Shades of Grey

No, not that "grey". Grey as in getting older and it's showing up in my once lustrous jet black hair. Ha! I don't think I ever had lustrous locks, nor jet black. But, alas, my four decades on this planet is now evident by the silvery white strands I find. Or perhaps it's due to the four kids.
At any rate, I was bemoaning the fact that my hair was turning white and trying to pluck out the strands I could reach. Yes, I've heard all about that old wives' tale about fifty more growing in. But still, vanity and the chase for everlasting youth had me in front of the mirror searching for those pesky strands.
My children had varied responses to their mother's aging.
Aisling was quite upset. She sat on a stool in the bathroom, and with a very serious look on her face, as evidenced by the knitted brows, she asked in a worried tone, "You're getting grey hair? How are we going to get you back to normal, Mommy? We need to get you back to normal so you can be our mommy."
When questioned as to what "normal" entailed, she responded, "You know, young!"
She then came up with her own scenario for what would occur if her mommy didn't return to her previously "normal" state.
"I know what we'll do if you can't get back to normal. We'll have to give you away and get a new younger mommy who doesn't have grey hair."
Trying not to laugh, her father asked what about him. Same solution. Bring in younger models with more vitality. Too funny since Daddy has had some grey hair for all of Aisling's short life.
I preferred my other kids' suggestions for my greying self.
Ceilidh, quite flippantly, stated "I guess you should start dying your hair."
Devlin came up and hugged me. "Don't worry Mommy," he said. "I'll still love you even if you're old and grey, but maybe you should dye your hair like Halmuhnee!"

Lunch box struggles

There are many, many articles in various parenting magazines regarding the lunch box quandry. What to pack, how to pack, how much to pack, how to tempt little appetites, and keep nutrition front and foremost as well. I even once read an article on bento-box lunches for kids. Really cute ideas (think rice shaped into tiny mice with ham for whiskers) but who has got the time, energy and motivation for that every single day?
Well, after one too many complaints about not liking the sandwich, and that Daddy packed the fruit they didn't like, and seeing half-eaten lunches, our household has come up with a solution. Or rather, Devlin did. They are packing their own lunches!
Before bed, they march down to the kitchen, and start organizing their lunches. Snacks, fruits, sandwiches. Even Aisling!
(It still looks like the same lunch that their Dad packed every morning.)
It's been two days since we've started this new regime. Let's see how long it lasts.

Self-Portrait of Ceilidh

This is Ceilidh - as she sees herself. An assignment at school that has brought forth the topic of identity in our household. As a mother of bi-ethnic, bi-racial children, I haven't truly given much thought to how my children might view themselves, or how they would fit into the much larger community outside the comforts of our home. Perhaps I've been too wrapped up in potty-training, teaching the children to read and do arithmetic, trying to keep track of when book orders and milk orders are due, and trying to figure out who has outgrown what. In other words, the everyday minutae of living has overpowered the need to reflect on the changing face of our society. Or perhaps I've never seen the need to discuss identity with my kids. We live in a very multicultural community. There are faces in every colour of the rainbow in my children's classes. They learn about all the various holidays in all the religions and cultures represented in their school. Unlike myself, who attended a very "white" school and whose yellow skin and black hair stuck out like a sore thumb, my kids seem to blend in very well.
Devlin is quite proud that he is half-Korean, and is now taking Tae Kwon Do lessons. He also announced that having scoured all of the reference books at the library, he has not found a single mention of Korean New Year, which means we must be part of a yet undiscovered tribe. I had to sadly break his bubble and explain that Korean New Year is celebrated on the same day as Chinese New Year, which is really the start of the lunar new year.
Back to the self-portrait. Ceilidh has indicated the stick figures are her family of six, and that "ABC" refers to the fact that she loves school. Unfortunately, she mistakenly drew the Japanese flag to represent her Korean heritage ( a huge taboo in certain parts of the world today). So, I hastily found a picture of the Korean Tae-Guk-Gi to show her. But what I found most interesting was how she saw her bi-ethnic self - a mix of black and brown hair and yellow-toned skin! (And she's the most mixed looking of the four.) She is also true Canuk at heart, as evidenced by the maple leaf on her and surrounding her.
And judging by the line above her head, I don't think my daughter has an issue with self-esteem.

9 months old!

It seems like the days are zipping by. It's already October, and we've already our turkey day. It's hard to believe that our little Quinn-meister is already 9 months old!
He's got six teeth that are quite sharp, and an infectious grin. When he does laugh, it's quite the riot. In the last two weeks, he's figured out how to clap his hands and watch everyone around mimic his actions. He will grunt and growl and smile when it's repeated by another. It's like a whole conversation - cave man style - as he answers back in a Gremlin-sounding grunt.
Having abandoned the army crawl for the traditional hands and knees method, there is no nook or cranny Quinn hasn't discovered in this house. The other day, he got stuck between the wall and the entertainment stand. He's also quick to find a toilet whose seat isn't down and covering the bowl. Water fun! Unrolling the toilet paper is also entertaining. If there's ever silence in the home, the bathroom is the first place to look for Quinn.
His legs are getting stronger every day. With that, comes grabbing onto Mommy's pants and holding on as she washes the dishes or is preparing a meal. Yesterday, I managed to prepare a batch of banana muffins with Quinn attached to my legs. He's learned that Mommy wears a certain shade of nail polish, and that's how he distinguishes between Mommy and Auntie Grace when all he sees are legs encased in black.
Of all our kids, Quinn has the most adventurous palate. Or perhaps it's the wisdom and experience of having three other picky eaters that makes me push all sorts of flavors and textures onto (or is into) him. At nine months, he's starting to refuse mushy foods, and prefers feeding himself. So, he's a fan of steamed broccoli to the utter amazement of his older siblings. Ceilidh is particular, is suspicious of anything in the vegetable family with the one exception of cucumbers. He loves to feed himself tiny bites of chicken nuggets, pan fried fish, waffles, strawberries and of course, the penultimate favorite - cheerios. He had a Thanksgiving feast of turkey, roasted squash and mashed potatoes. He wasn't keen on the steamed carrots though.  He will allow to be spoon fed yogurt, pureed fruits and his favorite dessert - ice cream. Dessert time is ice cream   with Daddy. His tongue darts out and saliva starts dripping the moment he sees the bowl in front of his father. Pavlov's dog?
At nine months, it's getting harder and harder to change his diaper without having him roll over the second his back touches the ground. Trying to change a poopy cloth diaper and fasten a clean one one around a wriggling baby is no walk in the park. It should be a task for the Navy SEALS.
We spent Thanksgiving weekend at the cottage. It was chilly, and sleeping with Quinn and Aisling kept me warm all night. I didn't need an alarm clock either. Why is it that kids will wake up at the crack of dawn on a holiday or weekend, but be dead to the world on a school day morning? Quinn too. He woke me up by blowing raspberries into my face and giggling at my disgruntled reaction. At 7:30 in the morning!

Of course, with every passing day, I am reminded that my return to work is also fast approaching. In trying to enjoy every last second of my hiatus from the office, I've decided to indulge in the luxury of an afternoon nap with Quinn. Snuggling his slumbering body into me, I love to breathe in his sweet baby scent and gently kiss his fingers and tiny nose. As we both relax on the couch, I try to memorize every detail so I'll have something to reflect on when I'm back at work and missing my Quinn desperately.

Speaking of fat...

Over the past two weeks, we've spent lots of time at the doctor's office thanks to the various infections and illnesses visiting our household. On one of those occasions, Aisling sat next to me, peering over my shoulder as I flipped through a parenting magazine to pass the time.
"Umm Mommy? I want to tell you something," she says as she tugs on my arm.
"Wait, stop there. See that picture?" she points to an advertisement featuring a very pregnant woman.
"Yes?" I answer, assuming there's a question to follow.
"You know, when you had Quinn in your belly? You were really really fat!" she announces to the waiting room in her oh-so-quiet (not!) voice.
"Gee thanks Aisling," I reply drily, deciding now was not the time for a lecture on not calling someone 'fat'.
"Well, you were," she retorts.

Staying Fit

There's been lots of press regarding the ever-widening girth of North Americans, and in particular, the worrisome growing rates of obesity in children. There are factors such as a heavier reliance on cheaper, pre-packaged, convenience foods, larger portion sizes and increased time spent in front of a screen -  be it television, computer or video game. As families become busier, and parents work longer hours or shifts, the ideal of a sit-down family meal becomes a thing of the past. All of which leads to bigger and heavier folks.
We made a commitment to stay healthy and fit in our family. Despite long commutes and extra-curricular activities, we try to eat dinner together as a family almost every evening. All of the kids who can walk are involved in sports. For several years, all three were in gymnastics. This year, we've given gymnastics a break, and instead, Devlin, Ceilidh, Aisling, along with their dad, are taking Tae Kwon Do lessons. There's hockey for Devlin, and dance for both girls. All four kids have swimming lessons, although it's mostly splashing in the water for Quinn. During the summer, there's soccer.
It's not just the kids who are active. Mommy works out almost every morning, or goes for a run after dropping the kids off at school. The kids have come to cheer me on at the races. Daddy hits the gym on his lunch hours. We play ultimate frisbee during the warm weather months. The children all come out to play on the sidelines. We used to play three nights a week, but that's been reduced to once a week because of the kids' activities. When there's a free hour or two and the weather is pleasant, we go for a family bike ride. Unless it's a torrential downpour, our children walk to school everyday.
We also try to throw them out in the backyard whenever we can. It's amazing how creative the kids can get when they're trying to amuse themselves. Once we watched them try to put together a zipline using some skipping ropes and our trees. Unfortunately, they weren't tall enough to make an effective zipline and they only travelled a foot before hitting the ground.
This morning, during the daily morning confusion of getting jackets on, backpacks sorted, shoes tied and out the door to school, Aisling asked about getting fat.
"Will I get fat?" she queried.
"Not if you exercise and stay fit," I answered while looking for somebody's jacket.
"That's doesn't seem to be working for Daddy," replied my smart mouthed eight year old son.
"Hey, don't call Daddy "fat". That would make him upset!" reprimanded Aisling.

She Talks Like a Man!

Aisling is slowly learning the names of her classmates. We've learned about Jack and Dina, and yesterday, she mentioned a boy named Jayden.

"I told him that his name is just like Jayden from the Power Rangers Samurai! He's the red Power Ranger," she chattered.

"Mmm...really!"

"And then he said I talked like a man!"

"What? Why would he say that?" I asked, thinking it may have to do with her gruff voice.

"Because I know about the Power Rangers, and girls don't usually know that." 

Kindergarten Rules

It seems like every other day, Aisling is informing us of a new kindergarten rule.

For instance, the second week of school, Aisling told us there is a rule that "we can't touch other people".
When I agreed that one should keep their hands to themselves, she replied with indignation, "But I just wanted to hold my friend's hands. He's a boy."

The rules are explained after certain incidents at school. Probably to drive the point home.
There's the no punching rule (after a tussle between some students), the sharing rule which goes hand in hand with no taking toys away (Aisling informed me a little boy took away what she was playing with), and I think I heard Aisling mention the no tattling rule.

Then after school one afternoon, Aisling said, in an excited manner, "My teacher has a baby in her tummy! And when we're loud, the baby gets a headache!"
Did the teacher tell her that, or was it to the entire class, I wonder.

The Sick Ward

Our household has become the sick ward. Kindergarten is an exciting time for Aisling, but it's a great time for the germs that have never invaded her system until now. While one would think she's build up an immunity from the all the germs her older siblings have brought home, apparently that's not the case.
It started with an innocent but annoying cough last week. Then it progresses to a runny nose, a gross mucous-y nose, fever and general un-wellness. Now, it's gone to an all out bacterial infection that's manifested itself as a irritating skin rash on Aisling.
She's also passed on the germs to others. Mom is out of commission (as much as a mother can be) with the flu. Daddy has a milder case (so far). Devlin is home from school with fevers and a sore throat. Ceilidh has complained of a headache but has pulled herself together to attend school. Quinn? He's had a slight fever and is a bit cranky.
There's a lots of Tylenol, chicken soup, and hot honey with lemon drinks being dispensed. But I'm getting short on TLC -  hard to dispense when you're more sleep deprived than usual, trying to get by with a throat that feels like its full of cut glass.

Reorganization Day

Believe it or not, it's still September and the kids are already on their second P.A. Day! It's called "reorganization day" to allow the schools and teachers to adjust their classrooms to the newly determined class lists. At my children's school, there was an unexpected drop in the enrollment of primary students. It seems many families decided to enroll their children in the French Immersion program. As a consequence, classes are being reduced, students are being shifted around, and teachers re-assigned. Devlin is being moved to a grade 2/3 split while Ceilidh is being moved to a grade 1/2 split. Personally, I'm not concerned with Ceilidh as I'm sure she'll do well in any environment. Devlin is getting the same teacher as last year. Since they have a great relationship, and she knows how to motivate and challenge my son, I think Devlin will be fine as well.
So in keeping with the school calendar, I decided to "reorganize" as well. I spent several hours putting away too-small clothing, and summer or warm weather outfits. I unpacked larger sized cold weather items, and took stock of what I needed to still purchase.  I had noticed that Devlin's wrists were hanging past the ends of his sleeves. Apparently, I only stock up on shirts in larger sizes when they go on sale, so Devlin was fine. And he only grew in his arms. Last year's pants (size 6) still fit him -  length and waist. While Ceilidh had an abundance of tops, she was lacking in pants. She had definitely grown over the summer. Last year's pants looked like pedal pushers on her.
Well, that's one item crossed off my to-do fall list. Next - bedding.

Innocence Still in Place For a Little Longer

At some point, children lose their innocence. Sometimes it happens in a horrifying instant for the unfortunate who find themselves in peril at the hands of evil. Hopefully, more often, children will lose their innocence in gradual increments - through conversations with peers on the playground, in a classroom setting with a teacher, at home in a discussion with a parent. Soon, they will learn the secondary meaning of the "birds and the bees", and the taboo connotations of seemingly bland words.
Already, at age eight, we're seeing that Devlin is starting to become more aware as  many of his school friends have older siblings. The clearest example being, of course, his questioning of Santa Claus' existence.
Ceilidh still has her feet planted in the land of fairy tales, pink cotton candy, unicorns and happiness. She still believes that Justin Bieber is very cute, although One Direction could be the "best band ever". Her jokes are still silly and makes very little sense, except to her.
On the way to school this morning, she told me she wanted to share her new song. It was a variation on the song Alice The Camel. Her twist? "Alvin the Chipmunk has five nuts", she sang loudly. The child in me delighted in her singing, knowing she meant acorns or walnuts. But the parent in me had to shush her, and probe whether or not she learned this from her friends at school (nope, she made it up herself) and what she knew about "nuts" (nothing, it turns out). Then I gently tried to steer her towards a more appropriate or sillier version of the song that wouldn't get a note sent home from school.

Missing Toopy and Binoo

Earlier this year, in an effort to reduce costs, we decided to get rid of our ridiculous cable bill and rely on a rooftop antenna for our television viewing pleasure. To do so, however, meant we had to upgrade our television sets (yeah I know, in order to save money we had to spend some money) to newer, sleeker, lighter, screens that would support high-definition. Instead of paying an obscene amount of money for two channels - our kids only watched Teletoon and Treehouse and we never had time or energy to watch anything - we are now paying $8 a month for Netflix. Not only has our monthly expense gone down considerably in this regard, our sanity has benefited. We are no longer bombarded with cries of "Can you buy me that? For Christmas? For my birthday? No, this toy! Hurry up and come see!" every ten minutes when the kids are watching a show. We've also discovered that both CBC and TVO has kids' programming in the morning without the inane commercials.
Generally, the children haven't really missed cable television. They've discovered that Netflix has a wealth of shows and movies, even those on cable. The Backyardigans, Max and Ruby, Dora and Diego, even SpongeBob (to my dismay). But alas, Aisling has discovered there is one show that's missing.
A few weeks ago, she asked what happened to our old television sets.
Me: Well, we gave one to Novelyn (our former nanny), and the other one to Grandma and Grandpa. Why?
Aisling: Can you please call Novelyn and ask her to bring back the tv?
Me: Why?
Aisling: Because the old tv had Toopy and Binoo in it, and this new one doesn't.

Then her face crumpled and she began to cry.

I guess I'm going to have find some Toopy and Binoo somewhere.

How I spent my summer vacation

I don't think I've ever had to write a paragraph or composition on the topic, nor have I seen my kids bring home that assignment. But now that it's September, I'm left wondering just what I did with my summer. My last summer at home with my kids, on my last maternity leave. Where did the time go?
I know it was a hot and humid summer. When the temperature hit over 40, any thought of spending time outside withered away, like my front lawn. The plants liked the hot weather, and for the first time in my adult life, I was able to enjoy tomatoes, some cucumbers and peppers from the few plants I had growing. There were many afternoons spent playing with Quinn and trying to encourage Aisling to forgo her daily naps. I know I'm guilty letting the Xbox entertain Devlin and Ceilidh on the days when I was exhausted from nursing Quinn throughout the night. There were many moments when I contemplated returning to work early when the Devlin, Ceilidh and Aisling would start arguing and fighting over some toy or some trivial point. We also watched a lot of Olympics, cheering for Canada and witnessing some exciting moments in sports.
But there were weeks and weeks of swimming lessons for Devlin, Ceilidh and Aisling. I think I spent more time chaufeurring them the various pools than I did driving them to various activities during the school year. Soccer took up much of our evenings during the week. There was a trip to Blue Mountain with good friends, and long weekends at the family cottage, the annual visit to the CNE and a night at the drive-in. There was still hockey for Devlin, and Ceilidh learned to ride the bicycle without training wheels so that the entire family could enjoy evening bike rides to the ice cream store. Quinn progressed from the army-belly crawl to motoring around on his hands and knees while his four upper teeth came in to join his two bottom pearls.
And on many days, I found there another kid in the mix with mine. I'm not sure if the neighbourhood thought I was running a free daycare, but often, Devlin would have a playmate over for the entire day (and evening!).  Funnily enough, one of the kids that came over had a mother who was running a home daycare.
And now it's September. With three kids in school, I've been able to enjoy a cup of coffee without reheating it a dozen times. While I look back over the summer of 2012 with fondness, it's time to move forward and turn my over-exhausted mind to thoughts of returning to work.

Aisling's First Day of School

It's hard to believe that summer is "officially" over. Despite the sweltering weather, it is, in fact, the first week of school. My stress level has been slowly rising as August came to an end and my thoughts turned to back-to-school preparations. Could I recycle Ceilidh's backpack for Aisling since Ceilidh had a new, larger backpack. Did Aisling need shoes? Pants were a must for Ceilidh, but not so much for Devlin who hadn't grown as much as I expected. Feet were another story. Everyone needed new shoes. I had purchased Devlin's epi-pens and gotten the doctor's note signed earlier in the summer, but where did I put them? And since we were heading to the family cottage for the last few days of summer, I had to decide how much "lunch" shopping I needed to do beforehand since we were returning on Labour Day to closed stores.
The reality was, I was filling my mind with trivial worries to delay dealing with the fact that my baby girl, my little preemie, my tiny Aisling with the loud voice was heading off to junior kindergarten. While Aisling has been enrolled in structured lessons and activities since she was eighteen months old - gymnastics, swimming, dance, soccer, Sunday school - she has never been in daycare or preschool. This would be her first taste of a classroom setting for a prolonged period of time. And more worrisome, her first time eating lunch in a group setting without a parent or caregiver hovering over her and watching her every bite.
I'm not sure what worried me more - whether or not she would actually ingest any form of nourishment while at school or whether or not she would have a temper tantrum from not getting her way on the first day of classes. For those who think I'm over-reacting or being an over-protective, over-anxious mother, you haven't met my Aisling.
Lately, we've had a few issues or struggles with food with Aisling. Rare is the meal when she would clear her plate. Often, there would be much pleading and negotiating over the few morsels of food on her plate. When urged to eat, she'd simply squirrel the bites into her tiny cheeks and then mumble she couldn't chew.
But more worrisome has been the battle of wills we've had with Aisling over the summer. I will readily admit that Aisling is a tad spoiled. She was the youngest child for nearly three and half years. I'm sure if I really closely examined my actions, the residual guilt I've carried for birthing a premature baby and having to leave her at the hospital for a week before I could bring her home probably plays a role.
However, having two older siblings also means she has two role models and examples - both good and bad. She has learned to verablly spar with us (modelling after Devlin), and she will negotiate everything. Example: when given the choice between strawberries or apples for a snack, she will ask for chocolate. When told she had to sleep in the top bunk or the lower bunk, she picked sleeping with Mommy. When told my Daddy that sleeping with Mommy wasn't an option, she took matters into her own hands. She simply walked into the bedroom, and wriggled into bed next to me and Quinn.  If all else fails in the battle of wills, Aisling will pout and stomp her feet (mimicking Ceilidh), and then stick her tongue out.  What if she does that at school?
Then there's her voice. She has no volume control. Given her stature, it's quite surprising how loud and gruff her voice can be. All summer long we have tried to instill an indoor voice, but to no avail.
Aisling's first day of school dawned bright and early. In an attempt to not be rushed, the kids were awakened early and breakfast served quickly.  Teeth were brushed, hair tied back, shoes tied, lunch bags packed and pictures taken. Despite our best efforts, we were still late. That meant we were unable to meet Aisling's teacher and she had to rush into the classroom. There were several hurried hugs and kisses at the door. Her small face looked on the verge of tears, so I pasted a huge smile on mine, waved bye and walked away.
I crossed my fingers, said a quick prayer and hoped we didn't have another Devlin on our hands. He cried for two months straight, everyday, when he started kindergarten. There were mornings I had to peel him off my legs. Now, he won't let me hold his hand on school property, and no real hugs either. He'll grant me a half-hearted semi-hug if I insist. On his first day back, I had to settle for patting his head.
Well, all my worries may have been for naught. When we went to pick up Aisling, her teacher reported that she had a very good day. Aisling was good at listening to instructions, and lining up, and enjoyed crafts and painting. "A very sweet child" were the teacher's exact words. Aisling herself reported the day was "great".
And her lunch bag? Empty save for the peaches she had informed me earlier that she wouldn't eat.

R.I.P. Charlie

After almost 20 months with our family, Charlie the Betta Fish passed away sometime in the early morning hours of July 20, 2012. During his last days, Charlie spent his time swimming lazily and resting in his castle.

After a brief moment of silence, he was flushed away.

Ceilidh and Aisling have taken the loss well, but Devlin was in tears.

The girls have already started asking about a puppy to replace Charlie.

Four kids...and no more

I've been giving a lot of thought lately to the size of my family. Perhaps it was the stress of turning 40 this year, and wondering what I've accomplished in 4 decades. Or maybe it was the knowledge that my husband's minor surgical procedure was looming  - the one that would effectively leave us with four kids, and no more.
Four children does make for a large family. A family with four kids cannot survive with a standard sedan - a minivan or those special 7-seater SUVs are a necessity.  It means having a Costco membership and knowing when the warehouse sales are being held for children's shoes, toys and clothes. While the cost of extra-curricular activities do increase with each new addition, I've discovered that "family" memberships usually mean two adults and up to four children. Many organizations also offer discounts with each sibling. Next year, Aisling's school photos will be free!
Several years ago I read an article that more and more families were having three children, but four or more was not a popular option. Families with two cannot fathom having three or more. With two children, it's easy to implement the idea of "divide and conquer".  Three or more means playing zone defence. Of course, once you've mastered zone, going from three to more is easy. It's all about the teaching the older ones to become more independent and responsible for themselves and their younger siblings.
Yet, tell anyone you have four kids and the looks of wonder and surprise are all too common. In this day and age where two is the norm, we are getting used to the stares. Although in a strange coincidence, Devlin's soccer team last year boasted 4 families with four kids, or soon-to-be four kids. What were the odds of that?!
And then there was the time we got mistaken for a daycare. As I shepherded my brood in downtown Toronto - baby strapped to my chest, with a knapsack on my back, yelling at the others to walk in single file while instructing them to take in the sights of city hall and the Nathan Phillips Square - we probably did look like group on a field trip.
Four kids from one marriage is pretty significant. Apparently so too is the fact that I work outside of the home. How could I not? I need my career for my sanity and we need to be able to house, feed and clothe the offspring.  Although at times, I muse about trying to stay home after my year's leave. But that's another post for another time, and quite possibly the product of too many nights  years of interrupted sleep.
Sometimes I gaze upon my children, and wonder how I ended up in this position. No I don't mean that, but how did I even become a mother of one, let alone four. Back in the days when I only had two kids, I'd be driving the minivan and I'd have the odd sensation that I was living someone else's life. I'd peek in the rearview mirror, see two little faces and be jolted by the knowledge that the two kids in the back belonged to me. I'm sure there are several members of my family who would also admit to surprise and bewilderment at my predicament. Even though I am the eldest of four children, my younger siblings would probably not use "nurturing" to describe me. I'm sure there are some other choice adjectives that quickly come to their lips instead. My mother would echo them.
And if I had ever considered my talents as a gardener as any indication of my parenting abilities, I would never have signed up to be mother. I am notoriously horrible in the gardening department. While both my grandmother and mother have green thumbs, sadly I do not. I think I once killed a cactus. Every year, I optimistically plant some seeds in the hopes of increasing the curb appeal of our home. Of course, part of the problem is the lack of time I have to devote to weeding, fertilizing, and general maintenance beyond watering. Once the plants start to grow and some colourful buds appear, I leave it be. I figure "why mess with nature - it's doing fine on its own". This year, after spending a few minutes researching, I have learned that one needs to prune, deadhead, and regularly check for weeds to nurture the plants.  Who has the time? Answer - not the mother of four kids.
But I reached into my childhood memories as I snuggled Quinn next to my old blue teddy bear who also reached his 40th year. I thought about the toys I played with and the games I played. I remember always playing "house" and being the "mom". We had a plastic table and chairs, toy dishes and cutlery that I would arrange in my "kitchen". I remember having baby dolls but they were made of hard plastic, so I would instead wrap my teddy bears in blankets and have them as my "babies". There were at least two babies - the blue bear and a pink bear. Rather than playing "school" and being the teacher like my sister Shunaha, I always gravitated to my wrapped babies. Hmmm, perhaps my childhood games mapped out my life's paths.

I know my four kids are more than enough for us. We are lucky and blessed to have four beautiful and healthy children. But that doesn't mean I don't feel a twinge of sadness to acknowledge that we are done with adding to the world's population.
Logically I know that I am done having children. For one, I am now 40 years old. I don't think my body would ever recover from the stress of another pregnancy. It's been almost 6 months, and I still haven't found my pre-baby body. I think it's gone forever. Scientifically, I know the risks of having a child with abnormalities increase significantly once you're over 40.
I also gave away all of my maternity clothes, save for the pieces I am returning to my sister. When I returned home with Quinn, I boxed up all of the baby girl clothes and donated those too! As Quinn outgrows his baby clothes, I am packing and readying them to be passed on. Same with the baby equipment and paraphernalia he outgrows.
Intellectually I know we are not having any more children. Neither one of us has the patience of Job and our sanity would never return if we had another. We couldn't afford to anyways. But, emotionally I am bereft to know I will never again have the sensation of being nudged and kicked from within. I will never hold a naked, squalling seconds-old infant against my chest.
So I'll try to memorize every sensation in the moments I have with Quinn. The sweet baby's breath. The satisfying weight of a slumbering infant on your chest or arm. The feeling of invincibility when his sobbing halts the moment I pick him up and cuddle him against chest. The peace that washes over me when he snuggles his face into my neck and sighs. I am not going to wish he'd grow up faster, or start crawling soon, or even sit up. My baby is already growing up too quickly. Not yet six months and he has sprouted two teeth, is eating solids (or rather purees), and creeping along the floor on his tummy. No, I want time to slow down so I won't forget any of these precious moments. I want to remember forever this period in his life when his mommy is the only one that matters to him. When his mother is one that will meet his needs, comfort him and bring a smile to his face. This brief stage of life when mommy is the center of his universe -  before toys and play times, friends and siblings, sports and action heroes take over.

Mommy's been told!

Being on maternity leave, I am, for the most part, enjoying the opportunity to walk my children to and from school. Generally, the mornings are a coin toss. Often I am nagging the kids to walk faster, or having an argument about why it is necessary for them to wear snow pants when it's minus 15 with the windchill. On other mornings, I am quizzing Devlin on his spelling or math. Sometimes, we chat about what's happening in school or they tell me what their dreams were about the night before. It is greatly soothing to the soul to listen to Ceilidh sing a popular song from the radio, or watch her giggle uncontrollably as she chants the age-old rhyme "Mama had a baby and the head popped off" as she flicks the yellow dandelion tops from the stems.
In the afternoons, Aisling chatters incessantly as we stroll to the school to gather up her older siblings. Sometimes, she talks about her favorite Samurai Power Ranger, or what she wants for a snack. Last week, she had a serious discussion with me.
A: Mommy, you say some bad words to Uncle Billy. That's not very nice.
M: I do? (Then I realize, she's overheard my brother and me joking around, and interjecting "Shut UP" as we each make ridiculous comments.)
A: Yup. It's not nice, and Uncle Billy doesn't like it when you say bad words. You need to be nicer to Uncle Billy.
M: Yes, I will certainly try. You're right, I do need to stop saying bad words.

Later that evening, my second child was being very, very difficult. Very loud too. I said some choice comments to my second born. Who, of course, ignored them and continued with her tantrum.

Aisling, however, heard every word. With a serious look on her face, knitted brows an all, she said to me sternly, "Mommy, those are bad words. Remember we talked about this earlier in the afternoon? You need to stop saying bad words!"

What's Awesome about Quinn

About a month ago, the author of the Book of Awesome announced he was "retiring" the  Awesome blog. Once in a blue moon, I'd check out his blog and skim over the awesome moments. Sometimes I wholeheartedly agreed with the post, and others, I shrugged. Awesome, like beauty, is in the mind's eye of the beholder. It got me thinking about I define as awesome. To me, it's not getting to another level of the Lego Star Wars game as Devlin would declare is "totally awesome". But seeing 14/12 (yep, that's 2 extra bonus marks) on his math quiz is awesome. All those hours of blood, sweat and tears forcing him to do extra math after school is paying off.
Ceilidh might think having a play date with her two best friends is awesome, but I find that having to trim her fingernails is awesome. It appears her nail biting has become a habit of the past.
Aisling hasn't quite integrated the word "awesome" into her vocabulary yet. She prefers to use "amazing" and "cool", especially when she's watching her new favorite show, the Samurai Power Rangers, or when she's received a new Power Rangers story book. But to me, it's "amazing" that she can go from playing with Barbie dolls to pretending she is a Samurai Ranger in a matter of seconds.
Perhaps we've over-used the word "awesome" and diluted its meaning from truly awe-inspiring and spiritually uplifting to just another synonym for neat, great, quirky enough to bring a smile.  But if awesome is something that makes one feel happy to be alive, then I want to share with Quinn what makes him awesome.
Quinn, you are awesome in the following ways:
The contented smile that appears briefly as you start to fall into a deep sleep.
The happy gurgle and coo when you make eye contact with Mommy or Daddy.
The wide grin that lights up your face when you see your siblings.
The yawn that makes you look like a little bird opening up its beak.
The way you kick your legs in excitement when you know a feeding is imminent.
How you stop suckling at the breast when you sense my attention is not on you. Only when I look down and make eye contact with you, do you resume feeding.
The tuft of hair on the very top of your head. None of your siblings had that.
How you snuggle against my chest when you sleep, with one hand always holding tightly onto my shirt and the other hand curled into a fist against your head.
The sight of your chubby legs as they flail while you learn to master the jolly jumper.
How you stick out your tongue when your happily well-rested from a good nap or pleasantly full from a good feed.
How you coo and gurgle in the morning as you play with your toys. Of all the monkeys, you are certainly the happiest baby in the mornings.


I could go on and on, and this list would just get longer as the days go by. So I'll bring this post to an end for now and vow to revel in each precious moment.

From the mouths of my Monkeys

Sometimes the things my kids say are memorable. For example:

Upon seeing his baby brother dressed up in the formal white and lacy gown in preparation for the baptism, Devlin asked incredulously, "Why is Quinn wearing a wedding gown?!"

When told that we were celebrating Aisling's fourth birthday with our extended family at the cottage, Ceilidh queried "Are we getting loot bags?"

And since it's that time of the year of outdoor sports gets underway. Mommy and Daddy play ultimate frisbee one night a week. Once upon a time, we crazily played three nights a week, and year round too. Now, we're restricted to one night, because of the children's activities and because of our aging bodies. But on the one night we get to claim for ourselves, our children all tag along and play on the side lines or at the nearby playground. They are rewarded for their (generally) good behaviour by dinner at McDonald's.
So as we were walking home from picking up her older siblings at school, Aisling asked, "When are you going play frisbee again? Because I want to have some McDonald's! It's been sooo long since I had some!"

Apparently three nights is a long time, as she conveniently forgot she had some on the trip home from the cottage.

Ms. Independent

Just as I've discovered I'm one of the women who are responsible for setting back the feminist movement (because I choose to have children, breastfeed, co-sleep and wear my baby according to a cockamamie argument by French philosopher Elisabeth Badinter), I was pleasantly surprised by Ceilidh's announcement this morning.
Ceilidh is a girly girl. She loves all things pink and frilly. She loves dance and doesn't like to play sports because it makes her sweaty. She loves to play dress-up and loves anything that is related to a princess. She is nurturing and gentle. She dots her "i"s with hearts.
As we walked to school this morning, she announced that she is never getting married.
Me: Why?
C: Because it's gross!
Me: What is gross?
C: The kissing. (She points to her puckered lips.)
Me: Well, okay. But you could get married and not kiss.
C: No it's gross. I'm never getting married. I'm going to be an adventurer and a spy with my friend Michaela. We're going to have an exciting time.
Me: That's great too. Be a strong and independent woman. Nothing wrong with that.

At this point, Devlin interjected. "But don't you want cake? I'm going to get married so I can eat the cake! You get cake at weddings!"

What does she DO all day long?

Since Devlin had not recovered from the gastrointestinal bug, he was kept home from school for a few days to rest, sleep, and rehydrate. On the first day of hanging out in his pyjamas, he stumbled into the living room early afternoon in an attempt to cuddle with me. I wasn't enthusiastic about this, since I had Quinn in my arms and did NOT want a repeat of the night before with any of the other children. So we compromised on sitting on the same couch while I indulged in my one television show I watch religiously - The Chew.
During the commercial breaks, I was not still. I was running down to the laundry room to start another load of soiled bedding. Or I was getting up to refill cups of juice and milk for thirsty animals. Or, running upstairs with a drooling baby to change a soiled diaper. If I didn't make it back in time, Devlin called out what culinary creation was being demonstrated.
At the end of the hour, he turned to me and asked, quite innocently, "Is this what you do all day when I'm at school - watch tv?"
I think the next town over could hear my indignant roar!

The Yucks of Parenthood

Funny how parenthood doesn't come with vows when you first discover you're expecting. Unlike marriage which warns you that you're signing up for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, there's no contract of sorts when you first see the positive sign on the pee stick. Although thinking about it now, parenthood pretty much means for better or for worse, for poorer and lots of sicknesses. Nope, when you're imagining the pitter patter of little feet, you're not possibly thinking about cleaning up leaking diapers, wiping up snotty noses, swabbing up vomit in the hard to reach crevices of a car seat. Nah, no one tells an expectant parent about "those" joys of parenthood.
It's nearly midnight, and I'm still awake, knowing full well that Quinn will soon be reaching for a middle of the night feed. Why am I not sleeping? Because I am waiting to load up the washing machine with another load of vomit covered bed sheets.
Just as I was drifting off, despite Daddy's loud snores, I was jolted awake by the sound of a crying child. Not Quinn. Not Aisling. I stumbled into the kids' room and discovered two wailing children and the unpleasant, raunchy odour of puke met me with full force. Turning on the lights, I could see Devlin sitting up, crying and Ceilidh struggling to sit up, also crying. I wasn't sure which one had gotten sick. Since Ceilidh was closer, I grabbed her and steered her towards the bathroom. She was walking with arms held out, crying that "It's gross, it's gross!" I rushed back to my bedroom to find my glasses, and only then did I see the full picture. Ceilidh was covered from head to toe with vomit. Chunky stuff too. Mostly in her hair.
Devlin was sitting in the bed, surrounded by the vomit - on the blankets, pillows, bed sheets, the wall! I still didn't know who did the throwing up, until Devlin hysterically screamed "I told you my stomach was hurting!"
Daddy took on the task of washing down the grossed out Ceilidh first, and then a still-sobbing Devlin. I ended up with the chore of stripping the bunk bed, moving the bed from the wall and mopping up that mess. Thank god for Lysol wipes!
In between looking for dry, clean pyjamas and clean bedsheets, we did an inventory of what Devlin had eaten. Any peanut tainted products? Nope. Fever? Not really. Maybe a bug he picked up? Possible.
We settled Ceilidh down to sleep, made sure Quinn and Aisling were still asleep and brought Devlin down to sit up on the couch. Started the laundry. Then did the only thing we could as parents. Laughed about the scene. Poor Ceilidh, looking absolutely disgusted by the puke, and crying pitifully "It's sooo gross!"
Which then stirred up memories of the time my brother threw up all over my sister in the car. Back in the day before car seats and seatbelts were mandatory, our family took a trip to the beach. Dad, Shunaha and I were in the front of the green rocket, with its vinyl seats and no air conditioning. Bill and my Grandma were in the back. Bill was standing up, hanging onto the front seats excited about the trip. As we pulled into the parking lot, he puked all over the front, which meant he puked all over Shunaha's head. I don't remember any of it getting onto the seats or Dad or myself. Just Shunaha. And I remember her pitiful cries of "Yuck. It's sooo gross!" Of course, this was back in the day before showers at the beach. Just the lake water to clean her up in.
Aaahh...the joys of parenthood.

April 11 - Day of Pink

Today is the Day of Pink - the International Day Against Bullying, Discrimination, Homophobia and Transphobia. Many schools commemorate the day by dressing in pink in support of the anti-bullying movement. It began in 2007 when students at a Nova Scotia high school decided to all wear pink in support of a student who had been tormented after wearing a pink shirt.
Devlin and Ceilidh reminded me last night of the need to wear pink. For Ceilidh - this is not an issue. Almost 90% of her wardrobe is comprised of pink hues. Devlin has no pink shirts. It was suggested that he borrow Ceilidh's pink socks, but he manly indicated he would wear one of Ceilidh's shirts instead. I took out several and he selected the plain, dark pink, long-sleeved shirt. Meanwhile, Ceilidh dressed in pink from head to toe.
Devlin's only complaint about the shirt? It smelled like Ceilidh. Considering it was a clean shirt, I advised him the "smell" was laundry soap, and that his shirts also smelled the same. Shrugging, he donned the shirt and looked somewhat pleased.

100 days for Quinn - April 9, 2012

Quinn is 100 days old. It's a special milestone in our Korean culture, borne from the days when infant mortality rates were especially high in the early weeks. Although maternal and perinatal health programs have improved infant survival rates exponentially, a child's 100th day is still commemorated with pictures and lots of rice cakes. In our chaotic life, Quinn's 100th day was marked with pictures, lots of cuddles and a cake.
I can't believe it's been 100 days since our darling monkey made his grand entrance on the last waning minutes of 2011. Since then, though my quality of sleep has drastically declined, our daily lives have been enriched and brightened by the contagious smiles Quinn deals out to all of us.
I have been pleasantly surprised by the lack of jealousy among his older siblings. I have been deeply touched by their helpfulness and eagerness to hold Baby Quinn, except of course, when his diaper needs to be changed. Every morning, Devlin kisses his brother "good morning" and he is quick to ask about Quinn when he comes home from school.  Ceilidh will cuddle her baby brother, and when I'm not looking, pick him up from whatever surface Quinn was lying on. Aisling calls Quinn the "cutest baby" and serenades him whenever he cries.
At 100 days, Quinn is smiling easily, especially in the mornings. He loves to "talk" with you, and vocalizes his happiness and his displeasure. Bathtimes are generally a session of happy coos and grins, so long as the water is steaming warm. He's not a huge fan of car rides, and proved it by crying from Chatham to Mississauga on the journey home from Windsor. At feeding time, he expresses his excitement by joyfully kicking his legs while batting away his mother's shirt and smiling gleefully.
His gummy grins are enough to whisk away a terrible night's sleep. His jutting lower lip and sad eyes tug at your heart as you quickly scoop up the twelve and half pounds of baby and cuddle him close, as you swear to right whatever is wrong in his world. Whenever he snuggles his face into my neck, a wave of contentment  washes over me that melts away the daily stresses of my chore list. The realization that 100 days has already sped by with lightening speed moves me to sit down and revel in the moment. We cuddle, we play with some toys, we coo at each other. Instead of folding the laundry, I rock Quinn to sleep in my arms, and let him snooze gently while I stare at his peaceful face.
Happy 100 days Quinn!

Dandelions and Phone Numbers

You know it's spring when you awaken to the sun shining through the window and birds chirping noisily. On the bare trees, leaf buds are starting to form, and the tender green shoots of tulips and daffodils are starting to poke their way through the dirt.
In our chaotic home, the signs of spring also include plastic tumblers filled with water and wilting dandelions - evidence of the flowers lovingly picked and arranged by Aisling. There are chalk drawings on the driveways - created on the first warm and sunny day. Plastic toys and hula hoops are strewn across the backyard, and bicycles litter the driveway, alongside the hockey net.
And then there is puppy love...
The other day, Devlin and Ceilidh were dutifully emptying out their backpacks and lunch boxes and bringing me the "important" papers from school. Crumpled in his sweaty palm, was a scrap of paper that Devlin also presented to me.
"What's that?" I ask.
"A phone number," he answers nonchalantly.
"Whose?"
"A girl gave it to me so I can call her."
I mentally run through various responses, and come up with, "Hmmm...have we taught you how to use the phone? How are you going to call her if you don't know how to use the phone properly?"
No sweat to the young Romeo.
"Well, I gave her our number, so she can call me then," came the reply accompanied by shrugging shoulders.

Ceilidh's tummy problems

Since the start of the new year, Ceilidh has been reporting tummy aches to her teachers. The school calls, and off I dash to the school to pick up a sick kid. Except she's not sick. There's no fever, no complaints of cramping or nausea - just vague statements of "my tummy hurts, but I don't know how".  So, I entertained the mystery tummy aches the first few days. There's no television or playtime. Ceilidh is sent off to bed for a nap. Definitely no special snacks either. I don't want to encourage "this coming home in the middle of the day for a tummy ache" to become routine.
After the fourth call from the school to pick up a perfectly healthy child, I had a chat with the teacher. Perhaps Ceilidh was having problems with classmates? Or was she in trouble? No, nothing out of the ordinary according to the teacher. Daddy and I sat down with Ceilidh at separate times to figure out if there was anything was bothering her. Was she jealous of the newest sibling? No. Was she not getting along with her best friends? No. Was someone making fun of her at school? No.
Then her tummy aches subsided. So, we pushed that latest stress off to the side.
Now the phantom aches have started again. When I questioned her what type of pain she was experiencing, Ceilidh was again vague. But this time, she stated she didn't want to be picked up from school. So I left her at school.
I think I now know what caused the mystery tummy aches - her lunch. I have noticed that for several days, her lunch box is coming back almost as full as it was sent. Apparently, the teacher was able to learn from Ceilidh that she didn't like butter on her sandwich, and that Daddy had packed a ham sandwich AGAIN, and she doesn't like ham. Actually, it was turkey today, and she had eaten the meat but left the bread intact. And since when doesn't she like butter on her bread? What would she like in her lunch then, I asked. Her answer was simple - pizza.
When her daddy discovered the reason for the tummy aches, he claimed he was insulted as he had put a lot of love and thought into packing those lunches. Well, now he knows how I feel on any given night when the nutritious, well-balanced meal I thoughtfully and lovingly prepared gets met with turned up noses.

The Littlest Enforcer That Could

Devli's second hockey season is coming to a close this weekend. Halfway through this season, he caught the bug. The hockey bug, that is. From a kid who had to be dragged kicking and screaming to each early morning practice and game - so much so, it made us wonder why we were putting ourselves through this weekly torture - Devlin is now becoming a hockey nut. He wants to know everything about the game, borrowing books from the library on the greatest players, to wanting to play a quick pick-up game of road hockey, or rather, carpet hockey in the basement. He's one of those boys now, you know, the ones that can recite various statistics of athletes and a team's win-loss ratio. As a female, I always had to wonder why a male brain could retain such useless information (in my humble opinion) but couldn't remember important dates like a birthday or anniversary.
He's also becoming a fan of the Montreal Canadiens, like his father. After a Habs game, whether it was a win or a loss, Devlin is wanting to watch the highlights and needing to know if his favorite players, David Desharnais and Max Pacioretty, scored a goal or two. I have tried to steer him towards my Red Wings, but he'll soon see the light when it's the play-offs and there are no Habs to cheer on.
But I digress. This post is about Devlin's hockey season. Despite his team's efforts, they've had a losing season. The players have all improved individually, but it hasn't been enough. There's one more game and the team is ever hopeful that it'll be a win.
After a session of power skating under his belt, Devlin is likely one of the stronger and faster skaters on his team. He's also one of the tiniest. At nearly eight years of age, he weighs 43 pounds and barely 4 feet tall. With the equipment, he's about 2 inches taller and maybe 3 pounds heavier. What position does he play? For the majority of the season, he's been a defenceman. The smallest one in the league.
And this season, he earned his first penalty! Two minutes for tripping. Unintentionally. Devlin was racing their net, hoping to outskate the opposing team's forward. He tripped himself, and as he landed, he stretched out his stick in a last ditch attempt to stop the puck. Instead, the opposing player tripped over the stick, and Devlin was sent to the box. His helmet was barely visible over the boards.
The littlest enforcer that could - #44.

Update - After an exciting game that went into overtime which included a goal that was not allowed, Devlin's team won their last game of the season to earn bronze medals.

Welcome Spring!

Yesterday was the first day of spring, and it was warm! Actually, it was hot! The type of hot where the kids are panting on the walk home from school, and popsicles are a welcome after-school snack.
What happened to spring weather? Where did the winter go? It seemed like only yesterday the temperatures were hovering around zero and now the grass is green, my tulips and crocuses are blooming, the chives have started to come up and I still have snow shovels propped up on my porch! While I love this weather, I haven't yet put away the snow pants, lest we do get hit by that spring storm. I'm putting off removing the snow tires for that same reason. Yet I can't help but look forward to shopping for new Easter dresses for the girls, and plan another attempt at gardening again.

The mild winter was great for me, as I had worried about the daily walks to school with a newborn in the snow. As it turned out, there were only a handful of days where we had to bundle up against sub-zero temperatures. The only sadness I harbor about the winter of 2012 was the lack of snow fun. Only one day of snowball fights and tumbling around in the white fluffy fun. And sadly, only one day of "baboggoning" as Aisling likes to say.

Ceilidh the Trendsetter

When she came down this morning, having selected her own outfit, I blinked. Twice. But Ceilidh was adamant with her choice. She would not be changing.
True - she was wearing an outfit that was weather appropriate. And clean.
Clearly, she was exercising and demonstrating her own individual style. That's a good thing. My Ceilidh won't be a follower. She will be a nonconformist. She will march to the beat of her own drum. She exudes confidence. Maybe she'll be a world leader. Or a fashion icon. Today, she'll simply be the most colourful pupil in her class. Right down to her deliberately mismatched socks.
Check it out.

Aisling's Wedding Plans

When I was expecting Aisling, I learned that a good friend was expecting her first child.  During the last months of pregnancy, we trekked to the spa and the afternoon matinees.  Initially, our dues dates were a month apart or so. But since Aisling arrived five weeks earlier than expected, she and my friend's child, Michael are only days apart. In fact, while I was recuperating from the c-section, it was a pleasant surprise to find my friend in the room across the hall after delivering Michael.
During the first year, Michael and Aisling spent many afternoons getting to know one another. The two started out as stroller buddies while we moms went for long walks outdoors and at the malls. They cooed at each other on gym mats while we huffed and puffed through a spinning class for moms and babies. There have been numerous play dates at gyms where the two have chased each other.
This year, Aisling and Michael are enrolled in gymnastics together. My friend and I thought it would be a great idea. We'd hang out and chat while our offspring tired themselves out by tumbling, jumping, swinging and leaping all over the place for an hour. It's turning out even better than we expected since they are the only two monkeys registered for their particular time slot. It's like having a private lesson in a huge gymnasium all to themselves.
Aisling adores Michael.
When I first told her she would be learning gymnastics with Michael, she was ecstatic.
A: Which Michael?
Me: Your friend Michael.
A: My Michael? My boyfriend Michael?
Me: Uh...yes.
A: I'm going to marry him one day. He hasn't asked me yet, but Michael and me are going to be married.
Me: Don't tell your dad.

But she did.
"Hey Daddy, I'm going to gymnastics. I'm going to see my boyfriend Michael!"
 Daddy responded with, "He's your friend, not your boyfriend. You're too young."
Stamping her foot on the ground, with arms crossed over her chest, she retorts, "He IS my boyfriend, and we're going to get married."

And last week, as we left the building together after another happy session, my little Aisling called out her farewells.
"Good bye! See you next week! I love you Michael!"

My own reality show

During the first week of Quinn's young life, I actually had some time to sit on the couch and channel surf. I stumbled upon TLC and a show about babies. Despite having given birth through a long arduous process, I was still compelled to watch other women go through the same thing. Then again, I was sleep deprived, and my brain wasn't functioning properly. (It still isn't, but then again, I'm still sleep deprived.)

The particular show I was watching was documenting the first few days of a family adjusting to life with multiples - twins, triplets and quadruplets. Most of these families also had other older children. It was basically watching a documentary on a stressed family as the craziness and chaos took over their once orderly lives. I was about to comment on the insanity of such a life when I realized I was basically watching a show about MY LIFE.
Why was I wasting precious minutes of sleep time to watch a reel of my own reality? Clearly, my ability to prioritize was not at its prime.

Pet peeve of a sleep deprived state

Whose brilliant design idea was it to put snaps on baby clothes? Snaps on one piece sleepers? In a sleep deprived state, when one's coordination is not at its prime, and there's a wriggling baby, snaps on a baby outfit is a ridiculous idea. Clearly, the designer was not a real parent.
In fact, the ability to match up the snaps while containing the flailing limbs of a hungry and crying tot could be considered a mental task for assessing the concentration abilities of the Navy SEALS.

Meal times with Ceilidh

Ever since she started kindergarten, Ceilidh has left us scratching our heads. As a baby she wasn't a fussy eater, but as a toddler and pre-schooler, she was extremely picky. We were always cajoling her to eat, and bribing her with dessert to finish supper. The only meal that doesn't create a fuss is chicken nuggets and fries.
When the news came that she would be attending full-day kindergarten, I worried about what to pack in her lunch and wondered if she would eat any of it. I couldn't send chicken nuggets and fries to school every day.
Surprise, surprise - her lunch box would return home completely empty. On a daily basis. The child who wouldn't consider eating a sandwich was happily devouring one for lunch at school. Maybe is was the effect of conformity - when in Rome, do as the Romans do. If everyone else is eating sandwiches, then so would Ceilidh. Apparently, conformity only influences to a degree. I tried sending vegetables for lunch in the hopes that seeing other kids consume them would also encourage Ceilidh. Not so. Or, no one else eats vegetables at school.
As other students began to vary their midday meals, Ceilidh would also ask for various different food items as well. For instance, she wanted left over spaghetti in a thermos. The same spaghetti she refused to eat unless Daddy fed her the previous evening.
That was another source of conflict at the dinner table with Ceilidh. She wanted to be spoonfed by Daddy, or Mommy, or especially by Halmuhnee. Despite being reminded that she was old enough to attend school, and her younger sibling Aisling was feeding herself. We would ask Ceilidh who fed her at school? She said no one. Then why couldn't she do the same at dinner time?
While we still struggle with these same issues, there's a new one that's developed this year. The use of utensils, or the lack of use at dinner time. While we've tried to alter her behaviour by modelling (using utensils ourselves), shaming (Aisling is using a spoon), bribery (no dessert unless...), we are constantly nagging Ceilidh to use a spoon or fork, and not her hands.
So, what a shock it was to have Ceilidh come home from school and state in an accusatory tone that we had forgotten to pack spoon and fork in her lunch for her hot dogs and rice. She added that she had to obtain a plastic spoon from the teacher. I don't understand it. She'll use utensils at school, but not at home.

Maternity Leave and a Type A Personality

Quinn is a month old. I am completely and utterly sleep deprived. While I realize that I've "just" had a baby, I feel like I've done nothing during this first month. That's the problem with being a Type A personality. It's hard to sit back and enjoy the ride. It's difficult to accept that making dinner and not calling for take-out every night is something to crow about when you have a newborn, and three other kids.
Since this is our last baby, and my last maternity leave, I decided that I would try to accomplish a few tasks during the year. I planned to master the art of Korean cuisine, or at least learn a few more recipes. I also intended to re-introduce myself to the piano and also work on some creative writing on a daily basis.
To that end, I have eaten lots of Korean food, thanks to my mother. In terms of cooking it, I've reheated several yummy dishes. I tinkled the ivories on one occasion, and I've sadly neglected even this blog as I haven't found even 20 minutes during the day when no one is either calling for me or clinging to me.
But looking back on the month, I realized I did in fact accomplish a few things. For instance, the children and I have settled into a daily after school routine that involves a snack and a little bit of television before turning off the tv for piano practising and homework. I started exercising. I went through three years' worth of magazines and clipped out the recipes or articles I wanted and tossed the rest. I sorted through old clothes, toys, and books and donated several bags and boxes to charity. I finally organized the pile of papers on the kitchen counter. I created a binder for the kids - notices from school and their extra-curricular activities.
And I've spent the last four weeks enjoying the grunts, yawns, squeaks, and the occasional smile of a beautiful baby boy.

Who's the Boss?

After meeting Quinn and declaring him to be very cute, Aisling wondered aloud if we could now have a baby sister. Daddy was quick to nip that idea in the bud, and used the age old trick of re-directing to her mind off requesting another sibling.
"Now that Quinn is here, you're a big sister. Soon, you'll be bossing him around just like Ceilidh bosses you," he offered.
Aisling, being Aisling, came back with this response.
"I'm not the boss, you are!" she stated with conviction.
"Why do you say that?" Daddy asked.
"You're the boss because you can put us in time-outs," she explained, referring to our disciplinary methods.

However, after a mere 4 weeks at home, Aisling has now declared there are two bosses in the family. Mommy is the boss during the day, and only until Daddy walks through the front door.

Beer and breast milk

I once read somewhere that beer is good for getting the breast milk flowing. Quinn is feeding every 2 hours during the day. I've been enjoying a sudsy drink every night. So that my tiny son can receive his nourishment.
My husband thinks I'm becoming a raging alcoholic. That I'm using the breast milk line as an excuse.
Perhaps. But I'm the mom to 4 kids, all of whom make me question my decision to procreate in the first place. So I think I'm entitled to that daily drink.
He'd understand too, if he was home all year.

Dilemma

The daily dilemma:
The house is quiet. Aisling is napping upstairs in the top bunk. The first nap in weeks!  Ceilidh is napping on the couch. She came home early because she was complaining about a tummy ache. Quinn is also finally asleep. On my chest in the baby carrier. It's two o'clock in the afternoon. I have one hour before I have to get ready to pick up Devlin from school.
Do I try to remove the baby from the carrier and lay him down, and risk him waking up again? And if I do lay him down somewhere successfully, do I risk waking him up from a much needed nap early to get him bundled into a car seat for the trek to the school? Or do I simply keep the baby in the carrier, on my chest for the hour, and try to grab a quick nap myself? And when it's three o'clock, do I cross my fingers and hope the rain holds off so we can walk to the school with the baby still strapped to the chest under a large coat? Or do I try the transfer into the car seat?
Yep - a glimpse into the inner workings of the brain of a sleep deprived individual....

If only...

It's week 3 of Quinn's young life, and Daddy is home for the week. An unexpected perk as Daddy's employer offers 5 days off for the purposes of "bonding" with your new family. So, we've had Daddy's help in chauffeuring Devlin and Ceilidh to school and back. Plus he's made some dents in his "honey-do" list, thus making use of his Christmas present - a gigantic screw and socket set.
While Quinn has enjoyed some naps on Daddy's chest, it's Aisling who has reaped the most from this bonding week. She's had a playmate to complete puzzles with, a partner in the board games, and an eager audience for her impromptu song recitals. An added bonus for Aisling is having her favorite breakfast prepared hot and fresh every morning - pancakes. Since Daddy also received a pancake shaper for Christmas, Aisling had been making requests for various animals every morning. Today, it was a piggy. It looked more like a bear.
Daddy has also been enjoying this time. He commented somewhat sadly, "I am not looking forward to returning to work next week."
Overhearing this, Aisling stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "Well, I guess you'll just have to stay home with me!"

Aaah, if only, there was a way...perhaps it's time to go and buy a lottery ticket.

Aisling's Royal Decree

At dinner one evening, Aisling noticed that Auntie Grace was sitting at the head of the table. Daddy and Grandpa were seated along one side, and she and I were seated on the other side.
"Auntie Grace - you're the queen. Mommy and I are Princesses, and Daddy and Hahbudgee are our royal servants," she announced.
Devlin had been standing off to one side, having already finished his meal. "What about me, Aisling? What am I?"
"You - you're nothing!" she stated in a very regal and haughty tone.

Devlin's Impression of Quinn

Upon seeing and meeting his baby brother Quinn, Devlin stated, "He's cuter than I thought he would be!"
What he said to Auntie Grace when asked about his newest sibling: "My wish came true - Quinn turned out to be a boy. Now Daddy and I won't have to move out!"

Happy New Year and a Welcome to Quinn

It's 2012 and the zoo is off to a rousing start - mostly because of Baby #4's arrival in the waning minutes of 2011. That's right, ten minutes before the clock struck twelve, Quinn came into the world, and I heard the announcement "It's a boy!"
It was not the easy delivery that I expected in a fourth pregnancy. Nor was it quick. In fact, the pattern displayed by Quinn led to suspicions that I was carrying either a boy or a very very stubborn child. After days and days of discomfort, painful Braxton-Hicks contractions, and being dilated at 2cm, my water broke at 3am on December 31st. I awoke in a pool of warmish water in bed, and wondered which kid had peed the bed. Then I realized it was a lot of fluid and centered around me. Like the pregnancy books state, I did not go into labour right away. Despite my mother's worried insistence that I get to the hospital immediately, I refused and showed her the slip of paper that advised women not to go to the hospital unless there were regular contractions. Eventually, that occurred around 7am.
But alas, those contractions I was experiencing were not "real" contractions, according to the nurses. I was only 3 cm. In my mind, I swore I wasn't leaving the hospital without a baby in my arms. I was sent walking around the hospital for an hour to see if labour would progress. Every six minutes, I'd have a contraction, and more amniotic fluid would gush out. When the hour was up, we went back to the labour and delivery assessment unit to be assessed. Still 3 cm.
However, given the rupture of the membranes, and despite the rule against "inducing labour" in a vaginal birth after caesarean section, I was admitted and prepped for the administration of oxytocin.
Our labour nurse was a bit scary, although she did become more approachable as the hours dragged on. And drag on, they did. My sister Shunaha came in to spend a few hours, hoping to witness the birth before flying home to Minnesota on January 1st.  When she left, I was still 3cm. I was beginning to despair the hope of having a baby in 2011 and began to worry about having to undergo another c-section if there was no movement on the labour front. The drug dosage was increased. The contractions were becoming unbearably painful. Until this point, Wayne had been sitting in a corner, enjoying the book The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. At this point, I needed to cling and squeeze the heck out of his arm to get through the pain. After what felt like an eternity, the anaethesiologist arrived with the epidural equipment. The relief was almost instantaneous. I was introduced to the labour nurse who coming on shift, and instructed to rest and sleep. Sound advice but difficult to follow, partly because every five minutes, the blood pressure cuff is inflating, or I'm being poked and prodded by the nurse, or told to turn over to a side to evenly distribute the epidural's effects. And partly because I was nurturing a hope the epidural would kick start the dilation efforts and there was an eagerness growing within me to meet this child.
By 8pm, I was 5cm. At 10pm, I was 8 cm. My sister Shunaha texted that she was on her way to the hospital. When she arrived at 11pm,  I was 10cm, and preparations were underway for the delivery. The nurse was readying the newborn kit, the bed was being converted into delivery mode, the overhead spotlights were lit. Meanwhile, I was huddled under the sheets, holding onto a puke bowl and feverishly glancing at the clock, wondering if I would have a baby this year or the next. The push for the baby's arrival started at 11:15. At 11:50pm, with the assistance of the vaccuum, Quinn entered the world, mewling and pooping. Since the labour pattern was similar to his older brother Devlin, I shouldn't have been surprised when it was announced that Quinn was a boy, but I was still stunned. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if Quinn had turned out be a girl, but now I felt a completeness to our family.
Just like his older brother and sisters, Quinn was covered from head to toe in hair. Even the tips of his ears. Once placed upon my chest, and the umbilical cod was cut, we examined his tiny features more closely. All ten toes and ten fingers were present. His tiny eyes blinked slowly as he gazed about in an unsure manner. When he was finally weighed, he came in at 3.456kg, or 7pounds, 6oz, which makes him the heaviest by 0.1ounce. Not even 30 minutes old, Quinn displayed a knack for feeding, and had no trouble latching on.

Too soon, Auntie Shunaha had to leave since she was flying back home to Minnesota in the morning. He was kissed and cuddled after a slew of pictures. Excited phone calls were made. Eventually, Quinn and I were settled into our room. And where did he spend the night? Or what remained of the night? In my arms. He refused to settle into the plastic bassinet, and protested mightily whenever the nurse or I placed him in there. So, exhausted after being awake for 24 hours, I cuddled him into my arms, and we both fell asleep within minutes. Since that moment, Quinn has declared in no uncertain terms, that he prefers to slumber in a pair of arms or cuddled up against a warm body. Yes, it's a bad habit already, but it's also my last baby, and I'd be lying if I stated I didn't enjoy the cuddling.