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.