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!