Let's take the first step...

This may or may not surprise some of you, but I do pray.  Every night.  I never ask for anything selfish, but I do ask God for things I think he's forgotten to give us, and for a few, minor favours.  I ask that he bless my family, and that he make me a better mother.  That he grant me patience and understanding, and the energy to be the best mother I can possibly be. Most importantly though, I never ask him to bless my children without adding that he bless ALL the children of the world, because if anyone needs a good blessing, it's the 40 million children worldwide who suffer some sort of child abuse each year (WHO, 2001).

According to Statistics Canada a child dies every week at the hands of a caregiver.  Every week. It should go without saying that a good mother, father or guardian would never harm their child, but the reality of the situation is horrifying.  People who are not equipped to care for children are abusing, neglecting, and ultimately killing innocent children every day.  In fact, 70% of children who are the victims of homicide die before the age of five (statcan).  What could a child of five possibly do that would invite such a fate?  There is no answer to that question, for if there were, we could remedy this problem.

What's more, 90% of all abuse cases involving children are not reported (The Gallup organization).  Now, I'm not good at math, but I can guess that the statistics I just quoted would increase exponentially if we were to take all those phantom cases into account.  This is by far the most harrowing of information, because it means many, many more children are suffering.  Let us put this into perspective.  According Statistic Canada's Family Violence in Canada: A Statistical Profile a total of 54, 660 children under the age of 18 are either sexually or physically abused in Canada.  And if this number weren't awful enough, this number only represents the number of police reported cases, not the total number of cases actually occurring.  (If you want to see the actual, sickening, detailed data you can click here).

So what?  Well, in the spirit the Occupy movement, I say we Occupy abuse, and run IT out of town.  Love your children the best you can, keep them close, and be involved in their lives.  Know them, their friends, and their friends parents, so as to always place them in the best situation you can.  Participate in movements that promote family planning and education both at home and in foreign countries.  Most of all, let them know YOU, so that they might trust in you if ever they should need it. 

(if anyone knows the author of this photo, let me know so I can give credit to them!)

Sunrise

This morning as I drove to work Hunter squealed with excitement and pointed out the beautiful colors in the sky.  We drove down the highway, Parker quietly listening, observing our conversation, and we talked about fog and why the sun rises in the morning.  We sang the alphabet and talked about what we were going to do that day, and when Hunter would get to join me at school.  It didn't take me long to realize, that that moment was what life was all about. 

After a long, drawn out absence I recently returned to work.  My once free, albeit a tad humdrum life, changed immediately.  In some ways, for the better, and of course, in other ways, for worse. 

First, let me clarify that I LOVE my kids and recognize the importance of a strong, stable parental presence in the home.  Perhaps it is true that my children would benefit more from me being in the home full time, but I cannot deny that the inertia of stay-at-home mom life is crippling at times.  By the end of my maternity leave, I felt that it had become difficult for me to continue to perform the same tasks over, and over, and over again every day.  I was reduced to a slouchy bump on the couch, denying the kids even short trips to the park in passive aggressive protest against my boredom.

When people I knew brought up the subject of me returning to work, it was always in a negative tone, as if I was diagnosed with some awful terminal disease, known as "working mom."

Let me now clarify that I also LOVE my job.  Follow me around for a day, and you'd see what I mean when I say that every day is different!  Every day is new!  Finally, my brain is stimulated with literature and art instead of stifled by the endless drone of cartoons and kiddy books. 

But, alas, this cerebral stimulation comes with a price.  I now start my day at 5 am, get myself and two kids up, brushed and fed and out the door by 6.  My breaks at work are completely taken over by planning as I can't do any at home, and the household duties haven't disappeared.

In the end, this blog entry is really me thinking aloud about my current situation.  I can't say that I wouldn't stay home, or that work is my passion.  What I can say though, is that all the tedious, monotonous moments of life, work related, or home related, can't compare to the car ride I took to work this morning.

An Open Letter to Clinique Belle Rive...

Dear patients/nurses/doctors at Clinique Belle Rive,

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the insanity that was my children this morning at Parker's annual check-up.  It is not like my children to be such devils...oh who am I kidding, it is, but let me explain.  First, I am aware that bringing two toddlers to the clinic is madness.  I am also aware that the madness was compounded by the fact that Parker was to receive his one year vaccinations.  But, in my defense, how could I have known that Hunter would try to win the "screaming competition" that Parker started when the first needle broke his skin?  How could I have anticipated Hunter's ascent onto the examination table only to scream that he was "falling!falling!" while the doctor and I had our hands full with Parker?  I don't normally entertain the thought of adoption, but I must say, it did cross my mind when Hunter hit me in the leg while screaming after being given the wrong Disney face mask.  I would also like to apologize to all of the separate doctors in the clinic for having to lock their doors after my kids systematically opened all of them while I tried to get to them.  I am, after all, only one person, and they formed a team and split the debauchery between them and went in different directions. 

sincerely,

Anxiety attack-ed.

Finding the words

My mind has been a mess lately.  I sometimes get these intense urges to write, but find myself playing out the words in my head, scribbling on an imaginary paper.  The thoughts come to me, fervently, almost prophetically, but for some reason, I find it impossible to get them out coherently.  When the words do touch reality, they seem disconnected and vulgar.  The experience can only be likened to that of explaining one's frighteningly realistic dream to someone, only to realize that the dream itself made no sense. 

I think that I am unconsciously self-censoring. 

The world is so....twisted, and I can't understand why doing the "right thing" is so difficult in so many situations.  If not by fate, I came across a definition today in "The Devil's Dictionary" by Ambrose Bierce, and though the book itself was meant to be satirical, I found the frankness of it to be quite, refreshing.

"Responsibility: A detachable burden easily shifted to the shoulders of God, Fate, Fortune, Luck or one's neighbor."

Fortune does not dictate our fate, but rather, we are the architects of our own destiny.  The world is cyclical.  I am who I am because of my parents.  Both their faults and their blessings have been gifts to me, and thus, my faults and my blessings will shape my own children.  I understand that all situations are not equal, and that my perception of "faults" and "blessings" is biased, but ultimately the world has a shape and we must all live within it.  We cannot expect our children to use our failings as parents to better themselves with as adults.  It is our responsibility to give them ALL that we can, if not physically, then spiritually (and by spiritually, I mean nurturing their secular spirit). 

We are the Gaia (sp?) of their center.  We give them strength, and independence and the ability to love.  We give them the power to say no, to stand tall, and to feel self worth.  OUR lives are THEIR lives until they can make their own.  We are their reality and we must make sure that it makes sense.

There, I said it.  No more censoring. 

(I get my boldness from my father, and my timidity from my mother.  Aren't we all just the product of an oxymoron...)

Life is Good

Wow.  First off, let me apologize for my absence from the blog world, I've been a little busy!  Pete saved his paternity leave for now and he's taken a month off from work.  Needless to say, we've been moving and running all over the place and I haven't had the time to sit and think about a blog entry lately. 
I haven't got anything particularly insightful to say tonight, but I've definitely got a few pictures to share with you.  Bear with me on this one, and I swear I'll have something a little deeper for you in a few days after my girls night out! 

First off, my niece Mia turned three on July 7th and we had a little party here for her birthday.  The kids love playing together and I planned ahead and bought some face paints to keep the kids entertained on the day of her party.  Mia decided to be a butterfly, Hunter a pirate and I took it upon myself to give Parker little cat whiskers and ears.  They had a blast and the face paints wore off before we could even take a decent picture of them. 

I'll just have to take out the paints at Parker's birthday next week and try to get a picture of the kids again!

Later that week we took a little family trip to Exporail, the train museum in St Constant.  Hunter couldn't get enough of the larger than life engines and even Parker seemed in awe of their size.  Exporail has got to be one of the best places to take your kids, and we go every year.  Walking through the maze of over sized trains never gets old by the end of the day the kids are exhausted and elated.

Guess trains really are in our blood...

The last wonderful diversion from life we've taken on Pete's extended vacation was a quick trip to Lake George, NY.  Lake George is probably one of the best memories I have as a child.  My parents used to take us all the time as kids, and I remember staying in rickety old cabins tossing all night in anticipation of the next day's activities.  This time, we had the pleasure of being the parents and watching our kids delight in the fun that is Lake George.  There's just something about road tripping it with your kids, sleeping as a family in a huge king size bed and spending the day on the boardwalk eating ice cream and swimming at the beach that makes a summer a GREAT summer.  This has got to be a veritable shangri la of family trips.  The scenery of the Adirondacks is breathtaking and the possibilities for fun are endless (not to mention affordable). 

Well folks, it's late and I'm beat.  The vacation isn't over yet, and I've got a spa day planned for tomorrow.  Here's to some much needed sleep and a good, long massage.  Solo.

I promise to check back in soon, with something deep, meaningful, or perhaps a little funny.  Can't promise which direction it'll go in, but I can promise that it wont be dark, these days, life is good.

Grounded

Every Friday the neighbour and I take our kids to the local pool so they can wade in the warm salt water for an hour or so while we chat.  In anticipation of our weekly pool visit I went to Canadian Tire to buy a swim aid for Hunter based on a recommendation from my friend Mel called a puddle jumper.  Mel's son Alex has been using his puddle jumper since last year and is real pro in the pool, jumping in and swimming independently without any help from his mum. 

Everything went well at first.  Hunter chose his own colour, talked about it until he went to bed, and went to find it as soon as he woke up in the morning.  When we were getting in the car to go to the pool he insisted that the puddle jumper sit in the back seat with him and he carried it into the change room, eager to get it on.  He loved wading in the water and played quietly until I suggested we go into the deep end to try out his new "toy." 

Finally, after a couple of minutes of hesitation, I decided to let him go....I've never heard a kid scream like that for absolutely no reason in my life!  He was terrified.  He screamed and grasped at my arms and shoulders, clinging to my body like he was going to die if he let go.  I tried to get him to ease up, but he wasn't having it.  I managed to get him to take my hands and I pulled him around the deep end, while I let go of one hand at a time.  He smiled a little, but when I let go of both hands, he screamed again and I had to take him back to the shallow end.

Sometimes I find it extremely difficult to think like a toddler.  Even after I'd explained to him a thousand times that he couldn't fall, that he'd float with the puddle jumper on, and after he'd been out of my arms and had experienced the floating himself, he still screamed and almost made himself sick with fear.  I learned later in the hour that he HAS to have his feet on the ground at all times in the pool, unless he's in your arms. 

We'll try the puddle jumper again next Friday.  I'm hopeful that he'll feel confident in it soon!

Number 20

I get these emails from different parenting websites everyday.  For the most part they are about my children's current expected milestones and other tidbits of information.  Sometimes I actually read them and start to click on the various stories and links, falling deep down into the parenting article rabbit hole.  Today I came across another disturbing one that listed the 20 reasons why someone should not have children and the 10 reasons why someone should. 

Immediately I thought it was interesting that this author couldn't find a balance of reasons, if only for appearances sake, and proceeded to read the entire article.  I wont get into them, they were your typical arguments, the ones even the best moms and dads gripe about in their facebook profiles, like not having any free time, or the ability to be spontaneous.  However, it was number 20 that really struck me as being the most naive.

Reason number 20 not to have children was DEATH.  The author argued that the ever present danger that someone may have a child and that that child may die before it's time is reason enough to never have one in the first place.  That never to have loved at all is better to have loved and lost. 

It is naivety like this that makes me question the human heart.  Is it possible that someone could actually think this way?  And so much so that they would market it as good advice? 

Every moment spent with my loved ones, especially my children, makes my life richer, and more fulfilled.  Sure, I have bad days.  Heck, today was one of them.  But the love I feel for Hunter and Parker transcends any love I've ever felt.  I would gladly lay down my life for them, and if God sees fit to take one of them from me before their time, I'll curse and I'll falter and I'll die.  But every tiny moment I've spent with them would have been worth it. 

Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard a parent say in a time of tragedy, "I wish I'd never had them, for right now my pain would be less."

The Last Post About My Breasts Until I Get a Lift!

And so, after all that hoopla about my boobs and my insane desire to breastfeed Parker until he was at least a year old, he's decided to self wean.  I've stopped taking the meds the doc prescribed and even though I offer Parker the breast, he refuses it.  I'll continue to offer it to him for at least a little while longer, but this looks like the end folks.  However, because I'm such a convert, I thought I'd share with you some of the wonderful benefits of breastfeeding:

1.  Bonding:  When you bottle feed a baby, you undoubtedly bond with them.  You can hold them and look down into their eyes and smell their sweet smell, and there's absolutely nothing less about feeding your baby with a bottle.  But there's just something about sitting in a quiet room, in the darkness of night, skin to skin, and knowing you're the one providing a natural nourishment for your child.

2.  Lactose Liposuction:  You can eat, and eat, and eat and eat and the weight just melts off.  You may hold onto a few pounds but that's only because you need to have fat on your body to produce milk.  I think I may miss this one the most!

3.  Affordability:  It's FREE.  I calculated that I've saved approximately $1000 dollars this year alone not buying formula, not to mention you don't need many bottles either and since they rarely use them they don't need to be replaced when they wear out!

4.  Convenience:  There's no bottles to sterilize, no bottles to pack, no water to boil, no formula to pre-measure and you don't have to worry about how long you'll be gone for because you always have food on hand for the little one!

5.  Immunity:  Breastfed babies still get sick, they just get LESS sick when they do.  That might not mean much to you now, but when my entire family came down with Gastro for 48 hours I was thankful that my tiny infant got it the least severe.  Also, babies who are sick who can't keep anything down will rarely refuse the breast, so no need to feed them that awful pedialite to rehydrate them.

6.  Amount:  Ever wonder if you're baby is feeding enough or if you're feeding them too much?  This doesn't happen when you're breastfeeding.  Babies inherently know how much they need and will stop eating when they are done, or keep asking to eat when they aren't.  Not only that, but babies are also experts at getting more milk out of your breast than a breast pump ever could.

7.  Hormonal Bliss:  When your baby feeds your brain releases a hormone called Oxytocin that relaxes you and make you feel at ease.  This hormone is ADDICTIVE.  I lied, I may miss this the most.

8.  SIDS:  Breastfeeding cuts your baby's risk of SIDS in half.  'Nuff said.

When I found out that Parker was self-weaning I was, dare I say, devastated.  After all that work, after all that pain, he's decided that he's had enough.  Naturally, I did some research to see if I could interest him in taking the breast again and I came across an interesting article that noted that babies who are breastfed on demand until they decide to self wean, who are not forced to wean, are more independent and secure.  It seems that if a baby has decided he no longer needs the breast feels that you've successfully given him the security, love and comfort that he needs to feel confident.  He knows you're there for him, unconditionally.

So, here's to the next chapter in our lives as Mother and Son.  I have a feeling Parker will be alright, I on the other hand think my babies are growing up too fast.  Guess it's time to start thinking about another one!

The Verdict

I wont take too much of your time tonight, but I figured I'd let those of you interested in on what went down at the Herzl Breastfeeding clinic this morning.

First, naked boobs everywhere.  I mean, all out, all over the place.  I think Pete was jealous he couldn't come.

Second, the diagnosis:  Nipple Vasospasm (whada name eh?!)
Definition in a nutshell:  when our blood vessels contract or become smaller in diameter due to exposure to emotional stress.  Can be quite painful and severe in some people, ie ME.

Risk Factors for developing it:
1. Exposure to cold temperatures (read, Nipple-itis!)
2. Periods of severe emotional stress. (from pain and the stress of not being able to feed your baby)
3. Smoking and second-hand smoke. (not my issue)
4. Poor latch or biting.
5. Nipple cracks or trauma.
6. Migraines.
7. Certain medical conditions like lupus, rheumatoid arthritis and hypothyroidism.
8. Certain treatments for Thrush and the birth control pill.

Things to try at home:

Good latch, Heat is very important, make sure to stay warm at all times, stay active, don't smoke and decrease caffeine.

Treatment:
Advil, etc.
High doses of Calcium, magnesium and vitamin B6. ( I got a prescription for this)
Omega fatty acids.
Nifedipine (high blood pressure meds).

So, that's the verdict.  We'll see how the prescription makes me feel, and I'll get back to you.  People still think I'm crazy considering I'm only doing this for two more months, but I'm determined!

Rockstar Mom

A little while ago my husband convinced me to go to the Face to Face concert with him, and Saturday was the night.  I'm not a huge fan of punk music, but I decided that it would be great to get out and rekindle the old bad ass flame in my heart.  So we left the kids with Pete's mum and made our way out for the night.

The night started great, dinner at the Keg, drinks and good conversation when we got there.  The show started off fantastic, and then I hit my plateau, the dreaded 11 O'clock mark.  I tried people, I tried hard, but every song just seemed to blend into the next, and I couldn't understand a single word.  I had to stop drinking since I was the designated driver (which by the way, a husband shouldn't do to his wife who doesn't like the music he's dragged her to anyways...) and sweaty neanderthals kept banging into me and making my arms slick with their gross, stinky sweat. 

It wasn't long before I started to feel faint and tired and decided that I needed to sit down and get some air.  I found a comfy chair in the lounge area of the theater and once I got to sitting, I didn't want to get up and lose my spot, so I stayed.  I didn't think there was anything wrong with this, and I didn't complain to leave.  I just patiently waited for the show to end and enjoyed the fresh(er) air near the doors.  Little did I know, this was too much for Pete and he felt that he needed to come join me instead of answering the barrage of questions he was getting from people about where I had disappeared to.  (Something tells me that people didn't really mind as much as he was putting on!)

Needless to say, I was done for the night, but still had to drive people home.  On the way, a friend of Pete's shot me the remark that I used to be fun and that I had lost that "party girl" mentality.  I'm pretty sure he wont read this, so I'll just say it...he really hurt my feelings. 

My children don't define me, but they do define how I live my life at the present moment.  I can't be the mom I want to be if I'm hungover, drunk driving, partying like a rockstar, or overtired and quick tempered.  I want to patient, and kind, I want to be present and involved.  Sure, I want to have time for myself, and I want to go out, but how can you possibly give equal weight to both?  You can't.  Well, I can't. 

So, no, I'm not the person I used to be.  I'm better.

Not for the faint of Heart (or breast)

I struggled with the idea of writing this blog entry.  After all, it's going to be unpleasant for many of you to read.  It is, in all honesty, much more unpleasant for me to live through, and yet has almost become like a war wound for me.  A mark of my unwavering determination in the harsh world of breastfeeding.

I did not breastfeed Hunter for very long, three months or so.  Just when all the engorgement, mastitis and sore nipples started to seem better, I jumped off the breastfeeding boat and grabbed hold of the life preserver formula.  I loved that my body went back to normal, and that I didn't have to suffer through a sinus cold without medication anymore.  My body was my own again.  But it cost me. 

By the time I was pregnant with Parker I had grown as a mother.  I had become less selfish.  Less inclined to moan about how my body was changing (though, admittedly not much less!) and much less inclined to make decisions based on how I was going to be affected versus how they were going to be affected.  I made a vow to myself, and spent months talking myself up, that this time I'd breastfeed.  I didn't give myself a time, but I made a promise that I'd at least try. 

Since I'd psyched myself up for so long, the first few months were painful, but bearable.  I was in Ecstasy with my new little family, so a little pain felt like nothing compared the happiness of daily life.  When that two month mark came and went, and I was no longer in pain, I was a convert.  I went to Disney, I nursed in public, in restos and, gasp!, across from my DAD.  The bliss, didn't last.

A few months later, Parker got thrush, and an incompetent clinic doctor, even after I'd asked the question specifically, told me that the thrush couldn't be passed between mother and baby.  He gave me meds to treat ONLY Parker and never told me how to prevent myself from getting it, and then subsequently giving it back to him.  Well, I got it, and here's where the two month long cycle of thrush begins.  I wont go into details about this dark time in my life, but what I can say, is that it was much more bearable that what is happening to me now.

Parker is an inquisitive little guy.  Always exploring, always looking around, always wanting to be part of the action.  He's been this way since birth, and I've encouraged it.  So when he eats he pulls and tugs and looks around, and unlatches and it's awful.  At the beginning, it wasn't so bad, but as he grew older, he seemed to want to eat as fast as possible so as not to miss anything that was going on, and so he began to suck super hard, pulling at my breasts, biting down on my nipples to get more milk out.  This of course, is completely counter productive, and I'd take him off and let him know forcefully that it was not OK to bite mommy, but by then, since this was happening every time, the damage was done.  He's also using me as a teething ring.  Thanks Parker...lol!

And so, this is where I am now, broken, bleeding, raw and dealing with mastitis AGAIN.  I spent all of Monday in tears, feeling guilty that I couldn't fathom feeding my child for fear of the pain it would cause me.  He's started to notice too and is sensitive to my tears and inability to even breathe while nursing him.  I called La Leche League and finally spoke to a lovely woman named Jennifer who told me it's not normal for a woman with a nine month old to have such problems while nursing, and that she'd write me a referral for a clinical trial at the Jewish to take part in a study about healing my wounds.  She gave me hope, and after about an hours' conversation she'd convinced me to keep trying. 

So, here's the gross part girls (or boys if you didn't follow the rules not to read this!), I take some Tylenol, numb my nipples with an ice pack, and feed my baby, reluctantly, when I have to.  When he eats he breaks the scabs and my nipples bleed more blood than milk and he spits up blood. 

My goal was a year.  Now, I've changed that goal to 11 months, depending on whether or not I can heal. 

The point of telling you this story is on the one hand to let you know the dark side of something so beautiful and on the other hand to let you in on a secret.

Motherhood does not make you weak, it makes you invincible.

Last resort

I'm tired of reading about this stuff.  On the homepage of the Montreal Gazette the heading reads, "Two Children Burned to Death in Car Near Drummondville." There aren't many details except for the fact that the two children were very young and that the father was in the middle of a divorce.  This article comes right on the heels of the news we've all been hearing about that doctor who stabbed his two children to death in their own beds for the same reason.

Children are not property that can be used as a means of leverage in the disintegration of a marriage/relationship.  They cannot be used, abused and thrown away in order to hurt the other spouse.  I'm both livid and heartbroken as I write this.  It is completely unfair that children should suffer like that....that anyone should suffer like that. 

I am just putting this out there right now.  If anyone ever feels all crazy like and can't handle their kids for some reason or another.  Please, drop them off at my door and I'll gladly take them for you.  I don't want to argue about the mental illnesses that these people may suffer from, and I don't want to think about how much I want to strap the person who did this to these kids in a van and set him/her on fire.  What I want, is for the world to change.

Mommy, Can we go to Canada?

Yesterday my son Hunter asked me if we could go to Canada.  Now, although I was proud and had a mini patriotic moment about the fact that he had chosen Canada of all places to ask to go, I was also completely puzzled as to how I was going to explain the concept of geography to him.  The idea that we live in a huge land space that comprises of cities and towns and that the world was filled with other such places was an idea too abstract for some of the 12 year olds I teach geography to (I’d like to say I’m kidding, ,but I’m not.)  So, to make it easy I just said, “We already live in Canada, Honey.”  He just gave me this blank look and responded, “I don’t get it.”  The conversation that ensued went way over his head, and no amount of kid talk could have saved the situation. 

When you have moments like this, you begin to remember that your kids are just that, kids.  As soon as they can walk, talk, butter their own toast, and get themselves dressed, we hold them to these mental standards that they are incapable of understanding.  We expect them to be able to be quiet in church, walk nice in the mall, restrain themselves in the grocery store and to never put anything in their mouthes at the clinic, and we can sometimes lose our patience with them.  I find myself saying the words, “I’ve told you this, time and time again,” a lot, when even I know that that sentence means nothing to them. 

I have to make a concerted effort everyday to remind myself that Hunter is not even a little boy yet and that I should cut him some slack.  Questions like the one above bring me back down to earth, and thank God for that.  Without his adorable little questions, I’d probably miss this, the most beautiful time of his life.  After all, I’ve got boys, and they wont let me snuggle them for long!

Never Take Any Moment For Granted.

Tonight I rocked my baby to sleep.  It wasn't quite eight o'clock yet and the sun had nearly set, leaving the sky a glowing grey.  Parker was tired and rubbing his eyes, squirming in my arms to try to turn to snuggle up against my chest.  While the boys sat engulfed in the fury of playoffs, I quietly took my leave and went to snuggle my baby.  I sat there, the room vaguely illuminated in dusk's soft blue light, the faint hum of the standing fan drowning out the noise below us, admiring my sleeping angel.

There is nothing more relaxing, more precious, more priceless, than holding your baby in your arms while they sleep.  All day long they run, climb, fall, scream and laugh.  My children drive me crazy sometimes, so much so that I often can't wait to get them to bed at the end of the day.  But every so often, I ground myself, and remind myself that time is fleeting.  They wont stay little for long.  Before I know it, I'll have teenagers who never come home, who avoid me at the mall, and who fail to answer my worried phone calls when they're out. 

So tonight, I steadied my heart, calmed my breathing, and lulled my baby to sleep with soft humming.  I watched him descend into a deep, protected slumber that only a mother's arms could produce.  I breathed in deeply, committed his smell to memory, and kissed him gently on the forehead.  When I finally put him down, I came downstairs to begin the process again with Hunter.  Although he's a big boy now, I picked him up and we whispered our good-nights to each other on the way up the stairs.  I tucked him in and treated myself to a quick snuggle and tickle before stealing a kiss and turning out the lights. 

Moments like these are worth dying for.

The Impromptu Shower

There's this little thing I like to call the "impromptu shower" that happens to people with kids.  I don't want to scare you people who are pregnant or contemplating children, but this is something I think everyone should know about. 

The "impromptu shower" pertaining to children is not the same as the "middle of the day romantic shower" or the "I just woke up from a nap and need to freshen up" shower.  No, No, this shower is a necessity.  It must be taken or life in your household will cease to exist for the rest of the day and the whole family system will crumble under yours or your husband's inability to continue to exist in your body.  Scared yet?  How 'bout I demonstrate the definition of the impromptu shower with a real life anecdote?  Ok, here we go.

There I was, dancing my butt off with Hunter, jumping up and down, twirling to the final song of Imagination Movers, falling to the ground, dizzy and giddy with happiness.  Parker was watching intently in his exersaucer, jumping to the beat, and enjoying every bit of the dance party as we were.  At the end of the song I had every intention of making dinner, but was then horribly blindsided.

Picture this.  The song ends, slow motion, I bend down to swoop up Parker from his prison of an exersaucer and lift him high above my head exclaiming, "WEEEEE!" 

BLECH!  I've been vomited on.  Fresh, hot breast milk and bits of soy chicken nuggets smothering my chest, hair and the INSIDE OF MY MOUTH in a goopy mess that only a child could produce.  Gag.

I run to the bathroom to survey the damage (Parker's unscathed, not a drop on him, sitting quietly in the living room on the floor) while I spit out semi-digested food, that I must remind you is not mine....

Here's where I barricaded the kids in Hunter's room with the baby gate and a box full of toys, to take my "impromptu shower".

Hello? Bonjour? Hello, McFly!!!

It never fails to amaze me how many people are "anti-kid".  I know, they're smelly and loud and they have no social graces, but that's part of their charm...right?  Anyways...

So I had some grocery shopping to do today and decided to head to the local store here in Mont St Hilaire.  Now, this is an IGA, but it's expensive, and although I am going there more and more lately, I usually only go in quickly for meat and produce.  Because the store is kind of pricey, you can imagine that there are a fair amount of snobberinos that walk the ailes, so I always expect some looks when I come blazing in with my toddler and babykins.  It's also predominantly French, so I also expect the classic looks you get from all the so called "patriotes" in the area, but I never expected those feelings to make their way down to my kids.  (Or should I say up?...)

Hunter is the most social kid I know, he's walking through the ailes, pushing his adorable little cart, having a ball and shopping with me.  He's well behaved and quiet (as quiet as a two year old can be) and enjoying himself.  Suddenly, he decides that he's going to talk to EVERY person in the store, or as he put it, "I'm going to talk to all the peoples, mom."  As we shop he says hello to literally every person, and attempts to strike up a conversation with them asking them such things as "Where are you going? Are you going to work?  You coming to our house?"  For the most part, people are gracious and try to respond to his questions, asking him the few they know in English, like "How old are you? and What's your name?"  At this point, I'm loving his responses and seeing him being so articulate and completely abandon all attempts to stop him.  But, surprisingly, many of the people, even old ladies, ignore his hellos.  Even after he's repeated himself numerous times, they don't even look at him.  I try to persuade him to speak in French, and even when he's said "bonjour" they just turn and walk away, as if he didn't exist.  Thankfully, instead of crushing him, he responded with a shrug and a "the peoples don't want to talk, mom."  I tried to be polite and told him that they were busy shopping and that some people don't like to talk, but what I really wanted to say was, "that guy's a jerk."

I'll never understand some people. 

On a lighter note, here's a testament to the old adage that kids are always listening:

On the way home from the store Hunter fell asleep in the car and when I parked in the driveway he awoke suddenly asking "are we home mom?"  When I said yes, he sighed and said, "I was only resting my eyes!"  I love that little guy and I can't wait for Parker to start talking so I can hear the crazy things they'll say to each other!

Have a good weekend! 

Can I have a treat mommy?

I've been thinking a lot about food lately. I don't eat very much junk food, and frankly, I don't buy it.  There is never any pop in my house, cookies or cheeze whiz.  When we want something sweet I make something from scratch, yes even pudding, or we have some chocolate.  However, somehow (read, my husband...), junk food sneak attacks my family!

I am proud of myself for cultivating these little boys who eat goat cheese, avocados and balsamic vinegar.  Hunter eats hummus and baba gannouj by the spoonful, and I almost never say the words "oh, no, he wont eat that."  Parker is well on his way to adopting the same eating habits and just recently had deconstructed greek chicken pitas, washed in oregano and garlic, and licked his plate clean of the tzaziki sauce.  Even after all this though, it never fails to amaze me how often kids will pick "junk" over healthy food.

 For example, I never used to buy kraft dinner.  I find it expensive and the fluo yellow colour kind of scares me.  I buy it now only because I need to have quick, easy food on hand in case Pete is watching the kids and has to feed them.  (I know, I know, but don't make me have that conversation.  I can't make a lepard change its spots...).  Anyways, when I buy this stuff (chicken nuggets, etc) I try to hide them, because I just know that if Hunter sees them, the battle will be lost and I'll be cutting open that package of radioactive cheese powder in no time.  Here's the kicker though, giving in to him makes me feel like I've failed, like I've lost this epic battle with a toddler and I've just helped shave a few years off his life.  But this is totally ridiculous.

How many times do we need to beat ourselves up in a day?  Why is it that no one tells you that you're going to feel guilty about all kinds of needless things when you become a mom?  I ate raw cookie dough and zoodles as a child ALL THE TIME, and my palette isn't messed up.  I'm not obese and I haven't perpetuated those eating habits into adulthood.

Strictly speaking about myself, I like to eat anything I want, in moderation of course, and I choose to continue this approach with my children.  I may not BUY chips, but if we're at a party, why can't my kid have some?  I'm also notorious for giving newborns ice cream before they've ever even had pablum, and my kids are ok.  So, from this moment on, I'm ditching the guilt, opening up a pint of cookie dough ice cream, and I'm going to dig in with my kids and teach them the concept of treating oneself!

For my other child

I recently came across a blog by a woman by the name of Karen Edmisten who had read a book that gave the forty reasons why someone should not have children.  In response, she wrote a counter blog giving, what she thought, were forty reasons why someone should have children.  They are what you'd expect, clever and inspiring, and infinitely true, and you can find her blog here:

Karen Edmiston

But it wasn't so much what she said about kids that struck me, but the tiny little praises she let slip for her husband.  She didn't reference him directly, but only a woman so taken by love and admiration for her husband would have such grace when talking about a father.  Any father. 

She writes, "When your husband becomes the father of your children, a new man appears: fiercely loving but practical and still-logical, nurturing but fiercely strong and protective. You will fall in love with him all over again."

For those of you that know me, it is no secret that I am madly and boundlessly in love with my Peter, but as girlfriends, wives or moms, we get caught up sometimes in the mundane, and forget to say it.  It is true what Karen says, that desiring children with the man you love is as natural breathing, but when do we step back and say "you're doing a great job?"  I stay home right now, and cook, and clean, and organize, and change, and launder, and fold, and iron and make lunches, and give baths and pack bags, and fix boo boos and change diapers, etc.  I know that I have the lions share of responsibilities around here when it comes to childcare and home organization, and it gets to me sometimes.  But the men in our lives, if we're lucky, have burdens to bear themselves, and it is their responsibility to demonstrate not only to us, but to their children, how to responsible, and hard-working.  How to balance traditional male roles, with more nurturing "fatherly" moments.  We never give them enough credit, and joke about how the house would burn down without us, and this is why they shy away from more serious involvement.  Everything is circular.

So, next time your hubby helps out with a household chore, or bathes the kids, let him know how much it means to the family as a whole.  He'll appreciate you saying it (after all, they are just big kids!) and think of how much you'd love them to say it to you!

Call me a cow

http://www.montrealgazette.com/health/Breastfeeding+moms+viewed+less+competent/4518650/story.html


First of all, read this article.

I regularly breastfeed in public.
I have fought through massive amounts of pain and discomfort to be able to provide my child with optimal nourishment.
I find comfort in the closeness I get while breastfeeding.
I would gladly participate in a nurse-in to support public breastfeeding. 
I made a choice to have children.  I chose to breastfeed and I was never used as a tool for anything.
If I ever feel used in any way, it is for me to feel, and not for others to assume. 
I am not less intelligent because I have children, and I should not be perceived as such. 
Any career choices I make based on my life outside work as a mother should not influence people about my level of competence.  I may appear more compassionate but I am not less capable.
I don't need to be sexualized in order to appear successful.

Does this sound like the thoughts of someone who lacks self esteem?

I'm the only one NOT eating in this picture!



PS.  The word breastfeeding in this blog is equally interchangeable with the words formula feeding.  I am not trying to sound like I'm discriminating against women who choose not to breastfeed.  I am merely responding to this article as it applies to my situation.

The Universe is a silly place.

Because the universe has a funny way of giving us exactly what we need, he/she stepped up to the plate only moments after I had posted my first entry.  After signing that last fateful phrase "keep posted for the first episode of The Silly Switch," I walked away from the computer thinking that I might have made a mistake putting myself out there like that.  How was I going to find enough material to write an entire blog about, let alone regularly?  Then, the Universe stepped in.

As usual, after lunch, I dust busted, and wiped, and changed clothes and did the dishes.  I decided that since my husband had been drafted to work today and our plans had been shot out the window, I'd at the very least, take the kids for a nice walk in the brisk, cold March air.  Now for those of you who have children, you can vouch for me that this is not as easy or simple as it all seems.  Before you can even contemplate getting out of the house, someone has inevitably pooped.  Someone wants water, and someone can't find their gloves.  After all the regular preparatory moves, I realized that I had left Hunter's snowpants and gloves in a bag in the car.  Leaving both my kids, safe and sound, sitting on a nice fluffy carpet in the living room, surrounded by toys, and hypnotized by Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I CREPT out of the room and slipped out the door to retrieve the bag. 

Here's where the story gets interesting.  There I am, no coat, my husband's oversized shoes and fly away hair leaning innocently into the back of the car.  Not a care in the world.  Until I try get in the house. 

Let's pause for a moment here.  We don't give kids enough credit.  Especially toddlers.  They are extremely resourceful and intelligent.  Those crafty little buggers will do everything in their power to see you squirm, and squirm I did.

Back to the door.  There I am, no coat, husband's oversized shoes, and I'm staring down at my two year old's face as he smiles and says.  "I locked you out, Mommy."  Panic.  What do I do?  I can see Parker, just sitting there, wondering why I'm outside, and he's inside, and why Hunter's laughing hysterically.  "Hunter, did you lock the door!?" I try not to yell, since I think it's not going to look good to the neighbors if I'm screaming in a panic standing outside the house like this.  "Open the door!  Unlock the door, Hunter!"  He stands there, blank faced, "I don't know how Mommy."  Now my mind's starting to race and I'm on the verge of tears. Who can I go to that could possibly help me out in this situation?  I pat my jean pockets.  Damn, no cell.  Why can't I be a man, carrying my whole life in my pockets?  Finally, I hear a click, and the doorknob turns.  I practically leap into the house.  "Hunter, NEVER, EVER lock the door when someone is outside!  Do you understand!  It's dangerous!  I could have been locked out there forever!" (I'm a tad dramatic....)

The funny thing here is, this incident is 100% my fault.  I'm the adult, I should have known better. Instead of getting angry, I tried to find the bright side in all of this.  First, I'm in the house, and we're all ok.  Second, he can lock and unlock the door.  That's a valid, and needed skill.  Third, I learned never, ever to trust a toddler.

So, I've Taken The Plunge...

Well, folks, I've done it.  After years of facebook statuses that seem to entertain even the childless, I've decided to finally start a blog about my parenting adventures.  For a long time I stayed away from the idea thinking that anything that goes on in this house, must inevitably go on in other homes and therefore wouldn't be of any interest to my other Mom friends. 

Now, onto my second child, I realize that it is such an insolating event to have a child, whether you want to admit it or not, and we NEED to have parenting outlets that aren't the faceless anecdotes of googled late night questions.

Like other moms, I want to simultaneously shout from the rooftops all of the incredible things my sons have done.  I also feel the guilt sometimes.  Like the other day, when I prepared a super, duper healthy meal for my toddler and he decided to eat saltines with butter on them instead.  Despite every effort to get him to eat normal food, he persisted and I relented.  In the end, he went to bed with a belly full of crackers, and I slept well knowing he was happy.  The killer part of that tiny little story, is that I felt GUILTY for having let him eat so poorly, while at once feeling proud that I had let him be autonomous. 

Mom-dom is cruel, judging and extremely difficult to navigate, but with a little help and some comical confessions along the way, we might just learn to support eachother, rather than tick the notches of childhood milestones off our kids crib rails.

I intend this blog to be just that.  Simple stories recounting the madness that is my home, filled to the brim with boys and one, lone(ly sometimes) Mama.  The Silly Switch is just that, the day you gave birth to your first child, and nothing was ever the same.  The day poop accidents became endearing and made you feel needed.  Now how's THAT for silly!

Keep posted for the first episode of The Silly Switch.