Saying good-bye...

...to my car. It's been 9 years and 265,000 km. The time has come to replace our Honda Accord, yet surprisingly, I found myself saddened by the prospect. How can this be? I'm a woman - I am not supposed to develop an emotional attachment to a vehicle. It's generally men who become engaged in relationships with their cars, giving them names, spending hours "grooming" their vehicle's appearance. But in this instance, my spouse was eager to go car shopping while I continued to make futile arguments to lengthen our car's lifespan with an injection of cash and a new transmission.
Why am I so saddened to see this car go? Technically, it's not my car. It's under Wayne's name, and I have the big red minivan to call my own. But for the past several years it's been my commuting car. The car where I get two hours of peace and quiet every day, where no one is calling for "mommy", and where no is asking for another milk, or cracker, or demanding to have their bum wiped. It's where I have two hours to listen to the radio or be alone with my thoughts. But wait, that can't be why I'm feeling blue at the prospect of losing this car. After all, I'll still get my two hours of "me-time" with the new car.
No, the reason why I'm so sad to see this car go is because it's been with us for many momentous occasions in our life. We got the vehicle while I was still in law school so it made a few trips to Ottawa. It's been with us through 3 different moves. We've gone camping with it and driven it out to the East Coast for our delayed honeymoon road trip. As part of that trip, we spent a night or two sleeping in the car when we couldn't find accommodations. We brought home our first child in the same vehicle so it witnessed our many attempts at securing the car seat in the back. While Ceilidh came home from the hospital in the minivan, she did get to make the trip to Ottawa, without big brother Devlin, for a friend's wedding in the Honda. Aisling also had her solo trips, sans siblings in the Honda.
It's also been through some "traumatic" events in our life, including two collisions, exactly a year apart. The first incident involved being rear-ended by a drunk driver. I was seven months pregnant with Devlin at the time. While we were both declared fine after an harrowing ride to the hospital in an ambulance, the car was not. After a week at the body shop, it came back to us looking brand new. Then a year later, an older driver made a left turn in front of our oncoming vehicle at the last minute. The impact startled Devlin who started wailing, while we followed the driver who was attempting to flee the scene. Again, after a week at the body shop, we had our car back, looking shiny and new.
I think I also got my first and only speeding ticket while driving that car.
It's been a great car and I'm sad to part ways with this machine that's seen us through so much. But as each chapter ends, of course another one begins. So, I'm picking up my new car this weekend and going for a drive to get acquainted.

The Terrible Twos - Already!

Her second birthday is still a week away, but the terrible twos have arrived for Aisling. Last night, we had another repeat of a tantrum that involved flailing arms and legs, screaming and crying and not wanting anyone to touch her or look at her. After the bath, during the towelling off, Mommy wasn't there so she became very upset. She wriggled away and while on her back, she slid her way into Devlin's room and slammed the door. Whenever someone tried to open the door or peek in, she slammed it again. I was a tad concerned because she was diaper-less, but decided to leave her alone.
Sure enough, about 10 minutes later, she calmed down, and tried to open the door. Once the bedroom door was opened, she made her way to me, and snuggled into my arms while sniffling. She allowed me to diaper her, but then took issue with the pyjamas that had been selected. There was another tussle while she decided on the evening wear. Finally, she was dressed. I handed her the bottle and soother and brought her downstairs.
However, I accidentally knocked her foot against the stairway, and that started another crying session. Not only did she toss the bottle, she then flipped over the coffee table (it's not that heavy, but still...) I put her onto the naughty stool for that stunt, but she refused to sit still. Instead she pushed the art easel all over the kitchen, tossed a toy on the ground and proceeded to try to open all the kitchen cabinet doors so she could slam them shut. She received a smack on the hand which did nothing to discourage her so I handed her over to her father.
I don't know what he did or what he said to her, but when I returned a few minutes later, Aisling was calm. She came over and said "sorry", and then cuddled in my lap while I tried to eat my very late dinner. She sampled a few items from my plate and smiled and giggled. A completely different child from the one that presented a half hour earlier.
Aside from the character-building temper tantrums, there are also other changes that signal Aisling's entry into the world of a two year old. For instance, she insists on selecting her own clothes in the morning. It's a long process that tries my patience when I'm rushing to get out the door. She also wants to select the diaper. They're all the same, but it's got to be one she picked out of the pile.
Every evening meal, when we are all gathered around the dining table, she insists we "hold hands" so we can say the table grace. Upon hearing the familiar phrase "in Jesus' name", she will shout "Amen" with glee and then proceed to eat.  Another evening meal practice for her is to do "cheers" with her milk bottle and mommy's glass. She is still my most adventurous eater - willing to try anything on her parent's plate, including asparagus last night. She will also feed you, if she feels you're not eating fast enough.
When she's not in the middle of a screaming tantrum, our Aisling can be quite angelic and downright helpful. If she wants mommy to get out of bed in the morning, she will poke and prod and try to push you out of bed. If that doesn't work, she bring me my eyeglasses and tries to put them on my face. If I'm in the bathroom, she stands by the toilet and hands me the toilet paper, and instructs me to "wipe"! If only I can re-interest her in potty training, then this knowledge that one "wipes" with toilet paper might be more useful. For a while, she was peeing in the potty, but now she's decided that she's not going near the potty unless she's fully diapered. But she will sit on the big toilet, "grunt and groan" and then announce she's all done. Done doing what? There's no evidence of any deposit!
Currently, she thinks it's absolutely hilarious to smack Mommy on the "bum-bum". She will come up behind me and hit my rear and then giggle uncontrollably. She also loves to watch her new cousin Mia on the computer. Every afternoon, I am asked to pull up photos of Mia Mia Mia on the 'puter for Aisling. If the computer is turned on, and there's no picture of Mia, Aisling asks "Where Mia go?"
She loves to share her foods and drinks. She could be eating a cheesie, and if you look at her, she will take the half-eaten, soggy cheesie, and offer it you, by asking "want some?" If you're sitting with her while she drinks her bottle, she'll stop halfway and offer up the bottle too. "You want some?"
Is she Mommy's girl? Yep. The other afternoon, we had about 10 minutes of alone time while her older siblings were napping. We settled onto the couch, and she pointed to the television, and said "turn t.v.?" So I did and selected Treehouse. It was Sesame Street. She said "no", so I tried TVO which had Arthur. She shook her head. Teletoon received the same response. "What do you want then? A movie?" I asked. She replied "Nummy", which is how she pronounces "yummy". So I turned on the Food Network, and my favorite cooking show 'Chef at Home' was on. I looked at Aisling, who nodded and sat down next to me.
Is she a Daddy's girl? Yep. The Montreal Canadiens have advanced again to the Eastern Conference finals, and Aisling, will sit down with Daddy to watch the "hockey game". She knows when to cheer, and is not easily spooked by Daddy's excited shouts, unlike Ceilidh. (Although there were no happy shouts the other night when the Habs were spanked by the Flyers 6-0.)
She's turning 2, but she's still our cuddly, affectionate little baby who loves to dispense sloppy wet kisses and snuggle into you to fall asleep.

When I'm good and ready...

Yesterday was an eventful day, jam-packed with activities. Mommy ran a half-marathon (in 2 hours, 3 min and 7 secs) while Daddy was in charge of getting the kids up, dressed, fed and to the finish line. He did an admirable job including getting a little ponytail in Aisling's hair, but didn't make it to the finish line in time. To make up for it, we took the rugrats to a park while I wolfed down some food on the park bench. The children spent an hour in the sunshine, climbing up the slides and swinging around.
Then we headed home. The three monkeys helped Daddy wash the cars and supervised him mowing the lawn. At some point, they trooped inside for a midday meal before heading outside again. I saw Devlin and Daddy play a bit of driveway hockey while Ceilidh pushed a stroller and Aisling get into some mud. Next, we set off to meet our ultimate frisbee team for a practice. While the adults tossed the disc, the kids ran around in the warm sunshine. The frolicked in the dirt and rolled around in the grass. Afterwards, we all congregated at our abode, which meant more fun for the children.
At some point, I realized that no one had much a rest, let alone a nap, including Aisling. I think she dozed off in the car for 10 minutes early in the day. This of course, would mean a disaster at some point. While we rushed to get dinner on the table, we noticed that both Aisling and Ceilidh had fallen asleep on the couch. Well, it was either let them sleep, and then have them wake up at 9pm and not go back to sleep until much later, or clench your teeth, and rouse them now. Since I was exhausted, having woken up 5:30am for the race, I voted for choice number 2.
We got the tub filled, and we each grabbed a child, woke up them up and put into the tub. Ceilidh was upset, but I managed to calm her down. Aisling? No way. She was very, very upset at having been woken up. She was even more upset at having a bath. While Daddy tried to wash her quickly, she fought with everything she had. Which meant, holding onto my shirt while I tried to grab a hold of her slippery body. Her arms and legs were flailing in every direction. Water and bubbles went everywhere.
Why did we force the bath? Well, given her lack of rest, I would have forgone the wash, except, she had spent the ENTIRE day in the dirt, sand, grass. At one point in the day, she resembled Pigpen from Peanuts.
Getting her out of the tub didn't soothe Aisling at all. She maintained her outrage. She fought the towelling off, she screamed while we held her down and diapered her, and putting her into pjs was like putting pantyhose on a feisty octopus.
Finally, we were done. I brought her downstairs, handed her a bottle and a soother. She promptly chucked the soother back at me, and threw the bottle at the wall. Then, still screaming, she took off her pants and top, and pulled off her diaper. While laying the floor, kicking and crying. There was no calming her. She slid across the floor, on her back until she wedged herself into a corner where she stayed, crying. I checked on her every minute or so, just to ensure she wasn't peeing all over the floor.  Eventually, her sobs subsided into hiccups. And then there was silence. I went in, and she was walking towards me. She came easily into my arms and cuddled for a moment, before allowing me to diaper her and re-clothe her. She took her soother and bottle of milk without comment and snuggled in.
I guess, until she's good and ready, she will not allow herself to be directed into doing anything she doesn't want. Great. Another stubborn kid on my hands.

Respect your elders!

Devlin has discovered he can count to 100. Last night, he decided to write out the numbers, from 1 to 100. Actually, he wanted to write out the numbers to 1000. I told him that it would take a long, long time to do that.
This is the conversation we had:

Devlin: No, 1000 comes after 110.

Me: No, sweetie, 1000 comes after 999.

Devlin: No it doesn't. I asked Habudgee (Grandpa) and he told me 1000 comes after 110.

Me: I think your grandfather didn't understand you.

Devlin: No, he's smarter than all of you, and he knows a lot. He said it came after 110.

Me: Well, he does have a Ph.D. in statistics, but I think I'm going to have correct him on this one.

Devlin: No. Don't do that. It's not nice to tell your father he's wrong. Besides, he's right. He knows lots of things!

Well...what do I do with that logic?

To My Mom

It's true what they say - you can never fully appreciate your own mother until you become one yourself.

Oh, I've always appreciated my mother, even before I had kids, but until Devlin came into my life, I never had a grasp of what it meant to be a mother or how my mother did it so gracefully most of the time.

My mother immigrated to Canada as a newly married woman. She supported her husband, a graduate student, while working as a nurse. In fact, she supported her family of 4 kids and a perpetually in school spouse as a nurse for many years. With no close family in the country, she relied on her inner strength and sheer will to not only survive, but to succeed and enjoy the fruits of her labour in her adopted country. She learned how to drive a car, how to speak the language and how to entertain guests in a cramped student apartment. Then came pregnancy and a baby.
When I became a mother to Devlin, I don't know how I would have survived without the support of my family, most especially my mother. I had some wicked morning sickness during the first three months, and having my mother there to listen to my whining made it bearable. She came to visit and prepared my favorite meals to accommodate my cravings. My mother was there to heap adoration on her first grandchild when he arrived, but also to provide welcome advice and guidance on how to care for a newborn. I remember being too nervous to give the slippery baby a bath, so my mom did the honours, in the bathroom sink. But when I was born, my mother didn't have that support as her own mother was in a far away country.
She then did something that I know I don't have the capability to do. She and my father welcomed my grandmother, her mother-in-law, to live with them in Canada. Between a new baby, a new life, and having to return to work a mere 6 weeks later, I'm sure having a relative move in was stressful. Yet, my mother persevered with aplomb and grace.
A few years later, we moved into a huge house (or so it seemed at the time) with a huge backyard filled with fruit trees. Not even a month after that move, my sister arrived on the scene. And then my other siblings followed. My mother still worked as a nurse. She did shift work, up until the day she retired. Even though her legs and back must have ached, and she was always short on sleep, she still ferried us to music lessons, and then stood over us as we practised the piano or violin. She quickly learned to be Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy even though such creatures were non-existent when she was growing up in Korea. She grew a vegetable garden and cooked amazing meals. Lasagna, spaghetti, meatloaf, french fries from scratch, turkey, home made bread, cookies and cakes  - all sorts of foods that are not Korean in any way. Of course, her Korean cuisine is amazing, but it wasn't something I truly appreciated until I left home. (Now that she's retired, I keep asking her to write down her recipes.) We hardly ever ate out or had take-out when we were growing up. It was always home-cooked meals, although I do recall Kraft dinner sometimes. My mother was also the mom who baked and decorated special birthday cakes for us. My mother was the ultimate mom who made it look easy to be a working mom. (Which is partly why I always feel inadequate as a mother.) If it was raining or snowing, and she was home, she picked us up from school. She went to every single parent-teacher interview, even though the report cards indicated there was no need. She always knew if we had homework. For my siblings, she went along on school field trips as a chaperone. Every piano recital and every music competition, my mother was present. She even sewed us clothes! At night, she made us say our prayers. She even learned to enjoy camping and cooking over a small propane stove. Although she never quite mastered riding a two-wheeler.
My mother was also, in effect, a single parent for several years while my father worked in various parts of the country and the world. Over the years, I never witnessed my mother getting a day to herself, or indulging in the medicinal glass of wine when we were young. She never got to treat herself first. When she went shopping for clothes or shoes, she always bought stuff for others, and never really got anything for herself. It was easily obvious that we children always came first with her. When I was in university one year, and I was studying for exams, I whined about how tired I was and how I wanted something to motivate me to study. My mother asked me what I wanted, and I answered "doughnuts". It was quite late at night, but she went out and brought back a dozen assorted doughnuts and made a pot of coffee for me.
Over the years, we have often butted heads. Mothers and daughters never have an easy relationship. Mothers want more for their daughters, and they don't want them to make any mistakes in life. It's a concern that's borne out of love. We've had many disagreements. Sometimes they were trivial - like my choice in music or books.  Others were more severe in nature, like my decision to work instead of pursuing a law degree right away. Or getting married. My mother was certain I was throwing my life away, and I was adamant that my mom "sooo did NOT understand me". Yet, I always knew deep-down, my mother loved me.
I'm sure there are many things that my mother still does not agree with, nor understand, about my life and how I lead it. However, she's always there for me. She is always willing to help when she can, and every action she takes speaks of her love. When I got married, she pretty much took over the entire planning of the wedding. I was in law school, 8 hours away from where the wedding was to be held. Without her, the wedding would not have occurred as smoothly or as memorably as it did.
When I had my children, my mother was there. With pots of nourishing seaweed soup (Korean tradition), and willing arms to cradle each baby, my mother came prepared to do whatever she could to help. She spent the night at the hospital when Ceilidh was born to change poopy diapers and keep me company.  With each baby, there was a week of my mother's constant presence as she helped us adjust to the newest family member. I was able to rest and recover while she cooked, and entertained the other kids.
As a grandmother, she is just as wonderful and generous. It was her patience (read experience with 4 kids and persistence) that potty-trained Devlin. While my mother doesn't shower the kids with store-bought presents, it's the unique gift of herself with which she spoils the children. Whenever she comes for a visit, there are homemade muffins or Korean pancakes. It's not a proper visit unless she brings the cooler with her. Or a blanket stitched by Grandma for the dolls. It may be as simple as baking crescent rolls for Devlin, his "special bread". Ceilidh loves the extra attention she gets from her Halmuhnee. It means that she gets spoon fed and stories read to her by grandma.
I don't think there's any gift out there I could purchase for Mother's Day that would ever truly communicate the love and respect and gratitude I have for my mother. So, (and no, I'm not being cheap by not buying anything), this is my gift to you.
Happy Mother's Day Mom, and to all the Moms out there!

Detective Ceilidh

Last night, Devlin and Ceilidh went to the park with Daddy before dinner. Mommy rushed to the grocery store and returned home in record time to begin dinner preparations. To keep Aisling amused and out of the way, Mommy gave her a very small amount of cheesies. They were demolished by the time her older siblings walked in the door. The only tell-tale sign were the orange, cheese crumb covered lips.

Ceilidh, the chip lover, asked, "What's Aisling eating?"

Mommy, while stirring the boiling pot of pasta, "Carrots."

Ceilidh looked askance, and replied, "I don't think so. I smelled her and her mouth is all messy. I think she's eating cheese chippies. Where are they?"

Not Me

Remember the Family Circus comic strip by Bill Keane? Cute anecdotes about a family with four children, a dog, a cat and the Not Me ghost. Whenever something disastrous happened, like a broken vase, all the children would claim "Not Me" when asked who was to blame.
Well, in our household, we have the circle of blame. The other night, I spied some pencil scribbling on the wall by the stairs. I'm pretty certain that Aisling was responsible because of the nature of the "drawing" - straight lines with no discernible letters (which would be Devlin) or shapes (a la Ceilidh). But when I asked who was responsible for the mess on the wall, this is what I received in responses.
Devlin: That's not me. I think it's Ceilidh.
Ceilidh: No, not me. Maybe Aisling!
Aisling: Devlin! (And she pointed at him too!)

My biggest challenge

As a mother, I think one of my biggest challenges is finding time and keeping my patience. As a working mother who commutes a fair distance, I face time constraints constantly. We all wish we had more time in the day. If I had even two extra hours in the day, then maybe I wouldn't be impatient when I have to wait for Ceilidh to wash her hands at a snail's pace. Or when it takes Devlin 5 minutes to decide which breakfast cereal he will consume that morning. If I had some more time, I would take an extra 5 minutes to cuddle with Aisling when she wakes up. Who am I kidding - I still take that extra 5 minutes of cuddle time, and then curse myself and the traffic as I break the speed limits to shave off 5 minutes from my commute time.
Then I wonder, what if I didn't work outside the home? Would I feel that intense pressure to get out the door on time? Or would I be more relaxed about the fact that Devlin is still in his pyjamas and he's got less than 10 minutes to change, brush his teeth and get out the door to school? Without deadlines and without having to watch the clock, would I approach the day with a more serene attitude?
If I had some extra time in the day, maybe I'd finally get around to sewing up the holes in the socks that keep piling up on my dresser. Just the other day, Devlin reminded me that I was not doing my job as a mother. He pulled on a holey pair of socks, then poked the hole to make it even bigger to illustrate what I have been neglecting to do in my motherly duties. (By the way, why does every pair of socks spring holes with him?)
Or with some extra time, maybe I would actually bake cookies from scratch (sans saliva), or fold fitted sheets to fit neatly inside the linen closet instead of folding them haphazardly and then scrunching them to fit on the shelf.
If I had an extra hour, I could neaten the piles of unread books on my night table and actually start reading one or two. Or get around to the pile of parenting magazines with articles about "time management" and "de-stressing one's life". If I had an extra hour, I could sit down and start teaching Devlin how to tell time, or practise counting with Ceilidh (she gets confused after 5). Or have the patience to sit with Aisling as she sits on the potty (another blog topic) and "tries" to pee. Or exercise some more. Or spend an extra 10 minutes having a face-to-face conversation with my spouse.
Yes, I know, I could easily find those extra hours if I gave up one thing - sleep. But that's non-negotiable. Even less sleep would mean even shorter tempers for me. So, instead I live in a cluttered home, with an ever-growing pile of holey socks and dust bunnies that are procreating in my closet. I race from home to work, and back again. I produce edible and usually nutritious meals in less than thirty minutes and sometimes bake cookies with the help of Pilsbury. I send emails to my husband and have quick conversations while bathing the kids. I sleep on wrinkled sheets and revel in getting 10 minutes to cuddle with my children while we read bedtime stories from the teetering pile of books.

My "get out of work" call - if only...

Most mornings, I am in the shower or on my way there when Ceilidh awakens. Which means I am either delayed from getting to my shower, or I have to interrupt my shower to calm her down. Why? Because, most mornings, she wakes up wanting her daddy, who has already left for work. She will start crying for her daddy, with tears rolling down her face. Sometimes, I can distract her with a movie or a tv show. Other times, we call Daddy's office and leave a tearful message pleading for him to come home. Sometimes, I am tempted to let her cry and wail, but that means she'll wake up her still sleeping siblings, and I really need to get to my shower.
This morning, Ceilidh did not ask for her daddy. She did not ask where he was, nor did she start her usual morning routine of chanting "I want my daddy." Instead, she wandered into Uncle Billy's room and curled up next to him while I showered (in peace). When I was finished, she came into the bathroom to start her "campaign". Rather than asking for her daddy, she surprised me by asking me to stay home.
"I don't want you to go to work. I want you to stay home with me," she said.
"Will you call my boss then?" I asked.
"No, you call your boss and tell her that you have to stay home."
"It's a "him", but what should I tell him when he asks why I have to stay home? Shall I say you told me to stay home?" I queried as I brushed my hair and put in my contacts.
"Yes. Tell him you have to stay home with me and play with me and take care of me," she demanded.

If only, I could use that as my "get out of work" line and it was accepted by the boss. I'd stay home ALL the time!

No more teddy bears

My little boy is growing up. It's a bit sad.

We have some very generous and thoughtful friends who funnel their kids hand-me-downs to us. It is a wonderfully appreciated gift. In fact, when we were first expecting, they gave us a ton of baby gear, including a baby swing and bathtub, a jolly jumper that got many hours of use from all thee of our kids and lots of toys. About once a year or so, more clothes come our way, for which we are thankful. Devlin loves the idea that he's wearing clothes that Cole once wore, and Ceilidh likes the fact that Kyra is a girly-girl, just like her.

This past weekend, Devlin attended a birthday party. I suggested he change out of his play clothes, and laid out a green golf shirt and some shorts. He came down wearing the shorts and a blue striped golf shirt instead. He matched, so I didn't think anything of it. The next morning, I again pulled out the green shirt and some brown cotton pants for church. He became very upset, refusing to wear the green shirt. Not sure why. But on Sunday mornings, time and patience are in short supply, so I threw up my hands in defeat, and advised him to find something presentable and clean to wear. He did. A nice orange collared shirt, also from Cole.

Later that day, Daddy advised me why Devlin refused to wear the green shirt. It had a tiny brown teddy bear on the shirt. He will not wear clothes with teddy bears. Every one will make fun of him, he explained. No more teddy bears. Cars and superheroes are okay though.

My little baby boy is growing up. Soon, the day will come when he's too cool for a kiss from his mother. Sad...