As I sat up groggily in bed this morning, while nursing Quinn, I was struck with the realization that it's been 13 months since he's joioned the zoo. Thirteen months since he's brought more laughter and love into our household. And thirteen months since he's triggered more chaos.
Picture, if you will, the cartoon or comedy sketch of a hapless babysitter (usually a dad) left alone with an overly curious child. Usually the child's minder is snoring behind an open newspaper or zoned out to a television set, while the youngster is opening shelves, and dangling his or hand into a fishbowl. No sooner has the babysitter rescued the imp from one disaster and sorted the room to rights, has the wayward toddler gone off to create another. That's our Quinn.
I'll open the fridge to grab ingredients for a meal, and he's in there, between my legs reaching for bottles of condiments and racing off to the living room with his treasure. Or he's in the pantry cupboards, pulling out cans of tomatoes, and granola bars wrapped in shiny foil. He also loves getting into the pots and pans. He'll pull out the mixing bowls and find a spatula and stir away. The mesh of the sieves attract his little feet. All of my strainers are dented and misshapen now. His grandmother recently passed on her old pots and pans to him, and Quinn will happily bang away on the lids. I don't know if he's got a future as a chef or a musician!
He's also become adept at removing the child safety locks on the cabinets. We're constantly chasing after him for the locks, and and whatever else he's managed to grab with his small paw.
Water is also a problem. He's learned to splash mightily in the tub. He's also aware that there's water in the toilets, and darned, if I don't catch him splashing in there as well. Everyone in the household has been warned to leave the lids down, but that doesn't seem to deter the Quinn-meister.
Since he's mastered climbing the stairs, there is no place where Quinn won't appear in our home. I've often heard him enter my bathroom while I'm in the shower in the morning. Confirmation that it's Quinn appears in the form of a magazine or book being pushed into the tub. Or having the shower curtain pulled aside accompanied by a grinning little monkey peering up at me, unfazed by the water sprinkling onto him.
And while he has brought another level of mischief to our home, he has also added his own special Quinn-essence. There's nothing better than returning home after a long and stressful day, to a grinning face at the windows, and hearing him shout "Da-da" or "Ma-ma" while toddling over to grasp your legs. Or seeing him wake up, blinking sleepily, but smiling once he registers that you're there. Or hearing him query "Mama?" when he hears my voice in another room. Or seeing him point and blabber excitedly upon the return of his siblings from school. Watching him get excited over green beans or broccoli is hilarious! If only his siblings would follow suit.
Happy 13 months Quinnster!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Or, in this case, Mean Mommy?
We just returned from Devlin's hockey tournament. It was fun filled weekend for the team. The Novice Credit Valley Wolves advanced to the finals but lost 2-1. The silver medals were handed out by Walter Gretzky. I think the parents got more of a kick out of that than the players. I had my proud mommy moment - Devlin was awarded the MVP for the first game. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend that game, so I'll have to watch the video.
Although the tournament was held in Brantford, we decided to book a room at the hotel. It would save from driving back and forth every day, and act as a mini vacation for the kids. I stress, for the kids. It was not a vacation for the adults. Okay, so I got a break from cooking meals, but I would have preferred to cook than ingest the amount of junk we did. The kids did enjoy the swimming pool at the hotel. Quinn especially, loved splashing in the water.
But what's a hockey tournament without some of the kids going nuts on their last night? The entire hotel was pretty much filled with tournament participants. On Saturday night, there much rowdiness occuring. Obviously, this particular team had not advanced. We made several requests to the parents in the hallway. The parents of the kids were not effective at all in controlling the noise level. Our team had an early game the next day. Sleep was a priority. It was past midnight, and the noise showed no signs of abating. I was getting frustrated from trying to get Quinn back to sleep. More complaints were made, this time to the front desk. No improvement.
The next morning, short on sleep and patience wearing very thin, I asked Ceilidh several times to put on her shoes so we could get out the door to the game.
"I've asked you five times nicely. I'm losing my patience with you. Now, PUT ON YOUR SHOES or I will get very upset!" I snapped.
"Yeah, you don't want to see Mean Mommy come out, do you? She's scary!" echoes their ever helpful father.
Ceilidh looks up from tying her shoelaces, "Why are you scared of her? You married her!"
We just returned from Devlin's hockey tournament. It was fun filled weekend for the team. The Novice Credit Valley Wolves advanced to the finals but lost 2-1. The silver medals were handed out by Walter Gretzky. I think the parents got more of a kick out of that than the players. I had my proud mommy moment - Devlin was awarded the MVP for the first game. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend that game, so I'll have to watch the video.
Although the tournament was held in Brantford, we decided to book a room at the hotel. It would save from driving back and forth every day, and act as a mini vacation for the kids. I stress, for the kids. It was not a vacation for the adults. Okay, so I got a break from cooking meals, but I would have preferred to cook than ingest the amount of junk we did. The kids did enjoy the swimming pool at the hotel. Quinn especially, loved splashing in the water.
But what's a hockey tournament without some of the kids going nuts on their last night? The entire hotel was pretty much filled with tournament participants. On Saturday night, there much rowdiness occuring. Obviously, this particular team had not advanced. We made several requests to the parents in the hallway. The parents of the kids were not effective at all in controlling the noise level. Our team had an early game the next day. Sleep was a priority. It was past midnight, and the noise showed no signs of abating. I was getting frustrated from trying to get Quinn back to sleep. More complaints were made, this time to the front desk. No improvement.
The next morning, short on sleep and patience wearing very thin, I asked Ceilidh several times to put on her shoes so we could get out the door to the game.
"I've asked you five times nicely. I'm losing my patience with you. Now, PUT ON YOUR SHOES or I will get very upset!" I snapped.
"Yeah, you don't want to see Mean Mommy come out, do you? She's scary!" echoes their ever helpful father.
Ceilidh looks up from tying her shoelaces, "Why are you scared of her? You married her!"
Monday, January 7, 2013
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
If there is one definite thing my spouse is better at than me (I'm sure there's many things, but I'd hate to give him any reason not fit through the doorway) - it's telling the kids that he loves them even when he's quite angry with them. I'm not able to easily and glibly state "I love you" to my misbehaving miscreants. Especially when they are doing their absolute best to infuriate me by talking back, or refusing to answer "Who did this?", or stomping around to show their displeasure with a disciplinary measure I've just imposed.
My husband will tuck the delinquent child into bed, and kiss them good night, and assure him or her that Daddy still loves him/her. Whereas I will wait until the child is asleep before placing the good night kiss upon a sweaty brow.
Recently, Ceilidh declared that I did not love her. As I had not actually stated that, nor was this in the heat of the moment or midway through a temper tantrum, I questioned her as to why she would think such a thought. Ceilidh's reasoning? I did not love her because I imposed time-outs, took away the Xbox on occasion (as a disciplinary measure), didn't buy her whatever toys she desired, and horror of horrors, made her eat yucky stuff like vegetables. I tried to explain that it was because I loved her and her siblings, that I did all of the above actions, and more. Like scouting out sales to outfit them in clothing, and trying to find new recipes to tempt their palates, and doing copious amounts of laundry so they had clean clothes to wear, and assigning extra "homework" so they could do better at school. If I didn't love her or any of the other kids, I advised that I wouldn't give a care whether or not they played in traffic, ate junk food all the time so that their teeth fell out, and couldn't read more than her name. If I didn't love them, they could watch all the television they wanted until their brains became smoother than a baby's bottom. And I would have great sleep since I wouldn't be up at night stressing over whether or not I was doing okay as a mother. I'd also be out every night at a fabulous restaurant enjoying fine foods and fine wine, or I'd be shopping for myself at the higher end boutiques. Hitting the spa and hiring a personal trainer. Why not? After all, if I didn't love my kids, I wouldn't need to spend every last dime and nickel on them and their futures. I wouldn't have to bother with dance lessons, skating, piano and saving for a university education.
Well, that little speech gave my six-year-old something to think about, but I don't think she was quite convinced, as she then asked her Dad if he would lover her always - forever and forever. Daddy answered, yes, of course, in fact, he loved them unconditionally. What did that mean, the munchkins wondered. So Daddy explained that he loved them no matter what. That even when they were bad and misbehaving, he still loved them.
Aisling pounced on that concept.
A: So even when you're mad at me, you still love me?
Dad: Yes, even when I'm angry with you because you weren't obeying Mommy and Daddy, I still love you. We both still love you.
A: Really?
Mommy: Yes, but that doesn't mean you can be bad all the time! We're much happier with you when you're a good girl.
A: Well, Daddy still loves me even when I'm bad! Ha-Ha.
(And I'm pretty sure she stuck out her tongue at my back).
My husband will tuck the delinquent child into bed, and kiss them good night, and assure him or her that Daddy still loves him/her. Whereas I will wait until the child is asleep before placing the good night kiss upon a sweaty brow.
Recently, Ceilidh declared that I did not love her. As I had not actually stated that, nor was this in the heat of the moment or midway through a temper tantrum, I questioned her as to why she would think such a thought. Ceilidh's reasoning? I did not love her because I imposed time-outs, took away the Xbox on occasion (as a disciplinary measure), didn't buy her whatever toys she desired, and horror of horrors, made her eat yucky stuff like vegetables. I tried to explain that it was because I loved her and her siblings, that I did all of the above actions, and more. Like scouting out sales to outfit them in clothing, and trying to find new recipes to tempt their palates, and doing copious amounts of laundry so they had clean clothes to wear, and assigning extra "homework" so they could do better at school. If I didn't love her or any of the other kids, I advised that I wouldn't give a care whether or not they played in traffic, ate junk food all the time so that their teeth fell out, and couldn't read more than her name. If I didn't love them, they could watch all the television they wanted until their brains became smoother than a baby's bottom. And I would have great sleep since I wouldn't be up at night stressing over whether or not I was doing okay as a mother. I'd also be out every night at a fabulous restaurant enjoying fine foods and fine wine, or I'd be shopping for myself at the higher end boutiques. Hitting the spa and hiring a personal trainer. Why not? After all, if I didn't love my kids, I wouldn't need to spend every last dime and nickel on them and their futures. I wouldn't have to bother with dance lessons, skating, piano and saving for a university education.
Well, that little speech gave my six-year-old something to think about, but I don't think she was quite convinced, as she then asked her Dad if he would lover her always - forever and forever. Daddy answered, yes, of course, in fact, he loved them unconditionally. What did that mean, the munchkins wondered. So Daddy explained that he loved them no matter what. That even when they were bad and misbehaving, he still loved them.
Aisling pounced on that concept.
A: So even when you're mad at me, you still love me?
Dad: Yes, even when I'm angry with you because you weren't obeying Mommy and Daddy, I still love you. We both still love you.
A: Really?
Mommy: Yes, but that doesn't mean you can be bad all the time! We're much happier with you when you're a good girl.
A: Well, Daddy still loves me even when I'm bad! Ha-Ha.
(And I'm pretty sure she stuck out her tongue at my back).
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Returning to Work
I'm stressed at the thought of returning to work in a day. My shoulders are knotted and I can't sleep, despite a long day of endless laundry, cleaning, dealing with the kids and a sick husband. With previous maternity leaves, I think I was excited about the prospect of going back to office, to re-entering the world of adult conversations, and feeling like I was once again using my brain for something other than answering my kids' questions about why the sky is blue and how do clouds stay afloat. Not this time.
I've started to prepare for my return. I've taken an armload of suits to the dry-cleaners, and washed my dress shirts. I had my ever supportive spouse take me back-to-work shopping for some new outfits. While I was temporarily excited about returning to the office so I could wear the new duds, the euphoria faded away.
I'm probably a bit nervous about jumping back into my career. It's been almost 13 months and I'm sure the law has developed and changed while I was gone. I remember vaguely skimming a few articles in the paper about some Supreme Court decisions, but about what exactly, I couldn't tell you. Going back to work is probably like riding a bicycle, but right now, I don't think I could handle a tricycle.
While I am looking forward to seeing my good friends on a regular basis again, I'm reluctant to leave my comfortable world of school drop-offs and pick-ups, an hour of watching The Chew, trying out new recipes and hanging out with Quinn. I'll be the first to admit that staying-at-home would not be a good fit with me. I know I need to be away from the kids to appreciate them that much more, and I am a much happier person when I do work. Not that I haven't been gloriously happy this past year. But knowing that Quinn is my last baby, I think I really took the time to cherish the year off. I loved the walks to and from school, except when the one or more of the kids were cranky and displaying poor behaviour. I looked forward to afternoon naps with Quinn on the couch. I enjoyed the help of assistant Aisling when I baked cookies. If I could balance the working life with the home life, then I probably wouldn't be so stressed about returning to the office.
And there in lies the real issue - can I actually handle working while raising four children and maintaining a good relationship with my spouse? I'm not suggesting that staying at home would make my marriage grand. In fact, I'm sure my spouse would be the first to agree that having me at work would be a plus. Not only financially, but he does know that I love my job - most days. Besides, there were many, many days when the relationship was strained - a combination of no sleep, little patience, whining and misbehaving children and a baby that needed to be nursed every two hours. As I've stated in previous posts, my spouse is a very hands-on dad, and generally helpful around the house too. But let's face it, he's had pretty much a free ride this past year with household chores. It'll take some weeks for adjusting for him as well when I go back to work, and I know there will be a few sessions nagging on my part.
When I think of throwing 50 plus hours of "real" work, into the mix of endless loads of laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparations, nightly baths, homework supervision, to name a few....well, my heart starts to race, my shoulders start to creep up to my neck, and I'm sure I've sprouted a few more grey hairs. The thought of advance meal preparation for our busier nights paralyzes me and so, it's probably a good thing I've been batch cooking and freezing meals for the past month. I know we've managed in the past when I've returned to work, but it feels like our lives have gotten exponentially busier in the past year. Tae Kwon Do two nights a week, piano lessons, Cubs, dance lessons, hockey, swimming...
Yes, I could lessen the stress and take the kids out of the activities, but that really wouldn't be fair to them. Besides on the nights the three older kids have Tae Kwon Do with their dad, Quinn and I get a few hours to ourselves.
And then there's Quinn. I don't know how both of us will handle the separation in a day. We haven't been apart more than a few hours in the past. With the holidays, we weren't apart more than an hour at most. That also meant weaning did not go as planned. With his strong will and refusal to take more than a sip of milk from a cup, I know we are in trouble come Tuesday. Or at least my breasts will be. I do believe he knows something is afoot. Whenever I disappear from his line of sight, he panics. I went into the garage to toss out the recycling, and he started crying while making a bee line to the garage door. The other day I went out grocery shopping. His dad returned from Devlin's hockey camp before I did. When he realized that only Daddy was coming in, and no one else, he began bawling. Upon my return, there was happy babbling and eager arms reaching out to grab my legs.
With all of these factors, I am less than enthusiastic about facing my inevitable return to the world of paid work. In fact, I down-right glum, and eating lots of cookies to deal with my emotions. Which is not a good thing. Maybe I'll pour myself a glass of wine once my little lambs are asleep and hope it puts me to sleep too.
I've started to prepare for my return. I've taken an armload of suits to the dry-cleaners, and washed my dress shirts. I had my ever supportive spouse take me back-to-work shopping for some new outfits. While I was temporarily excited about returning to the office so I could wear the new duds, the euphoria faded away.
I'm probably a bit nervous about jumping back into my career. It's been almost 13 months and I'm sure the law has developed and changed while I was gone. I remember vaguely skimming a few articles in the paper about some Supreme Court decisions, but about what exactly, I couldn't tell you. Going back to work is probably like riding a bicycle, but right now, I don't think I could handle a tricycle.
While I am looking forward to seeing my good friends on a regular basis again, I'm reluctant to leave my comfortable world of school drop-offs and pick-ups, an hour of watching The Chew, trying out new recipes and hanging out with Quinn. I'll be the first to admit that staying-at-home would not be a good fit with me. I know I need to be away from the kids to appreciate them that much more, and I am a much happier person when I do work. Not that I haven't been gloriously happy this past year. But knowing that Quinn is my last baby, I think I really took the time to cherish the year off. I loved the walks to and from school, except when the one or more of the kids were cranky and displaying poor behaviour. I looked forward to afternoon naps with Quinn on the couch. I enjoyed the help of assistant Aisling when I baked cookies. If I could balance the working life with the home life, then I probably wouldn't be so stressed about returning to the office.
And there in lies the real issue - can I actually handle working while raising four children and maintaining a good relationship with my spouse? I'm not suggesting that staying at home would make my marriage grand. In fact, I'm sure my spouse would be the first to agree that having me at work would be a plus. Not only financially, but he does know that I love my job - most days. Besides, there were many, many days when the relationship was strained - a combination of no sleep, little patience, whining and misbehaving children and a baby that needed to be nursed every two hours. As I've stated in previous posts, my spouse is a very hands-on dad, and generally helpful around the house too. But let's face it, he's had pretty much a free ride this past year with household chores. It'll take some weeks for adjusting for him as well when I go back to work, and I know there will be a few sessions nagging on my part.
When I think of throwing 50 plus hours of "real" work, into the mix of endless loads of laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparations, nightly baths, homework supervision, to name a few....well, my heart starts to race, my shoulders start to creep up to my neck, and I'm sure I've sprouted a few more grey hairs. The thought of advance meal preparation for our busier nights paralyzes me and so, it's probably a good thing I've been batch cooking and freezing meals for the past month. I know we've managed in the past when I've returned to work, but it feels like our lives have gotten exponentially busier in the past year. Tae Kwon Do two nights a week, piano lessons, Cubs, dance lessons, hockey, swimming...
Yes, I could lessen the stress and take the kids out of the activities, but that really wouldn't be fair to them. Besides on the nights the three older kids have Tae Kwon Do with their dad, Quinn and I get a few hours to ourselves.
And then there's Quinn. I don't know how both of us will handle the separation in a day. We haven't been apart more than a few hours in the past. With the holidays, we weren't apart more than an hour at most. That also meant weaning did not go as planned. With his strong will and refusal to take more than a sip of milk from a cup, I know we are in trouble come Tuesday. Or at least my breasts will be. I do believe he knows something is afoot. Whenever I disappear from his line of sight, he panics. I went into the garage to toss out the recycling, and he started crying while making a bee line to the garage door. The other day I went out grocery shopping. His dad returned from Devlin's hockey camp before I did. When he realized that only Daddy was coming in, and no one else, he began bawling. Upon my return, there was happy babbling and eager arms reaching out to grab my legs.
With all of these factors, I am less than enthusiastic about facing my inevitable return to the world of paid work. In fact, I down-right glum, and eating lots of cookies to deal with my emotions. Which is not a good thing. Maybe I'll pour myself a glass of wine once my little lambs are asleep and hope it puts me to sleep too.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Happy 1st Birthday Quinn!
It's been a year of laughs, lots of hugs, some sleepless nights, many moments of cuteness, and an overabundance of love (that no one can complain about). As with each child that came before him, Quinn has brought us nothing but happiness, except for those long drives on the 401 when we all wished for ear plugs. We know there will be many more months and years of greatness with our Mighty Quinn if the first year is anything to go by.
Happy Birthday dear son! You'll have a long life with a future in academics (a good thing since your name means intelligence) since you selected the thread and a pen at your dol. And just because you're so darn cute with a demonstrated sweet tooth, you got two birthday cakes! (Just don't expect that every year.)
Happy Birthday dear son! You'll have a long life with a future in academics (a good thing since your name means intelligence) since you selected the thread and a pen at your dol. And just because you're so darn cute with a demonstrated sweet tooth, you got two birthday cakes! (Just don't expect that every year.)
Merry Christmas 2012
I'm not one to send newsy Christmas letters with the Christmas cards. For one, it's a feat of organization that I've actually gotten the kids to pose for a picture, then ordered the cards, picked them up and mailed them out. For another, I haven't had two minutes to sit down and compose a letter in the weeks leading up to the holidays. Have you noticed the lack of recent blog posts? It's been a few feverish weeks of getting ready for the big day - shopping, baking, more shopping, remembering to pick up gifts for teachers, trying to corral the kids to sit and write a card for their teachers, running out to pick up tights for the holiday dresses, convincing Devlin that he can wear too tight church shoes for one hour of his life, trying to remember who we forgot on the gift list - it's been nutty.
While it may already be 2013, here's my Christmas message:
Dear friends,
Hope everyone is well, healthy and mostly happy. We, on the other hand, after a mostly illness-free year, have been fighting through various colds, flus, sniffles and what not in December. Poor Quinn has had the worst of it.
But happy? After some discussion with my spouse, we have determined that we are indeed happy and content, or a tad delusional.
We started the year of 2012 off with a bang. The arrival of Quinn, our fourth child, in the last minutes of 2011 insured that we would definitely be awake to greet the new year. Alas, the same could not be said for ringing in 2013. Our entire household was asleep by 11pm.
The year flew by. Devlin scored a few goals in hockey and soccer. He joined a new hockey team in September, moved up a level and is now playing left wing. He seems to have quite the imagination as evidenced by his drawings and creative writing at school. Ceilidh learned to ride a two-wheeler. Her transition to grade one was a bit bumpy as many of her BFFs left for French immersion. But she's settled in nicely, and all of her school work comes home covered in doodles. Ceilidh is quite the avid reader these days. By Christmas, she was singing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth". Or perhaps I should say she was whistling it as the gap in front made it difficult for her to enunciate. Aisling started junior kindergarten and learned to spell her name, but has not yet mastered the "indoor" voice. All three started taking Tae Kwon Do this year with their dad, and Devlin and Ceilidh progressed to yellow belt recently. Devlin is in Cubs, while Ceilidh and Aisling are continuing with dance lessons. And then there's piano lessons for Devlin and Ceilidh.
Quinn, of course, made the most progress this year. He went from lying around, to rolling over, to sitting up, to the army/belly crawl in the summer, then crawling on his hands and knees in September. And in the last two weeks, he has started walking! And while Ceilidh gave up two teeth to the Tooth Fairy, Quinn cut two more. I think the last count was 10 teeth. We're not sure though, as we're all hesitant to put our fingers into his mouth - he's got quite the bite.
Mommy and Daddy are still in survival mode, feeling like we've completed ten marathons by day's end. One day, we'll be like other parents and enjoy a television show and a glass of wine after the kids go to sleep. One day, in the distant future. For now, we get our energy levels refilled as we share stories about our kids and laugh together at their antics.
For example:
Walking the kids to school one morning, Ceilidh noticed I was wearing new shoes. Why was I wearing new shoes for the mundane task of going to school? I explained I was trying to break them in. What did that mean? Making them more comfortable, and trying to stretch out the shoe.
"Like making them wider?" she asked.
"Sort of," I said.
"I'm learning all about wide and long at school," she stated proudly.
"Really? What's Daddy? Wide or long?" I queried.
"Mostly wide," she replied without missing a beat.
Then there was the night I got fed up with hearing my children use the word "hate". As in "I hate you/Devlin/Ceilidh/playing piano..." You get the picture. I'm sure we all use that word, but I really didn't want them using that word so easily.
After a challenging evening with Ceilidh that resulted with her screaming "I hate you" to a certain parent, I gathered up the three kids who could speak in understandable English. Both Daddy and I presented a united front as we lectured them on how much we detested hearing the word "hate" coming from them, and we issued a cease and desist order on that word. We also informed them the consequences of uttering that word would result in the loss of Xbox for a weekend. Ceilidh and Devlin nodded their understanding, but Aisling? She came back, quite nonchalantly, with "What about the F-word? Do you like that word?"
While Daddy struggled mightily to keep a straight face, I glared evilly and said in my most authoritative voice that the "f-word" was most certainly not an allowable word in the house. I glared once more, then rushed to the safety of my room where both Daddy and I dissolved into giggles.
So, there you have it - what 2012 has been like in our household. I'm sure 2013 will be more of the same crazy stuff, and multiplied by the Mighty Quinn who will no doubt add his own brand of comments and quirks to the mix.
From our zoo to your's, Merry Belated Christmas and Best Wishes for the new year!
While it may already be 2013, here's my Christmas message:
Dear friends,
Hope everyone is well, healthy and mostly happy. We, on the other hand, after a mostly illness-free year, have been fighting through various colds, flus, sniffles and what not in December. Poor Quinn has had the worst of it.
But happy? After some discussion with my spouse, we have determined that we are indeed happy and content, or a tad delusional.
We started the year of 2012 off with a bang. The arrival of Quinn, our fourth child, in the last minutes of 2011 insured that we would definitely be awake to greet the new year. Alas, the same could not be said for ringing in 2013. Our entire household was asleep by 11pm.
The year flew by. Devlin scored a few goals in hockey and soccer. He joined a new hockey team in September, moved up a level and is now playing left wing. He seems to have quite the imagination as evidenced by his drawings and creative writing at school. Ceilidh learned to ride a two-wheeler. Her transition to grade one was a bit bumpy as many of her BFFs left for French immersion. But she's settled in nicely, and all of her school work comes home covered in doodles. Ceilidh is quite the avid reader these days. By Christmas, she was singing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth". Or perhaps I should say she was whistling it as the gap in front made it difficult for her to enunciate. Aisling started junior kindergarten and learned to spell her name, but has not yet mastered the "indoor" voice. All three started taking Tae Kwon Do this year with their dad, and Devlin and Ceilidh progressed to yellow belt recently. Devlin is in Cubs, while Ceilidh and Aisling are continuing with dance lessons. And then there's piano lessons for Devlin and Ceilidh.
Quinn, of course, made the most progress this year. He went from lying around, to rolling over, to sitting up, to the army/belly crawl in the summer, then crawling on his hands and knees in September. And in the last two weeks, he has started walking! And while Ceilidh gave up two teeth to the Tooth Fairy, Quinn cut two more. I think the last count was 10 teeth. We're not sure though, as we're all hesitant to put our fingers into his mouth - he's got quite the bite.
Mommy and Daddy are still in survival mode, feeling like we've completed ten marathons by day's end. One day, we'll be like other parents and enjoy a television show and a glass of wine after the kids go to sleep. One day, in the distant future. For now, we get our energy levels refilled as we share stories about our kids and laugh together at their antics.
For example:
Walking the kids to school one morning, Ceilidh noticed I was wearing new shoes. Why was I wearing new shoes for the mundane task of going to school? I explained I was trying to break them in. What did that mean? Making them more comfortable, and trying to stretch out the shoe.
"Like making them wider?" she asked.
"Sort of," I said.
"I'm learning all about wide and long at school," she stated proudly.
"Really? What's Daddy? Wide or long?" I queried.
"Mostly wide," she replied without missing a beat.
Then there was the night I got fed up with hearing my children use the word "hate". As in "I hate you/Devlin/Ceilidh/playing piano..." You get the picture. I'm sure we all use that word, but I really didn't want them using that word so easily.
After a challenging evening with Ceilidh that resulted with her screaming "I hate you" to a certain parent, I gathered up the three kids who could speak in understandable English. Both Daddy and I presented a united front as we lectured them on how much we detested hearing the word "hate" coming from them, and we issued a cease and desist order on that word. We also informed them the consequences of uttering that word would result in the loss of Xbox for a weekend. Ceilidh and Devlin nodded their understanding, but Aisling? She came back, quite nonchalantly, with "What about the F-word? Do you like that word?"
While Daddy struggled mightily to keep a straight face, I glared evilly and said in my most authoritative voice that the "f-word" was most certainly not an allowable word in the house. I glared once more, then rushed to the safety of my room where both Daddy and I dissolved into giggles.
So, there you have it - what 2012 has been like in our household. I'm sure 2013 will be more of the same crazy stuff, and multiplied by the Mighty Quinn who will no doubt add his own brand of comments and quirks to the mix.
From our zoo to your's, Merry Belated Christmas and Best Wishes for the new year!
It DOES Take a Village
My maternity leave is winding down to the last few days. My baby is getting bigger. Quinn is nearly a year old. He's started walking last week. But only if you're not watching him intently, or expecting him to toddle over to you. No, he gets up, steadies himself and walks when you are ignoring him. Or not paying attention. All of sudden, you feel his tiny hands grasping the back of your leg and look down to his smiling face. He babbles constantly, and throws whatever he doesn't want - be it the soother, food, or a toy. I feel like I'm always on my hands and knees retrieving toys, crackers, and soothers. Last week, he tossed his soother down several rows at the hockey game. I thought he might be interested in hockey given that he's always playing with the miniature stick and swatting at a ball, but after last week's display, Quinn may have a future in baseball instead.
As he discovers more of the world around on him, I am realizing that my time at home is coming to an end.
On a recent morning run, I reflected on the idea that it does take a village to raise a child, or keep a mother sane. We were fortunate enough to have our own village. My parents who stayed with us to lend a much needed helping hand during Quinn's first few weeks of life. Our wonderful nanny who ensured the older kids were dressed and fed and ready for school in the morning. She also took care of Quinn to allow me to walk the older kids to school, and stay connected to their world. She kept our abode neat and clean, and enabled me to focus my energies on trying out new recipes or simply get our supper prepared early. Having Rose around also meant that I could exercise on a daily basis - my daily fix of baby-free adrenaline. And every once in awhile, Mommy and Daddy got a few hours to ourselves on a date night. Dinner out, or a movie. Sometimes, it was an hour spent at Walmart with a Starbucks coffee. Nothing fancy but it allowed us to reconnect and maintain our sanity as a couple.
Then there was my brother who lived with us for several months. Quinn spent many hours snoozing on Uncle Billy's chest. Having my brother help out when we were running in opposite directions for the kids' extra-curricular activities was godsend. Plus there were the delicious meals he prepared as well. Not to mention having another adult to hang out with probably saved my sanity.
We also had Auntie Grace, my youngest sister. She was in the "city" working on her Masters of Education, and spent many weekends with us. Helping Ceilidh with a craft, or reading with Aisling, or playing road hockey with Devlin - it was wonderful having Auntie Grace around. We also ran the Mississauga 10k race together in May. Without Grace pushing me to run faster and longer, I would never have gotten into shape for the race.
The dad of the family also had his village role. Besides the usual chores of baths and early morning hockey practices, chaufeurring to various activities and coaching soccer, school lunches wouldn't have been prepared if Daddy wasn't around. Weekend breakfasts are also Daddy's domain, as are the occasional pancake and bacon dinners. I know I'm minimizing his role, but I can tell you the kids don't. After all, he is "Fun Daddy", while I often get the role of "Mean Mommy". That should be telling in itself.
In reflecting on this post, I thought about how tough and disheartening it must be for those without willing partners or family. It takes two of us to give Quinn a dose of Advil when he's feverish - one to hold down his flailing limbs and one to shoot the liquid into his screaming mouth. Lately, it's taking two of us to change a diaper since he does not want to lie still for anything! There are many forms of families out there, just as there are parenting styles. Oftentimes, it feels like I'm flying by the seat of my pants. There is no manual (despite the vast volumes of parenting books and magazines and advice columns) to read in every situation. It's often a game time decision or a "go with your gut" feeling when it comes to parenting dilemmas. But truly, without our support system or village, this past year would have been a different story.
As he discovers more of the world around on him, I am realizing that my time at home is coming to an end.
On a recent morning run, I reflected on the idea that it does take a village to raise a child, or keep a mother sane. We were fortunate enough to have our own village. My parents who stayed with us to lend a much needed helping hand during Quinn's first few weeks of life. Our wonderful nanny who ensured the older kids were dressed and fed and ready for school in the morning. She also took care of Quinn to allow me to walk the older kids to school, and stay connected to their world. She kept our abode neat and clean, and enabled me to focus my energies on trying out new recipes or simply get our supper prepared early. Having Rose around also meant that I could exercise on a daily basis - my daily fix of baby-free adrenaline. And every once in awhile, Mommy and Daddy got a few hours to ourselves on a date night. Dinner out, or a movie. Sometimes, it was an hour spent at Walmart with a Starbucks coffee. Nothing fancy but it allowed us to reconnect and maintain our sanity as a couple.
Then there was my brother who lived with us for several months. Quinn spent many hours snoozing on Uncle Billy's chest. Having my brother help out when we were running in opposite directions for the kids' extra-curricular activities was godsend. Plus there were the delicious meals he prepared as well. Not to mention having another adult to hang out with probably saved my sanity.
We also had Auntie Grace, my youngest sister. She was in the "city" working on her Masters of Education, and spent many weekends with us. Helping Ceilidh with a craft, or reading with Aisling, or playing road hockey with Devlin - it was wonderful having Auntie Grace around. We also ran the Mississauga 10k race together in May. Without Grace pushing me to run faster and longer, I would never have gotten into shape for the race.
The dad of the family also had his village role. Besides the usual chores of baths and early morning hockey practices, chaufeurring to various activities and coaching soccer, school lunches wouldn't have been prepared if Daddy wasn't around. Weekend breakfasts are also Daddy's domain, as are the occasional pancake and bacon dinners. I know I'm minimizing his role, but I can tell you the kids don't. After all, he is "Fun Daddy", while I often get the role of "Mean Mommy". That should be telling in itself.
In reflecting on this post, I thought about how tough and disheartening it must be for those without willing partners or family. It takes two of us to give Quinn a dose of Advil when he's feverish - one to hold down his flailing limbs and one to shoot the liquid into his screaming mouth. Lately, it's taking two of us to change a diaper since he does not want to lie still for anything! There are many forms of families out there, just as there are parenting styles. Oftentimes, it feels like I'm flying by the seat of my pants. There is no manual (despite the vast volumes of parenting books and magazines and advice columns) to read in every situation. It's often a game time decision or a "go with your gut" feeling when it comes to parenting dilemmas. But truly, without our support system or village, this past year would have been a different story.
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