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.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
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.
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.
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. |
.jpg) |
| 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. |
Thursday, December 13, 2012
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.
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. |
Friday, December 7, 2012
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...
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. |
Thursday, December 6, 2012
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.
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. |
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
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.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
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!"
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!"
Saturday, November 17, 2012
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!
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!
Friday, November 16, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
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.
********************************************************************************
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."
**********************************************************************************
'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.
***********************************************************************************
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.
**********************************************************************************
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.
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.
********************************************************************************
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."
**********************************************************************************
'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.
***********************************************************************************
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.
**********************************************************************************
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.
Monday, November 12, 2012
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
Saturday, November 10, 2012
On the Upswing
Even though I was just a young girl, merely four years old, I recall with such vividness the feeling of swinging on the swing set just outside my pre-school. I can still smell the wet sand beneath my runners and the feeling of the wind in my face, rushing past my ears. I felt like I was truly flying, full of freedom, happiness. I would pump my legs so strong and swing so high I could see the church steeple behind the school building.
I remember the underdogs my Dad would give me as a little girl. He still remains (according to my sons') the best "hunder-dogger" ever.
I also remember falling off a wooden swing at a camp ground when I was about six. You know the swings that are basically a piece of plywood balancing on a chain? Not exactly kid-friendly there folks.
I don't recall the first time I learned how to swing independently. But you know...it's kind of a big deal. Maybe not as big of a deal as learning how to ride a two-wheeler bike...but still. It's big.
Although now that I really think about it. It's much more of a bigger deal to the parents than the child.
Let's be frank about our lovely offspring and swings shall we? Alright then.
The first time you put your sweet baby in a baby swing at the park when they're about 4-6 months old and you begin to push them as gently as a soft summer breeze because we certainly wouldn't want to give our darling children wind whiplash now would we? No no. They're big, adorable toothless grins melt our hearts at once as we coo in our new high pitched Mommy voice, "Oh you love swinging sugar plum? Oooohh look you! You love it! Are you having sooooo much fun sweetie pie? You are! Look at you go!"
Yadda, yadda, yadda. We all do it. Don't even try to pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about...but you see. This is our first mistake as parents. We should never, ever, ever introduce our children to swings in the first place. They suck you in! Did you see how that just happened?! And by the 200,000,000 push you couldn't be more over it, biting back words of irritation to your adorably innocent 3 year old child like, "Learn how to pump your legs already! I mean COME.ON! How hard IS IT?!!!"
Can I admit that I wanted to start some sort of petition stating that all swings going forward should be banned from parks? Is that wrong? I cannot possibly be the only Mother in the world that thinks this. When I go to the park with my boys I want them to run and jump and slide and climb and hang from monkey bars. I want them to burn all of that hellion energy off!!! I don't want them sitting on a stupid swing all la-diggity-da while I push them! Don't I do enough for them in life?! What! I have to push you on a *&^%)( swing now!?
Throw two kids into the mix that can't pump their own legs and I'm telling you it's like my own personal hell. Especially when the only swings available are not side by side so your basically all GoGo Gadget Mama with your arms pushing 100 km a minute as you run like a maniac back and forth between swings while your blessed spawn screech, "Me Mommy! My turn!" "No my turn! Higher! Faster!" It never ends well. It never does my friends. And aren't the parks supposed be for good times? Fun times? So you all agree with me right? Swings should be banned.
But then you're outside in your backyard (where those damn swings are again) on a mild November Saturday morning and all of a sudden your four year old son just starts pumping his strong little legs away on the swing. There he goes! Higher and higher and higher. There's that smile. Except it's even bigger now. Brighter somehow. Because he's doing it all on his own. So you sit on the other swing and you begin to swing along side with him. And those feelings of when your were just a four year old girl rush back. Flying. Freedom. Happiness. You tilt your head on the upswing to a typical November sky that's grey-white with dense clouds. The scent of damp earth hangs in the air as your dog contentedly chews a stick in front of you and you listen to your child's giddy laughter beside you.
All of a sudden it hits you.
As you became an adult you forgot something.
Something very important.
Something you never want to forget again.
Swings are actually the best damn things ever invented.
I remember the underdogs my Dad would give me as a little girl. He still remains (according to my sons') the best "hunder-dogger" ever.
I also remember falling off a wooden swing at a camp ground when I was about six. You know the swings that are basically a piece of plywood balancing on a chain? Not exactly kid-friendly there folks.
I don't recall the first time I learned how to swing independently. But you know...it's kind of a big deal. Maybe not as big of a deal as learning how to ride a two-wheeler bike...but still. It's big.
Although now that I really think about it. It's much more of a bigger deal to the parents than the child.
Let's be frank about our lovely offspring and swings shall we? Alright then.
The first time you put your sweet baby in a baby swing at the park when they're about 4-6 months old and you begin to push them as gently as a soft summer breeze because we certainly wouldn't want to give our darling children wind whiplash now would we? No no. They're big, adorable toothless grins melt our hearts at once as we coo in our new high pitched Mommy voice, "Oh you love swinging sugar plum? Oooohh look you! You love it! Are you having sooooo much fun sweetie pie? You are! Look at you go!"
Yadda, yadda, yadda. We all do it. Don't even try to pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about...but you see. This is our first mistake as parents. We should never, ever, ever introduce our children to swings in the first place. They suck you in! Did you see how that just happened?! And by the 200,000,000 push you couldn't be more over it, biting back words of irritation to your adorably innocent 3 year old child like, "Learn how to pump your legs already! I mean COME.ON! How hard IS IT?!!!"
Can I admit that I wanted to start some sort of petition stating that all swings going forward should be banned from parks? Is that wrong? I cannot possibly be the only Mother in the world that thinks this. When I go to the park with my boys I want them to run and jump and slide and climb and hang from monkey bars. I want them to burn all of that hellion energy off!!! I don't want them sitting on a stupid swing all la-diggity-da while I push them! Don't I do enough for them in life?! What! I have to push you on a *&^%)( swing now!?
Throw two kids into the mix that can't pump their own legs and I'm telling you it's like my own personal hell. Especially when the only swings available are not side by side so your basically all GoGo Gadget Mama with your arms pushing 100 km a minute as you run like a maniac back and forth between swings while your blessed spawn screech, "Me Mommy! My turn!" "No my turn! Higher! Faster!" It never ends well. It never does my friends. And aren't the parks supposed be for good times? Fun times? So you all agree with me right? Swings should be banned.
But then you're outside in your backyard (where those damn swings are again) on a mild November Saturday morning and all of a sudden your four year old son just starts pumping his strong little legs away on the swing. There he goes! Higher and higher and higher. There's that smile. Except it's even bigger now. Brighter somehow. Because he's doing it all on his own. So you sit on the other swing and you begin to swing along side with him. And those feelings of when your were just a four year old girl rush back. Flying. Freedom. Happiness. You tilt your head on the upswing to a typical November sky that's grey-white with dense clouds. The scent of damp earth hangs in the air as your dog contentedly chews a stick in front of you and you listen to your child's giddy laughter beside you.
All of a sudden it hits you.
As you became an adult you forgot something.
Something very important.
Something you never want to forget again.
Swings are actually the best damn things ever invented.
 |
| There he goes! In action! |
Monday, November 5, 2012
He is 'Fee' (Three)
Finley tonight is the night before you were born and today was not a good day with us my love. Perhaps it was because you weren't feeling 100 percent, perhaps you were tired because of this. Perhaps it was because you refused to nap and therefore became a tiny tornado full of rage that wouldn't stop crying on and off for two hours as I began to cook dinner.
Spaghetti and Meatballs as you had requested.
You didn't eat one bite of-course. You sure did miss out.
I tried to console you. I tried to kiss your tears away as you battered your 3 year old fists against me. I tried time outs and scolding you. I tried to be here, there and everywhere as the food cooked on two elements and in the oven. You cried, bath! You cried and cried. You cried for Daaaaddyyyyy. You cried at my feet as I blended tomato sauce before it burned and flipped meatballs before they blackened and drained noodles before they turned to mush. And at times I just had to let you cry while insane guilty thoughts grabbed at my mind with gnarled hands knowing what a sensitive little boy you are. I became convinced I was giving you abandonment issues for sure.
But.
I tried.
And still you cried.
Then John arrived and I threw my hands in the air with a "Thank God!" and "I just can't deal with this anymore. I can't. I'm done." Quite possibly there were stronger words used that may or may not have sounded like I was thisclose to losing my shit. It was not my first time and won't be my last. But eventually a bath was drawn and justlikethat emotions and frustrations subsided. I sat in the doorway of the bathroom watching you play in your bath. Your delicious little bum crested out of the water while you lay on your still Buddha-like tummy. You blew bubbles in the water and peeked over the tub at me with your beautiful blue eyes and long dark lashes finally tear free. You smiled, you talked, you acted silly. My little Scorpio water baby. You were back to yourself. Water was all you needed.
But I don't want to dwell on a bad day on the eve of such an incredibly special day celebrating you. No. Because today? This does not define who you are. It does not define who I am as a Mother either. So let's go back 3 years shall we and dwell on one of the most beautiful days of my life.
The day I met you, sweet love....
********************************************************************************
The day dawned early for me as I'd been up all night tossing and turning with uncomfortable contractions. The phone rang around 7 am. It was your Gaga, my Mother with her always intuitive nature. I was 5 days over my due date with you. It was time for you to be born. She must have known that. During one of my stronger contractions on the phone with her I had to breathe through them. She ordered me to get to a hospital if my contractions were 10 minutes apart. They were coming at 7 and 8. It was time. A flurry of activity mounted. Calling your Papa and Nana to make the trek from London to take care of Adrian. Getting your big brother to the neighbours house in the meanwhile. Making sure I had everything in my hospital bag. It was exactly the opposite of how your brother began and for that I was ever so grateful. It was spontaneous, exciting. And yes, painful. But the best pain one could ever experience.
The highway was free and clear as we made our way to the city and hospital where your brother was born a half an hour away.
We got there in 18 minutes. 8:30 am we were checked in.
As I sat in the hospital bed alone with my thoughts while your Dad parked the truck and I awaited my lovely doctor who delivered your brother, I began to cry. The emotions of becoming of Mother times two just took over me and the tears dripped down my face and over my nose onto my belly where you protested your appearance.
The thing is, as a new Mother I had no idea the way a child would and could open parts of my heart and soul I didn't know yet existed. But now. Now I already knew that huge love. And that's where this was coming from. That love was multiplying at an incredibly fast rate. I was about to meet you. I didn't know what your name was going to be, if you were a boy or a girl. I didn't know your weight, your length or the colour of your hair and eyes. I didn't know a thing about you besides the fact that your movements were soft and rolling and never uncomfortable...but I loved you already. Oh did I love you baby boy.
There was nothing dramatic (thank God) about your birth. We came into the hospital at 8:30 am and you came into this world at 1:36 pm on Friday, November 6th. A robust and even 9 lbs. It was just what I didn't expect being that my first labour was a horrific 38 hours including 3 hours of pushing. But enough of that. This is about you Finley. And you, thank you thank you! You were so very easy.
That amazing and enthusiastic declaration of, "It's a BOY!" as the sobs lifted from the depths of my belly and escaped my throat was truly one of the most transcendent moments of my life. Though we had names picked out for you like Henry, Chase, Asher and Zander it was all too clear to me that you were my Finley. My beautiful Finley Alexander. Your face red and smushed yet oh so perfect, your screams loud and unending yet oh so healthy. I held you to my breast and kissed your head a thousand times over, breathing in every bit of your scent. So in love. So over the moon excited to have finally met you. My baby boy. My sweet, sensitive, silly, smart, soft spoken little love.
Happy Birthday to you my beautiful Finley. Finnegan. Fin. Finny. Finny-boo. Finner. Finner McGinner.
Your Daddy, Adrian and I love you Big Much! Always and Forever.
Spaghetti and Meatballs as you had requested.
You didn't eat one bite of-course. You sure did miss out.
I tried to console you. I tried to kiss your tears away as you battered your 3 year old fists against me. I tried time outs and scolding you. I tried to be here, there and everywhere as the food cooked on two elements and in the oven. You cried, bath! You cried and cried. You cried for Daaaaddyyyyy. You cried at my feet as I blended tomato sauce before it burned and flipped meatballs before they blackened and drained noodles before they turned to mush. And at times I just had to let you cry while insane guilty thoughts grabbed at my mind with gnarled hands knowing what a sensitive little boy you are. I became convinced I was giving you abandonment issues for sure.
But.
I tried.
And still you cried.
Then John arrived and I threw my hands in the air with a "Thank God!" and "I just can't deal with this anymore. I can't. I'm done." Quite possibly there were stronger words used that may or may not have sounded like I was thisclose to losing my shit. It was not my first time and won't be my last. But eventually a bath was drawn and justlikethat emotions and frustrations subsided. I sat in the doorway of the bathroom watching you play in your bath. Your delicious little bum crested out of the water while you lay on your still Buddha-like tummy. You blew bubbles in the water and peeked over the tub at me with your beautiful blue eyes and long dark lashes finally tear free. You smiled, you talked, you acted silly. My little Scorpio water baby. You were back to yourself. Water was all you needed.
But I don't want to dwell on a bad day on the eve of such an incredibly special day celebrating you. No. Because today? This does not define who you are. It does not define who I am as a Mother either. So let's go back 3 years shall we and dwell on one of the most beautiful days of my life.
The day I met you, sweet love....
********************************************************************************
The day dawned early for me as I'd been up all night tossing and turning with uncomfortable contractions. The phone rang around 7 am. It was your Gaga, my Mother with her always intuitive nature. I was 5 days over my due date with you. It was time for you to be born. She must have known that. During one of my stronger contractions on the phone with her I had to breathe through them. She ordered me to get to a hospital if my contractions were 10 minutes apart. They were coming at 7 and 8. It was time. A flurry of activity mounted. Calling your Papa and Nana to make the trek from London to take care of Adrian. Getting your big brother to the neighbours house in the meanwhile. Making sure I had everything in my hospital bag. It was exactly the opposite of how your brother began and for that I was ever so grateful. It was spontaneous, exciting. And yes, painful. But the best pain one could ever experience.
The highway was free and clear as we made our way to the city and hospital where your brother was born a half an hour away.
We got there in 18 minutes. 8:30 am we were checked in.
As I sat in the hospital bed alone with my thoughts while your Dad parked the truck and I awaited my lovely doctor who delivered your brother, I began to cry. The emotions of becoming of Mother times two just took over me and the tears dripped down my face and over my nose onto my belly where you protested your appearance.
The thing is, as a new Mother I had no idea the way a child would and could open parts of my heart and soul I didn't know yet existed. But now. Now I already knew that huge love. And that's where this was coming from. That love was multiplying at an incredibly fast rate. I was about to meet you. I didn't know what your name was going to be, if you were a boy or a girl. I didn't know your weight, your length or the colour of your hair and eyes. I didn't know a thing about you besides the fact that your movements were soft and rolling and never uncomfortable...but I loved you already. Oh did I love you baby boy.
There was nothing dramatic (thank God) about your birth. We came into the hospital at 8:30 am and you came into this world at 1:36 pm on Friday, November 6th. A robust and even 9 lbs. It was just what I didn't expect being that my first labour was a horrific 38 hours including 3 hours of pushing. But enough of that. This is about you Finley. And you, thank you thank you! You were so very easy.
That amazing and enthusiastic declaration of, "It's a BOY!" as the sobs lifted from the depths of my belly and escaped my throat was truly one of the most transcendent moments of my life. Though we had names picked out for you like Henry, Chase, Asher and Zander it was all too clear to me that you were my Finley. My beautiful Finley Alexander. Your face red and smushed yet oh so perfect, your screams loud and unending yet oh so healthy. I held you to my breast and kissed your head a thousand times over, breathing in every bit of your scent. So in love. So over the moon excited to have finally met you. My baby boy. My sweet, sensitive, silly, smart, soft spoken little love.
Happy Birthday to you my beautiful Finley. Finnegan. Fin. Finny. Finny-boo. Finner. Finner McGinner.
Your Daddy, Adrian and I love you Big Much! Always and Forever.
 |
| I love this picture. John caught such a perfect, natural moment. |
 |
| "Friday's Child is Loving and Giving". I agree with that. xo |
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Whilst Carving Pumpkins with Young 'uns
"Hey let's carve some pumpkins my sweet darlings! It's going to be SO MUCH FUN!" Said no Mother ever.
Because in reality you know deep down in the very pit of your stomach this is actually a shitstorm of a no good, terrible, very bad idea.
But you do it anyway. Because children make you do insane things.
Or just make you insane. Period.
So there we went from grocery store to grocery store on HALLOWEEN DAY trying to find pumpkins for sale.
Turns out they are in high demand this time of year and quite possibly will be sold out everywhere on the day you actually want to display them.
The unfortunate-fortunate part is that we did eventually find some.
The unfortunate-fortunate part is that we did eventually find some.
This whole experience is semi-new to me considering the last time I carved a pumpkin I was pregnant with my second son and Adrian had little to do with assisting me, being not even 2 years old.
Today I came away a little enlightened (and a lot frazzled) and decided to make a short (only slight tongue in cheek) list of tips for carving pumpkins with your little ones if you've not yet dared to...
******************************************************************************
Tip #1 - When you arrive home with your sweet pumpkins and future Jack-O-Lanterns in tow you may want to crack open a bottle of wine. Or a very large bottle of vodka. Because though not advisable to become inebriated when dealing with children and knives and all those really bad combinations of things thrown together it might make things much more tolerable. (I didn't do this though upon reflection I probably should have).
Tip #2 - Ensure your floors have not been cleaned for...say...at least 2 weeks so that any pumpkin guts that fall to the floor won't matter a bit. Though you've covered every square inch in the radius of 25 feet, your floor WILL become littered with slimy pumpkins seeds and smears of raw pumpkin no matter what measures you take.
Tip #3 - Do not freak out if your children decide to take a chunk of the pumpkin eye carving and begin to gnaw on it like mine did. Your child will not get salmonella or botulism or e-coli as I fully believed they would. They will not keel over with food poisoning. Though they could (if they eat too much) get a bit of a belly ache in actuality raw pumpkin and raw pumpkin seeds are actually very nutritious and a great source of Omegas. And if you think about it this will probably be the only source of nutrition they'll actually want in the next month or so, so tell them to have at it.
Gnaw away dear children. Gnaw away.
Tip #4 - When brainstorming your pumpkin carvings with your children do not use a black sharpie on your white dry erase board. However, IF you happened to be as distracted as I am (I blame this totally on my children by the way) and you do a dimwitted thing such as I, then be assured all is not destroyed!
How to Remove Permanent Marker from White Board - it really works!
Tip #5 - when picking out your pumpkin(s) it's important to do an all over inspection to make sure that it is not rotting. I realize this is a very obvious tip but these things aren't always so obvious for everyone. (ahem - see tip numero quattro...I may not be a genius but I know 2 different languages)
Tip #6 - This one is also simple so lean in close, read my words and heed my advice or you could be very, very sorry.
NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER agree to carve pumpkins with a 3 and a 4 year old.
What happens is you end up doing everything...even the scooping out of the pumpkin guts which is ultimately the whole point of kids helping you carve pumpkins right? Your arm will feel like it's going to fall off as you begin to sweat due to carving ridiculous looking shapes into a very HARD gourd with a very sharp knife. Your children will have become extremely bored by the whole process (because you won't allow them to wield a knife - which hello! is the most fun part of all) and will begin running circles around you naked, playing spaceships and rockets, screaming like batshit crazy banshees while you'll be wishing you had that bottle of vodka beside you to drink straight from praying aliens would in fact abduct your spawn at that very moment as you yell, "I have a sharp knife! Stop running! I have a sharp knife! Stop screaming! I have a sharp knife! STOP!!!!! JUST STOOOOOPPPPPP!!!"
Eventually you just give up as the madness increases around you.
And pause amongst the insanity...you've become the eye in the middle of the (shit)storm so you might akin it to, admiring your amazing pumpkin artwork.
 |
| This was not enjoyable in the least. In regards to tip number 5: Closely inspect pumpkin on right. Back left molar. He needs to see a dentist. Like 2 years ago. |
Monday, October 29, 2012
Deep Thoughts and a Spider-Man Serenade
I've recently come to the realization that a lot of my blog posts (especially as of lately) seem to revolve around bedtime. This may be because it's my favourite part of the day with my boys. Not because they're about to delve into sweet, sweet slumber and I no longer have to physically parent them for 12 hours (although...yes that is something I look forward to) but because it's when they say and do the cutest, funniest and most random things.
This is the scene from last night....
*********************************************************************************
The room is dark and Riley is curled up at the foot of his bed, as my eldest so often requests now. I lay beside him in his darkened room when Finley meanders in to give me a kiss good-night after cuddles with John. My little one makes his way into his room, my husband follows to tuck him in for the night.
All is quiet for a few minutes.
I often wonder what goes through Adrian's head at night. He's not a chatty child. Perhaps he has deep thoughts, I think to myself.
And then I find out about those deep thoughts, "Mummy?"
"Yes baby?"
"Why is Green Lantern bald? Not in the movie but in the books?"
My thoughts: Green Lantern is bald? He's black in the books. Is he bald and black? (I try to conjure up the image of the character from his Justice League books) Is it even PC anymore to call a black person black? I'm white though...I'm not offended if someone calls me white. Wait a minute...what was the question again? Oh yeah - Green Lantern...why is he bald. But isn't Ryan Reynolds the Green Lantern in the movie? He's white. But...why doesn't a black actor play the Green Lantern? Wait a minute...aren't there like a lot of different Green Lanterns? Why are there so many? How do I even know this??!!!
And then I answered him..."I'm not sure sweets. Maybe he shaves his head."
Now that is some seriously profound conversation right there.
It's like he reads my mind. "And why is his skin different in the books?" He holds his hand up in the air like he stroking something, a face perhaps, that's not there. "It's like a brown colour."
"You're right. I'm not sure why. I actually just wondered the same thing. I think there were few different Green Lanterns."
Amazing, the things you learn when you become a parent. Aside from not knowing anything about babies before I had one, I didn't know much about superheroes either. Now I'm like some sort of superhero expert or something.
"Maybe we can look it up on the computer in the morning." He states and I concur. He's four yet extremely observant. Google, he's noticed, is Mommy's 'other brain' when my actual real one doesn't have the answer.
Which, admittedly, is quite often.
It becomes quiet again. Until I hear the first strains of the Spider-Man theme song coming from my youngest's room.
"Spider-man, Spider-man
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a witch any time...
no,no,no... (becomes a few octaves louder as Adrian squirms in the bed and groans in annoyance about his brother being too loud)
Spider-man, Spider-man
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a witch any time
Catches thieves just like flies."
Repeat this about 6 times with each verse becoming that much more louder substituting 'web' with 'witch' just to shake things up a bit. He's unpredictable like that. An outside of the box thinker.
It was reminiscent of when he first began babbling and would wake up in the middle night, not crying, but babbling loudly. My husband and I would wake up mostly amused by the adorableness of it and a tiny bit annoyed about our sleep being disrupted yet again. We were grateful that he wasn't crying of-course...but ohmygosh those babbles were LOUD.
Eventually it became quiet with the sound of just my son breathing deeply beside me.
The dog warm at my feet.
It was a good night.
This is the scene from last night....
*********************************************************************************
The room is dark and Riley is curled up at the foot of his bed, as my eldest so often requests now. I lay beside him in his darkened room when Finley meanders in to give me a kiss good-night after cuddles with John. My little one makes his way into his room, my husband follows to tuck him in for the night.
All is quiet for a few minutes.
I often wonder what goes through Adrian's head at night. He's not a chatty child. Perhaps he has deep thoughts, I think to myself.
And then I find out about those deep thoughts, "Mummy?"
"Yes baby?"
"Why is Green Lantern bald? Not in the movie but in the books?"
My thoughts: Green Lantern is bald? He's black in the books. Is he bald and black? (I try to conjure up the image of the character from his Justice League books) Is it even PC anymore to call a black person black? I'm white though...I'm not offended if someone calls me white. Wait a minute...what was the question again? Oh yeah - Green Lantern...why is he bald. But isn't Ryan Reynolds the Green Lantern in the movie? He's white. But...why doesn't a black actor play the Green Lantern? Wait a minute...aren't there like a lot of different Green Lanterns? Why are there so many? How do I even know this??!!!
And then I answered him..."I'm not sure sweets. Maybe he shaves his head."
Now that is some seriously profound conversation right there.
It's like he reads my mind. "And why is his skin different in the books?" He holds his hand up in the air like he stroking something, a face perhaps, that's not there. "It's like a brown colour."
"You're right. I'm not sure why. I actually just wondered the same thing. I think there were few different Green Lanterns."
Amazing, the things you learn when you become a parent. Aside from not knowing anything about babies before I had one, I didn't know much about superheroes either. Now I'm like some sort of superhero expert or something.
"Maybe we can look it up on the computer in the morning." He states and I concur. He's four yet extremely observant. Google, he's noticed, is Mommy's 'other brain' when my actual real one doesn't have the answer.
Which, admittedly, is quite often.
It becomes quiet again. Until I hear the first strains of the Spider-Man theme song coming from my youngest's room.
"Spider-man, Spider-man
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a witch any time...
no,no,no... (becomes a few octaves louder as Adrian squirms in the bed and groans in annoyance about his brother being too loud)
Spider-man, Spider-man
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a witch any time
Catches thieves just like flies."
Repeat this about 6 times with each verse becoming that much more louder substituting 'web' with 'witch' just to shake things up a bit. He's unpredictable like that. An outside of the box thinker.
It was reminiscent of when he first began babbling and would wake up in the middle night, not crying, but babbling loudly. My husband and I would wake up mostly amused by the adorableness of it and a tiny bit annoyed about our sleep being disrupted yet again. We were grateful that he wasn't crying of-course...but ohmygosh those babbles were LOUD.
Eventually it became quiet with the sound of just my son breathing deeply beside me.
The dog warm at my feet.
It was a good night.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Why Gwyneth and I will never be BFF's
I'm just going to begin by saying that I really, really try hard to not judge others. I truly do. The person playing their guitar outside the liquor store. That Mother semi losing it on her children over there. The squigee kid on the corner. The unfriendly supermarket cashier that barely looked at me as she scanned my groceries while I semi lost it on my boys who wouldn't stop kicking each other. Even celebrities. Yes. I even try not to judge celebrities. I was saddened by the Britney Spears fiasco. The Charlie Sheen dramatics were disturbing to me because it was clear he was not 'winning' anything. Maybe he really was drinking tiger blood but it sure as hell must've been spiked with a whole lotta something else. Angelina Jolie...well that was a really, really difficult period because she stole my husband and then went on to have 12 kids. That hurt. Then there's Gwenyth Paltrow. Though it seemed like all the Mommy bloggers hate her for...I don't know....feeding her kids too much organic kale and quinoa? Whatever. I actually enjoy her cook book, though it seems she does go a bit overboard on the agave nectar or whatever the it's called. It's no substitute for sugar in my books so I won't be making her brownies. Ever.
Besides Gwen's over usage of agave syrup or nectar or whateverthehellitscalled I actually liked her. I've seen her on Oprah. She seemed pretty cool. Amusing even. I didn't understand why (a lot) of other people didn't.
Okay. So that cupping thing was a little alarming.
Oh and that crazy awful diet she did where all you eat is grass, barley and dandelions and heinous untasteful things like that? I wouldn't last 5 minutes on that. And neither would my marriage. It's just not healthy to be that healthy you know what I mean?
I found myself flipping through the latest In Style magazine, in sweet sweet peace, away from my darling little spawns at the lovely lady's home that does my hair once a year or so and since I quite like G.P. (as only Mario Batali and I refer to her of-course) and since I only question some of her decisions (like naming her daughter after a fruit and her son Moses...then again I'm named after a month so who am I to judge...though technically - not my fault) I stopped flipping to read an interview with her.
There I was enjoying being able to read an entire magazine article without having to referee my children, cook dinner and let the dog out because she's barking, when she had to pause the interview (according to the article) to attend to her daughter. She returned back and said these words, "She's cross because I only let them watch TV in French or Spanish," Paltrow said of her daughter Apple "When I'm in France, I go to [Boulevard] Beaumarchais and buy all their cartoons."
My eyes rolled so far back in my head that it actually pained me. I totally judged her on those two extremely hoity toity sentences.
You know where I go for my boys cartoons?
The PBS channel.
And Walmart.
And then I got really sad.
Because all my dreams of her and I sipping on a chilled glass of white wine while enjoying her fried zucchini pasta (which is quite delicious btw) with our adorable little ones frolicking around her palatial home in England went whooooosh out my sticky finger printed back patio door. Clearly learning Spanish from Dora and Diego is not sophisticated enough for my former BFF, Gwen. Though I'll have you know my boys fluently speak the basics.
Hola, abuela, arriba, gracias and amigos.
And they can count to three in Spanish too. I mean, come on now. That's pretty awesome.
So sadly, I must bid our fake friendship adieu because Gwyneth, though you may be a very nice person, you are just too good for us. And that's really too bad. You really are missing out on what could be a most fulfilling, fun, down to earth friendship.
I'm kind of a big deal too you know.
At least my kids believe that anyway.
Besides Gwen's over usage of agave syrup or nectar or whateverthehellitscalled I actually liked her. I've seen her on Oprah. She seemed pretty cool. Amusing even. I didn't understand why (a lot) of other people didn't.
Okay. So that cupping thing was a little alarming.
| Odd. And a lot unattractive. Gwyneth my dear...what were you thinking?! |
Oh and that crazy awful diet she did where all you eat is grass, barley and dandelions and heinous untasteful things like that? I wouldn't last 5 minutes on that. And neither would my marriage. It's just not healthy to be that healthy you know what I mean?
I found myself flipping through the latest In Style magazine, in sweet sweet peace, away from my darling little spawns at the lovely lady's home that does my hair once a year or so and since I quite like G.P. (as only Mario Batali and I refer to her of-course) and since I only question some of her decisions (like naming her daughter after a fruit and her son Moses...then again I'm named after a month so who am I to judge...though technically - not my fault) I stopped flipping to read an interview with her.
There I was enjoying being able to read an entire magazine article without having to referee my children, cook dinner and let the dog out because she's barking, when she had to pause the interview (according to the article) to attend to her daughter. She returned back and said these words, "She's cross because I only let them watch TV in French or Spanish," Paltrow said of her daughter Apple "When I'm in France, I go to [Boulevard] Beaumarchais and buy all their cartoons."
My eyes rolled so far back in my head that it actually pained me. I totally judged her on those two extremely hoity toity sentences.
You know where I go for my boys cartoons?
The PBS channel.
And Walmart.
And then I got really sad.
Because all my dreams of her and I sipping on a chilled glass of white wine while enjoying her fried zucchini pasta (which is quite delicious btw) with our adorable little ones frolicking around her palatial home in England went whooooosh out my sticky finger printed back patio door. Clearly learning Spanish from Dora and Diego is not sophisticated enough for my former BFF, Gwen. Though I'll have you know my boys fluently speak the basics.
Hola, abuela, arriba, gracias and amigos.
And they can count to three in Spanish too. I mean, come on now. That's pretty awesome.
So sadly, I must bid our fake friendship adieu because Gwyneth, though you may be a very nice person, you are just too good for us. And that's really too bad. You really are missing out on what could be a most fulfilling, fun, down to earth friendship.
I'm kind of a big deal too you know.
At least my kids believe that anyway.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Love Sandwich
I opened our red front door quietly. It was 8 o'clock, surely the boys would be fast asleep.
Through the dim light from the kitchen stove I made out four chairs lined up in a row in the middle of the living room deducing that something major was spilled in the eating area at dinner time.
Or perhaps there was a game of musical chairs before bed time.
I'd hoped for the latter.
The thought made me smile.
It turned out my thoughts that beamed on positivity were true.
After putting the chairs back in their place I walked up the stairs towards our closed bedroom door. I could see the blue glow from beneath the door and hear the hum from the television.
My eldest and my husband were curled up in our bed watching a show that had singers competing against one another...so the theme of music continued into the night as it always tends to.
"You look pretty." He looks at me with shy eyes and a small smile. My hair was a brighter shade of red, shiny and blown out.
I place my hands on his cheeks and kiss his mouth. "Thank you sweet love." And then I added playfully, "Did Daddy tell you to say that?"
Not because he doesn't tell me himself. He told me just yesterday that I was beautiful all on his own. I'm not sure why I asked or even if I should have. But I did.
His eyes opened a tad wider, "How did you know?" Then again...maybe it's beneficial for us all that he believes I just know everything...it should keep him out of trouble for a while anyway. Until he finds out the truth.
That I'm fumbling my way through this crazy world just as he is.
Just as we all are at times.
I left the room to check on my little one. I kissed his sweet sleeping face half a dozen times, fixed his half a dozen blankets, settling his favourite stuffed animals around him and quietly padded out of the room returning to my other loves.
I crawled into our big bed. Adrian lay between us. I laid my arm over my son's middle, my hand finding my husband's on the other side when Adrian made the most delicious observation, "Hey, we're a love sandwich." And he smiled big as we laughed even bigger.
Indeed we were.
A Love Sandwich.
With our little ham in the middle.
Through the dim light from the kitchen stove I made out four chairs lined up in a row in the middle of the living room deducing that something major was spilled in the eating area at dinner time.
Or perhaps there was a game of musical chairs before bed time.
I'd hoped for the latter.
The thought made me smile.
It turned out my thoughts that beamed on positivity were true.
After putting the chairs back in their place I walked up the stairs towards our closed bedroom door. I could see the blue glow from beneath the door and hear the hum from the television.
My eldest and my husband were curled up in our bed watching a show that had singers competing against one another...so the theme of music continued into the night as it always tends to.
"You look pretty." He looks at me with shy eyes and a small smile. My hair was a brighter shade of red, shiny and blown out.
I place my hands on his cheeks and kiss his mouth. "Thank you sweet love." And then I added playfully, "Did Daddy tell you to say that?"
Not because he doesn't tell me himself. He told me just yesterday that I was beautiful all on his own. I'm not sure why I asked or even if I should have. But I did.
His eyes opened a tad wider, "How did you know?" Then again...maybe it's beneficial for us all that he believes I just know everything...it should keep him out of trouble for a while anyway. Until he finds out the truth.
That I'm fumbling my way through this crazy world just as he is.
Just as we all are at times.
I left the room to check on my little one. I kissed his sweet sleeping face half a dozen times, fixed his half a dozen blankets, settling his favourite stuffed animals around him and quietly padded out of the room returning to my other loves.
I crawled into our big bed. Adrian lay between us. I laid my arm over my son's middle, my hand finding my husband's on the other side when Adrian made the most delicious observation, "Hey, we're a love sandwich." And he smiled big as we laughed even bigger.
Indeed we were.
A Love Sandwich.
With our little ham in the middle.
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