tales from da motherhood

moving day

2010-03-05T23:41:00.007-05:00

Dear blogger.com,

I'm leaving you.
It's not you. It's me.
You've probably heard that a million times.
But it's the truth.

You see.
I've rekindled an old love.
And his name is Photography.

Surely you must have seen this coming.
I've dropped hints.
You've seen a few photographs.
I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,
Cynthia

http://talesfromdamotherhood.wordpress.com/

I've moved my blog to WordPress, my friends. And, yes I'm dropping my SAHM-I-AM alias. I haven't written anything new there yet but I hope to soon. I've also created a photography blog called a picture in time. Nothing much to see there yet either but I hope you'll come to visit me one day.

the sum of me

2010-02-15T23:17:00.009-05:00

Instead of writing a post, I've managed to waste time creating this word cloud ... the top 150-ish words appearing in my blog since I created it a year ago. The bigger the word, the more frequent it appears. The shape reminds me slightly of a thumb print.

potty watch

2010-02-09T15:35:00.014-05:00

The path to successful potty training, not unlike sleeping through the night, for Little Dude has been a long worn one fraught with many ups and downs. With every 2 steps forward, we're almost immediately met with a step back. Last night, when I asked Little Dude when he was going to go potty on his own, he cheekily answered, "Don't worry, mommy. I'll go in March."

This morning at breakfast he announced that he was never going to go potty again. Yikes. Back to square one! I needed a different tactic and went on a hunt while the boys were at nursery school.

I presented Little Dude with the Potty Watch, a $14 purchase, at lunch time. He liked the music it played and agreed to put it on. The idea is that every 30, 60 or 90 minutes a musical alarm will go off to let Little Dude know that it was time to go potty. I set the timer to 60 minutes.

Ten minutes before the music was scheduled to come on, Little Dude came rushing by announcing that he had to poop and off he went to the bathroom to do his deed. "Put the music on, mommy," he asked still sitting on the toilet. And I did. Over and over. Finally, I told him that he had to wait another hour for the music to come back on.

The alarm went off while Little Dude was watching tv. Okay, here we go. The true test. I reminded Little Dude that the music meant it was potty-time, put the tv on pause and helped him out of his pants. Off he ran towards the bathroom. Minutes later, I heard, "Put the music on again! I peed!"

So here we are again. Back on track. How long the potty watch music will hold his interest, I don't know. I hoping much longer than the purple truck and trailer set did.

At least, he's going again.

update: Five hours. That's how long it took Little Dude to figure out that you have to press 2 buttons simultaneously and then the blue button to toggle through the settings to get the damn watch to stay on "play music" mode. The good news is that he's still going to the potty. [Sigh]

a year in review

2010-02-05T22:59:00.010-05:00

February 6th will mark my first anniversary of blogging. Given that I haven't posted here in weeks, it seems absurd to even mention it. But here I am reflecting on the year past. My year of blogging sporadically.

So instead of celebrating my blog (a modest total of 63 posts ... 64 including this one), I think it is more fitting for me to celebrate the act of blogging. Briefly. Because it's late and the Good Man has just asked me to not be too long.

Thank you blogosphere for providing me with free therapy as I muddle my way through motherhood.

Thank you all you mommy bloggers out there. I love the way your stories make me think, reflect and laugh out loud.

Thank you to the few people out there who have taken the time to comment on my posts. It means more to me than you'll ever know.

In particular, thank you SMUKKE, a mom living in Europe who doesn't blog herself but followed my ramblings silently. You reached out to me with the most helpful advise and comments during a rough patch with LittleR Dude. You did not know me, yet you seemed to know me the most. I was so self-absorbed at the time that I forgot to really thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I'm sorry I haven't posted lately. To be honest, I've been using my camera more than words to capture my life as a mom raising two boys and have been posting them on a personal site.

I offer you a sampling of the latest photographs I've taken of my family in this video slideshow:

big imples

2010-01-12T19:30:00.007-05:00

I'm sitting on the toilet. LittleR Dude walks to the open door and asks, "Can I come in?!"

He sits on the stool directly across from me and notices a magazine hanging sideways on the towel rack. There's an ad showing the back of a woman. She has nothing on except a thin line of body lotion wrapping around the back of her neck mimicking halter top strings tied into a bow.

"She's naked."

"Yes, she is."

"She has big imples."

"Her elbows are little big." More bony than big, I think to myself.

"Her imples are big." He points to her shoulder blades.

I turn my head sideways to see the ad right-side up. A light bulb switches on inside my head.

"Oh, that's her back. You can't see her front."

"I have big imples," he says tweeking them.

I smile.

"You have big imples," he adds and I redivert the little fingers reaching towards me, wrapping them around my neck instead.

2010

2010-01-01T22:05:00.019-05:00

Early last night, I bade 2009 a fond farewell without fanfare and told 2010 that I'd see her the next morning. I needed the rest and so did the Good Man. But 2010 wasn't having any of it. I was startled awake thinking someone just got shot outside my window. Fireworks! Damn. The clock showed 12:09 and Little Dude was crying for daddy. The Good Man settled him back to sleep. Half an hour later, bang! More fireworks.

Today, on the 1st day of 2010, the Good Man and I cleaned up after the messiest wet poop exploding out of LittleR Dude ever. It went down the length of one leg. Covered the bottom of his feet. In between one set of toes. Tracked in the kitchen. And, escaped clumps in the family room.

2010, I see it's going to be that kind of year, huh?! You just couldn't cut a girl recovering from pneumonia and her tired hubby some slack. Here are my resolutions, you b!tch.

I will celebrate the coming of 2011

Because this year can't end fast enough. And I can't believe it's only Day 1.

I will stop thinking that it's still okay to be seen in public in maternity clothes

A repeat of last year's. Voice screaming in my head: "Your youngest son is over 2 years old! You're not pregnant and will never be again. It's been assured in multiple ways. Put the stuff in a box, seal it with duct tape and give it to charity. Pants with a stretchy waist band that goes over your gut is NOT a good look unless you are pregnant. You have a big ass. Accept it and buy some big ass pants."

I will floss my teeth

Because I've got an appointment in mid-January.

I will put more thought into mom's Christmas gift

She really scored big this year. A scarf from Louis Vutton. Another one from Hermes. A Burberry watch. From me, she got a 3-container CrockPot for all her entertaining needs. I'm so lame. Next year, I'm going to swipe a Mercedes hood ornament and put it on her Toyota. [Insert sorry-ass nervous laughter here.] So very lame. Note: No, my siblings are not rich. They just love my mom way more than I do.

I will stop swearing in my blog

It's not how I've been raised. And, I think my mom might be reading my blog. (By the way Mom, I was kidding about loving you less. I love you lots and lots.)

I will have the boys see more of their grandmas and grandpa

My little guys just absolutely loved having grandma L and grandpa F visit over the holidays. When it was time to take them to the airport, they packed their toy trains in their nursery school backpacks with the expectation of going on that plane with them. At home Little Dude asked mournfully, "Are they coming back?"

Earlier in the week after an overnight stay at grandma N, Little Dude asked, "Mommy, I want to ask you something. Can we drive to grandma's house, put her in the van and take her here?" Oh, dear child, abduction is a punishable offense. How about we call her in the morning?

There. I wrote that last one without swearing.

Good night, y'all. Hope 2010 brings you good health and happiness all around.

bb photo: changes

2009-12-31T15:08:00.001-05:00

Now I know how my hubby feels when he returns from an out of town work trip. Spent the afternoon downstairs after being cooped up sick in my room for 4 days. Lots of changes. LittleR dude grew a beard and Little Dude is off to university!

Just kidding. Lots of growing up did happen. Ones only a parent would notice.

Sent from my Blackberry device

off to cough myself to sleep?

2009-12-30T13:50:00.003-05:00

I'm sitting in bed, unable to sleep, recovering from the flu and pneumonia. My fever broke late last night but the coughing lingers. I'm thinking back to a recent tweet. "Off to cough myself to sleep," a mommy blogger wrote. I thought it was clever. Now I realize what an impossible thing that is. A nagging cough, especially one accompanied by thick green phlegm, does NOT induce sleep. Quite the opposite really. And so I sit in bed reflecting on a multitude of things.

My in-laws are here. The morning after they arrived I woke up unable to get out of bed and here I've remained since, except to see the doctor and get an x-ray. I worry that I will pass on the flu to them but am also glad that they're here to help the Good Man with the boys.

I've only seen glimpses of the boys over the last three days. In my more wakeful states, I listen for them wondering if they've noticed my absence. I missed the gift opening with grandma & grandpa last night but could hear the boys' squeals of joy from my room. The Good Man also instant messaged me some photos ... Gotta love technology and a man who tries to include you in family events if only virtually. It was a sweet gesture, though I must admit, was hard to enjoy as I had reached my daily dose of Tylenol and was sufferring through severe body aches and chills.

My in-laws leave tonight. It was a short visit but a timely one. I'm so grateful. I'm not sure if the Goodman and I could have managed as well without them. I'm sorry I wasn't able to spend anytime with them but would be even sorrier should one or both of them come down with this awful flu.

Wishing all good health.

And, now maybe to sleep.

Sent from my Blackberry device

bb photo: kiss me

2009-12-27T09:30:00.002-05:00

LittleR Dude turns to me and purses his lips, face covered in this morning's breakfast. I smile back at him. Apparently, not good enough. "Kiss me!!" he demands.

Sent from my Blackberry device

bb photo: and so it begins ... again

2009-12-26T22:02:00.005-05:00

'Twas the day after christmas
When all through the house
No floor space left uncluttered
By the offspring of my spouse.

Okay so I'm no poet. Just figured out how to post a quick blog with a pic using my blackberry ... so I'm super psyched. Yay!! I don't have to maintain a 2nd blog site afterall. Goodbye daily bb. It was great while it lasted.

Sent from my Blackberry device

baby on board

2009-12-13T14:17:00.012-05:00

"Baby On Board!"

Seeing this sign attached to the back of cars always makes me smile. I'm, of course, laughing at myself and not anyone else.

"Baby On Board!"

As if seeing me driving a mini isn't telling enough. No. Not the cute little Mr. Bean variety Mini. I'm talking about the big mass of steel on four wheels, equipped with child-friendly sliding passenger doors, the ever-telling pull-down video screens, and hatchback storage large enough for a double-stroller and our horde of kiddie gear.

Me in my mini ... more popularly known as the minivan ... is a sure sign that I am indeed toting around offspring.

Minus one child ago, the GoodMan and I opted for a much cooler SUV to transport our first-born and his baby gear. Soon, Baby #2 arrived and then grandma came to visit which left me trying to squeeze my 30-lbs-overweight entirety in between two car seats. Not an easy or flattering task!

And so the mini was picked and bought. Later, the "Baby On Board" sign was attached. A redundant addition, in retrospect.

If driving a minivan wasn't enough to let others know that I have toddlers on board, my driving habits surely will. Yep, that's me. In the van still stopped at the light even after it turned green because:

A) I'm trying to retrieve a dropped toy that one of my boys cannot possibly live without, not a single second longer. Or,

B) I'm too busy reassuring my first-born that his name is in fact "Little Dude" and not "mommy" or "monkey" or "nannor" or other made-up names that his younger brother is calling him with a big-ass cheeky grin splashed across his face.

Ever wondered who the idiot is locking her van, making that annoying "beep-beep" sound indicating that it IS locked, five times in a row! That's me, too. Sleep-deprivation withstanding, the act of navigating two kids who are not yet 4 and all their kiddie gear across a busy parking lot and finally arriving safely at the mall entrance has left my brain unable to remember nada. Nothing. Kaput. Including whether I locked the van or not. So I click my remote several times because I can't actually hear the horn go "beep-beep" from that distance. And then I click it a couple of more times for good measure because the thought of retracing my steps so I can hear the reassuring "beep-beep" sound is unthinkable given the hardships endured getting to the store entrance already.

The "Baby On Board!" sign fell off the back of the van soon after it was attached. Its current whereabouts are unknown but I'm certain everyone already knows: I AM carrying babes on board.

just shoot me

2009-12-10T21:46:00.008-05:00

I don't know what possessed me to think that an impromptu photo shoot would result in a Christmas card-worthy photograph.

The inspiration:
I noticed that the boys were dressed in coordinating colours.

The downfall:
Teething-induced relentless drooling (Don't let LittleR Dude's smile fool you. He's been a salivating, miserable little guy all day, as in this photo) ...

... plus an equally incessant runny nose ...

... make an attention-deficit and very uncooperative second child.

Merry @%$#-ing Christmas Grandma & Grandpa!

daydreams at night

2009-12-05T13:30:00.005-05:00

Restful sleep has been elusive lately. The flu has worn me down.

Last night, I slipped in and out of consciousness moving from one surreal dream or thought into the next. I opened my eyes wondering if I just heard LittleR Dude crying ... from teething pain. There was silence. I sighed ... glad that this was the final molar and last baby tooth to come in. But this feeling of relief was momentary because I knew full well it will not be the last time I will be awakened by the sound (real or imagined) of my boys crying.

I touched my forehead and caressed the small lump still stinging from this morning's collision with a door as I rushed outside to put a bag of mouldy oranges in the compost bin. "F*ck!" I screamed, immediately feeling guilty because both boys were at the kitchen table only a few feet away. I envisioned the two of them greeting their daddy with an exuberant, "F*ck! F*ck! F*ck!" when he got home from work. F*ck it, I thought and decided not to say anything further. My forehead was already throbbing.

Moments after this incident, and because I love the sensation of flesh meeting wood so much, I walked into the side of the bathroom door hitting a different part of my forehead, albeit not as abruptly. This time I had the sense to keep my thoughts to myself.

I closed my eyes and dreamed some more. A young girl was being led away by a young boy. They looked in love. I became conscious of the good man snoring beside me. I coughed. Hacked. He snored. He can sleep through anything.

My thoughts darted to the house that we considered buying this summer. I remembered salivating at the thought of moving into a house with fewer and smaller rooms to clean. And, the backyard. Well, it was utterly stunning! I fell in love with the garden, the pool, the grass area and the clumps of mature trees ... a forest for the boys to run through, discover nature and build a tree house in. But we didn't act fast enough and the house sold before we could even put a bid in.

Construction in our backyard began this fall. We're putting in a pool and cordoning a section of "play space" for the boys. Instead of searching for the perfect house, we've decided to make our current home perfect for us, an investment that will ground us here for at least 10 years. It's an incredibly liberating decision and I now look forward to notching a door frame with the kids' heights and creating other memories deep in the walls and space around me.

I closed my eyes again. Other daydreams whirled around my head. Then finally, sleep.

blogging on the side

2009-12-01T13:19:00.003-05:00

Yes, it's true. I've been blogging elsewhere. Little Dude's sleep schedule has made it impossible to maintain my night time blogging ritual. Since I'm not ready to completely give blogging up for good, I've found an alternative ... micro-blogging using my blackberry and a the new Typepad Micro app. Please check it out at http://www.dailybb.typepad.com/. The boys have been renamed c1 and c2 because, frankly, thumbing "Little Dude" and "LittleR Dude" is more work than I'm willing to take on right now. The Good Man is still the good man or gm, for short. Longer thoughts will still be posted here. Gotta run. The babes are a-calling.

++++

I'm back. C2 ... I mean LittleR Dude was screaming and crying about wanting something from Little Dude who was running around giggling and clutching the object of desire. More at the Daily BB blog.

an ape in little dude's bed

2009-11-26T15:41:00.004-05:00

The Good Man is tucking Little Dude in for the night.

GM: Good night.
LD: Good night.

GM: Love you.
LD: Love you.

GM: Have a good sleep.
LD: Have a good sleep.

GM: I'm going to sleep now.
LD: I'm going to sleep now.

GM: I'm going to stay in bed.
LD: I'm going to stay in bed.

GM: I'm a chimpanzee.
LD: I'm Little Dude!

duped

2009-11-04T12:21:00.009-05:00

Little Dude crushes a cracker into his cup. He still likes to make concoctions with his left-over food. He lifts the cup up to me and asks, "Mommy, what's this?" Crumbs are everywhere.

"A big mess," I reply casually.

"No, it isn't," he insists.

"What is it then?" I ask, wondering if crumbs has made it to his vocabulary.

"It's an accident!"

D'oh! Little Dude: 1. Mommy: 0.

Later, Little Dude asks to have a Coffee Crisp from his Halloween stash. After some quick negotiations, I find myself watching him lick a second helping of ice cream on a mini cone. And, I wonder if the reason why I caved in so easily is because I wanted to keep the Coffee Crisp to myself or if my chocolate-hating 3 1/2-year-old, in fact, had planned to have ice cream all along and successfully duped me for a second time today.

boo

2009-10-31T21:53:00.005-04:00

LittleR Dude insisted on going trick-or-treating with his lunch bag tonight. Who am I to argue with a dragon?

thank you

2009-10-12T23:55:00.007-04:00

My lola (grandma) died at age 98, several years ago. Although she often talked of her life in the Philippines, I remember very few details now. I had always wanted to record her stories on tape and transcribe them but never did.

Among many things, my lola lived through the Japanese occupation of the Philippine countryside. I remember her recalling how she witnessed the stomach of pregnant woman in her village suffer the rage of soldier's bayonet.

My lola's daughter (my mom) to this day will only speak of high school beauty pageants and dances. But my (dearly departed) father would sometimes talk excitedly about living through the war as a young boy not yet in his teens. His eyes would widen as he recounted how he was sometimes forced to hold his breath underwater for long periods of time and used reeds as make-shift snorkels in order avoid capture.

I cannot even begin to imagine living through those times. The years of sleep-deprivation. The atrocities of exploding vomit and poop. The massacre of peas, mushed but uneaten. The torture endured on watching yet another In the Night Garden episode. These are the struggles I have faced. Although the exhaustion, helplessness, frustration and boredom I've felt are very real to me, these as well as the guilt and feelings of inadequacy that sometimes overwhelm me do not compare to having lived through a war.

And so as I reminisce about the old stories told by my father and lola and as this (Canadian) Thanksgiving long weekend comes to a close, I find myself reflecting on the things I am grateful for. There really is so much. Too many to write down here. So I've kept my list brief:

The Good Man
You've taken your fair share of raising the boys and, certainly, of dealing with the night time and early morning wake-ups. I love you for that and, on a more selfish level, I love the way you often lie on my side of the bed on cold nights, warming it for me before I climb in beside you. Thank you.

Little Dude and LittleR Dude
Mommy was 39 and 41 when she had you but, still, you were born with 2 eyes, 2 arms and 2 legs and no physical abnormalities. Good genes, a healthy lifestyle, my avoidance of the dentist (and consequently, x-rays) stacked the deck in our favour, yes. But not all mommies, some much, much younger than I was, were so lucky.

I'm so grateful that I have the three of you in my life and that my daily struggles are not those involving life and death, as did my lola and father.

ouch

2009-10-09T21:53:00.005-04:00

In one of my rare waves of neat freakishness, I was tidying up the family/play room and jammed my knee against the corner of the toy box. I yelped, grabbed my injured knee and writhed in pain on the carpet.

Little Dude was playing nearby and with real concern in his voice, he exclaimed, "Don't worry, mommy. I'll kiss it better." He did.

This brought a smile to my face but did not relieve the pain. I muffled the expletives screaming in my head as I tried, unsuccessfully, to get up. I must have sounded like a wounded puppy.

"Don't worry, mommy. You'll feel better soon," Little Dude encouraged and patted me on my head.

Good god! Is this the same boy who initiates the torture tag games that usually ends with his younger brother or both of them in tears? I couldn't help but feel proud.

Eager for more evidence that my first-born has, in fact, learned how to sympathize and give comfort, I faked a cry of pain.

Little Dude walked back to his toy. "You need to be more careful, mommy," he suggested.

Ouch!

no shame

2009-10-08T16:39:00.010-04:00

It's always been difficult hiding my emotions. The Good Man will attest to that. In my pre-baby, corporate office life days, I had to work very hard to contain the negativity, displeasure, anger and anxiety I felt at times. Back then, I considered these as signs of weakness and inappropriate in high doses in the workplace. Worse even still was crying in front of peers or supervisors. The kiss of death to one's professional career, I thought.

Although I was not shy about expressing my opinions about projects openly and passionately, I worked hard to remain composed and not appear hyper-sensitive or negative. I remember turning to my coworkers one day, apologizing for complaining so much. They turned to each other and laughed. They hadn't heard a peep from me all morning. I had been having unpleasant conversations in my head while typing away at the computer.

However, I do recall one occasion when my emotional fortress collapsed. The day I failed to hide the intense sense of betrayal and disappointment I felt on hearing about a change in the makeup of my team. I no longer remember the details of why the news affected me so much but what I will never forget is feeling my face flush as they made the announcement and walking out of the room in the middle of the meeting, not so much in anger, but to hide the tears that eventually fell when I got in my car. I was gone for several hours and considered resigning that day, not only to escape my work environment, but to avoid the repercussions of having let such a profound outburst escape.

It's funny now (as a stay-at-home mom) that I seem to have dropped my inhibitions about exposing my anxieties, fears and flaws. The emotions that I tried to hide and repress in the corporate world are now in full display. On the Internet, of all places. Today, I feel no shame in admitting the immense guilt that cuts through me on seeing my toddler deal with separation anxiety. Nor in telling you that I have cried about it. It's liberating!

Have I become soft in motherhood or just more forgiving of public displays of emotions and weaknesses?

I don't know. Perhaps, I've simply come to understand that to be a mother is to accept that there will be days when I will feel weak and, yes, cry. And, that there really is no shame in that.

+++++

This morning I dropped the boys off a half hour later than usual hoping to avoid the hand-off traffic at the nursery school. Hoping to find the other children in the room more settled. Hoping to catch one of the teachers free to give LittleR Dude some one-on-one attention. I had a doctor's appointment to get to. I needed this morning's goodbye to be less traumatic.

We arrived in the middle of snack time. I sat LittleR Dude next to Teacher J. I used different words this time. I told him I was "going to work," a little white lie that he accepts happily when I leave him with the Good Man for a few hours.

His lower lip jutted out. Tears flowed. But the hysterics did not come. I left promptly. Later, Teacher J informed me that the tears disappeared seconds after I left.

Everyone was right. It does get easier with time. I did not cry, today.

the drama ensues

2009-10-06T10:32:00.011-04:00

I'm sitting at Starbucks again after dropping the boys off at nursery school. My chest feels like it's going to implode.

After receiving several comments to my last post, it seemed clear that what LittleR Dude and I are feeling is normal. We just have to get through it. It will eventually get easier.

I felt empowered with that knowledge walking into the school this morning. Thank you to all the moms who responded. I feel lucky to be part of such a supportive network of women.

This morning, seeing the look of abandonment in LittleR Dude's teary eyes did not reduce me to tears. I was ready for it this time. But still, here I sit again wondering if the heartache is worth it. Wondering if keeping him home for another year is the better option, making it easier for us both.

Tonight I will talk to the Good Man again. Reread my last post's comments. Perhaps, persevere for another week or two. And hope that the guilty feelings and heaviness in my heart subside.

don't go

2009-10-01T19:51:00.011-04:00

I stood outside the classroom door hoping no one would pass by to see tears streaming down my face. LittleR Dude was crying in the room.

His face is still etched in my mind. Hysterical and tearful. A lot like what I'm feeling at the moment. His arms reached out for me as one of his teachers carried him away.

I can hear her trying to interest him in doing a puzzle on the floor now. Another child has started to wail. LittleR Dude is still upset but is sobbing more quietly.

I wanted to walk back in the room and carry him away with me. Sorry. Changed my mind. Little Dude can stay. LittleR Dude is mine.

This did not happen, of course. Another teacher saw me outside the door and gave me a short pep talk. I left and went to Starbucks. But breakfast and a latte did not provide much comfort.

I wondered if LittleR Dude was ready for nursery school. I wondered if having the boys there 2 mornings a week made any sense.

My insides churned all morning. I tried to rethink through the reasons why I needed occasional childcare. To have time to myself. Time to do chores. The boys are young for only a short while. Surely, I can wait for another year or two until ...

The first day of nursery school went so well. I had psyched myself up for a tearful goodbye then. Unlike his older brother, LittleR Dude did not take to new people and new situations as easily. I was ready for the resistance that never came that first day.

LittleR Dude barely took notice of my absence when I dropped them off 3 weeks ago. I spent that morning doing some much needed vacuuming and mopping. It felt surprisingly exhilarating to be doing housework without my boys underfoot. And the smiles and hugs that greeted me when I picked them up warmed my heart.

I was not prepared for the emotions that overwhelmed me this morning. I returned to the daycare a half an hour early. To observe. To think out loud. To chat.

I found LittleR Dude filling a bucket with sand. He seemed content. I waved at him when he looked up. He waved back but continued playing.

They showed me a video of him jumping around with the other children during a song at Circle Time. They said he had a great day. I think they sensed I wanted to pull LittleR Dude out of nursery school.

It comforted me to see the video. To hear that he eventually settled and had fun. Tears began to flow again. Mostly out of relief, I think.

+++++

This morning I was reminded of why I blog: to express, to share, to vent, to celebrate, to think, to cry and, sometimes, perhaps even to know that I am not alone in my experiences and thoughts.

I know I haven't been a good blogger lately but would love to hear some advice/wisdom on handling separation issues with a two-year-old.

friday thoughts

2009-09-25T10:41:00.005-04:00

On a typical day, I am dressed and having breakfast by the time the Good Man leaves for work. But not today.

This morning I corralled the Dudes into the upstairs playroom and showered with the bathroom door open. I laughed at myself while washing my hair, knowing that in a few minutes I will turn off the water and listen intently for signs of life from the boys.

This morning I heard total silence and fought the urge to race out in the buff to investigate what great misfortune occurred in the 5 minutes it took me to lather and rinse. Crap. Why aren't they fighting over toys now? Anything is better than silence!

I waited. Ahhh. Little Dude is talking. A few more seconds and there. The muffled giggles of LittleR Dude.

[Sigh.] I can dress in peace.

I'm now sitting at the kitchen table watching the boys play outside. Little Dude is trying to interest LittleR Dude in a dump truck. "Do you want this?" he offers while trying to sneak his other hand on the toy excavator that LitteR Dude is playing with. This negotiation technique worked like a charm not too long ago. LittleR Dude is not falling for it today. He turns his back on his older brother and quietly says, "No, thank you." This polite exchange will progress into the all too familiar whining, screaming and crying, no doubt. I wrap my hands around my coffee mug and hope for a much quieter outcome.

The boys are bundled up in their fall gear. The morning air has a sharp nip making summer feel long past. Some leaves have yellowed and are scattered on the lawn. The boys play with the fallen leaves only briefly before returning to their construction vehicles, running them through the rocks under the Japanese maple as they often do.

The leaves remind me of my blog ... ignored but not entirely forgotten. It seems that blogging has become one of my many passing past-times, like scrapbooking, sewing and running. I haven't done any of these activities in months or years. It's been weeks since my last blog entry. Longer since I've read the blogs on my fave list. LitteR Dude's 2nd and my 43rd birthday came and went without a single post. I feel a tinge of guilt.

No motivation. Lack of time. Absence of inspiration. Lots of procrastination. My excuses are lame.

Until next time, my dear blog.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

dear phone solicitor:

2009-08-31T23:57:00.011-04:00

Perhaps, the two little screaming voices in the background did not make it apparent. But nope. You have not caught me in the mood to listen to you explain the benefits of purchasing insurance through my credit card company.

Click.

And you: Young lady who interrupted our nap time routine by ringing the doorbell and rapping on the door rather aggressively. The once-but-no-longer-sleepy little boy calling for me at the top of the stairs may not have provided you with a clue that perhaps you should get to the point of your visit. And, may I also suggest the you get your head out of your binder and make eye contact when relating to me how you were just speaking to my neighbour about great 'educational materials' for her son. What are you selling?! Your two minutes are up.

Slam.

As for you: Guy from our water heater supplier who called while we were preparing for dinner. You do NOT have the right to ask if I have air conditioning or gas heating in my home or about matters that do not pertain to the water heater unit that we purchased from you. When I asked why you were calling about exactly, you tried to avoid this question by repeating that you were from our water heater supplier and asked again if I had air conditioning or gas heating in my home, but this time with impatience in your voice that reminded me of my 3 1/2-year-old when I do not answer his questions fast enough. Well, this just utterly pissed me off. Don't use that tone with me. And, most of all, do NOT call again.

Slam. Click.

But you: Recently-out-of-your-teens girl, with a European accent that I can't place, selling pretty $10 bookmarks from Korea door-to-door so that you can fund your stay in Canada. You remind me of my husband's daughter from his first marriage who was your age only a few years ago. You did NOT wake the boys. Here's my $20. Keep the change.

And, sweetie. If you see some little girls selling Girl Guide cookies while in my neighbourhood, do point them in my direction. They can come anytime. I'll take 4 boxes.

Thank you.

+ + + + +

I'm staying at mom's with the boys while the Good Man is out of town. Today, I answered 2 phone solicitations and Little Dude answered 3, reminding me of the interruptions that happened at my own house this summer.

hello. goodbye. summer

2009-08-20T09:38:00.012-04:00

Has it really been a month since my last post? A registration letter from the nursery school has reminded me that summer is soon coming to a close. How so very quickly it flew. And, so much to report.

hello, trying three's
Two weeks before nursery school classes ended, I was bracing myself for a long, torturous summer. Little Dude had morphed into a child I barely recognised then. His answer to every request or suggestion was "No, no, no!" He screamed. He ran away. He ignored. He pushed my buttons. And, then he seemed to cackle in delight at it all.

Our confrontations came daily.

Admittedly, before summer began, he had his moments and drove me mad at times. But I had never been pushed to the point where I felt out of control. Where I felt like screaming out loud and tearing every strand of my hair out.

And then finally ... it happened.

The patience that I was able to muster in the past did not surface. My voice thundered and I scolded him like I never before. It frightened Little Dude to see me so angry. It scared me a little, too. But mostly I felt ashamed. This level of anger and frustration had escaped from my voice only once before and it had been directed at an adult. I felt awful for Little Dude.

A few days later, I felt my frustration heightening again. I grabbed the kitchen sink with both hands and let out a sheepish but long grunt, "Arggghhh!" The release felt good. I was still grasping the sink when I heard Little Dude run up behind me to ask, "Is it heavy, mommy??"

Giggles and laughter. Much better.

Little Dude's bout of extreme rebelliousness didn't last long. He still has his moments but I've been able to exhume sweet patience from its hiding place. Our days are much more enjoyable again.

so long, dummy
My boys, during one of their games of chase, proved an interesting thing. When the head of an almost 2-year-old collides with the teeth of a 3 1/2-year-old, the head will win.

The head gets a slight red mark with barely a complaint out of the almost 2-year-old.

The teeth, however, get an emergency visit to the dentist a week following the collision and the 3 1/2-year-old sports a blackened front tooth until his adult teeth come in.

The good news: The mommy (who is feeling brave/lucky at having survived the worst of the trying three's stage) takes this opportunity to rid the 3 1/2-year-old of his dummy while at the dentist's office. She offers the soother to her son and asks him to hand it to the dentist in a grand ceremony, declaring that he is now a big boy and doesn't need a dummy. The boy complies, possibly, because he hasn't been able to use his soother at night because of his sore gums and tooth. And, that is that.

the scoop on poop
Getting rid of the dummy was easy peasy. Toilet training? Not so much. Trying to ride on the wave of good fortune following our farewell-to-the-dummy milestone, we decided to give toilet training a go again. I'm happy to report that Little Dude is now using the toilet regularly. However, accidents still abound. Our boy will not sit on the throne unless he is invited, it seems.

Not yet completely toilet-trained but much progress has been had.

Life is good.

more on table manners

2009-07-12T00:13:00.017-04:00

We were reminded of how important it is to enunciate when speaking to Little Dude about table manners the other evening. During dinner he demanded, "I want some corn. I WANT SOME CORN!"

"What happened to being polite? I'd like you to be polite," the Good Man insisted.

Little Dude looked puzzled for a moment and then said, "Here you go," handing his daddy a plate.

As for LittleR Dude, he seems to think that the dinner table is some sort of ballet bar. So far, enunciating my wishes for the table to remain foot-free has not helped.

forking around

2009-07-08T14:26:00.008-04:00

"No, no, no. Stop forking me!" Little Dude screeched as he raced past me.

I looked up to find LittleR Dude in pursuit with a wooden toy knife in one hand and a fork in the other with his arm extended.

"Don't eat your brother!"
"Way to use a knife and fork, sweetie."

These responses came to mind but remained unsaid. To be honest, I don't remember what disciplinary words came out of my mouth. The knife and fork, however, were confiscated bringing an end to this game of I'm a cannibal.

For what it's worth, Little Dude is not always the victim in these torture tag games. Ping pong paddles were used as a prop not too long ago.

summer fun

2009-07-07T15:31:00.039-04:00

I apologize for my recent absence. It seems that blogging is getting the big brush off this summer. We've been away a great deal visiting people and places. And when we are home, the allure of the great outdoors has been much too strong and night time activities have limited themselves to watching a little tv before collapsing into bed by 10 or 11 pm. Yes. I think I'll blame mostly the weather on this bout of truancy. Or, maybe even my kids.

About the boys, they've been busy inventing their own brand of fun. What kind of fun, you ask. Why the giggling, snorting kind brought on by sipping water while sitting on the kitchen floor mat ...

... or by dropping pebbles on their head.

Figuring out their left boot from their right ranks low on the to-do list ...

... when they've got a lush, cushiony (over-grown) lawn beckoning them.

Yep, the Dudes have their priorities straight. When the sun is beating down on the patio, they know that a hat and boots are a definite must.

Well ... at least the sun hat, anyway.

Bright, warm weather. Lunch served outdoors. And great conversation. What more can you ask for?

How about some ski jumping fun on the Wii?

I hope you're enjoying this summer as much we are.

teamwork

2009-06-20T23:30:00.010-04:00

For all the squabbling over toys that happens between the Dudes, I'm proud to say that teamwork is a concept that they understand and display with great regularity.

Like two days ago, I found myself in a house way too quiet not to take notice. I went to investigate what the boys were up to and discovered that Little Dude had figured out how to work the double locks on the sliding doors. He let not only himself out, but also his younger brother. I found my two little escapees happily playing in the backyard by the sandbox. I laughed out loud when I saw them because, even in their rush to get outside on the patio that was still very wet from a recent rainfall, they remembered to put their boots on. It is usually LittleR Dude who insists on wearing shoes before going out so he, no doubt, convinced his older brother to wear their boots, bringing them to him, as he often does.

Or, yesterday, the boys were working on a puzzle together. I watched quietly as Little Dude handed a puzzle piece, one at a time, to LittleR Dude who then put it in the correct spot. I did a double-take. Yes, in fact, it was my 21-month-old completing the 15-piece puzzle and my 3-year-old playing the assistant.

Folding the laundry was a family affair for awhile. Little Dude just loved it and got so great at folding the face and hand towels that ... well, he lost interest eventually. These days it's LittleR Dude who comes running when I announce it's folding time. He insists on taking the towels out of the basket, crumpling them up in a ball and handing them to me to be put in the 'folded' pile.

As for yard work, the boys are all over it. They are out there, mowing the lawn with the Good Man every time.

Teamwork is a lovely, lovely thing.

breathe

2009-06-18T11:33:00.013-04:00

Even 3 years and 3 months after giving birth to my first child, I'm still overwhelmed by the intensity of the guilt I feel when things go amiss with the boys.

I remember feeling like the worst mommy in the world the first time Little Dude scratched his face. I flogged myself with accusing questions. How could I have allowed his nails to grow so long? How is it that I missed filing down that jagged nail? Looking at his face made me wince with guilt. His marred cheek and nose were evidence of my nail-clipping inadequacies.

Then the inevitable happened. The boys began to venture off the floor. As they tried to master walking, running and climbing the stairs, their previously unflawed bodies soon showed the scrapes and bruises suffered from their new-found mobility.

Later more permanent marks of their misadventures began to taunt me. Like the scar above Little Dude's eye. A reminder of a game of chase that went wrong and the 6 stitches it took to close up his wound. Or the much bigger scar on LittleR Dude's chest. A token of having to hold my then 10-month-old down while the hospital doctor attempted to cut an infected cyst away and, later, watching him succumb to the general anaesthesia before having the remainder of the cyst surgically removed.

No book or person could have prepared me for the overwhelming sense of guilt and inadequacy that I sometimes feel raising two active little boys through the bumps and hiccups of life. In a job where your main marker of success is the happiness and well-being of your child, these feelings seem an inescapable part of motherhood. It's unlike any other job I've held where less-than-pleasant situations can be controlled, managed or avoided. Jobs where I thrived and felt competent. Where the decisions I made did not impact the physical or mental heath of two young children.

Two nights ago as I sat on a hospital bed with my arms wrapped around Little Dude holding an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, I was reminded again of my inability to protect my children from all injury, sickness or harm. I stroked his hair watching his chest rise and fall far more deeply and rapidly than I had ever seen or would care to see again. He seemed to struggle with each breath and I struggled with my emotions and feelings of helplessness.

I recreated the events of the day trying to figure out what signs I missed that could have prevented this hospital visit. He had been coughing but was in great spirits. He begged me not to take him to nursery school. He wanted to play outside instead. I complied. It was too beautiful a day to spend inside. He had been pestering me to set up the blow-up pool for several days now. I gave in to that too.

That same night my 3-year-old was reduced to whimpering in his bed. I climbed in with him to give him comfort. He was wheezing, a sound that was foreign to me until then. It frightened me.

It's raining outside today. Little Dude is talking to himself, playing with his train set on the floor while his younger brother is pulling pieces of play-doh apart with his little fingers. All is back as they were. There are no battle scars to mark our latest trip to the hospital. Still, today, I am reminded of my young boys' fragility. And that sometimes, all I can do is watch them breathe and hope that it is not the last time I see this familiar heaving. The steady rise and fall signifying life.

+ + + + +

After returning from our two-week long family trip, I had intended to restart my blog on a happy note by celebrating our near-perfect vacation. I will have to save that for another day, I think. Here is one of my favourite photos of our trip just in case I don't get to writing that blog.

A moment's panic

2009-05-28T10:10:00.005-04:00

A seasoned parent would recognize the different emotions you feel when you lose sight of your child even for only a couple of minutes, in my case, in an unfamiliar city, outside my country, without the Good Man by my side, on the 3rd floor of a mall at a kids play zone enclosed by a short wall. Mostly you remember your heart skipping a beat when you look up after strapping your younger child in the stroller and realizing that his brother is not where you expect him to be. You quickly scan the area where you last saw him. Not there. And then your eyes dart from play structure to play structure trying to penetrate them, hoping to see his laughing face pop out from behind them suddenly. Then you feel your heart rise up to your throat as you find yourself running madly through the play area, this time only looking for a blue and yellow striped shirt knowing that it is the most identifiable thing about him in a place full of smiling, giggling boys his age. You hear yourself calling his name, his first and last, like you often do when you're displeased with his behaviour. And your eyes begin to well up with tears because there is no sign of him but you fight back the urge to cry because you think it would only cloud your vision. Thoughts of abduction, pedophiles and other crazy scenarios race through your head. Then you remember your other child, the one that's securely fastened to the double stroller inside the play area, a no-stroller zone, in front of a group of moms that you deemed safe, a decision made in half a second in your moment of panic. Your eyes travel from the elevator to the tables surrounding the play area and back to the elevator but there is still no sign of him. Finally you begin to feel that your child is truly lost, out of reach, when you see his face appear among a crowd of bodies. He's walking towards you from outside the playzone and you hear a panicked voice, another mom, scolding her daughter for walking out of the playzone by herself. Your arms encircle your child. You feel relief and anger all at once. You hold back the tears and reach deep to find calmness so as not to frighten him and talk to him about never ever, ever leaving without you ever again. All the while you feel your bottom lip quivering and know that you failed to hide the terror that is still evident in your eyes because now your child is crying a little and he tells you that he only wanted to "go down the steps". So you pick him up and hug him tightly and you feel your shoulders beginning to relax. You tell him how scared you were when you couldn't find him and make him promise to never disappear like that again. Ever.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

priceless moment #1: beach in a box

2009-05-17T22:10:00.015-04:00

Plastic box with lid ... $12.96

Two bags of sand ... $ 5.94

Mini steel dump truck & front-end loader ... $17.98

Beach in a box to keep two brothers occupied and happy while mommy (the non-gardener) does some much needed weeding and pruning in the garden for a few days ... PRICELESS

The first day I tried to garden the boys followed me around with their shovels. I thought they were playing very well until I realized that they had dug up a couple of pail loads of decorative stones/rocks (ground cover) from the garden and dumped them on our patio.

Time to get a sandbox to keep my shovel-happy boys occupied.

I went online and was mortified to find that I had to part with at least $50 to score a plastic animal-shaped sandbox with a lid. I also found a monster plastic construction sandbox that came complete with a plastic excavator arm, a plastic dump bucket and a plastic lid that doubled as a rugged play surface for plastic construction vehicles (shown online but not included with the monster price tag).

A small cheap box with a lid, some sand and a couple of well-made construction vehicles. Now that's more like it. Ahhhh. Weeds begone!

confessions of a potty pimp

2009-05-15T21:27:00.016-04:00

"Just two squirts and plop and you can have Annie & Clarabel."

It's hard to believe it has come to this. I have truly reached a mommy low as I find myself pimping Thomas the tank engine & his friends in an attempt to get Little Dude to poop on the potty. Every night after bath, his potty chair gets filled with pee but it has yet to feel the warmth of his poo. During the day, his diaper would have to be hanging below his knees from the weight of his pee before he admits to needing his diaper changed. As for doing number 2, he prefers to squat under the breakfast table with his head down and both hands gripping his highchair.

The potty chart with its cute magnetic tokens that came with a book I bought months ago didn't so much as get an interested glance from Little Dude. Phhht. I get stickers when I grace Starbucks with my mere presence. Why go potty for silly magnets? his eyes seemed to challenge the chart.

So I modified the potty chart. Got Little Dude to pick out his favourite trains from a free catalogue. Cut the pictures out and glued them onto yellow paper. Drew circles for poops and squares for pee. Defined the terms for getting each train. Threw in a pee-only prize for encouragement. Got Little Dude to repeat the terms. And with an exuberant "Let's go potty!" from Little Dude, he was off to the washroom to make a rare daytime potty chair visit.

His pee hit the plastic with gusto, making a noise similar to that of a very localized torrential downpour. He even grunted a few times in an attempt to add poop to the slightly yellow pool already collected in the bowl. But no luck. He had already released his morning gift earlier.

We celebrated his daytime potty squirt. Little Dude took a moment to decide where he wanted to put the magnet which eventually found a home on one of the Annie & Clarabel squares. Then off he went to play with his train set, day-dreaming of the coming of new train friends.

That was about a week ago. Little Dude now (and not unlike pre-revised-potty-chart days) greets the suggestion of potty time with a firm "no". When I remind him about the potty chart, he may or may not be convinced to go. When he does sit on the P chair, it is only to pee. He also moved the first pee magnet out of the Annie & Clarabel section in order to reach the piddle quota for Henry (the pee-only prize). Little Dude is clearly disgruntled with each day's absence of his beloved Annie & Clarabel and, perhaps, the realization that he now has to poop at least once on the potty to be rewarded with more trains.

Last night after the Good Man put Little Dude to bed, I heard repeated screams of "I have to poop on the potty!" He sat. He grunted. He peed. And, I tucked him back into bed praising him for telling me that he had to go. I'm still undecided whether that was a bedtime stall tactic or a genuine attempt in letting lose that elusive plop on the potty.

I know I should be happy ... count my blessings, that sort of thing. Little Dude has made some progress. Total success doesn't happen overnight. Yada yada yada. But I can't seem to shake the thought of having turned my son into a potty whore. And if he is that, then I am his pimp driving him to exchange his bodily excretions for little wooden trains with hideous faces.

I still believe that he will get there when he is ready. I'm just cursing myself for starting something that I don't want to finish. Presenting Little Dude with Annie & Clarabel in the absence of a poop-filled potty seems like a step backwards. So I plod forward.

What compelled me to engage in potty bribery in the first place? I did it because changing messy poopy diapers is tedious, boring, stinky, disgusting, nauseating and, after 3 years, I've simply had enough of it. And, because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

a mom's morning

2009-05-10T23:51:00.012-04:00

At around 5:30 this morning, I heard the Good Man get up to settle LittleR Dude back to sleep. Ahhh. Thank you, I thought. I had already been up an hour earlier. I closed my eyes again only to be startled by shrieks of protest and the sound of soothers (his most precious possessions) being thrown out of the crib, hitting the wall and hardwood floor, the moment the Good Man walked in his room. Hmmm ... LittleR Dude is still not himself. I fumbled for my eyeglasses and pulled myself out of bed.

LittleR Dude and I spent the next couple of hours in the guest bedroom. I laid down with him in my arms hoping that he would grace me with another hour of sleep before fully waking up.

I dozed in and out of slumber. I don't sleep well with a child next to me. I was always afraid of crushing both my boys when they were infants. And the sputtering, squeaking and other baby noises they made kept me awake and annoyed. Now, it's the snoring and little elbows in the face that drive me crazy. And I'm still scared to death of crushing them.

Later, I was awakened by a semi-hard object hitting my head. LittleR Dude was handing me the remote. We don't have cable in the guest room. I hit "play" hoping that the train video was in the all-in-one tv/vcr so I didn't have to get up. It was. I hoped for a few more minutes of sleep. But by this time LittleR Dude was making running commentaries of what he was seeing on the video.

"Train, mommy, train. Choo, choo. Red train. Red train. Light, mommy, light"

[Sigh]

From outside the room, I heard the plodding of little feet. The door burst open. Little Dude climbed up on the bed beside me.

"Happy Mother's Day," the Good Man grinned.

Little Dude also wished me, "Happy Mother's Day!" Then he handed me his blue car, smiled and repeated, "Happy Mother's Day, mommy."

I accepted his gift, thanked and kissed him. Life is sweet.

Seconds later, the blue car was back in Little Dude's hands. It was a temporary gift. The Good Man and I smiled at each other and we all piled out of the room.

And that was the beginning and end of Mother's Day for me this year. Not Hallmark material but sweet, nonetheless.

shifting

2009-05-08T16:38:00.009-04:00

Dear Blog: It's been 6 days since my last entry. I'm typing quickly as my moments of lucidity have been coming in 5 min waves lately. My babes haven't been sleeping well and neither have I. This is normal for Little Dude but for LittleR Dude it is far from it.

LittleR Dude seems to be going through a shift. The nights where I can plop him in his crib awake and not hear from him until the next morning feel long gone. Replacing my awesome sleeper is a toddler who morphs into cling-wrap the moment I take him near his crib. When I've finally coaxed him into releasing his vise-like grip around my neck and have laid him down, he allows me to sit on the rocking chair while he relaxes himself into deep sleep. Any attempts to sneak out of the room before he is fully asleep will be met with ear-splitting, heart-wrenching cries. We repeat this process 2-3 times a night and by 6:30 he is ready to start his day.

It feels like all the makings of separation anxiety but why now after months of being the most perfect sleeper imaginable?

Yesterday, he woke up from his nap in full tantrum mode. He was utterly inconsolable. He did not want to be picked up nor did he seem to want to be in his crib. I held him in my arms because it made me feel better. Because I didn't know what else to do. It felt like an eternity before he finally stopped screaming and was hiccupping and sobbing more quietly in my lap.

It wasn't that long ago when the sight of me would make him stop crying. I don't understand this shift. I feel helpless.

photos for grandma & grandpa

2009-05-02T23:30:00.016-04:00

A Facebook friend slammed my last post and made this wall comment, "Loved the pics, but the text was too damn sappy. Keep it real baby." To which, I laughed and hope that he finds the text attached to this second (and final) series of photos oozing with sappiness.

* * * * * *

Dear Grandma & Grandpa,

Yesterday, we played outside with water and this plastic tube thing that you fill up and then drops of water come out of the bottom. LittleR Dude played with it for like forever.

Then he heard a plane go by and started looking around for it and got all wet. Good thing mommy put him in a splashsuit today.

I wanted to play with the awning but my mommy kept nagging me not to touch the twirly thing coz it could come off the hinge and land on my head. Whatever. I did this for like forever.

LittleR Dude finally dropped the plastic tube thing and started drawing stuff on the ground with wet chalk and kept complaining that his fingers were "ditty". He did this over and over again for like forever.

I played with the boats in my brand new super huge waterway system that took mommy and daddy like forever to build. LittleR Dude and I learned some new words that night but we're not allowed to say them.

Then it was time to go in to have lunch and LittleR Dude started putting all the stuff away in the bucket, singing "clean up, clean up". He's such a neat freak.

Today, I got to twirl LittleR Dude around and around on daddy's office chair.

Then LittleR Dude got hurt somehow. I didn't do it. Anyway, I kissed him better.

Then, I got to sit on the chair too while mommy spun us around and around for like forever.

We love you & miss you,

Little Dude & LittleR Dude

P.S. I can't wait to play with your trains when we come to visit this summer Grandpa.

P.S.S. Mommy says to tell you that, "Yup. That's me standing under the awning next to a very dead Christmas tree shaped rosemary plant." She has all kinds of Christmas stuff all over the house still and it hasn't been Christmas for like forever.

snapshots of early spring

2009-04-29T16:44:00.014-04:00

I was reminded the other day that it's been awhile since I've taken any album-worthy snapshots of the boys. The camera on my blackberry is convenient. I've been using it a lot lately since starting this blog. But, it often doesn't capture the emotions of two little brothers at play.

So on this sunny but chilly morning, I bundled up the boys, released them into the backyard, pulled out my D70 and clicked away. This is for you, grandma and grandpa.

A kitchen with a view
A true sign of a family-friendly house is being able to send your 3 and 1 1/2-year-old boys outside and finding comfort in the fact that you have a clear view of their activities while preparing lunch or sitting at the breakfast table enjoying your tea.

It's a jungle out there
A true sign of a perfect garden for a non-gardener is discovering signs of life in early spring even after 1 1/2 years of neglect.

Bliss

Bliss is ...

hearing the sounds of laughter from two young brothers,
chasing each other or their own shadows.

The older sometimes teaching the younger

on the finer points of hockey.

The younger often studying the older,
following his every move.

And then, in a sudden burst of energy,

the younger leads the older into another game of chase,
until he is distracted by his own shadow.

about an eyeball

2009-04-28T23:25:00.008-04:00

If you're a parent, you can relate to how it pleases me to the Nth degree to get to the stage where my boys are able to express their wants and needs, as well as their aches and pains. When LittleR Dude points to his finger and says "hurt" and it isn't bleeding, I know without a doubt that all he needs is a little kiss to make it all better. When I'm awakened by a cry that could wake the dead (never mind the sleeping) at 3 in the morning, I no longer have to play a guessing game with Little Dude whose language skills are way more sophisticated than his younger brother's. He's able to tell me that it's the outside part of his ear that hurts (from bumping it on the bookshelf) and not the inside (i.e., he has an earache). Hearing "it hurts only a little" is very reassuring to me and keeps my worry-wart tendencies at bay.

Life is ... no ... was good.

Maybe I'm still sulking from being woken up at 5:49 am by Little Dude today. Or, perhaps, I'm just in a funk because LittleR Dude thought that it was "funny, mommy" ... yes, he actually said that ... to dump his milk all over his poopy self while we were at the mall on the day that I didn't pack a change of clothes.

Maybe I'm just in a really bad mood today ... because I really don't find it funny to hear Little Dude complain and screech out, "I've got an eyeball, mommy! Mommy, I've got an eyeball in my eye!"

It seems that his father ... yes, today, he is not the Good Man but the father ... his father has responded to Little Dude's complaints of having something in his eye with "Yeah, you've got an eyeball" one too many times. So now Little Dude is going around screaming bloody murder about having an eyeball in his eye.

This morning, Little Dude's nursery school called to say that he threw up after eating a cheerio. After determining that (1) he didn't have a fever, (2) he didn't throw up his entire breakfast along with the cheerio and (3) he is now fine and participating in the activities, I hung up the phone relieved. Then I wondered, OMG. Has Little Dude ever screamed out "There's an eyeball in my eye" at nursery school?

We've been trying for some time now to correct Little Dude and failing miserably. Today, he took it another step further and actually rubbed sleep from his eye, held a crusty bit up to me and said, "Look at the yellow eyeball on my finger, mommy."

His father could be heard snickering quietly in the background.

a small window

2009-04-26T21:18:00.025-04:00

In an effort to channel Little Dude's boundless energy, we signed him up for a multi-sports class. Parents were not allowed in the gym but could watch their kids through a window ... a window that was no more than a couple of feet wide. Naturally, I hogged a prime spot near this window on his first day of class.

Little Dude looked smaller than the rest of the kids. This was not surprising since the class was offered to kids aged 3-5 and he just turned 3 this past March. It was interesting to see him interact with the 4 and 4 1/2-year-olds. He looked and acted so much younger ... slightly impish even. We missed the first session because he was sick, but he was holding his own. He giggled and talked through most of the activities. He followed one of the girls around for a bit. He has a thing for older girls already.

Half way through, the kids began to gather around a table full of drink bottles. Little Dude was looking for his. It was still in his backpack. By the time I reached the table, one of the instructors was giving Little Dude another child's bottle. My heart skipped a beat.

I handed Little Dude his bottle which was labelled with his first and last name and had a picture of a stroked out peanut. Then, in the calmest voice I could gather, I reminded the instructor to be mindful of my son's peanut allergy and to never give him any drink that isn't clearly labelled his .

I'm sure nothing would have happened if Little Dude had taken a sip from the other child's bottle. The chance of the spout coming in contact with someone who had just eaten a peanut butter sandwich before class is microscopic. But, that's not the point. These days, with the number of children with food allergies around, instructors, teachers and caregivers should never offer anything with suspect origins to a child.

I'm grateful that I have a year and a half before Little Dude starts J-K. I'm grateful I have time to seek out flashcards, early reader books and other learning aids to help me make him understand that he should NEVER accept a drink or food that is not his from anyone. The concept of having a life-threatening allergy is too abstract for my 3-year-old. He turns away when we have these discussions.

It's futile to wish for a little port-hole into my children's every move. The Good Man and I are in our 40s and have come to accept that the natural order of life will likely play out for us. We will not always be around for our boys. Our job is not to constantly keep tabs on them but to raise them to become independent, resourceful adults.

But, last week, I couldn't help but feel grateful for that little window.

shut up inner voice

2009-04-24T00:50:00.028-04:00

Lately, I've been having little arguments in my head.

A very huge part of me loves what blogging represents ... an incredibly supportive social medium where I can share my opinions, observations and thoughts about my life as a mom to anyone willing to read my blurts and rants. The Good Man has his online game. Blogging is my way of decompressing at the end of the day. End of story. Right?

Not so. Because, besides doing crazy stuff like arguing with myself, I sometimes let the little cynical voice inside my head get to me. Yes, once in awhile, self-doubt creeps in and I wonder why I bother to blog at all. Why not just keep a personal journal? Wouldn't that serve the same purpose? Isn't blogging a bit self-indulgent and narcissistic? Like public displays of self-love.

Today, I feel an urge to quiet the inner voice that is questioning my motives for blogging.

The "social" in social medium
I didn't truly appreciate the social component of blogging until I received my first comment from a fellow blogger. It was a thoughtful and honest comment. It made me feel great to realize that I’m not typing in a vacuum. It stroked my ego. There, I said it.

Today, I find myself part of a couple of mom blog networks, a community rich in intelligent, funny mommies sharing (and, celebrating) their lives, as well as confessing their brain-farts and other mishaps. I think I spend more time reading and commenting on posts as I do writing my own. As one of my favourite parent bloggers (Momplex) put it so eloquently, "I feel like I have a free subscription to a great literary mag for creative moms with big funny bones and interesting brains." I feel privileged to engage in (internet) conversation with such women. Although I would never be presumptuous to think I come close to being in the same league as them, I feel a sense of belonging. And, isn't this part of what makes us tick?

To blog, perchance to be reminded I have a brain
I have mom friends that I have playdates or visit with but our conversations are interrupted, at best. And, who can really discuss anything profound when you've had less than 5 hours of interrupted sleep the night before, anyway? Not me. I can’t speak coherently to save my life on a regular day, but put me in front of a computer and thoughts spill out almost effortlessly.

When I worked at the Services for Students with Disabilities office in university, students were allowed to use a computer to formulate their answers for exams because it didn't require the same complex brain connections needed for hand-writing (and, I think, speech). This then begs the question: Is having mommy-brain a type of learning disability? But, I digress.

So there you have it, my skeptical, nagging inner voice. Yes, it is a little self-indulgent of me to blog. But why not allow me this one moment of ego-stroking to show myself (here and in my virtual interaction with other mommy bloggers) that not all my brain cells have died from 3 years of sleep-deprivation? Perhaps, one day they might even resurface in a face-to-face conversation with my adult friends.

So, shut up already!

For a truly intelligent discussion on the narcissistic tendencies (or not) of blogging, you should hear what Amy, from Milk Breath and Margaritas, has to say about it and read the comments that ensued.

boobies and gorillas

2009-04-21T15:52:00.008-04:00

Little Dude and I are sitting against propped up pillows and cuddling on the guest room bed. We're watching his favourite train video before naptime. I look down and see him poking at his stomach folds. He hasn't lost all his baby fat yet, I think to myself. His brows are slightly knotted. I wait for a question.

LD: Are these boobies, mommy?

Me: No, they're not boobies. That's your tummy. You don't have boobies.

LD: Do you have boobies?

Me: Yes, I do.

LD: Does daddy have boobies?

Me: No, he doesn't. Only girls have boobies.

LD: Only gorillas have boobies?

Me: Only girls have boobies. Mommy has boobies. Nina has boobies. And, grandma has boobies.

LD: Does grandpa have boobies?

Me: No, he's not a girl.

LD: Are you a gorilla, mommy?

Me: Yes, I'm a GIRL.

LD: And, only gorillas have boobies.

lost in bagland

2009-04-17T23:22:00.018-04:00

I've been inspired by the handbag chronicles of Momplex who was inspired by Bad Mommy Moments who begged the question "What’s in your purse?" . Go find yourself.

Meet my companion. This chocolate brown 11" x 12" beauty wraps around me when I'm graced with 'alone time'. It is my bag.

It's small. It's light. It doesn't remind me of walking around with a baby strapped to my chest. It's soft. It smells like coffee because I often find myself at Starbucks/Chapters during my 'alone time'. Did I say it was light? I think it's gorgeous though not as nice as the other two mommies' purses. It costs more than my microwave. It's my bag. I'm confident that I'll have no problem finding me in here.

Whaaaat?! It looks like I just opened an emergency kit ... and a very useless one at that. I have nothing resembling me in it!

Two bandaids. Just in case I cut myself accidentally twice while I'm out for an hour or two.

A toothbrush. Still in its package. A freebie from the dental office. Who knows? I might just meet Brad Pitt in the Age 0-3 readers section of Chapters and... Oh, wait. Angie would kick my ass. Gotta find a fantasy guy who isn't married to a Lara Kroft type ... Who knows? I might just meet Sean Connery ... Shut up. It's my fantasy.

A quarter. My mom used to keep at least one coin in her empty purses to fend off those evil purse-fiends. Okay, I'm making this up ... but not about my mom keeping a coin in all her purses. I don't know why she does it. I keep a quarter in case I need to make a phone call ... and, someone happens to pinch my blackberry ... and Starbucks/Chapters won't let me use their phone.

A maxipad. Not a little tampon or a discreet pantyliner. But a f**cking maxipad ... otherwise known as "mommy's diaper" to my 3-year-old. A maxipad because even though it's been 1 1/2 years since my last baby who is now a walking, talking toddler was born, I still don't have any issues with wearing the same baggy trackpants I wore throughout my pregnancy. My 'mommy diaper' couldn't possibly make me any less alluring. This can't be me.

Two pens. But nothing to write on except on the back of ...

A receipt. Oh, yeah. I forgot. I also use the bag to go grocery shopping solo.

Sigh. Perhaps, I too am in the diaper bag. Will have to check it some other time.

thoughts from the sofa

2009-04-16T21:01:00.006-04:00

The boys and I have logged a lot of hours huddled together on the family room sofa, recently. As I sit sandwiched between two sick toddlers watching a Little Bear episode for the 100th time, I suddenly feel a twinge of guilt that I've left chores half done or not started. I resist the urge to get up knowing that it would initiate an outcry from the little bodies quietly resting on my shoulders. My mind wanders off to the to-do list that I started in January. The uncrossed items are ingrained in my head.

- Put away xmas decorations

Most of the decorations are piled up either on top of the dining room table or near or on top of the treadmill. We now fondly refer to treadmill as the 'christmas tree stand'. Previously, it was known as the 'dust collector'.

- Assemble storage units

I bought two storage units last summer in an attempt to organize our cluttered garage and to keep hazardous items locked up from Little Dude's inquisitive little fingers. Summer turned to fall, fall to winter and now it is spring and the boxes remain unopened, probably sitting under a pile of things that need to be put away in the storage units.

- Call Ane

Ane and I knew each other from when life was simple and our biggest dilemma was which club to hit next. We've kept in touch over the years. Today, we each have 2 toddlers and live in the burbs about 1 1/2 hours' drive away from each other. We don't talk on the phone much and see each other even less. When we do talk on the phone, our conversations are never laboured or weird. We laugh and catch-up. It's as if very little time has elapsed in between phone calls. I love Ane and always vow to call her more often after hanging up.

It's a bit like sex with the Good Man. Don't groan. You know what I'm talking about if you have a child who doesn't sleep at night. Sex is the last thing you want to think about knowing that you only have a few hours before your kid cries for you again. But when 'it' finally happens, it feels awesome and you wonder why you don't make a point of doing it more often.

I feel slightly awkward thinking about sex while Little Dude and Littler Dude are snuggled up beside me. I tune back in to our 100th viewing of the Little Bear episode and consider adding one more item on my list of to-do's:

- Sex with GM

a lesson in perserverance

2009-04-15T23:22:00.015-04:00

After dinner, Little Dude suggests "Let's go downstairs."

Littler Dude brightens for a moment, loosens his grip around my neck slightly and chimes, "Downstairs. Downstairs."

I take this as a sign that the boys may be finally getting their groove back. I head downstairs with Littler Dude still securely fastened to my torso and wait for his older bro at the bottom. Little Dude looks a little groggy ... almost drunk as he maneuvers down the stairs. I remind him to be careful. I think to myself, What could I do if he did fall? Drop Littler Dude and ...

His last 'big fall' scared the crap out of me. I take a deep breath and don't let my paranoia overcome me but I ready myself just the same.

Little Dude is talking as he nears the bottom. His nose is running. He asks for a tissue. He's on the 3rd last step and I wipe his nose with my free hand. I turn to go down the hall. He misjudges the next step and falters a little, sliding down in slow motion.

He's fine. His bum is on the 2nd last step but one hand is outstretched, still firmly gripping the banister railing. He's whimpering. He doesn't know what to do next. I drop the tissue and offer my hand to his outstretched one. He trusts me. He let's go of the railing. Then, he gets up, climbs a couple of steps to the point where he slid, turns and goes back down. Success!

We've seen this 'get back on that horse' gesture before. It's wonderful but where did he learn it?

As I'm sitting watching Little Dude play, it finally hits me.

After Littler Dude was born, we taught Little Dude how to navigate the 3 steps leading down to the garage. It didn't have a railing and had only one wall for Little Dude to use for balance. A few weeks after the first lesson, he was expertly climbing down these steps on his own. But one day, he slid down. The Good Man and I didn't swoon. We made light of his fall, brushed him off and reminded him how important it was to have one hand on the wall. The Good Man put him back at the top of the steps and Little Dude made his way down without incident. High-fives were given and off we went.

It amazes me that I had forgotten about this day. It amazes me even more that Little Dude didn't forget but, in fact, had soaked up this little lesson on perseverance. I just hope that it seeps into other aspects of his life ... beyond stairways.

in praise of parents raising kids solo

2009-04-14T22:18:00.004-04:00

The boys have been so unbelievably needy the last few days. If this keeps up I'm going to have to grow a kangaroo pouch just to get stuff done.

I don't blame the boys. They've been as so horribly sick. Little noses have been running. Ear drums oozing. Tummies aching. Vomit flying. Poop exploding. Fever lingering. It's been truly awful for them. They wrap their little bodies around me tightly as if doing this will release magical powers that will make their aches and pains go away. I suppose it's comforting for them to have mommy so close. It's comforting for me, too.

It's times like these that I'm reminded how lucky I am to have the Good Man, who does more than his fair share of raising and caring for the boys and deals with a tired, cranky wife so beautifully. I really don't know how single parents do it alone or people like Maternal Tales whose husband went out of town for 53 days straight.

How do you take two clingy toddlers to the doctor's office? I'm certain it's been done before but I can't imagine how these single parents manage it without going crazy. Life is frantic enough with toddlers on a good day.

I'm told by one Facebook friend, a mom of 2 teenagers, that parents' lives are never NOT busy. It just becomes a different kind of busy when kids get older. Oh, my dear Hope has just been slayed.

So my Good Man, go take your vitamins, take up running again, stop drinking galons of Coke, eat more healthily because ... I don't ever want to experience this or a different kind of busy without you by my side. I don't think I'm that strong.

haiku horror

2009-04-11T10:17:00.008-04:00

I wrote my first haiku since grade school today:

White vomit explodes
From little mouth & nostrils.
OMFG!

Squirm in your chair cheesy, yes. I'm trying to find humour in what has been a very long and exhausting day with my boys: Cling-on One and Cling-on Two. Both have some kind of weird stomach flu virus or food poisoning or strep throat or meningitis. Sigh. Dr Google wasn't much help.

All is quiet now. Get better soon my poor little lambs.

warning sign

2009-04-08T21:58:00.011-04:00

While backbacking through South East Asia in my early 20s, a road sign caught my eye on entering Malaysia from the Thai border. It was clearly meant for foreigners. I don't recall if there was something written on the sign but it wouldn't have mattered to me since I did not understand the language. But the 3 separate but connected images on this sign remain vivid in my mind.

At the top was an large outline of a marijuana leaf. Directly below it was a human figure falling backwards with arms flailing and legs in mid air as if suddenly struck hard in the chest and stomach. To the right was a machine gun with a flash of light at the tip of its barrel pointing at the falling figure. The message on this warning sign is unmistakable: Get caught with weed and you die.

I wish some of my children's toys came with a warning label like this one. Not as nightmare-inducing, perhaps, but I'd really love to see a warning label with a clear-cut cause and effect that my 3 and 1 1/2-year-old will understand because they just do NOT get that some toys are not meant to be played with a certain way.

Take Little Dude's giant construction truck and detachable trailer, for example. It's amazingly life-like, incredibly well built and a ton of fun to play with. I can see why both my boys love this gift from grandma and grandpa so much. But, aside from the usual "choking hazard: not recommended for children under 3" warning, the instructions also say it should never be ridden.

But, why not ride the truck? Because as beautifully-engineered this truck is, it will break under pressure from a little toddler riding it. I'm not concerned so much about the thing breaking. What worries me most is that it will break when I'm not looking and crack into shiv-like pieces that Littler Dude could then use to either impale himself or Little Dude ... not an unlikely scenario given that Littler Dude is going through an aggressive phase.

I need a graphic warning sign for my kids because no amount of gentle reminders, firm demands or angry threats from me will make them stop using this truck as a ride-on toy near the step leading into the familyroom ... a room cluttered with toys that could spear unsuspecting eyeballs and toy box corners that could damage falling heads.

Telling my kids not to use the truck and trailer as a ride-on toy is like telling them to stop eating things off the floor. See food. Must eat it. See big truck. Must ride it. That's how their minds work. An image, or even a video, sending a message that says, "ride this and bad things will happen" might be the break through I'm looking for.

My boys love riding this truck and trailer so much that they've even taken a break from their usual toy-squabbling and have teamed together to ride them in tandem.

So what is a poor hyper-paranoid mom to do but throw up her hands, surrender to the moment and snap a photograph ...

... or two ...
... and hope for the best.

all about money

2009-04-03T23:20:00.032-04:00

Growing up as one of 6 children of an immigrant working class family, I had a keen awareness of money early on ... mainly that we didn't have much. I accepted it as a fact. In Grade 6, I remember dropping out of the broomball team when I learned that we had to supply our own broom. Later, I realized that a broom would have cost only a couple of dollars but, at the time, I felt I couldn't burden my parents with such frivolities. I didn't even ask them. My parents were not stingy people. They gave us what they could afford to give on our birthdays and at Christmas time. I had a happy childhood. And that was good enough for me.

By the time I reached Grade 11, we were living in a middle class neighbourhood enjoying middle class possessions. My parents had worked very hard. So when one of the more popular girls in school laughed at my shoes for being a knock-off of her swoosh brand runners, I didn't feel bad. I liked my shoes. My mom would have bought the swoosh brand but I preferred the knock-offs because I liked the colour and logo better. I labelled that girl as a brat and moved on.

Now many, many years later, I worry that my boys will miss out on valuable lessons I learned from being 'without'. The Good Man and I are not filthy rich but we are financially secure ... not unusual for two 40-somethings who have just recently started a family. Little Dude and Littler Dude have and will have so much more than I ever did. I know first hand that kids catch on early about their financial situation. How will my boys cope? Will they learn to value what they have and show respect for those who don't have much? How will they handle peer pressure? Will they be motivated to work hard knowing that they have a safety net?

The Good Man and I don't have it completely figured out but we both agree that we need to start influencing our boys early. They already know what money is. They ask for it every time we're at the mall and walk past the water fountain or the strategically-placed, coin-operated kiddy vehicles. The water fountain is a no-brainer. The money goes to charity so we don't mind giving the boys a few coins to throw in. And, sometimes (maybe 3/4 of the time) the boys will get one ride on the vehicle of their choice. They complain when they don't get a ride and may fuss a little when they don't get a 2nd ride, but never to a tantrum-like level. This is normal, I think.

Last week, I found a book from The Cat and the Hat's Learning Library series. When I read the first page, I knew I wanted my boys to read it ...

I'm the Cat in the Hat
and you know something funny?
We're about to have fun
learning all about money!

Where does it come from?
Can you answer that, please?
I will give you a hint:
It does not grow on trees!
(from 'One Cent, Two Cents, Old Cent, New Cent' by Bonnie Worth)

The book is designed for early readers and looks at the history of money, how it is minted and stored in banks. My boys are too young to read but not too young to learn about where money comes from.

The Good Man read the book to the boys one afternoon. Little Dude seemed absorbed by it and even asked questions during the reading. Afterwards, The Good Man asked, "So what's the book all about?" And, Little Dude replied, "Uhmm. All about money!" The Good Man and I looked at each other and gave the knowing 'wow' look. This was Little Dude's first oral book report and he passed with flying colours. [Groan] Yes, I know. All parents think their kids are brilliant.

The next morning at breakfast, we ran out of Little Dude's favourite waffles. The Good Man took this as an opportunity to review the book again. "We need go to the store to buy more waffles, Little Dude. What do we need to have to buy waffles?"

"Money," was the emphatic answer.

"And, where does money come from?" the Good Man quized further.

"From a treasure chest," harped Little Dude.

The Good Man and I couldn't help but laugh. This wasn't the answer we were expecting. We're not even sure where 'treasure chest' came from. But it was good enough for now. After all, stealth tactics aside, one must work hard and be persistent in finding that elusive treasure chest.

drum roll, please ...

2009-04-02T23:01:00.013-04:00

I've finally found pseudonyms after much experimenting and stressing! Earlier posts have been updated. Still happy with my choices. Meet my boys ...

Little Dude
Just turned 3. Funny guy. You have caused much graying of hair but, boy, do you make me howl with laughter.

Littler Dude
Only 1 1/2 but is no push over. Already speaking. Dimples. You'll be the topic of many more blogs soon.

The Good Man
Bringer of bacon. Maker of great waffles. My (silent) partner in crime. You love it when I blog because it means you get to play your online game without guilt.

free the ants

2009-04-01T16:30:00.014-04:00

Spring is here! We know this because a colony of ants has made its way into the kitchen. I grab the little broom and dust pan and the Good Man unlocks the sliding doors. We know the drill.

"Nooooo! Don't kill the ants. Don't take them outside. You'll scare them," insists Little Dude. I whisk all but one of the ants onto the dust pan. Distracted by the lone ant, I'm able to hand the dust pan to the Good Man who dumps its contents (gently) on the patio, without further protests from our ant advocate.

Little Dude is on his knees with his nose to the floor examining the ant. The ant begins to move. As most toddlers his age do, he gets over-excited and begins to do a happy dance. You've seen it before. Arms flap. Feet stomp. Head bobs from side to side.

"Uh, oh. Where'd it go?" Little Dude loses sight of the ant. He gets back on his knees to look for it.

I hesitate but tell him, "It's on your sock, sweetie."

"Oh, no. I killed the ant. I broked it," he cries mournfully as he looks at the black speck on the bottom of his sock.

I begin searching my sleep-deprived brain for comforting words to say and clench my jaws tight to hold back the laughter that's about to escape. Multi-tasking isn't always easy for me.

I see eyes brighten suddenly and he says, "We better go buy a new one!"

The Good Man and I giggle with relief. Little Dude and Littler Dude laugh along with us. Whew ... another disaster averted.

identity crisis

2009-03-29T22:14:00.011-04:00

This has been gnawing at me for days now. I can't believe I'm still undecided.

I'm very new to blogging, or writing to a public audience for that matter. Every day, I learn something new about blog etiquette and the various tools and platforms that power this wonderful social medium. In my quest for blogger-know-how, a few days ago, I posed this question at a mommy blog network forum as well as to individual bloggers: Why would you use an alias for your child?

A number of mothers worried about their child's lack of choice in having their life documented for all to read. An alias would protect their kids' identity and help prevent any embarrassment that the blog might bring in the future. This threw me a little. I started this blog under the assumption that it will be read by everyone I know, a few I don't know and some I have yet to know. I felt somewhat paranoid. I reread my blogs to see if I had written anything that would offend my sons and their future girlfriends, in-laws or employers. Nothing that I could tell but how can I be sure? Can I really see into the future psyche of my boys? I've been guilty of reacting negatively to something that my hubby thought was trivial. So to my boys who will be reading this in the future, this blog was intended to celebrate my life with you and includes the good and not-so-great times because that is stuff of life. I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Here's another rationale that surprised me at first. One mommy confided that she uses pseudonyms for her kids mainly because it better suits her writing style. But the more of her posts I read, the more I understood her reasoning. I've soon discovered that there are some incredibly great writers out there in the mommy blogosphere. And, yes, the aliases they use 'fit' their writing style. But alas, I was a web techie in my pre-mommy life. I don't know what my writing style is or if I even have one. Using an alias for stylistic expression, though legitimate, did not prompt me to follow suit.

Safety concerns came up and, not surprisingly, is the number one reason for using pseudonyms for many moms. I have set up my blog account so that it does not tie back to my real name, address or phone number even though I don't personally believe there is a high risk in drawing a child predator out through my mommy stories. I'm very comfortable with the level of anonymity I've set up for myself. However, it would completely crush me if my blog ever put my family at risk. Adopting an alias doesn't demand a great deal of effort. Why not take the extra step and provide some level of anonymity for my kids, just in case?

And so, now I find myself searching for the right pseudonym for each of my boys. I've been wracking my brain for days now and am still without a 'ThingOne and ThingTwo' or 'Giggles and Dimples'. Nothing seems to fit. Coming up with their real names was a cinch compared to this. My indecision is killing me so I've resolved to give up the search ... for a little while anyway.

For now my boys, you will be called whatever flavour of the moment that strikes my fancy. Keep safe and be happy my Lil' Monkey and Bat Babe until mommy figures this one out.

bedside manners, please

2009-03-26T00:01:00.006-04:00

I come from a family and culture full of nurses. I think they have one of the toughest jobs in the world and don't get due credit for their efforts. So it pains me to blog about Nurse X who works at my family doctor's office.

But, I mean, what was she thinking when she called my son "devil child" before putting a needle in his arm?! Did she assume I could not hear her while I was holding my 18-month-old's legs down while another nurse held his arms. Yes, my son was kicking and screaming. But justified or not, she MUST know that a mother NEVER wants to hear these words associated with her child, EVER.

Maybe she thought she was being funny. Well, you know what? She has not yet earned the freedom to be that familiar with us. We don't even know her name because she has not bothered to introduce herself at this visit nor three months ago when we first met her.

Yes, I understand that the doctor’s office is a busy workplace. I’m not asking her to be our friend. However, when a young child is crying and clearly full of fear, it is necessary to take a moment to try to give him some reassurance and a bit of time to calm down. Instead, she seemed only interested in getting her job done. I'm sure she remembers us well because, three months ago, my son (even after taking a very full diaper off him) became so upset that he peed all over the scale when she tried to weigh him.

To set the record straight, my son's profound fear of the mere sight of a doctor’s table is very real to him. He has had several traumatic experiences while lying on one, including having a lesion on his chest cut and drained without anesthetics and enduring a couple of failed attempts at having I.V. inserted in his hand.

Nurse X's apathy was both disturbing and puzzling to me. Why is she in this profession? And, the name-calling ... well, that was just rude and inexcusable.

Mind your bedside manners, Nurse X!

table manners

2009-03-20T21:21:00.017-04:00

Little Dude, you've almost mastered table manners. Mommy only has a few important tips to bring you over to the side considered acceptable by most.

Last night, when you exclaimed "Thank you, mommy" before popping an edamame bean in your mouth, I said "You're welcome" out of habit but thought "Thank you for what?" Then, I realized you had taken the bean from my plate. Next time, love, please ask for permission before taking something that isn't yours. But good for you for remembering to say thank you.

"I need YOU to give me a drink, please!" The magic word was there. And, your sentence was definitely grammatically correct. But, somehow, your tone sounded a tad bit too imposing. Let's start all requests with a "May I" or "Can I have", please.

You make daddy and I laugh with your stories and singing at dinnertime. But baby, "Wanna take it out? I have a booger in me nose," though funny, is just plain gross and not appropriate dinner conversation material.

Lastly, we know how much you love having your sister over for Thursday dinners. Try not to make her feel uncomfortable the next time she comes over and refrain from exclaiming, "I can see your boobies!" Yes, honesty is the best policy but there are just some things that you should never say out loud, my love.

fauxhawk

2009-03-19T14:00:00.013-04:00

You could not pay me enough to cut children's hair. It's one of those thankless, taxing jobs that ranks up there with being a dentist or a nurse, I think.

Today, my 3-year-old got his yearly haircut at Cookie Cutters, a place that caters specifically to kids. His hairstylist and favourite seat (the fire engine) were occupied when we arrived. Little Dude was happy to wait it out, playing in their indoor slide, while I watched his stylist get wacked in the face by her tiny client. She didn't even blink when this happened and continued to trim the little fiend's hair. Later, she confided that it wasn't the worst thing to happen to her. I can only imagine what was worse than a slap on the face ... a kick, spit, puke ... I didn't ask.

It wasn't long before it was Little Dude's turn in the fire engine. He was happy to watch the video that the previous boy had been watching ... a cartoon about a tractor and other vehicles. He endured the haircut without a hint of a fight and didn't even seem to notice the screaming coming from the boy in the airplane seat behind him. Nope. The only complaint that came out of Little Dude was when it was time to leave. What a trooper : )

Nice fauxhawk, dude!

three

2009-03-12T01:01:00.028-04:00

My little funny guy, in a few hours, you will wake up and you will be three. You've grown so much. You're clearly no longer a baby. You demand your right for independence often, yet you can be so needy. I would really love to rocket you through the trying-three's, if I could. Though at times, I find myself wishing time would stand still so I can savour my moments with you a little longer.

It seems just a short while ago that you started speaking. I think your first words were:
1. moon
2. miyat (cross btwn cat and meow)
3. juice

Now, you ramble endlessly about everything and nothing but still can't pronounce "L". No matter. Other letters or sounds are good stand-ins and I always know what you mean when you say:
1. Where's my baboon?
2. I had dots of munch
3. I dove you

Asking "why?" has not reached obsessive levels yet but you will repeatedly ask:
1. Where are we goning (going)?
2. Are you happy?
3. Do you have a peepee?

My favourite Little Dude-isms are:
1. I pooped on the job
2. That's dirty cake (referring to chocolate)
3. That's mommy dog, baby dog and 'Little Dude' dog

You do the quirkiest things:
1. Order, order! You like your trains, blocks, shoes, everything lined up or piled up perfectly
2. Boundless energy: you never get tired or dizzy of running in circles
3. Cocktail anyone? Whatever we happen to serve you to eat and drink often gets mixed together in your cup. At first, we tried to discourage your cocktail creations by asking you to drink your concoctions. You did. And, you liked it!

You have yet to achieve these important milestones:
1. potty training
2. dressing self
3. sleeping through the night, consistently

That's okay. You're an expert at so many other things. You will do these in due time. Besides, who's ever heard of a healthy 16-year-old who poops his pants willingly and wants his mommy to dress him in the morning and help him get back to sleep at night?

Happy Birthday my funny man. Don't grow up too fast. 'Dove' you 'dots'.

chick magnet

2009-03-10T23:41:00.009-04:00

My almost-18-moth-old was pursued by a cute 16-month-old blonde this morning at the mall. The little girl spotted him as he was walking past the food court. It might have been his adorable dimples that caught her eye. Or maybe she was only trying to track down the origin of the little squeaks (coming from his shoes). Who knows?

The scene played out like this. Her hands were outstretched trying to hug or simply just touch him. He remained always 3 steps ahead of her. She would stop, looking dejected. He would stop the second she stopped, turn around and smile at her. Encouraged, she began her pursuit again. The cycle of starts and stops went on 4-5 more times. Poor girl.

Making a mental note. Must teach my boys not to toy with little girls' hearts.

sahm critic

2009-03-06T23:25:00.018-05:00

Anyone who really knows me will appreciate this confession: I am my worst critic. I have often asked myself, "Hey, Ms. Mom. What the heck happened to your day that you couldn't remember to call [insert friend or relative's name here] ... yet, you have time to facebook and blog?!" I laughed out loud when I read this Tell Me About It article:

Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group ...

Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day?
>>You have to read the full article

Carolyn Hax's response is brilliant and has encouraged me to stop tormenting myself with feelings of guilt or shame when I choose to spend what little downtime I get in a day to be 'alone with my thoughts'. Thank you Ms. Hax for such an honest and funny retort to a misguided and very silly question. And, thank you facebook friend (you know who you are) for posting this article. It has reminded me not to be so hard on myself. And, neither should any stay at home parent, particularly first-time ones.

Now, can someone convince my kids that, after working five consecutive hours, I'm entitled to a 30-minute meal break free from work, according to our labour laws.

bookworm

2009-03-01T22:03:00.016-05:00

My Littler Dude, at the tender age of 1 1/2, is a huge book fanatic. Get anywhere close to his vicinity while in the familyroom and he will shove a book in your hands, collapse into your lap and demand that you begin reading. Other times, I will look up and catch him flipping through a boardbook 'reading' quietly. His favourite books are well thumbed through, if not falling apart at the edges. I absolutely love this side of him. In this world of video games, computers and tv dominating many children's lives (as well as my husband's and mine), I hope that he will always maintain his love for books.

My favourite part of the day begins shortly after lunch when we settle into the little orange sofa with a big pile of books. I love feeling him sink deep in my arms and watching him slowly drift off as I'm reading. The last few days, Littler Dude has been sick and hasn't felt like reading much. I miss our naptime routine terribly and will grieve the day when he no longer wants to sit with mommy to read.

the big w

2009-02-21T22:04:00.014-05:00

After ball hockey this morning, Little Dude's coach offered him a Timbit from TH's very familiar SnackPack box. I wasn't surprised to hear daddy decline and was impressed to hear him counter Little Dude's many "I want some" pleas with a question instead of a negative. "Want some what?"

"I want some meatballs," Little Dude demanded. We all laughed. Little Dude giggled, nervously. And, that was the end of that.

No, Little Dude has never eaten Timbits. Yes, we've frequented TH, as well as Mickie D's, way too many times to keep count. So don't be fooled by my last blog ... we do stray from the homemade organic meal ideal, often.

One day soon, Little Dude will have his first Timbit. We might even hear him beg for a Happy Meal once he figures out that it always comes with a toy. For now, I'm content with keeping him guessing about what's really in a TH SnackPack box and hearing him unwittingly exclaim, "Look up there, mommy. A big W," when we drive by the proverbial golden arches in the sky. Although, I do correct him and say, "You mean, a big M".

organic food fight

2009-02-16T22:15:00.035-05:00

Every parent wants the best for their babies. Based on my own research from books, magazines, pamphlets and the web, I breastfed my first-born until he was one, strapped him into a carseat with the best safety rating and put him in unbleached cloth diapers. At 4-weeks-old, he was the youngest participant in the Music and Movement sessions at the Early Years Centre. I signed up for Infant Massage class and made a ritual of massaging him after bath. Well before he was ready to eat solids, I had already made up my mind to make homemade baby food and was scouting grocery stores for organic or locally-grown produce.

I was determined to give my baby the best start possible. So I was a little put off to have been the subject of criticism, at a Make Your Own Baby Food class, when I admitted that I intended to feed my baby organic food. I think I said something like, "I'm planning on buying organic..." One mom cut me off immediately, "Not all veggies are available organic. I want to expose my baby to everything!" What? To pesticides, too, I thought. The instructor then added, "Oh, you don't need to buy organic. Stuff doesn't go through breastmilk anyway." I don't intend to feed organic apples to my babe through my breast. I plan to use a spoon and put it in his mouth, directly.

The truth is that certain produce have such low levels of pesticides that you don't have to buy it organic if it isn't available. But I said nothing. I felt weary and just couldn't be bothered. For those reading this and want to know more, a wallet-size guide is available at http://www.foodnews.org/walletguide.php.

I don't want to appear smug. I've certainly made many wrong choices as a mom. When my own mother questioned whether it was safe to use plastic bottles and sippy cups, I didn't even give it a thought. Now, the BPA issue is all too real. Also, these days, convenience has become a major factor in my choices. I stopped using cloth diapers when I was pregnant with my 2nd child and we were in the midst of selling our bungalow. I simply found it difficult to hide the smell or presence of dirty cloth diapers from potential buyers and, later, managing it with 2 babies in a two-storey house seemed overwhelming.

Today, you can find organic goods everywhere. I shop regulary at Zehrs, Sobeys, and even Shoppers Drug Mart. "Organic" living has become popular and that's great! I truly believe every parent wants the best for their babies. Make goods easily accessible and affordable, and the debate about 'what is best' becomes a little less muddy, and we begin to embrace previously marginal or 'alternative' choices. Today, my greatest dilemma is how to get my babies back into cloth diapers.

a poem about love

2009-02-14T12:51:00.020-05:00

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, here is a poem dedicated to the Good Man and I on our wedding day. Listening to Nina read it was probably one of the most memorable moments of the evening. Thank you for your gift of love, Nina. We love you back.

RAINBOW
Everyone says red
Is the colour of romance,
With hearts and valentines
But what about the deep orange hues
Of a candle flame?
Or the golden yellow glow
Our fondest memories possess?
What if it's really emerald shades
Of early mornings spent together in silence?
Or, could it be blue like the sky
That stretches forth to infinity
in nature's imitation of our bond?
Dare I say it might be
The indigo skies of long nights
Spent warm in each others' arms
But maybe it's the iridescent violet shine
Of my heart, like swallows' wings
Strong, and never waning in its course to you

So love, let us abandon simply red
And colour our lives
With a rainbow of love

puke & projectile poop

2009-02-13T21:39:00.005-05:00

... sums up this Friday the 13th evening for our household. I don't think I need to go on.

sleep, my babies, sleep

2009-02-12T23:33:00.011-05:00

My babes are both asleep. For the night? Only time will tell. But not likely for my dear Little Dude. We have a library of self-help books, now gathering dust. We haven't given up. We just know that, for Little Dude, it's ... well ... complicated. We're not sure what we did right with his younger brother who seems to look forward to our night time routine of bath and books before being placed in his crib still awake. Often, he goes down without another peep even when not feeling his best.

Earlier, about a half an hour after being put in his bed, Little Dude found the Good Man and I in the kitchen. We were surprised to see him standing there smiling at us. It's been months since he's come out of his room after bedtime. He giggled and then announced, "I had a good sleep!" Oh, my baby. If only it were true.

bump, bump, bump, bump

2009-02-09T19:30:00.005-05:00

At almost 3-years-old, Little Dude is an expert stairclimber. It's been a long time since I've had to monitor his ascents/descents. But this evening, my heart almost stopped when I heard multiple thuds followed by a loud crunch. I found Little Dude face-down at the bottom of the basement stairs, wailing. I was almost afraid to turn him over. At the last crisis, he suffered 6 stitches above his right eye. This time around we were lucky. The carpeting on the stairs cushioned his fall and Little Dude escaped with just a scratch and big goose-egg on his forehead.

After letting me apply 'Boo Boo Fish' ... a fish-shaped icepack ... to his forehead for a few minutes, Little Dude announced, "I need a BandAid." The Good Man put the bandage on his forehead. Then he wriggled out of my arms and proceeded to climb back up the stairs. Curious, we asked, "Where are you going?"

"I want to go down by myself," Little Dude replied. He climbed 10 steps all the way up to the landing and began to walk back down the stairs. When asked how he fell, he pointed to the landing. "I standing there. Then I fall bump, bump, bump, bump down the stairs," making bouncing motions with his pointed finger.

His account of the fall was priceless but more than that ... I applaude him for his persistance in making his way down the stairs in his own terms shortly after such a horrible fall.

tractors

2009-02-08T13:43:00.006-05:00

The conversation went like this:

The Good Man: We're going to Chapters.
Little Dude: We're going to tractors?!
The Good Man: No, we're going to Chapters!
Little Dude: We're going to tractors!
The Good Man: No, CHAPTERS!
Little Dude: Yes, TRACTORS!!

We pile the boys in the van. We're about to drive into the Chapters parking lot when Little Dude exclaims, "Here we are. At tractors!!!" The Good Man and I laugh hysterically. There, sitting across from the Chapters parking lot, are two big green tractors!

The Good Man: Yes, Little Dude. You're right. We're at the tractors.
Little Dude: We're at the tractors!

meltdown

2009-02-07T00:10:00.003-05:00

Maybe it’s because they happen so infrequently that Little Dude’s tantrums throw me for a loop each time. To him I appear calm and collected but inside I’m crying with him.

The screaming is finally over. He’s sitting on my lap clutching me, sobbing uncontrollably. I ignore the dampness accummulating on my shirt, hold him tight and tell him “Everything’s okay. You’re just tired/hungry/frustrated, baby. Mommy’s here.”

These episodes are quick and explainable. A missed snack, late naptime or one too many no’s usually sets it off. I’m thankful that Little Dude is such an easy going toddler and I can still count the number of meltdowns he’s had in one hand. Still, I think I can live without another heart-wrenching tantrum.

my ramblings begin

2009-02-06T21:15:00.003-05:00

"It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop."
— Wisdom of Confucius

This Confucius saying is a sample entry for tumblr.com. I think it's a great quote and has prompted me to reflect on my life ... slow it is NOT. It was once, yes. The Good Man took this photo of me enjoying the serenity of the lake in Tobermory. We had just started dating then. Now, almost 5 years later, we are married and have 2 active little boys. Life seems to be whirring by at full-speed with me trying not to trip as I muddle through motherhood. At times, I long for my quiet and less hectic single days but know that I would miss the chaos of my life the minute I step out of what is now my reality: a wife and mother of two.