Quick thinking Saves the Party Girl

Happy Birthday Aisling! She's had quite the celebration this year - family birthday with the aunts and uncles and grandparents on the long weekend, a special brunch on her actual birthday, and a chaotic party with her friends at a ridiculous indoor activity place.
Mommy spent the evening before attempting to create a castle cake, and a frantic morning doing the last minute decorations and loot bags on top of the usual crazy Saturday morning routine. The festivities were scheduled for late afternoon, which meant having to answer just "how many more hours/minutes until my party?" a gazillion times. To add even more chaos to the mix, Quinn has been ill with a gasteronintestinal bug. He threw up several times yesterday, and then once more puked all over Mommy in bed last night. So, he's been out of sorts and miserable and clingy. To Mommy.
We finally made it out of the house. Took a wrong turn to the party place. Still made good time. Cake only shifted a little.
Left the list of invitees at home. Couldn't remember exactly how many kids were coming. Or who.
Parents showed up and offered, quite reluctantly, to stay and help out. I politely turned down their offers, knowing full well, they just wanted to get away from the kids for two hours. I know, because I make the same offer, hoping that no one actually takes me up on the offer.
The kids were let loose into the gym - climbing structure area. Quinn refused to venture more than two feet from me.
And then disaster struck.
Devlin and Ceilidh came running to me and their dad. Aisling had peed. In the climbing gym. On the top level. A lot. Her socks were soaked. And she refused to come down.
Well, I wasn't going to climb up. And I was VERY MAD. I had told her repeatedly to go the bathroom before leaving the house. I should have known better.
I attempted to find her, only to be stopped by a sobbing Quinn.
I sent the kids to bring her down, and could hear little voices, above the noisy din, "if you see something wet, it's Aisling - she peed her pants!". Great....
I took hold of Aisling and marched her to the bathroom. She left wet footprints on the floor. I left daddy to deal with alerting the staff to the clean up required on level 3 or 4.
My spouse asked if I brought extra clothes? Yeah, for Quinn. Not the six-year-old who's been potty trained for several years.
I looked at Aisling, and instructed her to strip off her wet underwear and socks. Into the garbage they went. As we wiped her down, and I verbally dressed her down for not listening to Mommy, she managed to look both tearful and defiant at the same time.
She couldn't go climbing without socks. What to do? It was the start of the party. I couldn't have her sit out of the fun, even though she deserved it.
Quick thinking Mommy came to the rescue. I recruited Ceilidh, who was wearing shorts. Had Ceilidh give Aisling her undies and Ceilidh went commando. Had Ceilidh also hand over her socks to Aisling and gave Ceilidh my socks. See? Problem solved. A little icky, but better than a sobbing 6 year old and a bunch of 6 year olds laughing at her.
Definitely a birthday party to remember!

Extortionist

Aisling's teachers communicate with us by way of a notebook. We use the notebook to alert the teachers of upcoming appointments. They send us notes whenever there is an "issue" with Aisling. It's never a good thing when we see writing in the agenda.
Today was no exception. This evening, we learned that Aisling had been taking other kids' toys from school and putting them into her backpack to bring home. Without getting the permission of the toy owner, according to the teachers.  Her defence? It was borrowing as the pilfered items never actually remained in her possession for long. Trust me, even with the ridonculous piles of toys we own, I would notice a new toy or two in the mix. She also stated the kids were fully aware and had given their consent.
But it gets worse. In some cases, she was directing other kids to get the toys from the unsuspecting kids and bring them to her. And when they hesitated to do her bidding, she'd tell them she wasn't going to be their friend.
I was shocked and upset and disappointed at this behaviour. And very dismayed - she's got the makings of a mafia boss. I'm raising a brood of criminals!
We explained that her actions were tantamount to bullying and was it any wonder that only a handful of kids had accepted the invitation to her birthday party?
Of course, the fact that this behaviour had been going for some time without any notification to us parents is also upsetting. Why would the teachers wait so long to alert us to this potentially criminal behaviour? Did they actually think they could handle this without the parents' involvement on the home front? Yeah, that's another issue for another day.
In the meantime, time to deal with little Miss. Mafioso.

Related to the primates

It's no secret that I refer to my offspring as monkeys. When Devlin was a toddler, I'd often point to the Telus monkey and tell him that it was "Devlin". I know I was successful in brain-washing my child when - in public - he pointed to a cartoon depiction of a monkey, and cried out excitedly "Mommy - it's me!"
Then there was the time, when I wondered out loud, in exasperation, "Where are my monkeys?" and Aisling piped up, "Here I am!"
On the weekend, I overheard a serious conversation between Daddy and his two daughters.
"Daddy? Ummm, which family do we belong to? Is it the gorillas?" asked Aisling.
"Pardon?" came Daddy's reply.
"I think it's the 'ragtangs, but Ceilidh says it's not. Which family are we related to?"
"We do NOT belong to the orangutan family, nor do we belong to the gorillas," came Daddy's answer which sounded like he was struggling not to laugh.
I piped in, "Nope, you all are related to the baboon family, but not Mommy, she's the only normal one."


After all, we do live in a zoo...

PDA

Last week, I committed the biggest sin for a boy. I tried to hold his hand. And caused sheer amounts of embarrassment to my soon-to-be 10 year old.
In my defence, it was dusk, and raining, and we were about to cross a dimly lit parking lot. As we prepared to sprint to the car, I did what has become second nature to me over the past decade. My hand automatically reached out to grab Devlin's little paw. I kept grasping air. I finally looked down to see what the problem was, and there he was, feet glued to the pavement, and a look of horror and utter disbelief on his freckled face. It dawned on me then. We were leaving Cubs, and his friends were nearby. None of them were holding their parents' hands. And he's growing up. So, I urged him forward with a pat on his back and we took off.
Was it just a few years ago when he would always reach for my hand when we walked? It seems like just yesterday when he would hold onto my legs and cry, refusing to go into his kindergarten class. Now he gives me a fist bump at the boundary of the school grounds. The first time I left him for a few days with my parents, he cried while pacing the house looking for me. Last year, when I dropped him off for his first overnight camping trip, he gave me a shrug hug. The kind where he brushed up against me, shrugged his shoulders and his arms kind of, sort of came up around my waist for a nanosecond before he quickly stepped away.
But I got a nice surprise this morning. I'll be away for the next three days at a conference. And yes, I won't lie, I have been counting the hours. Of course, I'll miss the monkeys, but I won't miss the 45 minute long temper tantrums, the arguments, the nagging to get their homework done, the begging to get them to eat their meals. It'll be a nice break.
I walked the kids to school, and reminded them to be good and listen to Arlyn and Daddy. We counted down how many days before Aisling would see Mommy. I promised to pick them up from school on Friday. At the school, Ceilidh gave me a long hug and a kiss. Aisling and I shared several hugs and kisses and waved goodbye for many long minutes. And to my utter surprise and delight, Devlin didn't do his usual props with me. He gave me a hug. Not a shrug hug, but a proper hug. And I didn't have to ask for it!

Low-tech family

A few weeks ago, I read an article about the family who attempted living a retro 80's life for a year. Aside from the mullet the dad sported, the kids weren't allowed any hand-held electronic devices, cellphones were a no no, and I think the television was an old model that involved getting up off the couch to change the channel. Interesting, but I don't I think I could survive a week, let alone a month.
At the same time, I understand the reasons why we should limit screen time for our kids, and it's increasingly hard when you consider the variety of screens that exist - smartphones, tablets, laptops, DVD players, DS or other small video games, the television, etc. At home, in the classroom, at a friend's house, at a restaurant (although that's about limiting the spouse's exposure to the big screen), in the car...you have to admit it's annoying to see a family out for dinner, presumably to spend time together, and the entire family is texting away or talking on their phones. Or my biggest pet peeve - seeing parents constantly on their phones at the play centres, not paying attention, let alone playing, with their kids.
I am not adverse to technology and its various gadgets. I'm blogging, aren't I? But for kids, I'm more old-fashioned. The laptop is in the kitchen, and the kids really aren't allowed onto internet unless it's an educational, parent-approved site or its for school projects. We haven't developed any hard and fast rules regarding social media, other than "no". We do give in, and let the kids play on the Xbox or watch television, especially when we need a break from the rugrats.
The one area where we don't have such entertainment is the car. Nothing gets me more annoyed that seeing a kid watching the DVD in the car on a trip to the mall. We regularly take car trips of four hours or more. There is no portable DVD player in our vehicle. We had one a looong time ago, but it soon broke down. And I couldn't be bothered to replace it. The kids have managed to survive the long car rides. They'll read, or sing along to the radio. They check out the scenery, and count the cows/sheep/tires on the trucks. They sleep, with the aid of Gravol (only the two prone to puking in a moving car), and more often than not, they get silly and bug each other, and prompt us to threaten to leave one of them on the side of the road. Surely, the last scenario would cause us to run out and buy a tablet or two to maintain the peace? Nah. I believe in learning the skill to entertain oneself, and to be comfortable with the idea that being bored on occasion is okay. And if nothing else, it's a rite of passage of childhood to annoy your parents and your siblings. Being able to converse with each other is a life skill, even if the topic is downright silly or gross.
And we LOOOVE saying over and over again "We'll get there when we get there! Don't ask again!"

(And we do own a tablet. It was purchased in preparation for a four hour long plane trip with a 22 month old who would be confined to my lap, in the window seat, on a sold-out flight. THAT was a necessity.)

Quinn no longer needs Mommy the Defender

I've identified myself as having 3 kids and a baby. And as mommy and defender of the baby, I've always kept an eagle on the other three kids to make sure they treated him with the gentle care and attention, and lots of affection. The other three have always been very good with Quinn. From the moment he arrived in their lives, he's always been subjected to hugs, kisses and cuddles. Ceilidh was so aggressive with her affection, that Quinn would cringe and shy away from her. As he got older and more mobile, his older siblings would be careful not to leave any tiny or sharp objects lying around, after much reminding from Mommy. As he began to reach and destroy, his siblings learned to not leave anything of value or importance anywhere near Quinn. For they all knew, as the baby, Quinn wouldn't be blamed for the destruction. Rather, the older kids would be blamed for their own carelessness.
Now some  may argue that leaving the baby blameless is wrong. But I call it in teaching responsibility for one's possessions. And reasoning with a 5 or 7 or 9 year old is much easier than explaining that ripped pages are a no-no to a 2 year old. When he would hit a sibling, accidently of course, as he had no concious control over his limbs, I would soothe the wounded child while explaining that as a baby, Quinn didn't mean to hurt.
But I've come to the realization that Quinn is ready to fend for himself. He no longer needs Mommy to fight his battles with his older siblings, or provide the ready excuse "He's just a baby, he doesn't understand!"
Aside from the fact that he has truly reached the "terrible twos", temper tantrums and all, he's learned to use his little fists to express his anger and frustration. I've seen his hands grab hold of his sister Aisling's long locks when he wants her out of the way. He uses his fists to punch and push me when I don't give in to his demands. And no, I don't give in, no matter how many little blows he lands while I try to "reason" with an angry toddler that hitting isn't going to get him the desired results.
I must admit, it's quite funny to watch him in a full blown temper tantrum. Remember Aisling? She used to strip down naked in major tantrum! Quinn just starts pleading with his big eyes staring up at you. Like Puss in Boots from Shrek. When that doesn't work, he starts shouting his demands. Then he starts jumping up and down in anger. While screaming. Then he falls to the ground, and cries and screams. When that doesn't produce the desired result, he gets up and starts punching, his little arms flailing like windmills. Then he spits and wipes his drooly mouth on my legs. Yeah, gross.
And finally, he collapses and sobs into my shoulder when he realizes he's just not going to get his way, and that Mommy's will is actually stronger than his. It hasn't always been the case, but it's time to stop spoiling the baby.
As for fending for himself? Quinn is not the instigator, but he's quickly learning to stick up for himself.
The other night, Quinn was going through his usual bedtime queries. "Where's Arlyn? Where's Daddy? Where's Ceilidh? Where's Aisling? Where's Devlin?" Once satisfied that all are sleeping, he'll settle down to sleep too. But last night, Devlin decided to tease his brother by asking him "Where's Quinn?" while poking him in the ribs, most likely in an effort to tickle him.
Quinn did not like the poke. And he stated, "Stop it Devlin!" while utilizing a lightning quick side punch at his older brother's head. That shut Devlin up.

Surprise!

Kudos to my kids and spouse for doing the impossible - surprising me on Mother's Day!
It started out as any other Sunday morning, trying to get an extra hour of sleep only to be poked awake by little fingers checking out Mommy's face. And the usual war over who got more of Mommy to cuddle. And playing peek-a-boo under the pillows.
It was the usual argument over who got to watch what show on television while I changed a toddler's diaper. There was the usual whining over who got more of the blanket on the couch. I quickly made my get-away and ran out the door, plugged in my ear buds and started to run away - well, no, just went for my run.
Upon my return, I started the coffee and rummaged through the fridge for breakfast ingredients. Quinn came along, demanding the fridge to be opened ("open fridge!") so he could decide what to snack on - strawberries this morning.
And then came my kids stomping down the stairs, followed by their dad. To my surprise, they came bearing gifts. A plaque for my desk, lovingly painted in pink by Ceilidh; a list of reasons why Mommy is so great from Devlin; a tea bag for an hour of relaxation from Aisling; and a lovely sparkly necklace and earrings from Quinn (ok, from all and Daddy). So, I got my bling, and yes, I was pleasantly surprised. I truly not expecting any of it.
Thanks kids and spouse!

For My Halmuhnee

It's Mother's Day weekend, and we're bombarded with thoughtful gift ideas for the special woman in our lives. Despite the number of flyers advertising jewellery and perfume, and even brunches, I suspect the wilted flowers from school and the not-so-secretly hidden construction paper cards will be the tokens of appreciation showered upon me tomorrow morning. Not that they don't mean the world to me, seeing as it's made with love and Aisling has been bursting with excitement to show me her "secret" present. But sometimes, it would be nice to have something with a little more bling.
I remember making the same crafts for Mother's Day when I was in elementary school. The gold spray painted macaroni covered kleenex box, the popsicle stick vase, the paper plate flower corsage...and thinking back, I remember always trying to make two of each. One for my mom, and one for my Halmuhnee, my grandmother. Explaining why I needed two Mother's Day gifts to my teachers was sometimes a challenge. Back then, the nuclear family was all that most people knew, especially in a blue collar Southwestern Ontario city. Nowadays, we're aware of the various permutations families can take - 1 mom, 2 dads; 2 moms, 2 dads; 1 mom and grandparents; 2 moms; 1 mom and 1 dad (very rare)...there's no such thing as a "normal" family.
My grandmother lived with us. She came to Canada when I was a month old to help care for me while Dad studied for his Ph.D. and mom went to earn a living as a nurse. Immigrating at age 50, she left a life full of friends and relatives to a land of white faces and a strange language. Her first meal in Canada? A hamburger at Harvey's.
While others would have been thinking of retirement and taking up leisurely hobbies, my grandma was learning how to use a new fangled washing machine, chasing after an active toddler and figuring out how to make kim-chee in a land that didn't grow napa cabbage.  I remember Grandma taking me for long walks along the river in the warmer days. Air conditioning was a luxury back then, and we lived on the second floor. Car seats were also an unknown back then (just for the record - I am not THAT old, and my dad did have a car seat, but it wasn't legally enforced). So I would often sit on Grandma's lap and she'd put the seat belt over both of us. I slept with Grandma. When we moved into a new house ( the same house mom and dad still live in), I was excited to have my own room. I don't think I actually ever slept alone in the new house. That first night, I got scared and crept in next to Halmuhnee and never left her side. I hated spending a night away from my Halmuhnee. Grandma sometimes would spend a few days at a friend's. I'm sure she quite needed the break from us brats. (Having my own, I TOTALLY get it.) But to a five years old, I thought Grandma was abandoning me. Even when she was going on a sight seeing tour with the other seniors from church, I didn't understand why she had to leave. Once, in a childish attempt to stop her from leaving, I hid her over night bag.
Even when I was older, and sharing a room with my sister, I loved cuddling up next to Grandma. And she loved putting her feet on our legs to "thaw out" her feet. I never understood that, as "how could feet be frozen?", until I had my own babies. When you're up late at night getting chores and work done, and you're freezing by the time you turn in to bed, there's nothing better than snuggling up to a warm, slumbering child and wrapping yourself around them.
I have so many memories of my grandma. Every part of my childhood, teenage years and a good chunk of my adulthood are coloured by her. She was in every way, a third parent, as opposed to a grandparent. She disciplined us just as much as she hugged us. I could go on for pages and pages about Grandma, but I'll restrain myself.
When teenaged kids were being mean and gossipy, Grandma told me to hold my head up high. Then she gave me a new sweater to wear, just to give my confidence that added boost. She wholly ascribed to the motto of  "you gotta look good to feel good".
Before she suffered a series of strokes, she loved having me drive her across the border to Detroit for an afternoon of shopping. Grandma was a fashion plate. She loved pretty things, and her furs, but not in a gaudy sense. I often wished I had smaller feet - Grandma had some wickedly nice heels. Whenever she visited Korea, she would spend hours combing the markets and stores for gifts of clothes to bring back to her grandkids.
Aside from us grandchildren, her other interest or focus in life was her faith. She pored over her Bible daily. The tissue paper thin pages were marked in red for meaningful verses, and though she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, she loved to sing hymns. While Grandma was proud of our piano playing and violin caterwauling, it wasn't until we learned to play her hymns that she really took notice of our musical abilities. She taught us to pray whenever we needed strength, whenever we needed inspiration and whenever life was good to us.
She bought me my first two wheeler when I was five. She watched me get rebellious one day and attempt to ride it down the driveway before I was ready. Instead of wasting her breath yelling at me to stop, she let me go, and watched me fall and scrape my knees. Then she picked me up and bandaged my wounds and didn't say "I told you so". I really should follow her example with my own kids.
Grandma loved to celebrate, but never with alcohol. She was a tee-totaller.  Whatever the cause, Grandma was always up for "mini-party". Kentucky Fried chicken was a favourite indulgence at these events, be it a glowing report card or whatever. Like a child, she loved being our confidantes, being the bearer of a "secret".  She would tuck us into bed and check on us several times a night. She advocated exercise, and did a version of callisthenics in the mornings. She once tried to teach me the fox trot, but gave up in disgust when I fell on the floor laughing.
Even after the strokes, Grandma still had words of wisdom. When I started dating, she advised "Never tell the guy you love him first. Otherwise, he'll always be in control." When I started having kids, she counselled me to have patience, and to pick up the babies whenever they cried.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my Halmuhnee. She passed away on Aisling's 100th day, and but I know she is up in heaven watching over all of us. She's probably shaking her head in disappointment every time I crack open a beer, and high fives her pals whenever I manage to make it to church with my crew. I'm sure she's struts proudly while telling all of  her grandchildren's accomplishments. I miss her every day. I think of the various ways she left her mark in our lives, big and small. I still stack the dishes in the way she taught me. Whenever I see the morning dew frozen on the lawn., I know it'll be a warm and sunny day, because that's what Grandma always said. Whenever I cuddle up to a sleeping child and draw on their warmth, I am transported back to my grandma's bed, her gentle snoring and her reassuring hand on our back.