I bet you thought I was going to write I wasn't ready for Christmas, right? Well, that's true I'm not, but that's not what's causing me stress. There's still 5 weeks of shopping time for the big day.
No, I'm NOT ready to answer queries about the birds and the bees, from my 8 year old!
I'd much rather answer questions about, well anything else, but last night, Ceilidh asked me "what's a period?"
I tried to play dumb, even though I had a sinking feeling where this was going.
"A period is the punctuation mark at the end of a sentence," I answered nonchalantly.
"No, I know that. But what else is a period?" she asked again.
Feeling the stress of having to explain puberty and the changes to expect to an 8 year old (my 10 year old has remained completely uninterested in this topic thus far), I tried another answer.
"It's a span of time, like a hockey period, or an era in history."
This did not satisfy Ceilidh.
"Isn't there a kind of period that makes your stomach hurt?" she asked.
"Why are you asking me?" I tried a different tactic, hoping to uncover the reason for the sudden interest, while wondering how old I was when I read the Judy Blume classic, Are you there God? It's me Margaret.
"The girls at dance class were talking about it, and it's supposed to happen when you're older. I think you should tell Devlin because he's older than me, and he'll need to know what a period is," she stated.
It took me a moment or two to compose myself before I could look at my daughter, and say, quite calmly and emphatically, "Ceilidh, when you are ready, I will explain the third definition of a period, You're not there yet. And you have a few years still, And furthermore, Devlin doesn't need to worry because the third definition of a period? It only affects girls."
I think she was satisfied with that answer, and I've got another 18 months, maybe, before I have to give the lecture on the birds and the bees.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
Ceilidh's Christmas Wish List
On the nearly hour long drive up to Brownie camp, I idly questioned Ceilidh about her wish list for Christmas. It was an enlightening conversation, and if I could compose her letter to Santa, it would go like this:
Dear Santa,
I really really really want a Fur Real dog - the ones that bark and has a leash but isn't real. My mom won't let me get a real live puppy because she says I won't clean up the poop. I promised I would, but she doesn't believe me.
Also I want a music player - I think it's called an MP3. My brother Devlin wants one too. But do your elves make electronic things? I know they can make toys, but can they do stuff with headphones?
I also would like a new scooter. I'm 8 years old, and 8 year olds do NOT ride Barbie scooters. Like the one I have. Besides, it's broken. My old one. My dad broke it - he tried to ride it or something.
My sister Aisling would like a scooter too - the kind you sit one even though Mommy says those are for babies.
But I'd really really really want an Ever After High Thronecoming Briar Rose doll. I've told Mommy that Ever After High is way better than Barbie dolls, They have more moving parts. Barbie dolls' arms don't move.
I think there's other stuff too. Like a slushie maker so that we can make slushies for my dad.
My little brother Quinn could use more cars, even though he has a million. He does like Planes Fire and Rescue. And Ninja Turtles.
Devlin wants Lego anything.
And, if I can't get the Fur Real, I would like the Beanie stuffies with the really big eyes. The Christmas penguin stuffie.
I think that's all.
I hope you're not too busy.
Thanks,
Ceilidh
Dear Santa,
I really really really want a Fur Real dog - the ones that bark and has a leash but isn't real. My mom won't let me get a real live puppy because she says I won't clean up the poop. I promised I would, but she doesn't believe me.
Also I want a music player - I think it's called an MP3. My brother Devlin wants one too. But do your elves make electronic things? I know they can make toys, but can they do stuff with headphones?
I also would like a new scooter. I'm 8 years old, and 8 year olds do NOT ride Barbie scooters. Like the one I have. Besides, it's broken. My old one. My dad broke it - he tried to ride it or something.
My sister Aisling would like a scooter too - the kind you sit one even though Mommy says those are for babies.
But I'd really really really want an Ever After High Thronecoming Briar Rose doll. I've told Mommy that Ever After High is way better than Barbie dolls, They have more moving parts. Barbie dolls' arms don't move.
I think there's other stuff too. Like a slushie maker so that we can make slushies for my dad.
My little brother Quinn could use more cars, even though he has a million. He does like Planes Fire and Rescue. And Ninja Turtles.
Devlin wants Lego anything.
And, if I can't get the Fur Real, I would like the Beanie stuffies with the really big eyes. The Christmas penguin stuffie.
I think that's all.
I hope you're not too busy.
Thanks,
Ceilidh
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Remembrance Day 2014
Remember learning about stream of conciousness in grade 13/OAC English literature? Virginia Woolf? Well, this is my attempt at this literary technique. Also known as, writing down my jumbled thoughts on what November 11th means to me.
In the wake of the recent losses of two Canadian soldiers on our own soil, there's been a movement to have Remembrance Day declared a national statutory holiday. I believe the motion passed in the House of Commons. Which means it's pretty much a done deal. While means that civil servants and bank employees like myself and my husband will have to find another day to get our snow tires put on our vehicles. I am the first to admit that I've used this day off to a get a jump start on my Christmas shopping, or rake leaves, or go through the piles of junk in my house. Back in the day before kids, we'd take in an afternoon matinee. In other words, I've used my day off wisely. But it also means, I rarely took the time to reflect on the purpose of Remembrance Day. Not since I was in grade school and watched the black and white clips of the war footages and recited "In Flanders Fields" in class. (Although I do recall getting the day off from school when I was in the primary grades.)
Today, I attended the Remembrance Day assembly at my children's school. Ceilidh was singing in the choir. But for my child's participation, I probably would have spent the morning lounging around the house, mopping the floors or hitting the malls to start on the Christmas list. Instead, after a run, there I sat, sweating and panting, in the gymnasium, watching the old black and white footage of the gun battles in the last great war. But then the movie changed to colour, and showed images of our Canadian peacekeepers in Bosnia. There were images of the soldiers we had lost in Afghanistan. Clips of the hearses travelling along the Highway of Heroes. Tears started to flood my eyes as I recalled a few weeks ago, driving along the 407, on a Friday afternoon. Gathering along the overpasses were EMS personnel, fire fighters, police, everyday citizens. The Canadian flag was draped along the concrete as they awaited the arrival of hearse carrying the body of Cpl. Nathan Cirillo. I remember then, how my chest tightened and tears briefly blurred my vision, at the thought of a small child who was now orphaned. Whose father would never return home, even though he had only been a few short hours away. Who was slain not while fighting a war overseas, but while performing the seemingly "safe" task of standing guard at the War Memorial, at the tomb of the unknown soldier. A ceremonial duty at the symbol of what this young father was upholding. Keeping the peace. At the hands of a crazed, mentally ill person.
I realized then, the serious duty that's befallen on me, to educate my children to appreciate exactly what Remembrance Day is about. While it may have started to mark the end of the war of all wars, the signing of the Armistace Treaty, it is much more than a moment in history. It is the continual efforts to maintain a free world, a free country. This responsibility placed upon our shoulders is difficult for me and others like me. I have no family members in the armed forces. I have not been personally touched by the tragedy of losing a loved one in a war, nor welcomed back a soldier from a tour of duty. Nor have I fled a country in the grips of a civil war. I am fortunate to have lived my entire life in this great country, Canada. I have enjoyed the freedoms and rights that my forepersons have fought for, but never appreciated it.
While I often joke about the lack of peace in my household (an elusive and fleeting moment in a house full of kids), it is no laughing matter that my children can attend school without having to worry about gunfire. That they can sleep at night, having the confidence they will wake up in the same warm bed and not be spirited away at gunpoint, under the cloak of darkness. That they can attend worship services and play alongside children of other faiths without being persecuted.
It is grave burden placed on my generation to keep the conversation alive about Remembrance Day and peace, and not restrict to just one day of the year. The question is, are we up to the task?
As I drove along the 407, I remember thinking if I didn't have to rush home to my kids to feed them dinner, I would have pulled over, and awaited the passing of the motorcade of Cpl. Cirillo. And there in lies the true task. That despite the craziness and busyness of our daily lives - working and raising kids - can we remember to keep alive the true spirit of Remembrance Day?
In the wake of the recent losses of two Canadian soldiers on our own soil, there's been a movement to have Remembrance Day declared a national statutory holiday. I believe the motion passed in the House of Commons. Which means it's pretty much a done deal. While means that civil servants and bank employees like myself and my husband will have to find another day to get our snow tires put on our vehicles. I am the first to admit that I've used this day off to a get a jump start on my Christmas shopping, or rake leaves, or go through the piles of junk in my house. Back in the day before kids, we'd take in an afternoon matinee. In other words, I've used my day off wisely. But it also means, I rarely took the time to reflect on the purpose of Remembrance Day. Not since I was in grade school and watched the black and white clips of the war footages and recited "In Flanders Fields" in class. (Although I do recall getting the day off from school when I was in the primary grades.)
Today, I attended the Remembrance Day assembly at my children's school. Ceilidh was singing in the choir. But for my child's participation, I probably would have spent the morning lounging around the house, mopping the floors or hitting the malls to start on the Christmas list. Instead, after a run, there I sat, sweating and panting, in the gymnasium, watching the old black and white footage of the gun battles in the last great war. But then the movie changed to colour, and showed images of our Canadian peacekeepers in Bosnia. There were images of the soldiers we had lost in Afghanistan. Clips of the hearses travelling along the Highway of Heroes. Tears started to flood my eyes as I recalled a few weeks ago, driving along the 407, on a Friday afternoon. Gathering along the overpasses were EMS personnel, fire fighters, police, everyday citizens. The Canadian flag was draped along the concrete as they awaited the arrival of hearse carrying the body of Cpl. Nathan Cirillo. I remember then, how my chest tightened and tears briefly blurred my vision, at the thought of a small child who was now orphaned. Whose father would never return home, even though he had only been a few short hours away. Who was slain not while fighting a war overseas, but while performing the seemingly "safe" task of standing guard at the War Memorial, at the tomb of the unknown soldier. A ceremonial duty at the symbol of what this young father was upholding. Keeping the peace. At the hands of a crazed, mentally ill person.
I realized then, the serious duty that's befallen on me, to educate my children to appreciate exactly what Remembrance Day is about. While it may have started to mark the end of the war of all wars, the signing of the Armistace Treaty, it is much more than a moment in history. It is the continual efforts to maintain a free world, a free country. This responsibility placed upon our shoulders is difficult for me and others like me. I have no family members in the armed forces. I have not been personally touched by the tragedy of losing a loved one in a war, nor welcomed back a soldier from a tour of duty. Nor have I fled a country in the grips of a civil war. I am fortunate to have lived my entire life in this great country, Canada. I have enjoyed the freedoms and rights that my forepersons have fought for, but never appreciated it.
While I often joke about the lack of peace in my household (an elusive and fleeting moment in a house full of kids), it is no laughing matter that my children can attend school without having to worry about gunfire. That they can sleep at night, having the confidence they will wake up in the same warm bed and not be spirited away at gunpoint, under the cloak of darkness. That they can attend worship services and play alongside children of other faiths without being persecuted.
It is grave burden placed on my generation to keep the conversation alive about Remembrance Day and peace, and not restrict to just one day of the year. The question is, are we up to the task?
As I drove along the 407, I remember thinking if I didn't have to rush home to my kids to feed them dinner, I would have pulled over, and awaited the passing of the motorcade of Cpl. Cirillo. And there in lies the true task. That despite the craziness and busyness of our daily lives - working and raising kids - can we remember to keep alive the true spirit of Remembrance Day?
Sunday, November 9, 2014
What'd you call me?!
Quinn was dressed for church in a pair of blue jeans, a rugby type shirt and beige desert boot-like shoes. He looked like a little boy, not so much a toddler.
"He's ready to go! Take a look at him!" I said as I handed him off to his father.
"Let's go, you sharp dresser," Daddy said, holding the door open.
Quinn stopped in his tracks, and glared at his father.
"What?! I'm not a shark! I'm Quinny!" he announced.
"He's ready to go! Take a look at him!" I said as I handed him off to his father.
"Let's go, you sharp dresser," Daddy said, holding the door open.
Quinn stopped in his tracks, and glared at his father.
"What?! I'm not a shark! I'm Quinny!" he announced.
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