Food issues - part 2

Men always say they can't understand women, and for the most part women can't understand certain behaviours in men. Like why they have to be reminded every week that it's garbage night, or asked every single time to pick up their discarded dirty clothes and put it into the laundry hamper. That's why there are so many self-help books directed at bettering our relationships with the other sex. But what takes the cake in the world of de-mystifying behaviours is figuring out kids. Just check out the shelves and shelves of parenting books on every topic from raising happy boys to talking with your teen to promoting positive body images in your tween! But no one has to write a book about understanding food issues and kids, particularly toddlers.
Ceilidh is at it again. Or rather, her food issues have not relented. 6 out of 7 nights, she insists on sitting on Daddy's lap and being spoon fed. A huge relapse in development as Aisling sits in her high chair and happily shovels the food in herself. The other night is generally problem free because it's McDonalds Happy Meals. We don't eat fancy or gourmet foods. Just simple fare. Before children, I really enjoyed experimenting with recipes. Now I look for meals ready in under 20 minutes, and some nights, Kraft Dinner is on the menu. But even with kid-friendly fare like pizza and tacos, and lots of pasta, Ceilidh is driving us nuts.
We've tried restricting her snacks in the afternoon hours before dinner. We've tried taking away her plate, still unfinished, when everyone else is done dinner. Our thinking being that if she's not eating, it's because she's not hungry. Fine. (Believe me, we do not dole out large portions at all!) But Ceilidh cries and raises a stink that she wants to finish her meal. So we give it back to her, and the whole routine starts again.
And the whole keeping the food in her cheek for hours (or it seems like it) - Aagh! Our nanny observes it's pieces of meat she won't chew but keep tucked in her cheek. Except I've seen her chomp on pepperettes and pieces of turkey kielbassa happily.
I've stopped putting veggies on Ceilidh's plate. It's just not worth the argument. Instead, I give them to Aisling who will happily munch away. She can't say "It's yucky and it's green" yet.
Although, on a positive note, Devlin has tried cauliflower this week and pronounced it okay. Even more promising, Grandpa managed to convince Devlin to eat the whole dumpling, not just the doughy wrapper.
One evening, after another session of convincing, coaxing, pleading, threatening urging Ceilidh to chew and swallow the lumps of food in her jaw, Wayne commented "I can understand why some parents..."
"What Daddy? What do some parents do?" Devlin asks.
"Why some parents [of the animal kingdom] eat their young!" I answer.

Little boys - part 2

On the weekend, we had visits from Grandma and Grandpa to the delight of the kids. That meant special dumplings (mandu) made especially for Devlin, and lots of extra attention showered on Ceilidh. On Saturday, we also had a surpise (albeit short) visit from Auntie Shunaha and Uncle Nowell.
Upon seeing the guests arriving, Ceilidh shouted with joy "it's Uncle Nowell!" and proceeded to dance a jig. Both kids accosted the two at the door and regaled them with tales of their week. Aisling also partook in the festivities by showing off her new dance.
While the adults tried to have a visit over coffee, Ceilidh asked Uncle Nowell to sit with her on the couch and watch a princess movie. He complied, and when he settled in next to her, she hugged him and stated, "I like you Uncle Nowell. You're so nice, and you're very handsome!"
Meanwhile, Devlin was not interested in a princess movie. Could he watch something else downstairs, he asked while lounging on the couch with his hands in the waistband of his pants, looking very much like Al Bundy.
"Yes, but why are your hands in your pants! That's not polite!"
"I'm only touching my legs! Not my underwear!" was the indignant reply.

Little boys and gross behaviours

Okay, at some point, I know little boys can be gross, because they are boys. I debated about sharing this story, cuz it's a bit gross/disgusting, and I don't want it to reflect on our parenting skills, or lack thereof. But this blog is about the craziness of raising a family in modern times, and that includes the good, the bad, and the what the heck?
Last night, I was running the bath, and getting little bodies rounded up, undressed and dumped into the bath. As well, I was gathering pyjamas, diapers and pull-ups, and towels, and putting away dirty socks and trying to tidy up a bit. Got baby into the tub. Got Ceilidh to pee and enter the tub. Turned around just in time to see Devlin kneeling on the bathroom counter, naked, and peeing into the sink! Ugh. Gross.
"What are you DOING?"
"Peeing," he answers as if I was a bit dumb. I mean, yes, it was obvious that's what he was doing.
"WHY are you peeing in the sink and not the TOILET????"
"Because Ceilidh already flushed the toilet."
Okay, some families may institute a rule to not flush too often to save water and money, but we don't buy into that.
"So? Why are you peeing in the sink? Okay, no, forget that. Just don't ever, ever, EVER do that again!"
"Why?" he asks in a inquisitive tone.
"Because, the sink is not a toilet. Pee and poop go into the toilet. No where else. Not the sink. Not the bathtub. And it's gross."
"Okay, I'm sorry."

Well, we'll see tonight if he "got" it. Meanwhile, I grabbed the bleach and scrubbed out the sink, while wondering if I am the only mother on earth who has had ever encountered this.

Why we're missing Daddy

For three days this week, Daddy is away for work. The kids are missing him terribly.
Devlin woke up on Monday morning in tears. When I asked him why he was crying, Ceilidh answered "He wants his Daddy."
Ceilidh is missing her Daddy because Mommy wouldn't let her linger in the bathtub. Mommy also wouldn't cater to her desires at supper time.
"I don't want you. I want my Daddy," she announces emphatically whenever I asked her to listen.
Aisling is most likely missing her daddy because now Mommy's attention is no longer solely on her when she cries. She also grabbed the phone last night and babbled to daddy. She's also a tad confused - Daddy's car is in the driveway but no Daddy appears in the doorway.
And me? I'm missing him because he's much better at dealing with vomit than I am.
It was inevitable that Ceilidh would also get the cold that the other two have been sharing. It had manifested in a persistent cough. As all 3 kids were falling asleep last night, Ceilidh's coughing got to the point of her gagging, and just as I reached her, she up chucked on the bed and on me. As I washed her down, transferred a sleeping Devlin, stripped the beds, cleaned up myself, dealt with a cranky Aisling, I was really really missing my partner in this game of life. At least, it wasn't puke in the car seat - that I know I can't handle.

Sick and at work

Currently, there is a fear of the H1N1 virus (also known as the swine flu) spreading, and there are public service announcements regarding the availability of flu vaccine, and how to stop the spread of germs. Obviously, one is to stay home when one is feeling sick. If you're sick, you should stay home, otherwise, you spread your germs and everyone else gets sick. This in turn leads to decreased productivity at work as more "conscientious" folks call in sick. Yet so many people still go to work. Why?

Besides the obvious answers that many can't afford to take time off sick, many of us are working moms who get more rest at work. Really. Before kids, if I was feeling under the weather, I could take a day off and spend it in bed, resting. Now, no can do. Because if I was at home, I would not be in bed. I would be up an about - doing laundry, taking someone to school, cleaning out the fridge, preparing meals, wiping bums, fetching snacks and drinks for little mouths, dusting or vacuuming, putting away folded laundry...there is no rest at home anymore. And even if I could stay in bed, the kids would be in bed with me, wanting a story read, or simply wanting to hang out.

So, really I do get more rest at work. I just take it down a notch, hole up in the office with work, slave away at a slower pace, drink lots of hot fluids and keep the kleenex box nearby.

And honestly? I think it takes less energy to deal with "work" than the kids and home when I'm feeling this tired. It's been a few nights since I've been able to sleep for more than an hour at night. Aisling's croup requires her to sleep in an upright position, and she wants to be held. Her breathing is very loud - so much so that I used earplugs to muffle the sound one night.

My husband has managed to sleep through it all. Without ear plugs. How he can sleep through a restless toddler in bed who is coughing (or rather, barking) and whimpering in pain is quite a feat. Which incidentally, provides me with the grounds for my argument that a 4th child (as Devlin is requesting) will not disrupt his sleep. If he can sleep through all this. And it's not like he's getting up to nurse.

Ceilidh the Instigator

Ceilidh is our beautiful middle child, currently. (I say that, because, who knows what the future holds, and Devlin is campaigning for another sibling, but that's a story for another day.) As the middle child, she has gone from having all of one parent's attention when there only two, and "divide and conquer" was the parenting tool of choice to having to share her parents with her older brother and her younger sister. She idolizes Devlin, which is apparent in how hard she tries to keep up with him. She also inquires about his whereabouts, his well-being, and will do whatever he does, save and except for take medication without argument.
Lately, Devlin has taken to stating "I'm not your son" when he's upset with Mommy and Daddy because, horror of horrors, we've made him take a bath/brush his teeth/turn off the television/ etc etc. We responded by calmly answering, "Okay. If you're not our son, we better take you back to the hospital and find our real son!" Devlin, now caught in something he started, has to decide whether or not to follow through with the request that he put on his shoes and get ready to leave for the hospital or acknowledge he's in the wrong. Meanwhile, Ceilidh is in tears. She starts to howl, "No, don't take Devlin away. I want him to stay here and be Devlin!"
It's quite touching. But she's also an instigator who will push and prod Devlin to a reaction. Over the weekend, Devlin and Auntie Grace were cuddling on the couch while watching some t.v. Well, Devlin was watching some television and Auntie Grace was trying to nap. Ceilidh, not wanting be left out of any fun, decides to play music and dance to the tunes, while waving her hand held windmill, and every so often, tapping Devlin "lightly" on the knee with the windmill. When she was blocking the television screen with her dancing, Devlin would ask her to move. She would oblige by turning sideways, for a very brief moment, and then return to dancing in front of him and tapping his knee.
To Devlin's credit, he has yet to retaliate in kind with his younger sister, despite the fact that Ceilidh quite literally will get in his face. Last week, Devlin ended up with a broken blood vessel in his eye, courtesy of Ceilidh. Although, that was due to horsing around on the bed, after mommy repeatedly told them to stop.

Should we be worried already?

Ceilidh is only 3, but she's already very much into the "girl" thing. She loves dresses, and pretends to put on makeup. She likes to carry around purses, and she's very conscious of pretty items. The colour pink is pre-dominant in her world.
Last night, Daddy took her shopping for dance slippers. And returned with the needed dance slippers, but also a pair of unnecessary pink sequined shoes. Picked out by the princess herself, and bought by the indulgent daddy. "Don't be mad Mommy, but Daddy got me these PRETTY shoes!" she said as she proudly showed me the treasured items.
Then this morning, I asked her if she wanted to walk Devlin to school with me.
"Yes," she answered, "and you have to meet Brandon!" referring to one of Devlin's classmates.
"I do?"
"Yes. He's a boy. And he's tall. And he's handsome!"

Now where did she learn that word? And more importantly, should we be worried that she's already into boys at age 3????

Aisling is sick

So, we were too hopeful and naive in thinking Devlin's illness and resulting ear infection wouldn't affect anyone else. Aisling is now sick. She's been having temps of 39.6 or so, despite several rounds of advil and tylenol. She's very clingy and starting to whimper.
Last evening, we took her to the walk-in clinic. And returned with instructions to retrieve a urine sample from the baby. How? A plastic bag, taped to her nether regions and tucked inside the diaper. Then carefully empty bag into specimen cup. Okay, shouldn't be too hard.
Well, one restless baby who didn't sleep well and the plastic bag came loose. Try again. Still no pee in the bag, but lots of pee in the diaper. I'll have to return to the clinic to get more bags. But in the meantime, her fever is still raging, and it's now croup. She's barking like a seal, and her breathing is sooo loud, it really does sound like rattles.And as per textbook definition, this happened in the middle of the night.
Poor baby - my very active going concern just wants to be cuddled as she snuggles her hot sweaty head into the crook of my neck.
Last night, after we had taped the pee bag to her, and dosed her with more tylenol, she was very restless as she tried to find a position that allowed her to breathe comfortably but still wanted to be snuggled by me. All that jostling around after a bottle of milk - not a good thing. Because as she buried her face into my chest, she heaved and threw up...all over me. Somehow i managed to contain it all on me. Nothing on the bed. Pretty talented!
Devlin took one look, and said very calmly, "I'll go get Daddy" and then raced out to yell "DADDY! AISLING THREW UP ON MOMMY!"
Which brought back memories of Devlin doing that to me all the time before we realized he had lactose intolerance issues. He would down 6 ounces of milk and bring it all back up within 4 minutes, and I would manage to catch it all on me. Yuck - it was pretty gross, but just another page in the mommyhood book.

Fever/Beaver

Devlin's been running a fever for the last few days. The source of the fever was determined to be an ear infection. He's been prescribed antibiotics, and I am eternally grateful that he's gotten much better at taking his medication. As an infant and toddler, he had had many ear infections, due to being exposed to many many germs at daycare. We would dread having to administer his doses as it would take one parent to hold him down, and the other to ease the syringe into his mouth, past the clenched jaws and far enough down to prevent both gagging and pushing the liquid back out with the tongue.
So, he's on both the antibiotics and advil for his fever. If you observed his behaviour from a distance, you would never suspect he was ill. His energy levels are at their normal highs and his mood is almost as good. But the minute either Mommy or Daddy walk in the house, he becomes "sick" - coughing, moaning, and holding his head. I really do believe Devlin has a future career as a thespian. At bedtime, he's really milking the illness. Devlin even put on his best "poor me" voice and spoke with Auntie Shunaha on the phone. She's promised hugs and kisses to make him feel better. Last night, the "not feeling good" line got him an extra long bath in the jacuzzi tub and an extra bowl of ice cream to soothe his sore throat. (Incidentally, the jacuzzi tub sees more usage from the kids than the adults. why is that?)
Ceilidh has been taking all this extra attention on Devlin with good grace. She hates medicine and is simply thankful she doesn't have to take any. She also benefits from the extra ice cream helpings. And she has shown her concern for her brother by properly diagnosing his condition.
"Devlin, you have a beaver?"
"No, a fever!"
"A beaver?"
"It's a fever Ceilidh!"
"You have a beaver because you ate too much beaver tails!"

(Yep - we're working on enunciating the "b" and "f".)

Back to Church

We've returned to church. It's not like we had a major spiritual conflict, or a clash with the pulpit leaders that led us astray. It simply took too much effort to get ourselves organized (showered, fed, kids fed and dressed) and out of the house on time to get to church only to spend most of the hour chasing our kids up and down the aisles instead of receiving any spiritual sustenance for our souls. But now, the kids are a bit older and can go to the Sunday school classes, and it's about time we've started to really settle ourselves into the neighbourhood (it's been a few years now) and get to know the neighbours.
I have many memories of Sunday school - it's where I learned most of the Bible stories. For me, church is also where my family nurtured and maintained its cultural ties to our ethnic community as well. Living in a large suburban centre, away from my family and my home church, I miss that sense of community. I also want my children to experience and grow in a "church family". Wayne and I regularly attended Sunday services early in our marriage (after all, that is where we met), and even after Devlin was born. But once he became mobile, it became more and more easier to worship at the church of St. Mattress. And while we say prayers every night before bed, we have been lacking in reading the Bible stories.
I promised my late grandmother that I would take the kids to church and teach them about our faith. It is through my grandmother that I learned to appreciate the true meaning of having faith as hers was as deep as an ocean and as steadfast as a mountain. She taught me Bible verses and how to pray. When I hear the opening lines of some hymns, I see her singing them - out of tune but with great passion. I only hope I can pass on to my children some of these gifts my grandmother gave to me.
So, after very little discussion we've decided to "return" to our weekly habit of attending worship services. Now that the children all wake up extremely early on the weekends, it's easier to get out the door. Besides, Devlin was beginning to think that church only existed in Windsor, since we only attend when we're visiting the grandparents.

We're not the only ones...

Before we had children (I refer to that time as B.C.), we were horrified when we observed parents yelling at their kids, and having absolutely no patience with their off-spring. We would cringe when we heard wailing tots at the Walmart or grocery store, and smirked at the moms who looked like they had been dragged under the wheels of a semi.
Okay, we now have kids. And, we now are waaaay more understanding of others in a similar situation. We now sympathise with the mom and her screaming children at the check-out line that is ridiculously long, and also curse the store management for only opening 4 check-out lanes where there are 20 other lanes closed! Why have a gazillion check out lanes if you never open them all?
With nights of uninterrupted sleep a very distant memory, we always look (and feel) like we've been hit by a truck before the morning even gets under way. And there are mornings that one of 3 kids has a messy face and we're out in public. It's hard to keep track of which one has gotten their face wiped and which one was told to wipe own face, and which one just played with the water in the sink. And sometimes the only reason I think having boys are easier is because you don't have to worry about combing out the tangles and tying hair into ponytails. I'm just grateful that Ceilidh has yet to discover braids, or worse yet, French braids because that's one skill I just don't possess. And I'll bet the farm that my spouse can't braid either.
A few weeks ago, we were on our way to attend Devlin's soccer trophy day at a neighbourhood park. One of those events where all the soccer participants in the entire league receives a trophy, a few snacks, and there's opportunities for more photos. Let's see, at least 12 kids per team, 6 teams per night, 5 nights per week, and that's just one age group. There's probably a thousand kids. So, the league tries to coordinate a timetable with every team slotted for 30 minute slots at the park. Parking is limited. It's a warm day. There's kids everywhere. Children are running here and there. Parents are trying to keep track of kids and siblings of various ages. We heard and observed more than one parent yell at their off-spring. Once upon a time, we would have raised our eyebrows at such behaviour. Now? We're just grateful we're not the only ones who yell at our kids. It makes you feel like you're part of a club, and that you're not the only inept parent who cannot control own flesh and blood.

The naughty stool and the laundry room

In our family, we utilise the time-out methods for misbehaving children. We have a naughty stool (courtesy of a tip we gleaned from watching 1 episode of Super nanny) in our kitchen. The length of the time-out will range from short (quick remorse and a willingness to apologize) to somewhat lengthy (very stubborn child and accompanying temper tantrum or, worse, complete denial of behaviour). Generally, the children understand the time-outs are doled out for behaviour that is not acceptable, like hitting or screaming, or not sharing. Once when Ceilidh would not stop kicking Devlin's seat in the van, Devlin said "somebody needs to go on the naughty stool when we get home."
If the initial time spent on the naughty stool doesn't work, or the screaming is at a decibel level that jumbo jets can compete with, then we move on to step 2 - the laundry room. We place the misbehaving child on top of the washing machine in the laundry room since the child can't escape but is not near any harmful objects. It also intensifies the feeling of being left out. Akin to the penalty box.
Now, Devlin is an old pro at the naughty stool routine. He's quick to apologize, and will understand why he's on the said stool. He also stays on the stool for the entire time. When Ceilidh was about 2 years old, she wanted to go onto the stool. If I told her it was time for a time-out, she went willingly. After all, it was something that big kids got to do in her eyes. Nowadays, the novelty of sitting on the naughty stool has worn off. And she keeps getting off the stool. She will even climb down from the washing machine. Once we caught her off the washing machine and playing with her toys during her time-out. (Whoever said you should stay with your child during the time-out only had 1 kid.)
I've now seen Aisling looking at the naughty stool with interest. At this time, she likes to approach her older sibling on the stool and stare up at them and smile. This usually results in a "Aisling is bothering me" scream.
When we visit my family, the laundry room is where the time-outs are served. On top of the washing machine or freezer. And both Devlin and Ceilidh have had some time spent there.
On a recent visit to the cottage, Devlin had a run-in with the broom stick. The broom tripped Devlin, and an owie resulted. Once Devlin was done crying over his boo-boo and the band aids were applied, his uncle Billy told Devlin to scold the broom for being bad. (We sometimes scold inanimate objects like walls, or tables, when the kids run into them and get hurt. After all, the fault for ensuing boo-boo has to lay somewhere, and it's surely not the child who's still unsteady on his/her feet.) Uncle Billy said "bad broom" and Devlin picked up the broom and proceeded into the cottage.
"Where are you going with the broom?"
"To the laundry room. It needs a time-out."

The things we do for our kids

Let's talk about the things we do for our kids, that only as parents we do. Beyond the dirty diapers and really disgusting diapers, beyond cleaning up puke from car seats (a very gross task that only parents are exposed to), and dealing with temper tantrums from tired, cranky kids in public places. Those odd tasks, those mind numbing routines, the ones that make you smile afterwards and wonder "did I really do that?"
We've all read bedtime stories over and over again, in the same evening because a toddler wants it "again". Or drew faces on the dinner plate with the food items to entice a child to eat, all the while making sure none of the food items touch each other. Or gone through the entire bag of diapers looking for the ones with Elmo on them because that's the only ones the kid will allow to cover their royal tush. Or listened to same sleeping inducing Wiggles lullaby over and over and over again in an attempt to soothe the savage beasts.
We visited the kids' grandmother yesterday. It's about a 90 minute drive. To ensure maximum comfort for the kids and us, we made sure bathroom visits were done before strapping the babes in. Then we had to ensure everyone had the snack of their choice. Devlin wanted peaches - peeled and sliced. In his own serving container. Ceilidh wanted strawberries - sliced in her own container. They both needed napkins nearby for their sticky fingers. Then Devlin wanted his invisible martian man hunter figurine. And Ceilidh wanted a princess toy. No specification, which meant Mommy had to go back into the house at least 3 times until the desired doll was located and settled next to Ceilidh. Both wanted their car blankets. Aisling was the easiest - a bottle and a soother. But then again, she can't really talk yet.
By the time we were all ready to go, the adults were pooped!
What about special outings we do for the kids? Again, a task we parents willingly partake in that but for the munchkins, we wouldn't have ventured.

We've done the amusement parks on days that most sane individuals are seeking comfort in air conditioned homes. The only other folks out there are also parents and kids. On the hottest, most humid day of the summer, we've taken Devlin to Marineland. I was 8.5 months pregnant with Ceilidh at the time! Swore never to do that again. Nope, instead, we dragged along 2 month old Aisling the next time we visited Marineland. And it was just as hot and humid.

We've also stood in snow and freezing wind to watch the Santa Claus parade. Parenting has no seasonal boundaries. Speaking of cold, what do you do when your kid has to pee and you're on the highway, nowhere close to a service station, and it's really really cold out there? You grab an empty beverage container, unbuckle the car seat, deal with the clothes, hold the cup and tell the kid to aim carefully. (Although, we haven't had to deal with the daughter yet on this.)

And then there was there time that Devlin had a itchy bum, and it needed to be scratched immediately. Except, he was buckled into his car seat so he couldn't reach the itch, and he was too young to just "ignore it" and we were on the highway. Yep. So there I was, with the seat reclined, twisting around in a manner that a contortionist would be proud of, to reach his little tush to scratch the itch.

That's almost as memorable as the time that Ceilidh fell on her bottom and needed to have her boo-boo kissed. At least she insisted on Daddy kissing it better.