Merry Christmas from a Newly-Inducted Dinosaur

The excitement and anticipation of Christmas is mounting around the house!  The kids are crackling with nervous energy and it is pretty infectious (when I'm not worried about money and bills and family politics and fighting kids).  I guess growing up brings new stress and new perceptions on the holidays.  You realize just how much things changed since your childhood Christmases.


I asked one of my daughter's friends what she wanted for Christmas the other day - "Oh, just a lap top and a phone."  Say what?  From the mouths of babes?


So as I was dragging my 7 and 3 year old off the computer (It's Christmas on Club Penguin, you know), I yelled, "Go play with your toys!  Or colour! Or play with your play-doh! For crying out loud!"


"But mooo-oooom! Why?  We want the computer!  Or can I go on the lap top?  Why can't I get a lap top for Christmas?"


Suddenly I became my worst nightmare.  I became a product of the olden days. Are you serious?  I'm 30 something, and things have changed so drastically since my childhood, I am officially a dinosaur, and a lecturing dinosaur at that!


Big breath.....and GO!


"I didn't have a computer until I was FOURTEEN years old!  And no internet, either!  No Facebook, or chatting, or video games either.  I was TWELVE when we got our first Nintendo for crying out loud.  You know what I did when I was your age?  I played OUTSIDE!  I rode my bike  and played GI Joe with the boys and Barbies with the girls.  We used to make our own newspapers and tape record our own radio shows.  We made up games and our whole day was a big long episode of made believe.  I read books and wrote my own stories and did puzzles and never ONCE did I play on a computer at home until I was FOURTEEN!  So no, you can't play on the computer and you will NOT get a lap top for Christmas whether you like it or not!"


Big breath in.....and end.


NOW.  I have officially been inducted into dinosaur status, along with the grandparents and great grandparents.  Although I didn't walk uphill in the snow both ways to school barefoot, I came pretty darn close for this generation.  And although you will NEVER pry my beautiful lap top and Blackberry out of my cold, dead hands, there is no way MY kids will ever get either this Christmas, or for many to come!

Oh Can the Holidays Come Soon Enough???

One more day of school...just one more day of this (at least for a couple weeks):

Me: with double stroller, 2 babies inside.

Me: with one crying 3 year old who "can't walk", and is cold but "can't wear the coat because it's too itchy."

Me: with 2 grade two kiddos lagging along behind.

Me: being greeted by strangers with an odd look and comments such as "You've got YOUR hands full." (aka, look at the town pump, har, har)

"Yes I do, and they aren't ALL mine, thank you very much" (is what I'd like to say, but instead I heave a heavy sigh:  "You're telling me.") 

I drop the kids off at school and promptly u-turn to go back home.  Mr. 3 year old "can't walk".  Nope, but he sure can RUN on down the road, screaming and crying that he can't walk. It was already a bad morning, but it got worse when some onlookers stopped in their tracks and look at me funny, "Is he okay?"  Is HE okay? IS HE OKAY?? Are YOU okay would be the most APPROPRIATE question!!  No, I am not chasing this young boy down the road with a double stroller full of babies with the intent of abducting and hurting him.  Hurting him, maybe (in my mind), but yes he is mine, and he is my trouble maker.  "HE'S MY TROUBLE CHILD," I yell as I jog down the road at 8:30 in the morning chasing after my son.  What do you do?  What do you do??  You go home and cry.  That's what you do.  Or at least what I did.

My sweet, sweet little man, all chalk full of evil on some days.  Then tonight I'm putting him to bed and very sweetly he asks, "Mommy, do you love me?  Because I LOVE you!!"

My Christmas wish?  My little boy's personality would even out a little and FAST.  I'm tired of trying to raise a little Jekyll and Hyde.

  

The Ultimate Christmas List for the Stay at Home Mom

Now what to ask Santa for Christmas?  We (at least I hope I am not only speaking for myself) already have one foot in the asylum, so why not ask big and put it all out there.  Here are some of my suggestions for Christmas wishes to put on your list:


1 - A cook.  (seriously.  I get tired of the age-old question "what do I make for dinner?"  I'm DONE!  Let someone else deal with it!


2 - A maid (A most obvious choice.)


3 - A robotic vacuum cleaner. (One that can go ALL DAY LONG, because that is the ONLY way the floor will EVER be clean.  Also, it must be large enough to pick up small toys and make them disappear FOREVER!)


4 - 2 more washers and dryers (OH! And an automatic folder and put-away mechanism as well.  Laundry.  WHO needs it??  Not I.)


5 - A volume switch for children.  Or maybe a pause switch?  Either would be fine, as long as it's easy installation and a lifetime warranty.


6 - A few pairs of warm socks (because I'm too cheap to keep the heat up high, and my feet are always cold!)


7 - A secret padded chamber. (A place to disappear, thrash about, scream and cry on those bad days, without scaring the children or embarrassing yourself!)


8 - A 2.5 year trip to the spa.  Yes.  8 years of motherhood and 3 rowdy children DOES warrant this.


9 - 6 months uninterrupted sleep.  This needs NO explanation.  It is the only way to recoup after years of this mom stuff!


10 - A large salary.  A large, tax-free salary.  With a Christmas bonus, 8 weeks holiday, full benefits, etc etc.  


11 - And finally, when those kids hit puberty, an EASY time of it.  An easy, happy, well adjusted child who loves you forever and accepts every decision you make for him/her.  One that does not argue, challenge, or glare at you.  


Sorry Santa, it's a tall order to fill, but we deserve it =)

DJ on Mornings

Mornings - Love 'em or hate 'em?  Me, I LOATHE them.  I will tell you why.  It's the point in the day when you are furthest away from the kids going to bed.  Oh that sounds so mean, but it is so true; and if you had MY kids, you would feel the same way.


Case-in-point, THIS morning.  


While all of my mornings seem wrought with rushing, whining, chaotic, "make-breakfast-I'm hungry," let's get to school, let me wipe your bum, your diaper is leaking, please hurry and eat, go brush your teeth, he's pulling my hair, I forgot to make my lunch, I forgot my homework, don't forget to let the dog out, the dog pooped on my blanket, where's my coffee, and please hit me with a mallet and put me out of my misery for a few hours kind of chaos.


THIS morning was especially a "what is going on I'm groggy out of my mind and can't remember my kids' names" sort of morning.


Scene one:  dark bedroom, deep sleep, 6am-ish. Eldest daughter enters room.  I hear a faint, "Mom?  Mom?  Mom?"  I reply, "waaahhh?"  Taking advantage of my sleepy state eldest daughter asks, "Can we eat the waaahh wahhh baah baaah maaaah?" (This is how I heard it, she actually asked to eat my favourite German gingerbread cookies, and apparently eating them ALL was also on her agenda.) "Uh huh." I reply.  Good.  The kids can feed themselves and I can sleep.  So be it.


Scene Two:  "Mooooooom!  I'm DOOOONE!!" I hear after what I imagine was many "Mom I'm done"'s.  "Done WHAT?"   Ooooh.  Done THAT.  There is nothing I love MORE than cleaning a dirty bum at 6:30 in the morning.  Like taking a cold shower I tell you.  


I stumble out of bed, groggy out of my mind (that's what you get for going to bed late last night, grumble, grumble!).  On the way to the bathroom to clean middle son's smelly bum, I notice the fridge door open.  "What the?"  Oh, no.  Baby is in the fridge, with the bag of mushrooms open.  She is pulling out mushrooms and picking them into little pieces and throwing them in the crisper.   


"When did everyone get up??" I mumble.


"MOOOM I'm DOOONE!!"  Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.  I can barely see.  Who's that on the toilet?  Oh yeah, middle son, the trouble maker with the dirty bum.  As I wipe, I yell out to my big girl "What did I say yes to you eating earlier??"


"Your cookies."


"My WHAT?"


"Your cookies."


"Oh gee WHIZ!"


I'm grumbling about, stumbling around.  I can't wake up.  I don't know who is who.  One of them wants toast, one of them wants waffles.  No not toast, but cereal.  No not cereal, but bread and butter (I believe my son was an inmate in an earlier life).  What?  Who wants milk?  Not you?  What's your name again?  Why is there celery on the floor? Leave those damn mushrooms alone!  Are there any cookies left?  You gave them to the baby?  Oh good, at least I know what the brown on her face is!!  


EVERYONE SHUT - UP!!


I am making coffee.

It's that time of the year...

Baking?  Later!  Tree?  Soon! Decorations and lights?  Up! Shopping?  Almost done! Christmas cards?  No Time! School? Two more weeks!  School Christmas celebrations? Coming, and coming!  School concert?  Soon!  Cleaning?  Whaaaat?  Laundry?  Say whaaat?  Sanity?  Fleeeeeting......quickly.  


'Tis the season for drowning...in everything.  Regular day to day stuff, with a whole bunch of crap piled on top.  Throw 3 kids in the mix, and you have chaos.


So far this year...the tree is late, the advent calendars were late, the money is GONE, and as usual, I hope the expectations are not tooooo high.  


So how do we deal?  Well first, the image of "Santa" gets rather de-mystified in my house.  I can't hide the fact that yes I DO shop for gifts, and yes I DO wrap the gifts. Sooo....I have suddenly become a helper of Santa.  Heck, he has so many kids to take care of that he needs parents to help him out.  He'll grab the presents when no one is looking, and deliver them on Christmas Eve as usual.  Hence, Santa still rules, but he doesn't get all the credit anymore.


Money issues?  Well, we spend as much as we can muster on the kids, and the rest of the family get short-changed.  Sorry to say it, but you're getting baking AGAIN this year.  And yes, it's tasty and will make you fat.  But yes, I worked HARD to make it for you and there's more thought in that than in a cheap sweater or some electronic gadget you'll never figure out how to use!  You just better hope the kids didn't help me make those treats, because you may find interesting bits of this and that in that butter tart! 


Stress?  Naaaah.  I do LOVE the holidays and the festivities, but there is also a lot of PRESSURE.  Drag the kids here and there for the two family get togethers.  Be here at this time, leave at that time, naps here and there, fill up the tank, get out that way before this time to make that dinner, make sure the kids get lunch!  Oh, babe missed her nap!  Oh, please don't get up at 5 tomorrow!  Kids want to see Santa?  Oh yeaaaah!  Stocking stuffers? Oh no!  Got to get those!  Oh look, I forgot a gift for so-and-so - hurry, throw some cookies on a plate!  I'm out of tape!  No - don't take the decorations down!  Shoot...it broke.  Take a bath!  It's almost been a week!  Are you serious?  The battery died in the car?  Where's the wrapping paper?  Mommy...my tummy hurts....


Well, let's hope this year NO ONE GETS SICK (I remember getting thrown up on one Christmas Eve while my daughter was having diarrhea on the toilet - Merry Christmas!).  And let's hope that this year, our car doesn't break down and leave us stranded Christmas Eve (power steering pump blew.  oil everywhere.)  And let's hope that this year our vehicle doesn't catch FIRE in the driveway (yes, another past event).  


It's still a couple of weeks away....ANYTHING can happen.....!!!!

the almost- 8 year old

My daughter is in grade 2.  She is almost 8 and if there's one thing I know about this age is that they are all drama queens - boys and girls alike.  They are picking up on all sorts of adult themes and words, and all sorts of strange things come out of their mouths.


Take, for example the other day; my big girl was "performing surgery" on her little brother when we suddenly heard her say, "Oh! I think I gave you herbees!"  Her dad and I look at each other with dropped jaws.  Where did that come from?  It's not a general topic of discussion around here, I guess I can blame it on TV commercials about medicines - you know the ones - "we will control your herpes outbreaks, but in exchange for heart attacks, rashes, high blood pressure, and itchy palms."


Or there was the other day when I was doing my business on the toilet - always a great place to talk, right?  She comes in and sits on the edge of the bathtub.  "Mom, my friend says that brothers and sisters can't get married."


"Sigh," I don't want to go there! "No, they can't."
"Why" she pushes.
"Weeellllllll.......when people get married they often want to have babies." (I am getting into touchy ground indeed.) "If a brother and a sister have babies they might have problems, or deformities."
"What are deformities?"
Thank GOD she chose to ask THAT question and not about the baby making.  That conversation seemed to go on and on...


Then, of course, there was yesterday's drama. It left me in silent laughter (I try not to laugh at the things they say so they will keep telling me what's on their mind.  Must take your kids seriously, at least to their faces!!)


Here are the facts as I know them:  A few people took it upon themselves to be jackasses and ride their dirt bikes through the school ground at lunch hour.


The facts as I heard from my daughter, with contributions from 3 of her friends:


"Omigosh mom!  It was CRAZY!  5 guys on black motorcycles wearing black robber's masks drove around the school! They almost KILLED my friend's sister, but she saved her and pushed her out of the way JUST IN TIME!  Some kids said that people were KILLED, but I don't believe them.  I think by the size of them they were 17 years old."
"Nooo!" A friend chimes in, "Jon said it was his GRANDPA!"
"They had BB guns!  But they weren't shooting them!"
"What is a BB gun?"
"One guy had a back pack that was FULL of money!  You could see it spilling out!"
"The principal called the POLICE!"
"I bet they are in jail now!"


And on and on it went.  I wanted to roll on the floor laughing, but I didn't!  My daughter took out a piece of paper and started documenting all the "facts", an incident report of sorts.  


Later that day she says to me, "Mom, what an UNUSUAL day!"


"You don't say," I reply.


"Mom," she says.


"Yup?"


"What does unusual mean?"

the oatmeal chronicles

My 3 year old son is difficult.  No...that's too mild a description.  He is the sweetest most beautiful little boy to ever unleash evil upon the earth.  He is like a delicious sweet lollipop (once you get past the hard, tooth-breaking, face scrunching sour outer coating).  Some days we ponder seeing a doctor to see if there is a name for what he is.  But for now I just like to say "he is JUST three!!" 


He is fussy, quirky, indecisive, explosive, and of all 3 kids, takes the most of my time.


For example, today's morning-long epic oatmeal battle.  A rough transcription:


"Mom, get me oatmeal.  Cold oatmeal."
(mom)"What do you say?"
"Puuuuleeaaasse!!!!!"
(oatmeal delivered)
"fanks"
(time passes, baby sister sneezes from across the room)
"MOOOOOM!!  She sneezed on my oatmeal."
(mom)"no she didn't"
"Well, I don't want it cold.  Frow dis out and make me new oatmeal.  Cook it.  Wif a new bowl and spoon, too."
(I must pick my battles) "Ok - but what do you say?"
"COOK IT!"
(mom)"no, what do you say to ME for doing something nice for YOU?"
"PUUULLEEEEEEEAAASE!!"
(oatmeal is cooking in microwave)
"I don't want it anymore."
(mom)"what?"
"I don't want my oatmeal."
(sigh)
(15 minutes later)
"I want oatmeal cooked."
(mom)"Well look at that, I have some made already, how about that!  Cooked and everything!"
"It's got sugar cooked?"
(mom)"Yup, right out of the package.  Brown sugar."
(looks at his oatmeal with a frown)
"It looks like barf because it's wet and cooked."
(He EATS!)
"All done.  I want more oatmeal cooked, ok?"
"Ok"
"I don't want oatmeal cooked.  I'm full."
"Ok"
"Oh, I want more oatmeal cooked, ok?"
"OH kay"
(half second bowl eaten, oatmeal obsession has come to an end)


Oh, my poor poor patience.

Ode to Mom

I haven't cut my hair in 4 years
Or worn make up in about 8,
I've forgotten the joy of sleeping in
Or staying up real late.


I've given up on looking nice
I'm usually covered in goo,
Vomit, urine, snot or milk
And we mustn't forget the poo.


Always broke and low on milk
Mom and Dad never get out,
The kids run wild tearing up the house,
All day they scream and shout.


But mom, she knows her babes are sweet
And she knows this won't last forever,
These will be the days she misses most
When she and her babes were young and together.

3 year headache.

I have a headache.  Actually, I've had a headache for about a week now.  Actually make that 3 years.  I'm not sure if it's from my kids yelling at each other, or from me yelling at them, or perhaps a little of both.  Regardless, I have one heck of a pounding brain.  


I have attributed my head pain to stress.  Child-related stress of course.  You just can't deny it.  Having 3 kids is stressful.  You get out of bed: one is crying.  Your first sip of coffee: they are fighting.  You walk out of the shower: something is crashing.  You're trying to make dinner: they are all whining. You try to use the washroom: they are hitting each other. You try to go to sleep: someone starts crying.  On and on and on and on, day in and day out: noise, noise noise noise noise!!!


So, I try positive visualization.  A sort of word faith for moms:  if you say and believe it, it will come to beautiful fruition!


Here's how that goes:  I'm sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.  The two big kids are playing on the computer.  The babe is wandering about, playing with toys and chasing the dog.  There is a scuffle, and big kid one begins yelling at big kid two.  As always, to be expected, a loud, whiny "mooooom" is soon directed your way.  The positive visualization begins!!


"Mooooom, he pulled my hair!!"


In MY head I hear "Mooom! He hugged me a little too hard!"


I say, "Oh well, don't worry about that, babe."


She says, "MOOOM! He pulled my hair and spat at me!"


In MY head I hear, "Mooom! He hugged me too hard AND kissed me!"


I smile, "Oh gosh that's sweet!"


Her protest intensifies with tears, "MOOO-OOOM!  He is turning off the computer, he has a fist full of my hair, and he gave me a nose bleed!"


I giggle and laugh as I drown out and ignore the fight, and from the kitchen comes a crash and splat as baby drops a full carton of eggs on the floor.


In MY head I hear "Get off your ass and stop daydreaming you FOOL!!"  


Crack open the Tylenol and suck it up, baby.  It's going to be a long 19 years x 3.  

1st, 2nd, 3rd child musings

I've picked up on a behaviour pattern in this house, and after much observance and analysis have come to a conclusion on the behaviour of first, second, and third children. Of course, all data is pure speculation, and based entirely on the goings on in one specific household, but certainly it seems to be holding true for us. It goes like this:

The first child is a gem. The novelty; the easy going babe that gets undivided attention, every cry tended to, the entire family completely surrounds and spoils; in other words, every child would be so lucky to be the first or only child of a family. The attention, along with never being for want, shall create the perfect child, spoiled in every way, never in need of misbehaviour to gain attention or to get what he or she wants. Discipline is rarely necessary, and therefore moms and dads don't get a good handle on it the first time around. This child is well behaved, well mannered, happy, well adjusted, and very little problem (until siblings enter the picture, that is!).

The second child is a shock. Mom and dad realize that they should have taken juggling courses, because now they have a wonderful little child, and a new screaming, hungry, poopy baby to contend with! But “our last baby was such a pleasure, why would this be any different?” And it very well may not be...in the beginning. Case-in-point. My little boy started out a sweet little baby, and by 14 months was a raging, trouble making lunatic. I should have known we were in trouble when he started walking a week before 10 months old, and he has reigned sweet little boy terror down on the house ever since. Mom and Dad don't have a lot of experience with discipline (considering the first was simply perfect), and they often let the second child go'atter thinking “it's just a phase...he'll get over it” etc, etc. Not so.

The third little one comes into the picture. Mom and Dad are well experienced now. The third baby takes cues from the second, and learns to spit, pull hair, and run wild by the time she is walking. Time outs are well in place by the time said baby is 16 months old, and they all just cross fingers and pray that the hands of fate don't deal them with another hellraiser.

It's rather scientific and logical if you think about it. Simply put, when moms and dads are outnumbered in a household, there is hell to pay. Baby one, easy. Baby two, Lord help us. Baby three? Hmmm....our fate remains to be seen....she doesn't talk yet......

Daily Tidbit

When you have too many kids and not enough money, you make due with what you have.  


My version of a garburator?  Using a fork to mush the stuff into the drain.

in the beginning, there was a positive pregnancy test....

Once upon a time, there was a 24 year old girl.  8 years later she had 3 kids (hellions), a husband (kid #4), a suffocating mortgage (mixed blessing), 2 dogs (ugh), 2 cats (ick), and 6 snakes (quiet, polite, mess free, and contained in a cage.  perfect).  

But seriously, I don't even know how I got here. It's all a hazy blur, and that's without any mind-altering concoctions (btw, could you spare an Ativan?). I was a kid, and then a miserable teenager, and then an aimless 20-something, and then a mother.  Did I miss something here?  Each time a new baby arrived, the intensity of life rose, and now here I am: three kids, constant messy clutter, food fights, arguing, hugs, diapers, dirty fingers, sticky cheeks, run, run, run, try to get some sleep, what's going on? I am mother in survival mode.  If I were to look for a “real” job right now, I don't think the plethora of skills us mothers have acquired would be valued. However, allow me to list all the rolls we fill as mothers. We all deserve doctorates: Mom, Phd. I am a professional house cleaner, cook, nanny, laundress, nurse, psychiatrist, book keeper, budget guru, mediator, taxi driver, entertainer, teacher, and it goes on and on.

First and foremost as mothers we most certainly must master the art of multitasking. My personal best involves making dinner while sipping coffee, emptying the dishwasher, holding a baby, and yelling at the big kids all at once. I can hold my pee for hours on end until the opportunity arises for me to do so without fear of someone jumping out a window or setting the house on fire; and most of the time I do duck into the washroom, I do so with a nagging audience. "Mooooo-oooom.  Are you pooing??  Eeeewww!!  Mom's pooooooooing!!!"

I have a working mental inventory of the cupboards and fridge, and as I write shopping lists, I do so with the order of the store aisles in mind because I have even that memorized (can you say OCD?). I can guestimate the price of a shop withing 20 dollars. I can get myself and 3 kids up, fed, changed, and ready for the day by 7:30am. I can survive on 4 hours of sleep without a nap. I can smell a full diaper from the other end of the house. I can be pooped and vomited on time and time again without cringing. My only cringe is for the amount of laundry it causes. Gross smells don't phase me, nor does diarrhea. You can throw it all at me. I'm a mom.  

I am......The DIAPER JOCKEY.