conversation with Boy -- realities of life

So I was leaving Boy to babysit Girl.  To Girl I said "listen to your brother.  Do not give him a hard time."
To Boy I said "Be kind to your sister.  Not be bossy."

Thus opened the following insightful discussion:

Boy:  Why can't I boss her.  I'm in charge of her so I'm the boss."
Me:  You are not the boss.  I am the boss and I am telling you to be kind and patient.
Boy:  When can I be boss?
Me:  When you are all grown up and in your own house with your own kids you can be boss.
Boy:  No fair.  I'll never be boss.
Me:  I just told you, someday you will be in charge.
Boy:  No I won't.  My wife will.  The woman is always the boss.

Amen.

NO PHOTO AVAILABLE

I tried to get a photo.  I even had the camera ready, but by the time I got to the playroom to take a picture of the CLEAN floor, it wasn't clean anymore.  Girl had been there.  'nough said.  Picture "PigPen" from Charlie Brown fame.

Last night DH and I were flipping through channels.  We came upon the reality show "Buried Alive" the stories of hoarders.  It was fascinating in a train-wreck sort of way.  The lady they featured  had a beautiful home that was stuffed to the roof with stuff, junk.  Her husband had left the house 3 years before because he couldn't live in the chaos.  For the episode he was coming back into the house for the first time.  I said to DH "if that were me, I'd open the door and then turn around and leave.  I couldn't do it."  And I couldn't.

I recognize hoarders have serious mental health issues.  And I don't make light of that. I just recognize my own MHI (mental health issues) and clutter/chaos trigger near breakdown in me.  Hence my aversion to the playroom after Girl has let loose.  It is best for me to avoid that room.  All I have to do is walk in the room and my crazy sets in.  Piles, mess, stuff on the floor (anyplace, not just the playroom) send me to lou-lou land and I have to get out.

Girl hangs on to "stuff."  Every piece of paper and craft ever made is held in a special place in her  heart.  It literally causes pain to throw things out.  She's too sentimental.  Me, I am the opposite.  There are very, very few things I feel that kind of attachment to -- my internal organs, and the organs and souls of my peeps would be about it.

If I had to choose actual items to save from a fire I'd say I'd pick my wedding ring, the Royal Doulton that was my grandma's, and the first painting DH gave me.  I'd have to say Rocky too (even if he started the fire, 'cause I wouldn't put it past the punk.)  That's it.  Everything else can be replaced.  It's just stuff. 

That's why I could never relate to the hoarding thing.  I can't imagine surviving in such chaos. 

I need my peeps, and I need tidy.  Now if I could just train the peeps to be tidy.....

Get Gas

When Girl was about 3, and Boy was 7, we loaded up Jeep to head to an appointment.  Heading out the driveway I noticed we were really low on fuel. 

The conversation:
Me:   Boy remind me to get gas when we get home.
Boy:  'K, mom.

But Girl started to bawl.  Cry. Cry. Cry.   Both Boy and I were stumped.

Me:  Did you hurt her?
Boy:  Nope.  I don't know what she's blubberin' about.
Me:  Girl.  Girl.  What on earth is wrong?
Girl:  Sniff.  Sniff.  You, you said when we get  home you're going to kick ass and I don't even know what I did.
Me:  I said 'get gas' not 'kick ass' you silly. 
Girl:  Oooohhh.
Boy:  laughing. Ha ha, you said "ass...."

Sigh

baby

He digs in my plants and bats at their leaves.  He shreds hanging plants.
And he jumps into the bathtub -- whether anyone is in the tub or not. 
He roots around in my papershredder.
He leaves toys all over the house.
He wakes me early morning with his wet nose in my ear.

But he's our baby....

And we love him....

How could we not?

(I think the above photos explain serve to explain exactly how Rocky gets away with the crimes listed above on a regular basis.)

swear jar

This beautiful bone china teacup is our swear jar.  I love the irony. 

This spring we were having difficulty with the potty-mouthed Boy.  We instituted the swear jar.  One dollar per explitive for everyone in the family.  The difficulty at first was that the money-hungry Boy was using it as a bank account.  He'd swear as often, or more so, and gladly put the cash in the cup.  Once he understood that the profits were NOT going to be divied up, but rather given to charity, he quickly decided to watch his mouth.  I have to say it's been a pretty effective means of stemming the tide of swear words in our house.

But here's the thing, sometimes I pay in advance.  Sometimes that bad word is the only one that will effectively convey both the emotion and sentiment that I require.  Paying in advance means I have to be fully conscious of what is coming out of my mouth.  And sometimes I still decide that's the way to go.  When DH sees the china cabinet door open and a loonie drop into place, he knows he'd better brace himself, 'cause what follows won't be pretty.

I say this so you will understand my actions earlier this week.  Boy had been bothering Girl all day long.  He wouldn't let  her sit on the couch.  He kicked her doll.  He said everything he could think of (that didn't involve swearing or money) to bug her.  While she complained a bit, she largely put up with his bullying.  That is, until late afternoon.  I was in the kitchen so I didn't see what happened, but I can imagine based on the rest of the day's antics.  Girl shouted "Boy, you are being such a dick!" 

I paused.  Thought about it for a moment.  Decided she was right, and put a buck in the cup on her behalf.  And that was that.

no mercy

NO PHOTO AVAILABLE
(and be grateful there isn't)


I am nearly 40 years old and I've never had a cavity before.  Well my crooked dentist said I had one and I got it filled today.  Never having had to get a filling before, freezing is a relatively new concept to me.  On the way the to the dentist the Boy filled me with dread.  The needle is soooo big.  They stick it all the way down to your jaw bone.  And the Girl said things like "I hope you won't cry mommy."

Well, it was a relatively painless process.  Nothing hurt except my pride (I"ve NEVER had a cavity before, you know.)

The dentist told me I'd be frozen for about 3 hours.  After 1 1/2 hours my children were STARVING.  Dying of starvation, possibly.  We went to Crabby Joe's for lunch.  I figured a bowl of soup would be okay, but the Girl really, really wanted to share natchos, and the boy wouldn't split anything with her (except hairs.)  So, I figured I could just chew on the other side of my mouth.  My children promised me they would tell me if I was drooling or if I had spoogy stuff on my face. 

Part way through the natchos I said "my mouth feels funny inside, did I bite my lip?"  Boy looked and said "a little bit, but it's small like a cankor."  I kept eating.  A few minutes later I asked the Girl "is my lip okay, it feels funny with my tongue."  I curled down my lip and she said "yep, you've bit it, but it's not bad."

Now, had I been looking at her, and not the plate of natchos I might have seen a "look" pass between my peeps....

When we got back to the Jeep I looked in the mirror.  My lip was swollen.  Swollen like Popeye's, but with no pipe.  I looked inside.  An area the size of a quarter was chewed raw and was bloody.  Had that happened to one of the kids I would have ordered them to stop eating, found ice to put on the swelling, and cuddled them telling them it would get better soon.....  But no they let me go on, and on....

"Hey," I said, "I thought you said there was a small cankor.  That it wasn't too bad?  It's bad, people.  It's bad.  I have a GOITER on my lip.  I can 't feel it, but I can see it!"

The look passed between my peeps (like the one I missed earlier, I'm sure.)

Boy said, "you can't feel it can you?"

"No, because it's still frozen!"

Shrug of shoulders.

No mercy.  My peeps show no mercy.

Mercy me.

Tea Party

Every now and then the Girl asks if we can have a tea party.  It's just the two of us with some tea and treats.  And we always use the tiny pink tea set she was given for her third birthday.

Yesterday the Boy asked what we were doing.  This is the conversation:

Boy:  What are you doing?
Girl:  Having a tea party, want to join us?
Boy:  What are you drinking?
Girl:  Tea.  It's mommy's fancy chocolate tea.  Want some?
Boy:  Why are you drinking real tea?
Girl:  It's a tea party.  It's really good.  Want some?
Boy:  Why are the cups so small?
Girl:  They're tea cups, for the tea.
Boy:  What are you eating?
Girl:  Cookies.  Want some?
Boy:  What kind?
Girl:  Chocolate chip.  Want some?
Boy:  How come you get the chocolate chip cookies?
Girl:  They go with the tea.  You know, for the tea party.  Are you having some or not?
Boy:  Nah.  I don't like the little pink cups.
Girl:  (disgusted) You should go find dad and have a beer or something! (unsaid:  you slovenly, uncultured, disgusting boy-freak)

(notice the pinky fingers....)

Mother's Day musings

To begin -- my post is going to start out sounding like I am an ungrateful grouch.  That might be true, but in the end the post will be all gratitude.  I promise.

My kids and DH got me a Wii and the Wii Fit Plus kit for Mother's Day.  It's a thoughtful gift because I have mentioned that I think it would be cool to try.  Here comes the ungrateful part....  one has to wonder about the sentiment behind the gift when one hears "We knew it would be great.  It's perfect for dry-land training."  Dry-land training?? Huh?  That's the term one uses for exercise that occurs off the hockey rink.  I don't  play hockey. 
But that's okay, because I know DH was listening when I said I liked the idea of the Wii Fit.  I should not care about the impetus, merely be grateful for the gift. 
Then DD says "you know, we didn't buy it 'cause we think you're fat or out of shape..."  Again, huh?

So here's the thing about Mother's Day.  It's not about flowers, cards, or gifts.  It's about recognition.  What I really, really wish for (again, sounding ungrateful) is that one of the people who inhabits the Estate with me would say something like "Thanks.  You really do a lot for us."  That's it.

My DF (dear Friend) L sent me card for Mother's Day, just 'cause that's the kind of gal she is.  She made the card with the quote "Women need real moments of solitude and self-reflection to balance out how much of ourselves we give away."  ~Barbara De Angelis.  I got weepy when I read it.  That's IT exactly.  Yesterday I just wanted someone to acknowledge the pieces of me that are pulled, stretched or dicarded.

(here comes the grateful part)
So this is for my mom:
I know I didn't thank you, or truly celebrate you as I should have all my growing up years.  But I get it now.  I get that every time you drove me to dance or soccer, or riding or Guides you gave up that most precious commodity "time."  You left a piece of yourself at every event, every recital, every camp without ever asking for anything in return.  I try so very hard to do the same for DS and DD, because your selfless acts helped mold me to the person I am today.  I am grateful, humbled and honoured to be YOUR DD.  Thanks, mom!

I went to a Body and Soul Spa night fundraiser for Cancer research on Friday night.  It was amazing -- I tried all kinds of "new" things -- belly dancing, reiki, body talk, brain gym and relaxation (I know, "relaxation" is not an entirely new concept -- but it is a struggle for me!).  The speaker at the beginning of the evening said that men and women process stress differently.  No kidding!  She also said that while men find watching TV a major stress reliever, and that it does not work for women.  Again I say, "no kidding!"  Her suggestions for women included cooking a nice meal for your family. (I know. "Whoa Martha," this is not stress relieving -- it is stress causing!) The stress reducer that made sense was holding a baby (possibly not your own.) I got to do that again today. My wee niece had her baptism, and her big sister had her First Communion. There really is something lovely about the sweet smell, soft skin and squishy arms and legs of a baby that just melts everything else away.

I sent my son after a telemarketer....

I sunk to a new low.  I was trying to get supper (recipe on the recipe link above) when I was accosted by a telemarketer, several times.  It's always when I'm in the middle of doing dishes, or when I'm stirring a sauce that they call.  It's Murphy's Law or something.  Anyway, the same number came up again and again.  Sooooo, DS and I thought it might be funny if he talked to the guy.  We've played this game before, he and I, and we have had several positive responses in that DS can usually get the telemarketer to hang up first. 
This time I was ticked, and just in a daring mood, so I gave DS carte blanche.  I actually said "DS, phone, do your worst."  Yep, I said "worst." 
So this is the end of the conversation I could hear:
DS:  Hello, yes, this is Mr.B. 
DS:  No, I am not a child.  I am offended by that.
DS:  No, my mommy is not here.  Again, I am offended.
DS:  You have a funny accent. 
DS:  I like hearing you talk.  It makes me laugh.  Can you say "monkeys have smelly poop?"
(I know, I know, there's a line.  We crossed it.  But in my defence, I could not step in.  I was incapacitated by laughter...)
DS:  Do you disagree that they have smelly poop?
DS:  No, I'm just assuming.
DS:  I told you I am a grown man.  I can't help it if I have a girlie voice.  I am offended again. 
DS:  Is that your job to call people and offend them?
DS:  Do you like hockey?
DS:  What?  You  don't like hockey?   Everybody likes hockey.
DS:  I'm not yelling.  I'm just saying...
DS:  Laughing.  (mom, the guy said he's going to hang up now.) 
DS:  Hello, hello, hello

Somewhere, some little man with a strong middle Eastern accent is either laughing, or crying into his telemarketing computer.  Me, I'm laughing, so inappropriately laughing, laughing, laughing. 

the most wonderful peace

I got to spend several hours on Friday evening holding DH's new niece. Ally is about 6 weeks old. She was fussing and I got to her first. Then she snuggled right in to me and fell back to sleep. I settled in the big LazyBoy and we were both completely content. I had forgotten how peaceful it is to hold a sleeping baby. Every now and then she would stretch a wee bit and sigh. I sighed too. Her wee wrinkly neck and soft down on the top of her head smelled really good. They only stay so little for a smidgen of time. I am blessed that I got a piece of it all to myself.

is that the answer you want to give your mother?

I was up at 6am this morning (Saturday morning) so I could get DS to the arena by 7am for hockey practice. I got up early (did I mention 6am), had his hot breakfast waiting for him when he came downstairs, and had his hockey equipment organized. I brought the jeep to the back door so he didn't have to walk as far with a heavy bag in the cold. It was -20 degrees Celsius this morning at 6am. Then I sat in the arena warm room (a misnomer, it's not "warm") until 10am so he could practice and then help coach the mites team. I tell you all this because it sets the stage for phase 2 of our morning.
Phase 2 starts at 10:15am -- it's still -20 out and I am frozen from sitting in the cold for 3 hours. When we get into the house the hockey equipment lands on the kitchen floor. I suggest it ought to go to the basement to dry out. I get a long sigh and a "huff." I start Saturday morning chores and I ask DS to unload the dishwasher. This time the sigh is louder and the dishwasher door bangs. At 11am I again call my hockey player to help -- "please collect the garbage from around the house and leave it in the backroom for dad to take out." The response I got was shocking, but not unexpected given the foreboding of the sighs and huffs earlier, "Mom, can't I just sit and watch this episode, I don't want to work right now."
There are many things I could have said at this point, but the great thing about having children is that they can "read" the look on my face that says "is that really what you want to say to the woman who not only gave birth to you, but also spent the morning in a cold arena and now must make you lunch?...." That's the "mom look" that mothers perfect over time, as they discover that their children are not really ungrateful, more just oblivious and need a tuning in every now and then.

i'm not a redneck

DH took the kids to the Outdoor Farm Show last week. They took my dad with them. Great bonding opportunity...
Except -- they came home with a manure spreader and antique tractor. It was a good deal, I'm told. They bought the spreader and got the tractor free. You can imagine then, how great the tractor is. The thing is about a the "good deal" is that it may have been a good deal for someone who had, say, manure to spread, or acreage to put it on. We have neither. What we now have is an odd lawn ornament. It's like one of those pathetic emails that come around with the subject "you know you're a redneck when..."
'Cause you know you are a redneck when you have a *&%$ spreader in your driveway AND YOU LIVE IN TOWN! All I need to do now is plant flowers in it. Then I'll undo my top button, and suck back a cold one whilst sitting on a lawnchair, resting my feet on the tractor tire, and burping the alphabet.

sleeping in

It has taken nearly 11 years, but somehow we've taught the kids the art of sleeping in. Once upon a time they had me thinking that 6am was sleeping in, but no more. Yesterday I was allowed the extreme pleasure of my comfy bed until 8:45am! Several times over the summer we didn't rise til 9am. What joy!
There is something really blissful about waking on your own, without the squawk of an alarm clock or child. My slow return to consciousness yesterday put me in a great mood for the entire day -- and I got so much done without the sound of the energy-sapping beep beep of the clock to start the day.
I've had that wee taste of snoozing late and I crave more -- and I know that such peace will be denied on a relatively regular basis, especially once hockey season starts!

Routines

We're right back into the swing of school routines. We have a morning protocol that's worked for the 7 years DS has been in school, but any attempt I've made at altering that routine has been a dismal failure. It's like my body is so programmed to the timing that it is hopeless to vary from that schedule. I even practiced last week -- ya wouldn't know it yesterday morning or this. I had sincerely planned on getting up 20 minutes earlier every day -- do some blogging, maybe fold some laundry... Nope, instead of hitting "snooze" once, I hit it 3 times this morning. So 6:15 it is.
Even the kids are right into the routine. If DH is home, he completely screws up the process. His comments are usually to the effect that "how do we ever get out the door in the morning." And I can see his point -- but if he's not there, like a sudden extra cog in the wheel, we do ok.
I haven't given up hope yet -- we're only 2 days into the school year, but I'm honestly thinking my goal of a half hour work out before I wake the others is a distant dream. Maybe if I switch my motivator-- I get a chocolate donut as soon as my feet the floor will do the trick?

This is Berta. She's a 9 week old lab-cross. Nope, she's not ours. DD and DS were dogsitting for their Auntie today. I was well warned that wee Berta was not house trained, so the cat-lover in me firmly told the kids that Berta could be outside, or in our backroom -- and any messes were their responsibility. Well Berta was in the back room for about 30 seconds, when I decided that the kitchen would be ok -- can't wreck a hardwood floor. Then the wee girl got all cute and quiet while we were having lunch. She cuddled up at DHs feet and melted his heart. I could hardly deny her access to the hallway and playroom, when she had been so good all morning. These pictures were taken about 2 minutes after that decision -- you can see she is perfectly happy on our couch. She's a wily one -- wormed her way into our house and brainwashed me into thinking that was just ok.

kids growing up

Our kids spent 4 days at Grandma and Grandpa's farm. Had a great time (so did the parents -- it was so quiet and tidy at Shady Hall.) When we went to pick up DD and DS they told us all about G & G's new rooster and hens and how they got to pick eggs, usually 2 or 3, every morning. As we were ready to leave we heard a commotion at the edge of the wheat field. Seems Rusty Rooster was "chasing" Penny Hen and he "caught" her at the edge of the field. Well DD thought it was hilarious. She said "Rusty chases his girls all the time, then he likes to jump on their backs just to annoy them!" When I looked at DS he had an odd grin on his face -- like he KNEW what was going on. He didn't say anything, but I know he knows that I know what he knows. In a quiet time later this week, I tried to ask him about it, but he put his hand up and said "mom, I know what you want to talk about, and I really don't want to have this conversation."
DH and I have always been upfront, if the kids ask those kinds of questions -- honest, but not graphic. On a few occasions DS has asked about a word he heard. Once DH said, "I can tell you son, but it's about sex." I think DS was about 8. His response was, "I don't think I want to know then."
It's not that I don't want him to know. I do wonder about his sources and their accuracy.
The part that has me ruminating on this issue is that it means he's reached a milestone. He is growing up. I remember the days when he got most excited about a "twuck," I am not ready now (nor will I be even in 5 years) for when he is enthused about girls instead.

I remember reading parenting advice, once upon a time (likely before I had kids, when there was time to read manuals for advice) that said that parents are often too quick to say "no." I've solved that issue with the terms: "possibly," "perhaps later," "now is not the best time," "remind me tomorrow," "ask your father," "not right now," "give me a few minutes to consider..." etc. When the kids press for a straight answer my reply is usually something to this effect: "I can't tell you yes or no right now. I don't want to lie to you and have you be disappointed. I will give you yes or no when I know what dad has planned/what the weather is/what tomorrow will bring etc."
Truthfully, in my own mind I'm often saying "no way" but DS and DD haven't quite figured that out yet.
When DS was small my standard answer was usually "later." So much so that he became quite confused about timelines. He would often ask "when is later?" Tell me, how do you define that? He got so that he believed a day consisted of morning, afternoon, later, evening, night. But sometimes "later" came before afternoon, or after evening. It was all very confusing for him. The seasons also got muddled up -- spring, summer, later, fall, winter OR summer, fall, later, winter, spring?
I believe the reason for not giving a quick "no" to children is so that parents are more open to children's needs and adventures. I'm not sure though, I'll figure it out later.

I resent the question "so, what did you do today?" because either a) you won't believe the answer, b) if you are a mom you go "well, that was like ___day when..." or c) if you are DH you really don't want to know the all the details, you just think you are making polite conversation.
So here is my answer for what I did yesterday, in case DH reads my blog:
7:15 -- wake up (I hit snooze first, twice because the alarm really went off at 7am)
shower, dress, load of laundry in, breakfast for me, empty dishwasher, wake kids, get them dressed, teeth brushed etc.
8:10 -- drop kids off at babysitters head to meeting for 9am
9-11:15 -- meeting on School Improvement Planning (interesting, but now I've added to my to do list...)
11:20-12:00 -- drive home -- listen to ABBA on the way
12 noon -- pick up kids
then lunch, laundry, house tidy, do books for Bible School treasury, homework...
12:45 -- hair cut for DS, trim for me.
1:15 -- Back home for housework and homework.
3pm -- to public library with kids
3:25pm -- pick up DS's friend to take both to a birthday party in BigTown. Drive is 20 min.
4pm -- DD and I had pedicures booked (a gift from a friend) -- what a treat! -- but it took longer than we had planned....so
6pm -- RACE to Tim Horton's for take out sandwiches
6:15 -- back to birthday party to pick up DS. Had to stay 10 min. longer than planned to watch a rocket being launched.... Drive 20 min., ate on the way.
6:40 -- home for quick change, grab hockey equipment then leave for BiggerTown. Drive 25 min.
7:10 -- hockey school
7:30 -- enjoyed walking track around the top of arena (what a brilliant idea, by the way!)-- did only 2 miles 'cause I got side-tracked talking to a friend.
9:10 -- head to Marble Slab for ice cream for DS. Then drive 25 min.
9:45 -- home -- kids to bed, sort laundry, get things ready at launching pad for morning
10:15 -- bed time.

So that's what I did yesterday. And yes, my toes look wonderful!

I have a theory. The female brain (well, my brain specifically) has infinite capacity for new knowledge but limited capacity for remembering "things." Therefore, since I must remember EVERYTHING for EVERYONE else in my house, I sometimes forget things for myself.
What do I need to remember? Case in point, heading out to hockey school this week I have said each night to DS "Do you have your stick, hockey bag, water bottle?" Reply. "Yes." Reality -- Monday night I had to spend $1.75 for a bottle of water for DS.
Every morning of their lives DS and DD have heard me ask "Did you brush your teeth? Wash your face? Comb your hair? Put your dishes in the dishwasher? Etc. Etc. Etc." I have come to realize that if I don't remind, it won't happen. When we go on a trip DH teases me that I am always last in the car -- that is because I have packed everyone's bag, charged cell phones, written out emergency numbers, made reservations, etc. etc. I'm last because everyone else gets to walk out the door empty-minded and empty-handed while I lag behind as pack mule and secretary.
I often think I am an enabler. No one else needs to remember anything, because I do it for them. Then I decide I will not remind "them" of the details! and I merely ask "Do you have what you need?" That is how one week we ended up at Figure Skating without skates, and at a hockey game without helmet, chest protector or jock. You can guess who had to do the running to go back for the missing equipment?
MY life is easier if I am an enabler. That is also why I am last in the car, with messy hair and a full bladder!