First of all - Hooray for the Canadian Women's Hockey team! Gold! Awesome playing!
If you don't know what I'm talking, I have no idea what rock you're living under, but stay there. Please.
Ceilidh's class, and pretty much every classroom in every school, has been using the Olympic games as a teaching tool. Today, the theme was gold medals, and figuring what activity they and their family members could claim as their gold medal sport. This was Ceilidh's assessment our gold medal talents:
If sewing was an Olympic event, her Halmunee would get the gold medal.
If being smart and wise was an Olympic event, her Habudgee would win the gold medal.
If baking was an Olympic event, her mom (that's me) would take the gold.
If dancing funny was an Olympic event, her dad would win the gold medal.
If playing with Lego was an Olympic event, her brother Devlin would win gold.
If being obsessed with cars, Power Rangers and hockey was an Olympic event, her brother Quinn would win the gold medal.
If there was an Olympic event in fake pouting, then Aisling would be declared the winner.
And, finally, if singing was an Olympic event, Ceilidh would be the gold medallist.
Or perhaps, I have a future Canadian Idol contestant and winner on my hands.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Noise pollution!
Aisling has been learning about the environment this month. Every night, we get an "informative" lecture from her regarding the wasting of power when we leave on the computer (never mind that the kids have television for who knows how long) and the need to recycle, as she cuts up another piece of coloured paper to make a craft.
The best was last night:
"Do you know what noise pollution is? It's when you make lots of noise and it's loud," explained the child with no inside voice and no volume control.
The best was last night:
"Do you know what noise pollution is? It's when you make lots of noise and it's loud," explained the child with no inside voice and no volume control.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Escape into the Snow!
Another winter storm. With most of the snow expected during the day. Perfect excuse to stay home from work, right? Not for me. I chose to drive over 80kms in blinding snow, on slippery roads, chose to crawl along the highway at 40 km/hour. Am I nuts? Nope.
Leah McLaren recently did a column about her daily schedule, sort of tongue-in-cheek mocking of another important CEO of some big company and her recitation of her daily schedule and how much she gets done before most of us are awake. Yeah, it made me nauseated too.
And this was my morning today, and why I chose to go to the office:
5:20am - wake to Quinn asking for cookie, and then apple juice
5:30am - stumble to kitchen and fetch juice for insistent child
5:32am - two sips later, watch as Quinn finds his soother and settles back to sleep
5:35am - give up on trying to fall asleep, due to stench of urine filled diaper, and gaze adoringly upon my slumbering baby (without my glasses, he's even more angelic looking)
5:55am - get out of bed, into work out gear and head to basement
6:00 am - check emails and throw laundry into dryer
6:35am - finish work out, get laundry out of dryer
6:45am -enjoy my breakfast smoothie, pack my lunch, start the coffee, check the news
7:00am - give kids first wake up call and head for shower
7:01am- try to convince Quinn to snuggle in bed with his lamb while I shower
7:13am - finish shower to hear Quinn crying for Mommy
7:14am - nearly get hit in face when Quinn barges into bathroom
7:20am - hair dried after rescuing hairbrush from near dunking into toilet by Quinn, dressed and give kids second and third wake up call
7:25am - dry Quinn's tears, dole out hugs to sleepy kids
7:28am - give Aisling piggy back ride downstairs while carrying Quinn, lamb, blanket and bottle
7:32am - finish applying make up
7:33am - pour coffee and get assaulted by sound of Aisling yelling because she's being denied the ability to watch television in the morning (punishment for yesterday's misbehaviours)
7:34am -put Aisling at dining room table, ignore the angry sobs
7:35 am - grab briefcase and start to put on jacket
7:36 am - try to peel Quinn off right leg
7:37 am - try to untangle myself from Quinn's arms that are wrapped around my legs and ankles while issuing instructions to Devlin on what he still needs to do on his project
7:38 am - blow kiss to Ceilidh
7:40am - get to my car, only to be told by spouse that he snapped the windshield wiper
7:41 am- climb into the mom-mobile (uncool minivan with the cheesy family stickers on rear window) and sigh at the quiet surroundings
7:42 am - blast on the radio and peel out of driveway (okay, crawled out of driveway)
It was quiet and peaceful. Knowing that the contractors were coming to work in the basement and spouse was most likely to work from home and be underfoot, I welcomed the ridiculously slow commute to escape the chaos.
Leah McLaren recently did a column about her daily schedule, sort of tongue-in-cheek mocking of another important CEO of some big company and her recitation of her daily schedule and how much she gets done before most of us are awake. Yeah, it made me nauseated too.
And this was my morning today, and why I chose to go to the office:
5:20am - wake to Quinn asking for cookie, and then apple juice
5:30am - stumble to kitchen and fetch juice for insistent child
5:32am - two sips later, watch as Quinn finds his soother and settles back to sleep
5:35am - give up on trying to fall asleep, due to stench of urine filled diaper, and gaze adoringly upon my slumbering baby (without my glasses, he's even more angelic looking)
5:55am - get out of bed, into work out gear and head to basement
6:00 am - check emails and throw laundry into dryer
6:35am - finish work out, get laundry out of dryer
6:45am -enjoy my breakfast smoothie, pack my lunch, start the coffee, check the news
7:00am - give kids first wake up call and head for shower
7:01am- try to convince Quinn to snuggle in bed with his lamb while I shower
7:13am - finish shower to hear Quinn crying for Mommy
7:14am - nearly get hit in face when Quinn barges into bathroom
7:20am - hair dried after rescuing hairbrush from near dunking into toilet by Quinn, dressed and give kids second and third wake up call
7:25am - dry Quinn's tears, dole out hugs to sleepy kids
7:28am - give Aisling piggy back ride downstairs while carrying Quinn, lamb, blanket and bottle
7:32am - finish applying make up
7:33am - pour coffee and get assaulted by sound of Aisling yelling because she's being denied the ability to watch television in the morning (punishment for yesterday's misbehaviours)
7:34am -put Aisling at dining room table, ignore the angry sobs
7:35 am - grab briefcase and start to put on jacket
7:36 am - try to peel Quinn off right leg
7:37 am - try to untangle myself from Quinn's arms that are wrapped around my legs and ankles while issuing instructions to Devlin on what he still needs to do on his project
7:38 am - blow kiss to Ceilidh
7:40am - get to my car, only to be told by spouse that he snapped the windshield wiper
7:41 am- climb into the mom-mobile (uncool minivan with the cheesy family stickers on rear window) and sigh at the quiet surroundings
7:42 am - blast on the radio and peel out of driveway (okay, crawled out of driveway)
It was quiet and peaceful. Knowing that the contractors were coming to work in the basement and spouse was most likely to work from home and be underfoot, I welcomed the ridiculously slow commute to escape the chaos.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Groundhog's Day
Remember that movie with Bill Murray and Andie McDowell? Where they're caught re-living the same day over and over again? Yeah, it's like that here, except it's a cycle that repeats every 20 minutes or so.
Quinn asking for apple juice.
Ever since I successfully weaned the Quinn-meister off the boob and onto the sippy cup, he's been great about drinking everything BUT milk. Unlike his older siblings who would cannot go an hour or two without milk, Quinn could care less. We've tried every form of milk on him - cow's milk, soy milk, almond milk, chocolate milk...nada. He spits it out in disgust. Unless there are cheerios or fruit loops floating around in the white liquid, he refuses to partake. Given his otherwise healthy and varied diet, the pediatrician advised us to leave it be. So, he drinks water and juice. Lots of it.And he's learned on Friday take out nights, Daddy has something yummy, sweet and bubbly in his cup, so he's constantly swiping his dad's soft drink.
And when his older siblings bring home juice boxes from their activities, he demands one of his own. I have relented, on those once a week occasions, letting him have his own juice box.
Now, he thinks he can get a juice box all the time.
"Mommy, apple juice??" he queries.
"Yeah, it's in your sippy cup."
"Noooo, I want apple juice!"
"Here, it's in the sippy cup. Watch me pour some more," I try to re-direct, a tactic that used to work in the past.
"Nooooo! Not cup! Want apple juice!" he cries.
"Sippy cup!"
And then the drama starts, with the head thrown back, and the flinging of his body onto the floor.
I ignore.
Five minutes later...
"Mommy, apple juice?" he asks with a smile.
"Yes, it's in the sippy cup."
"Mommy, want apple juice?" he asks while dragging me to the cupboard where I "hide" the juice boxes.
"No, you can have the juice in your cup."
"Nooooo!" comes the cry and, this times, he's starting to bang his head against the cupboard.
A little later, while standing by the cupboard, "Mommy? Apple Juice? Peeze?"
"No."
"Peeze!!!" he screams while he's trying to reach the safety lock on the cupboard.
Really, either his short term memory is really terrible, or he's ever hopeful that Mommy's short term memory is terrible and I'll forget about denying his request a gazillion times, or he's super optimistic that Mommy will change her mind if he keeps wearing her down.
Whatever. I guess I have to admire his tenacity. Or stubbornness.
Oh, and happy Groundhog's Day on this Superbowl Sunday!
Quinn asking for apple juice.
Ever since I successfully weaned the Quinn-meister off the boob and onto the sippy cup, he's been great about drinking everything BUT milk. Unlike his older siblings who would cannot go an hour or two without milk, Quinn could care less. We've tried every form of milk on him - cow's milk, soy milk, almond milk, chocolate milk...nada. He spits it out in disgust. Unless there are cheerios or fruit loops floating around in the white liquid, he refuses to partake. Given his otherwise healthy and varied diet, the pediatrician advised us to leave it be. So, he drinks water and juice. Lots of it.And he's learned on Friday take out nights, Daddy has something yummy, sweet and bubbly in his cup, so he's constantly swiping his dad's soft drink.
And when his older siblings bring home juice boxes from their activities, he demands one of his own. I have relented, on those once a week occasions, letting him have his own juice box.
Now, he thinks he can get a juice box all the time.
"Mommy, apple juice??" he queries.
"Yeah, it's in your sippy cup."
"Noooo, I want apple juice!"
"Here, it's in the sippy cup. Watch me pour some more," I try to re-direct, a tactic that used to work in the past.
"Nooooo! Not cup! Want apple juice!" he cries.
"Sippy cup!"
And then the drama starts, with the head thrown back, and the flinging of his body onto the floor.
I ignore.
Five minutes later...
"Mommy, apple juice?" he asks with a smile.
"Yes, it's in the sippy cup."
"Mommy, want apple juice?" he asks while dragging me to the cupboard where I "hide" the juice boxes.
"No, you can have the juice in your cup."
"Nooooo!" comes the cry and, this times, he's starting to bang his head against the cupboard.
A little later, while standing by the cupboard, "Mommy? Apple Juice? Peeze?"
"No."
"Peeze!!!" he screams while he's trying to reach the safety lock on the cupboard.
Really, either his short term memory is really terrible, or he's ever hopeful that Mommy's short term memory is terrible and I'll forget about denying his request a gazillion times, or he's super optimistic that Mommy will change her mind if he keeps wearing her down.
Whatever. I guess I have to admire his tenacity. Or stubbornness.
Oh, and happy Groundhog's Day on this Superbowl Sunday!
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