case we can never be friends.  Sorry.

Do you know what else someone (another parent) asked me after being without my husband for a week as we discussed how fast the week went by and I said a, "Thank you GOD." to that?

Do you really want to know?  

They actually asked me, "Really?  You find it hard when John's gone?"  That person was lucky I didn't have a cast iron pan handy because I was about to hand out a Rapunzel whoopass on them.  Wow huh?  Just...wow.

And then.  Then!  The one day my lovely father and his wife came to visit and I had to run out and grab some groceries as they played outside...do you know what happened???!!!  I came home about 40 minutes later to my Dad's wife and her broken shoulder.  I don't know how it happened because I wasn't there (guilt, guilt and more guilt) but it had something to do with my sweet damn dog's leash being wrapped around her ankle and then taking off after a stick that Adrian had thrown.  The thing is...before I left, when she asked for Riley's leash I knew, I  knew (because I have psychic powers)  that it was a bad, bad very bad idea to have Riley outside without me around.  So people.  Listen to me right now.  Read. the. words. that. are. comin' out of my fingertips....listen to your gut.  Always.

Every time I haven't I've regretted it.

Julie...I hope you're doing okay :(

Oh....you probably thought I was done ranting there didn't you?

WELL THINK AGAIN.  

This morning dawned a little later than usual.   This is a good sign.  That good sign lied it's little ass off to me.  It lured me in and then sunk me faster than a...than a...I don't know what but it brought me down yo.  And fast.

Today was challenging.  My children seem to be coming apart at the seams.  They are not listening.  At all.  They're fighting with each other.  Like sitting on one another's heads fighting.  Like hitting, screeching and being perfect little assholes to each other fighting.

Tonight was a complete gong show at bed time.  I was so beyond exhausted I actually put them in their beds, walked to my room and closed my bedroom door (which happens to have a child proof door handle on it...for reasons that not need be questioned).  There was crying and crying.  And banging on my door.  And more crying and more door banging.

It was a perfect night to yell out the lines from the book Go the F*&% to Sleep somewhat aggressively to my children through the crack of my door.  It really was.  That was actually the  mantra screaming in my head when I couldn't take the crying and door banging any more and was forced to lay down with them at intervals.

You could call it concrete, or stone.  Metal or brick.  But whatever that damn wall is made of, I've hit it tonight going at a fierce rate.  I'm done, kaput, finished and just plain kphflttt.  I've got 48 hours to go and I'm hoping it's like ripping off a band aid.

Quick with that inevitable sting that thankfully fades fast.

Here's hoping.

In the meanwhile I'll raise an (oversized) glass of wine to that and *ching* "Cheers Mates!"

I Dreamed a Dream (then I analyzed the crap out of it)

I've heard of people that do not dream when they're sleeping. This I cannot fathom.  It fascinates me that some people either don't dream or don't remember their dreams because I'm a very vivid dreamer.  Every night I dream and dream a LOT.  Crazy long dreams.  Short random ones.  I can recall dreams from when I was a child and I have a few recurring ones.  I have no idea what this says about me or if it even means anything.  I often will wake up in the middle of the night after a particularly vivid one and I always say to myself that I must write this one down because I will forget it in the morning.  Who knows, perhaps I could make it into a book some day like Stephanie Meyer who wrote the Twilight series after dreaming about it one night...maybe I could be the next huge author.

You just never know.

I had one of those insanely clear and strange dreams last night.  I had the same thought that I always do  when I awoke from it and was thisclose to writing it down.  But I was too tired and ended up falling back asleep.  Now I am full of regrets because I don't remember it at all.  Just that it was CRAZY.  There were lots of lively colourful blobs with personality and that's all that comes to me.  There was much more to it but I can't recall anymore of what happened.

When I fell back asleep though, I had another dream.  An incredibly clear and terrifying one.  I don't know what it meant (though I will give my interpretation at the end) but I can tell you right now that it confirmed my negative thoughts on ever going on a cruise - especially with my children.

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

I was with my husband in what seemed to be a room in the basement of a boat - a very large boat - perhaps a cruise ship but on a smaller scale.  It was a dingy-Bingo-hall-esque type of room and there weren't a lot of people there.  I accidentally knocked over a man's drink - it was a dark drink possibly rum and coke.  He was very sarcastic and he and his wife were not friendly at all towards me.  My husband gave me a five dollar bill and I asked the man what he was drinking so that I could replace the one I knocked over.  He told me snidely, "You know what I was drinking."  But, no I did not.  I stood facing them feeling like an idiot while husband and wife stared at me with nasty smiles on their faces. I glanced over at my husband who was sitting at the next table over. I felt a drop of water on my head.  And then another...and another.  All of a sudden there was a ton of water raining down on us from the ceiling.  A screeching alarm sounded and a large video appeared in front of us that showed one side of the boat exploding into flames.  It was the opposite side of where we were.

Panic gripped me because all of a sudden it occurred to me that my boys were on the boat but I didn't know where.  Then we're on deck but inside a small compartment-type room and Adrian comes into view but out of reach from me.  I feel complete relief but I can't get to him.  Almost as soon as I see him he gets thrown into the water and onto a floatation device.  He had no life jacket on and he was obviously not secured onto the tubular lifesaving device.  It's night time and the waters were so very dark.  I'm so incredibly scared for him but my mind is telling me it somehow makes sense that he's out there and I'm not.  Then the anxiety rises inside me when I realize now I don't know where Finley is.

Finley appears but again...I can't get to him. The same thing happens to him.  I continually yell frantically to them to HOLD ON!  HOLD ON TO THOSE HANDLES AND DON'T LET GO!!!  

I feel sick with worry.  John never leaves my side.  He is completely calm.  Our neighbours were there with us but they didn't seem bothered by what was going on around us.  This was so confusing to me.  There were other relatives on the boat as well but they hadn't brought their children. Their dog however happened to be in the opposite end of the boat that blew up into flames.  I felt terrible for them.  And I felt relieved we hadn't brought Riley with us.

I had so many conflicting emotions barraging me.

The boat was now being tugged to shore.  The fire had been put out.  I kept looking from Adrian to Finley willing them to stay on those floatation devices but feeling so completely helpless though somehow knowing that we were all going to be okay.  All of us were going to be just fine except for the animals on the other side of the boat.

And that's when I woke up, saw my eldest asleep beside me and I pulled him in close.  My heart was pounding.  I was so thankful it was just a dream.

Just a dream.

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

My interpretation of-course is pretty logical.  My youngest just turned 3, my eldest in now in school and will be turning 5 in a couple of months.  They are growing up.  And it's going by quickly.  At some point I have to let them go to discover the deep, dark and tumultuous waters of the world on their own and it is going to be extremely hard for me.  I will have anxiety.  Naturally.  As they grow into tweens, teens and adolescents there will be proverbial fires to put out and issues to deal with. But I will have my husband by my side.  He will keep me balanced (or at least try to)...most importantly he will always be there, consistent, calm and present.  We will be in this together through stormy nights filled with anxiety and all the craziness in between.  We will see it through to the other side, side by side as the tides of life bring us safely to shore.  The people surrounding us of-course may not be going through what we are so it makes sense that they can't see, can't feel, can't understand the emotions that are happening within me.  As for the poor animals.  I have no idea what all that means.  Except for the fact that I'd been discussing pets on facebook with my neighbours late that night.  That's all I got for that.  And that arrogant couple?  Well I suppose we all come into contact with people like that throughout our life.  And it's all in how you deal with them.  Or don't.

Got any more dreams for me to analyze?  I think I just amazed myself!

What's In Your Purse?

There are times when I go out in public...on my own....sans offspring.

Is this shocking to you?  Sometimes it is for me, let's be honest.  Even going to the grocery store by myself is like a mini vacation.

It's at these times when I'm running errands, doing groceries or generally getting the hell outta dodge because if I don't my entire being could very well explode into a raging awful mess, that I actually have the thought of what others think of me while I'm by myself.  Do I look like a Mother of 2 little boys?  Do I look like a single women simply perusing the stores at the mall for some new fabulous boots?  Do I look like a happily married woman?  When I have a full face of make up, my hair done, my sassy clothes on and a skip to my hop because...well...I'm alone...I wonder these things.

Do you?

Sometimes I think I can get away with being a fabulously awesome career woman who has not a care in the world but her work.  Sometimes I think I can get away with being a married woman on the brink of possibly starting a family but simply content with where she is in life.  Hey, maybe I could get away with being a lipstick lesbian.  Let's think wild for a minute here.

Or let's not.  Sorry about that.

But then I go to pay for my new fabulous boots.  Or my groceries.  And my hand goes to the zipper of my purse and then it alllll comes into focus....about who I really am.

I am a Mother...that is first and foremost at this point in my life right now.  And the evidence, ladies and gentlemen, is in my purse.

What you could find in my purse at this very minute if you should ever dare to look is...

* A Captain Britain figurine (Oh?  You thought there was only a Captain America?  Well.  I shall be ever the educator of superheroes for you and let you know that not only is there a Captain Britain but also! A Captain Canuck!)

*An obscene amount of crumpled up grocery store receipts

*A diaper (somehow a dead giveaway right there)

*A beautiful Coach wallet (the only beautiful thing about the innards of my purse)

*A toy motorbike that is missing its handlebars

*A Batman Figurine

*Not one but TWO pairs of plastic vampire teeth.  No idea.

*4 tubes of lipgloss all in the varying shades of pink

*Wet Naps

*Napkins for God only knows what fast food restaurant and how long they've been there for

*Hand Sanitizer (for obvious reasons)

*A Costco flyer (from I have no idea when)

*A business card from my hair person with my next appointment written on it...(hold on...I have to get this on the calendar before this gets lost in the abyss of my purse trenches....)

*An empty glasses case

*2 pens that probably don't work worth a crap

*2 plastic rings in the shape of hearts.  They are both orange and sparkly.  One has a bat on it and one has a really freaky looking spider.

*A mint from a restaurant that feels like it's actually half of a broken one. How did that get past quality control I ask you?

*An Old Navy clothing tag

*Tampons (sorry, but this is a fact)

*A penny (I hope it's lucky!)

*Far too many crumbs which is totally grossing me out right now

*And a raisin.  At least...that's what I think it is.

On a Great Night...(this is what you would see)

"I hear toys being thrown around down there!  If I come down there and toys are all over the place after I just cleaned them up I will NOT be happy."  I could tell they were shaking in their boots. (or underwear-slash-diapers as that's all they ever seem to wear around the house).

I was attempting to enjoy a dismal and cold November evening while my husband works away in the beautiful (hot) country of Australia.  The attempting was working for the most part.  I was bbq'ing steaks with thoughts of a glass of red wine in mind and listening to a random compilation of my favourite music while my boys played throughout the house.  Mostly getting along.  I really couldn't ask for more.  Except to have my husband there enjoying it with me.  Which was moot point.

I stormed down the stairs and surveyed toy cars strewn all over the floor.

"Really you guys?!  Clean these us right now.  Both of you!  Or no Wild Kratts after dinner tonight."  That was some serious threat right there.  I stomped back up the stairs with that glass of wine in mind that I'd yet to enjoy.

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We sat around the dinner table, plates full of steak, orzo mixed with goat cheese, tomatoes and peas and steamed broccoli as the song Beam Me Up by Pink played.  Adrian sat to my right singing what he thought were the lyrics...."Beeeaat me Uuuup!"

"Adrian really?  You think she's singing 'Beat me Up' with that beautiful melody?"

"She's not?"

"No she's not.  She's saying 'BEAM me up'.  It's about wanting to see someone that she loves in heaven again."

"She's saying 'Beat me Up." His face moved right into mine, "BEEEAT MEEE UUUP."

"Okay Adrian.  Eat your dinner."

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'Her hair is Harlowe gold, her lips sweet surprise; her hands are never cold, she's got Bette Davis Eyes...'

I jumped up from the table, "I love this song!  I have to dance."

The boys didn't need any excuse to get away from the dinner table.  They joined me on our living room dance floor, grabbing my hands and spinning me until I was dizzy.  I could see our reflection in the large picture window, the light from inside the house against the dark of the autumn evening.

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I walked down to the basement where I was convinced I would be faced with the disaster yet to be cleaned up despite my terrible threat.  The holler I had ready in my throat quickly dissipated.

The cars were all put away.

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After baths were had, teeth were brushed and books were read, we curled up in our jammies watching Wild Kratts in bed. My sons' lay on either side of me, heads on my shoulders, arms over my stomach, freshly bathed and smelling of orange scented shampoo.  I kissed and snuggled and loved them.

This is our nightly routine.

This is my life.

And though it isn't all roses and rainbows, oh no it isn't.   Cars are not always put away when asked and a slaved over dinner is often pushed away, sibling fights ensue, I get mad and our poor dog is too often harassed...but this is essentially us.

On a really, really great night.

Nostalgia: A Poem

She Dreams Under A Warm Purple Night Sky

Limpid Waters Turn and Lick

The Heady Haze of Sweet Summer Symphonies

Warm Scents of Fire and Lilacs Rise

As

She listens To Life under the Moon

Random Pictures Flash Through her Mind

Small Gusts of Wind Carry Them Away

The Crickets Sing and the Grass Tickles Her Neck

Languid Darkness Lingers

Amongst Yellow Pinpricks of Light

Nostalgia

An Uncomfortably Warm Blanket 

Yet Soft to Touch

It Whispers Gently

To Never Not Tell the Tale

Of Your True Heart Story