Welcome to the Strip Club

At our place things are a bit, well, not like a nursery school.

I work from home. Although I tend to schedule work around being a mom (i.e. when my mom, in-laws or hubbie can watch the kids or after they go to bed), I can be pretty preoccupied by times.

Vern and Girlchild have always been pretty good at independent play. I know I can send a quick e-mail or make a phone call while Girlchild plays nearby with her puzzles, for instance. I am also one of those moms who leaves the TV on a lot. My six-year-old is skilled on the computer and has lots of different games - most of which are educational, some of which are just, well, good guy/bad guy stuff. It keeps him occupied when necessary.

Is this ideal? No.

Fantasy: I would be content to do crafts and go to playgroups and participate in clubs and sports all the time. We'd eat the perfect food, exercise together as a family, have a clean and tidy house, exceptionally well-behaved children, would watch a video once or twice a week and leave the TV off otherwise, would have no computer games and I would be fabulously happy and content mama with nary a thought about a different career (not to mention no need for the extra cash).

Reality: I have a bit of a non-mom-related career - although it is part-time and from home - which keeps my brain happy but means the TV does some babysitting, the house isn't always clean and is rarely tidy, sometimes the food comes from boxes or a take-out menu, and Mommy gets preoccupied and snappish and tired. Mommy doesn't really feel cut out for the playgroup set anyway.

The point is, sometimes I'm pretty insecure about what's going on at my house, which I know is totally ridiculous, but hey. Whaddyagonna do. I'm starting to get the sense a lot of mamas feel the same way.

The other day the neighbours' son came over to play with Vern. Neighbourboy, who is about a year and a half younger, is a big Vern fan. The two of them are great buddies who spend a lot of time together outside, especially in warmer weather. It's nice to have a next-door neighbour with young kids. Their other son is about the same age as Girlchild.

Our neighbours have a nice parenting style. They do lots of fun things with the kids and frequent playgroups, concerts, skating, swimming, etc. I know the TV isn't on as much in their house, for sure.

The other day, when it came time for Neighbourboy to go home, he was pretty sad about it. He wanted to stay. His mama managed to effectively diffuse the situation and things ended happily. Later she said to me, "He just loooooves to go to Vern's house. You have so many great things there!"

I laughed because the first thing that popped into my head was the fact our TV is on a lot and Neighbourboy likes to check it out. "Yes, it must be kind of like going to strip club for him," I said. "The TV's always on, there are computer games, we've got the toy shotgun - woohoo!"

(Yes, the toy shotgun: a Christmas gift for Vern from my mom. Sigh. It's a hit with all the boys, of course. Toy guns are probably a topic for an entirely different post. I warned Neighbourboy's mom about it beforehand. She just laughed. She's so great.)

Despite the fact my house is like a strip club for the 7-and-under set (without the strippers, unless you count the fact Girlchild sometimes likes to stroll around in just a diaper), people keep letting their kids come over, so it can't be too bad. Things definitely aren't perfect around here, but we sure mean well.

Ode to Joy(ce) and Other Bloggers

When I first started reading blogs, and then writing one myself, I spent some time contemplating the nature of the beast. The Internet, after all, seems to swing widely from being so impersonal and far too intimate. I've been trying to keep my own writing light - something I wouldn't be embarrassed about showing, say, my in-laws. So, less about feminine hygiene and more lighter-side-of-life stuff.

I have a few favourite blogs that make me feel as if each post is like getting a letter from a pen pal. They're obviously not to me, personally, but my favourite writers are the ones to whom I can relate to the most. They're the ones I would like to invite over for a good blab session while the kids play and we have a cup of tea or a shot of whiskey, depending.

Today I went to one of my favourites. I've written about her before (I swear I'm not a stalker!) because I think she's just a wonderful writer. Again, today, she penned a post (this one here) that really touched me. On the one hand, she sounds so tired (been there!) that I wish I could offer to babysit while she takes a nap. Since she lives across the continent that would be tricky, however. On the other hand, she made me and Girlchild laugh and dance today by posting this great song in her blog. Thanks for sharing it, Joyce! What a fabulous find!

Another writer, Mama P/Andrea (of Pass the Zoloft fame), who also writes here at BabyCenter, has a wicked sense of humour and I have been enjoying her blogs immensely. She has a great way of making you feel normal - or at least not abnormal - and she has been wonderful for my self-esteem. Thanks, Mama P!

There are some real gems out there in cyberland, and it can be a great place to visit, for sure. I'm linking these ladies to this blog so you can all share in the fun - I hope they don't mind. Keep up the great writing - and the great parenting!

Six Years Ago Today...

My little man turned six today.

Sometimes - when he's busy pestering me to wait on him hand and foot or talking about farts or whining or running around screaming silly or refusing to wear anything but long johns and an undershirt until we go out - sometimes it's easy for me to forget that for a long, long time I lived and breathed that boy.

There are many days when I'm thrilled to see him off to school and times when I feel as if I am going to blow my top if he says "I'm bored" one more time or if he comes up with another excuse to get out of bed or gives me lip and attitude. Generally, though, when I look at those chocolate brown eyes I melt like an ice cube on a flat rock in July.

My firstborn entered the world at 9 lbs. 7 oz. with no C-section or epidural (roar!). Giving birth to him was truly the most amazing thing I had ever done in my life. What a good baby he was, too. He was very compliant and happy; generally ate well and slept well. In retrospect, I couldn't really have asked for any better, but I worried and fretted and stewed about breaking the baby - this precious bundle that amazed me every day with his very existence. I was one anxious mom for a very long time.

I would spend hours (not consecutive - who has that kind of time?) just staring at this child. When we visited people, part of me really couldn't understand why no one else wanted to just sit around and watch the baby or talk about him incessantly. I was head over heels in love.

I still am, of course. I am a mama bear who would throw herself in front of anything menacing, be it a wild animal, an unruly relative, a freight train or a bully, to protect my boy. It's a scary thing, this kind of love, and it's just as scary how agitated and impatient and unhappy we can be sometimes with those we love the most. This is all part of the live-in-the-moment New Year's resolution. When I think of how I held my baby boy close to me and rocked him and nursed him; when I look into those chocolate browns - it's easy to recapture that intensity and fierceness.

Happy birthday and much love to my little man!

The Emergency Song

So you know the scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy et. al. emerge from the poppy field and skip up to the gates of the Emerald City? Well, there's this song in the background as they approach this promised land called "Optimistic Voices" (click here and scroll to #39 to hear it). I haven't seen the movie for a good long time (years), but for some reason this song is going through my head and it has been for weeks. I didn't even know until recently what it was called. Here are the lyrics:

You're out of the woods,
You're out of the dark,
You're out of the night.
Step into the sun,
Step into the light.
Keep straight ahead for the most glorious place
On the face of the Earth or the sky.
Hold onto your breath,
Hold onto your heart,
Hold onto your hope.
March up to the gate and bid it open.

There are definitely worse things. Better this than the Death March or the theme song from Barney and Friends or some such thing, right?

Anyway, out of the blue one day I start la-la-la-ing this song in the kitchen because it's going through my head and I hadn't gotten around to Googling the words yet. Spontaneous outbursts start to happen frequently, in fact. Boychild/Vern (I swear I will settle on a pseudonym for him soon) starts asking about it as he hears it more frequently. He decides it is my "emergency song."

I hadn't noticed I was singing it when stressed or anything, but it's quite possible he had. Now whenever I burst forth with ye olde "Optimistic Voices" song, which can be several times daily, Vern asks, "What's the emergency, Mom?" (Usually there isn't one, but it's good to keep people on their toes, right?)

When I finally got around to looking up the lyrics - not to mention the title, I found his assessment to be quite ironic/compelling. I'm thinking of making it my theme song. We should all have a theme song, I suppose.

Gimme Snot, Any Day

A few days ago, Boychild reached a milestone: his first loose tooth.

I felt a surge of excitement on his behalf because Boychild was worried (as he is wont to do). Would it hurt? What would happen? So we had a chat about dental progression and the Tooth Fairy and speculated on how much dough she would leave beneath his pillow when the time came. We also read Robert Munsch's "Andrew's Loose Tooth." So now he's more excited about it.

Part of me felt a little sad, too, because this - aside from the fact he's growing fast and is probably the tallest kid in his class - is just one more sign my little guy is not so little any more. Sigh....

Notwithstanding the inherent joy and pain associated with this developmental milestone, there's also a tiny problem. I have a bit of tooth "thing."

It never occurred to me it would be a problem when it came to something like Boychild's all-natural, perfectly normal loose tooth, but when he proudly wiggled that little wee incisor my stomach lurched.

Give me snot, puke, poop, frogs, toads, snakes, lizards, goopy swamp muck, gobs of hair in the bathtub drain - any of that is fine. (Okay, well, I get a bit tired of cat poop smears and hairball barf, but it doesn't make me feel ill.) Threaten to damage a tooth or even talk to me about extensive (or mild) dental work and I quickly cover my ears and sing "Lalalalalalalalalala" as loudly as possible. [Insert full body shudder here.]

I swear, if I am ever held captive by anybody and threatened with torture in order that I reveal some sort of vital national secret (yeah, that's likely), all they'd have to do is threaten to throw something at my teeth and I would crumble like dry old parmesan cheese.

I believe this tooth phobia stems from an incident in Grade 6 when I got into a rock-throwing fight with the girl across the street and her friend. It's not as dramatic as it may sound. We were bickering, really, and it was actually just little pebbles and we were kinda sorta just tossing them halfheartedly at each other, but then her friend let fire with one that nailed me right in the mouth and chipped my right front tooth.

In the grand scheme of dental disasters this was minor, requiring only some filing. Nevertheless, I was distraught and my parents were ticked. They had spent quite a lot of cash on various dental appliances to make my gigantic teeth fit into my not-so-huge face. Probably if it had been some sort of non-stupid "injury" instead of a neighbourhood pebble-chucking match it might not have been as big a deal.

Anyway, since then I have been very protective of my mouth. I worry at hockey games that a wayward puck is going to smack me in the mouth - and that's when I'm sitting way up in the stands. I fret when stainless steel utensils fly out of unwieldy toddler hands. When groom-boy talks about root canals and crumbling fillings from years gone by, I feel nauseous.

For Boychild's sake I shall endeavour to put on a brave face and endure the wiggling demonstrations and the imminent loss. I shall gamely beckon Ye Olde Toothe Faerie to visit us. It will be grand. I'll just try not to dwell on it too much. One almost down, a whole bunch more to go....

Happy New Year! (Warning - unbridled introspection ahead)

Almost every year I make a list of New Year's Resolutions/Revolutions. Some years the list is long enough to include headings and subheadings (the subheadings consisting of practical suggestions on how to achieve the headings). I love lists. I'm a compulsive list maker. I make 'em all the time. Do I follow them? It varies.

A list designed to last a whole year is a hard one to follow. I'm pretty good with lists for the day, for a couple of days and even maybe a week - but beyond that it eventually becomes clutter and heads to the blue box.

Every year I vow in my head or on paper to do things to take better care of myself, such as more exercise and eating better. If I do that then I am healthier and happier and, as a result, so is my family. Unfortunately my strategies for weight loss and exercise usually dwindle and I have to resort to my fat pants and maternity underwear at some point in the year.

Over the last few years I have cut the list dramatically. Last year it consisted of three items: Live in the present moment; take care of myself so I can take care of others; and know my limits.

I've covered the second one as best I can; I usually start off well and end the year ready to resolve to try again. The last one is improving - I'm getting better at knowing how much work I can handle before wanting to run screaming from a room.

Living in the present moment - that one needs work. In fact, I totally suck at this.

I can't remember where I read it, but another blogger described a wonderful bedtime experience with her kids. Rather than rushing through the routine, they took their time and everything ended happily.

I get so stuck on routine that I can't stop and smell the flowers - quite literally. I sometimes get agitated if things don't happen on schedule or the way they were planned. As well, there is always something to be done, like laundry or dishes, that "prevents" me from sitting down and really playing with my kids. The whole point of me working from home was to be there for my kids, but sometimes I wonder if they'd get more one-on-one attention from an outside caregiver. (There. I said that out loud.) To meet all my obligations I work a lot of nights, which sometimes makes for Tired Zombie Mommy who goes through the motions but who isn't really "there."

It's a hard thing to do, this living in the moment, but when it happens it is such a beautiful thing. I remember when Girlchild was born and, for the first time in my whole life, I felt complete, utter, indescribable bliss. It was amazing. I would get up in the middle of the night to feed my second child and I would sit there and rock and stroke her fine, golden hair and be so completely there with her - nourishing her, loving her. I was in the moment and I wouldn't have traded it for anything - even sleep.

Eventually, though, life has a way of pulling you in different directions. I like to try to make everyone happy, and you can't always do that and be in the moment, too. Sometimes I'm physically present, but mentally miles ahead, planning the next meal, preparing for the next task, thinking about the next deadline. And then a child interrupts my thoughts or my task and I get snappish, which I always regret.

I've reeeaaalllly got to work on the in-the-moment thing. It will be my one resolution. My babies won't be little forever and I can't waste a single moment regretting this time. I don't want to look back 20, 10, 5 or even 1 year from now and think, "Man, did I ever screw that up." I want to feel that bliss more often. Actually, I want to feel that bliss again. I think, maybe, that by following this one resolution, many other good things will fall into place. Is that nuts? Do you think it can be done? Do you have any ideas on how to make it happen?

Happy New Year to you all! (And for those of you who make resolutions, good luck!)

Oh, She's Two....

No doubt about it, Girlchild is two.

She's more of a traditional terrible two than her brother ever was. There's nothing like a cold and a couple of new molars to bring out the two-ness in a girl.

Everything - absolutely everything - is becoming a battle. Things that used to be favourites are now, well, not. Things that used to be easy and taken for granted are now officially fronts requiring heavy artillery.

I'm not really surprised by this. Girlchild has always been a bit of a spitfire. I wouldn't call her a spirited child, but she has never been quite as compliant as her textbook/easy brother. (Of course now he is known as the worrier. Vern the Worrier, we call him, even though his name is not Vern.)

I can't say I have rolled with this new two-ness that has emerged, though. I blame the fact I'm Type A and things have to be just so and on time. Oh, and I blame my elbow, of course. My elbow is giving me serious, serious grief at the moment. I'm guessing it's Tennis Elbow, because I'm such a freakin' athlete [cue uproarious laughter here]. Whatever it is, it hurts all the time and especially when lifting, pouring, carrying, grasping, writing - you know, doing pretty much anything I normally do. You should see me trying to pull up a pair of pantyhose. Good thing I don't wear pantyhose very often. Good times.

So you can imagine how exasperating it is when Girlchild decides, for the eleventy-thousandth time in a day, to turn into Wet Bag of Sand because she does not want to put on her snowpants. It has always amazed me how a small child's weight can increase exponentially when said child decides to rebel.

Maybe maybe maybe things will improve marginally when the teeth come in and the cold goes away. And maybe maybe maybe pigs might fly up my butt. I'll let you know how things turn out.