Today, my baby, my youngest child, ran up to me and launched himself onto me. As I caught him in my arms to swing him around, he laid his head against my shoulder, and said "I love my mama!" before planting a wet kiss on my cheek.
Then he ran off to either torment a sibling or find his toy.
Whatever. It didn't matter.
It was the first time he's ever verbalized his affection for mommy. Oh, there's been many cuddles and hugs. But to hear him say "I love my mama!" - the overwhelming emotions it created almost made the later tantrums bearable. His cherubic face and gleeful smile from that moment will forever be etched in my mind.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Happy Birthday Devlin
It hit me today, that ten years ago, I was labouring in a small hospital room, while my birthing coaches (soon-to-be Daddy and soon-to-be Auntie Grace) were watching a soccer game (Euro Cup). Not much has changed - Daddy watched a soccer game or two today (World Cup) and I'm still labouring, although in different ways and in different settings.
But it's been ten years, ten loooong years, since:
- I've had a decent night's sleep (starting with that ridonculously looong labour that lasted some 36 hours)
- I've put my needs before those of a small child's
- I've driven a vehicle without car seats
- I've had a bath alone,without some small child jumping in
- I've carried a purse without extra soothers, crayons, crackers and other kid friendly items
- I've been able to leave the house without checking for spit up on my clothes, saliva on legs, and random boogers here and there
- I've been able to leave with house without a child crying
- I've been able to sleep in
- I've been able to enjoy a really good cup of coffee from my favorite mug (not a travel mug) while reading the newspaper without interruption or having to re-heat the coffee some 6-7 times
- I've been able to just read a book from start to finish, in one afternoon, that didn't involve colourful pictures or rhyming or inane conversations between talking coloured bears or ponies
- that poop and pee has been part of our daily conversations
- I've been able to walk across the floor in a dark room without stepping on some godforsaken piece of lego or twist an ankle on a hot wheels car
- I've drank an entire bottle of wine in an evening (after all, one has to reasonably be sober in case there's an emergency in the middle of the night)
- a bulging diaper bag has become a fashion accessory for me
- I've come to the scary realization that some helpless thing not depended on my for sustenance and survival.
I can't believe my first-born child is ten years old. He still sleeps with his blankie, and asks for help with every minor task. He's not into girls (thank gawd) and believes in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. He gets excited over spaghetti dinners, and shrieks his delight if there's pie for dessert. He dreams of playing for the NHL but has also expressed an interest in becoming an engineer in case hockey doesn't work out. He's into Star Wars and asked me what a telegraph was the other day. (That really made me feel ancient.) He's a pretty good kid, despite the talking back, and dramatic overacting when he gets frustrated. He may have a career as a soccer player. And just like ten years ago, he still loves to cuddle with Mommy.
It's been ten years since my life changed irrevocably, immensely and indelibly. At many times during the day, hearing "Mommy" makes me cringe or wince, or reach for the nearest intoxicating beverage. But mostly, hearing a little monkey cry "Mommy" also makes my heart beat a little faster, and melt a little more.
Happy Birthday Devlin, and thank you for the past ten years of enrichening my life and filling it with an indescribable joy. From the moment you were placed in my arms, you've brought tears of joy and frustration, chaos and laughter, moments of pride and sheer desperation into our lives.
And I'm sure there's many more years of surprises, fears, new experiences and love to come.
But it's been ten years, ten loooong years, since:
- I've had a decent night's sleep (starting with that ridonculously looong labour that lasted some 36 hours)
- I've put my needs before those of a small child's
- I've driven a vehicle without car seats
- I've had a bath alone,without some small child jumping in
- I've carried a purse without extra soothers, crayons, crackers and other kid friendly items
- I've been able to leave the house without checking for spit up on my clothes, saliva on legs, and random boogers here and there
- I've been able to leave with house without a child crying
- I've been able to sleep in
- I've been able to enjoy a really good cup of coffee from my favorite mug (not a travel mug) while reading the newspaper without interruption or having to re-heat the coffee some 6-7 times
- I've been able to just read a book from start to finish, in one afternoon, that didn't involve colourful pictures or rhyming or inane conversations between talking coloured bears or ponies
- that poop and pee has been part of our daily conversations
- I've been able to walk across the floor in a dark room without stepping on some godforsaken piece of lego or twist an ankle on a hot wheels car
- I've drank an entire bottle of wine in an evening (after all, one has to reasonably be sober in case there's an emergency in the middle of the night)
- a bulging diaper bag has become a fashion accessory for me
- I've come to the scary realization that some helpless thing not depended on my for sustenance and survival.
I can't believe my first-born child is ten years old. He still sleeps with his blankie, and asks for help with every minor task. He's not into girls (thank gawd) and believes in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. He gets excited over spaghetti dinners, and shrieks his delight if there's pie for dessert. He dreams of playing for the NHL but has also expressed an interest in becoming an engineer in case hockey doesn't work out. He's into Star Wars and asked me what a telegraph was the other day. (That really made me feel ancient.) He's a pretty good kid, despite the talking back, and dramatic overacting when he gets frustrated. He may have a career as a soccer player. And just like ten years ago, he still loves to cuddle with Mommy.
It's been ten years since my life changed irrevocably, immensely and indelibly. At many times during the day, hearing "Mommy" makes me cringe or wince, or reach for the nearest intoxicating beverage. But mostly, hearing a little monkey cry "Mommy" also makes my heart beat a little faster, and melt a little more.
Happy Birthday Devlin, and thank you for the past ten years of enrichening my life and filling it with an indescribable joy. From the moment you were placed in my arms, you've brought tears of joy and frustration, chaos and laughter, moments of pride and sheer desperation into our lives.
And I'm sure there's many more years of surprises, fears, new experiences and love to come.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
One Upman-ship
I celebrated my birthday a few days ago. I'm not divulging my age. That's not significant. I'm old enough to drive, vote, drink and apparently, that's all that matters in this society for "milestones". Really, there should be a minimum age for having children and being responsible for another being. But there's not. And sadly, I don't if I'd ever make that cut-off age.
But I digress.
Back to my birthday celebration. It was a low-key event at the zoo. There was a cake, and there was singing. No, the candles on the cake did NOT set off the smoke detector. There were no small kitchen appliances to unwrap. No big kitchen appliances either.
The best gift of course, were the gazillion hugs and kisses and cuddles I received from the monkeys. And a shoulder rub from Devlin. When I expressed my gratitude at the gesture, he was struck with an idea. He disappeared for a few minutes, allowing me to watch Game 3 of the Stanley cup play-offs in relative peace. Upon his return, he presented me with various handwritten coupons. There was one coupon that "good for a cuddle", another that was "good for foot massage", one for "servant for a day", and my favorite - "good for one alone night". Every single coupon was set to expire on June 18 (his birthday), so I decided I had better get started on redeeming these.
I tried to cash in the "Good for one alone night" thinking I would get to watch the rest of the hockey game in peace, with a glass of wine, all by myself without any interruptions. My son rebuffed my attempts, pushing the coupon back towards me, stating that the "alone night" could only be redeemed on the weekends. Quite shrewd. Uncle Billy thinks Devlin has the makings of a successful enterpriser.
Ceilidh, seeing my pleasure at the coupons, decided to do one better. She also disappeared for a short time, and returned, also bearing slips of paper. Her coupons had no "Best Before" date and each coupon was valid for 10 services - 10 foot rubs, 10 alone nights, 10 errands, 10 cuddles and 10 kisses! (Uncle Billy's assessment - Ceilidh is generous to a fault, and will run her business into the ground.)
But I digress.
Back to my birthday celebration. It was a low-key event at the zoo. There was a cake, and there was singing. No, the candles on the cake did NOT set off the smoke detector. There were no small kitchen appliances to unwrap. No big kitchen appliances either.
The best gift of course, were the gazillion hugs and kisses and cuddles I received from the monkeys. And a shoulder rub from Devlin. When I expressed my gratitude at the gesture, he was struck with an idea. He disappeared for a few minutes, allowing me to watch Game 3 of the Stanley cup play-offs in relative peace. Upon his return, he presented me with various handwritten coupons. There was one coupon that "good for a cuddle", another that was "good for foot massage", one for "servant for a day", and my favorite - "good for one alone night". Every single coupon was set to expire on June 18 (his birthday), so I decided I had better get started on redeeming these.
I tried to cash in the "Good for one alone night" thinking I would get to watch the rest of the hockey game in peace, with a glass of wine, all by myself without any interruptions. My son rebuffed my attempts, pushing the coupon back towards me, stating that the "alone night" could only be redeemed on the weekends. Quite shrewd. Uncle Billy thinks Devlin has the makings of a successful enterpriser.
Ceilidh, seeing my pleasure at the coupons, decided to do one better. She also disappeared for a short time, and returned, also bearing slips of paper. Her coupons had no "Best Before" date and each coupon was valid for 10 services - 10 foot rubs, 10 alone nights, 10 errands, 10 cuddles and 10 kisses! (Uncle Billy's assessment - Ceilidh is generous to a fault, and will run her business into the ground.)
Friday, June 6, 2014
Why Mommy Has a Potty Mouth
I have a horrible habit of cussing. No monetary punishment could cure me of this vice. Even though I grew up in a home where "stupid" was considered a taboo word, I have nonetheless picked up this colourful method of expressing my views, emotions, opinions, whatever. It's a quite a feat for an English major and someone who relies on oral advocacy in her job. I swear though, that I've never dropped the f-bomb in court, on the record.
Despite my use of the crude English, my kids, thankfully, have not picked up on this habit. At least, not within my earshot. But they're well aware of it, and have formulated their own reasons for Mommy's potty mouth.
The other night, Daddy mentioned to Devlin that when he's a bit older (Devlin that is), Daddy will introduce him to a classic hockey movie - Slapshot. But not yet.
The conversation apparently went like this:
Devlin: Why can't I watch it now?
Daddy: There's too many bad words in it.
Devlin: Like Mommy's bad words?
Daddy: Yes.
Then thinking about it, Daddy asked if he used bad words like Mommy. Devlin stated that while Daddy did use bad words, it wasn't as frequent as Mommy.
Devlin went on further to postulate when and why the bad words came out.
Devlin: You only use the bad words when you're really mad at us.
Daddy: What about Mommy? Does she use when she's mad? At you kids?
Devlin: Yeah, but more when she's mad at you.
Daddy: Why do you think she's mad at me?
Devlin: Cuz you're not helping, with making dinner, cleaning, laundry, stuff like that. That's when she really uses the bad words.
Hmmm...smart kid. Perhaps Daddy could learn a little from his child's observations.
Despite my use of the crude English, my kids, thankfully, have not picked up on this habit. At least, not within my earshot. But they're well aware of it, and have formulated their own reasons for Mommy's potty mouth.
The other night, Daddy mentioned to Devlin that when he's a bit older (Devlin that is), Daddy will introduce him to a classic hockey movie - Slapshot. But not yet.
The conversation apparently went like this:
Devlin: Why can't I watch it now?
Daddy: There's too many bad words in it.
Devlin: Like Mommy's bad words?
Daddy: Yes.
Then thinking about it, Daddy asked if he used bad words like Mommy. Devlin stated that while Daddy did use bad words, it wasn't as frequent as Mommy.
Devlin went on further to postulate when and why the bad words came out.
Devlin: You only use the bad words when you're really mad at us.
Daddy: What about Mommy? Does she use when she's mad? At you kids?
Devlin: Yeah, but more when she's mad at you.
Daddy: Why do you think she's mad at me?
Devlin: Cuz you're not helping, with making dinner, cleaning, laundry, stuff like that. That's when she really uses the bad words.
Hmmm...smart kid. Perhaps Daddy could learn a little from his child's observations.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Images of Quinn I Carry
Most mornings, I can sneak away from the bed for my workout without rousing any of the kids. Not this morning. Quinn was restless, and the moment I left his side, his eyes opened and searched for me.
While I was donning my shorts, he was sitting up and gathering his various accoutrements (soother, blanket, lamb, pillow) and was ready for me to carry him down to the sofa when I left the room. I settled him, put on an episode of Bubble Guppies, provided him with a bowl of cereal and a bowl of blueberries, and snuck away.
Ten minutes later, I was interrupted by a request for apple juice.
Ten minutes after that, I was asked to for a different show.
Ten minutes after, he came down again, just needing to be near Mommy.
Eventually, with everyone else up and about, I was able to escape for a shower, already running late for my day.
Two minutes into the shower, the door banged open and I heard "Mommy?"
"Quinny?" I answered back.
A giggle, and then, "Mommy?"
I repeated "Quinny?" and on and on it went for the rest of my shower.
While I towelled off, he toddled over to my dresser and pulled out an outfit - jeans and tank top - for me.
"Mommy - close!" he stated holding up his selections for me.
He then laid down on his blanket, and stared up at me with wide eyes while I blow-dried my hair and got ready for my day.
And it's that image, those expressive eyes gazing at me, that I hold close to my heart, during my stress filled day, and during the thirty minute tantrum after dinner when I deny him some ridiculous request.
While I was donning my shorts, he was sitting up and gathering his various accoutrements (soother, blanket, lamb, pillow) and was ready for me to carry him down to the sofa when I left the room. I settled him, put on an episode of Bubble Guppies, provided him with a bowl of cereal and a bowl of blueberries, and snuck away.
Ten minutes later, I was interrupted by a request for apple juice.
Ten minutes after that, I was asked to for a different show.
Ten minutes after, he came down again, just needing to be near Mommy.
Eventually, with everyone else up and about, I was able to escape for a shower, already running late for my day.
Two minutes into the shower, the door banged open and I heard "Mommy?"
"Quinny?" I answered back.
A giggle, and then, "Mommy?"
I repeated "Quinny?" and on and on it went for the rest of my shower.
While I towelled off, he toddled over to my dresser and pulled out an outfit - jeans and tank top - for me.
"Mommy - close!" he stated holding up his selections for me.
He then laid down on his blanket, and stared up at me with wide eyes while I blow-dried my hair and got ready for my day.
And it's that image, those expressive eyes gazing at me, that I hold close to my heart, during my stress filled day, and during the thirty minute tantrum after dinner when I deny him some ridiculous request.
Men are Just Big Boys
It's been a crazy week at work, and yes it's only the beginning of the week. Last night, I advised the spouse that I would need to stay up late to do work. In other words, I was giving him ample warning that he was on parental duty and I would be of minimal assistance.
I also gave the head's up to the kids that Daddy was in charge, and they better be good.
Here is the conversation I had with Ceilidh:
Me: Okay Ceilidh, Mommy has to do some work tonight, so you better be good for Daddy.
Ceilidh: Why?
Me: Because he's in charge. Don't give him a hard time. Get in the tub for your bath, and get ready for bed.
C: But he's not very responsible, you know.
Me: Pardon?
C: Well, you know, there's four of us, and only one of him. I don't know about leaving him in charge. (very doubtful tone in her voice)
Me: When there's one of me and four of you, I get you bathed and in bed and asleep without issue.
C: Yeah, but you're Mommy. And he's a boy...
Me: Yes?
C: Remember what you said about boys? That they're dumb?
Me: I did, but you said Daddy was different. (In my defence, the boys are dumb lecture had to do with immaturity and males.)
C: Yeah, Daddy is just a big boy, and boys are well, you know...
Yes, true that.
I also gave the head's up to the kids that Daddy was in charge, and they better be good.
Here is the conversation I had with Ceilidh:
Me: Okay Ceilidh, Mommy has to do some work tonight, so you better be good for Daddy.
Ceilidh: Why?
Me: Because he's in charge. Don't give him a hard time. Get in the tub for your bath, and get ready for bed.
C: But he's not very responsible, you know.
Me: Pardon?
C: Well, you know, there's four of us, and only one of him. I don't know about leaving him in charge. (very doubtful tone in her voice)
Me: When there's one of me and four of you, I get you bathed and in bed and asleep without issue.
C: Yeah, but you're Mommy. And he's a boy...
Me: Yes?
C: Remember what you said about boys? That they're dumb?
Me: I did, but you said Daddy was different. (In my defence, the boys are dumb lecture had to do with immaturity and males.)
C: Yeah, Daddy is just a big boy, and boys are well, you know...
Yes, true that.
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