Minding our Manners

Trick or treating this year with Quinn, I felt like I was constantly reminding him to say "Thank you" after the brightly wrapped candy bar was dropped into his loot bag. I get it - it's exciting, and he's more interested in the treats than being polite.
It's always shocking to me and Daddy when the teachers are describing our progeny as polite, well behaved, cooperative and helpful in the classroom. I often wonder if they've mixed up our kids with someone else's. Their aunt and uncle who regularly host them for sleep overs also report nothing but the best behaviours from them. Which again, I find shocking because there isn't a single night without an issue at bedtime.
One afternoon, I dropped off Aisling for her first sleep-over party. As she was taking her jacket off, I issued a litany of reminders and ended with "Mind your manners! Please and thank yous!"
She  responded with, "We're always polite at other people's homes. It's just at home, we're not."
All the parenting books I've read suggest that we must be doing an okay job in raising our kids if they are well behaved in public and for others. The children know what is expected of them, but at home, they feel comfortable in the unconditional love of their parents, so they feel "safe" in acting out, and testing the limits of bad behaviour. Or testing the limits of their parents' patience with their shenanigans.
And yet, sometimes they do remember to use their manners.
The other night, Daddy went to give Quinn his usual good night kiss - a slobbery "doggie" kiss.
Quinn buried his head under the pillows and said "No thank you Daddy. I don't want a kiss!"

Young Love - So Short Lived...

It snowed for the first time a few nights ago. The snow didn't last for more than a few hours, but it was enough to get all the kids excited about the upcoming winter season. Plans for skiing and sledding flew around, and there was a panicked search for matching mitts and hats.
Quinn, seeing the falling flakes was full of instructions for me.
"Mommy, look! Snow! It's time to get ready for Christmas!" he announced, though it sounded like "Kissmuss twee" coming from him.
"Yes, it's snowing...what do we need to do?" I asked.
"You have to put up the Christmas tree, and put on ornaments, and lights, and go shopping, and make cookies," he directed.
"And after Christmas, do you know what comes next?" I asked in a whisper.
"What???"
"It's Quinn's birthday!" I announced to my New Year's Eve baby.
"Yay! I'm going to have a party! I'm going to invite all my friends - Tristan, Max, Tristan's brother, Dylan, Lia, and my girlfriend," he said excitedly.
I did a double take.
"Um, pardon me? Your girlfriend?"
Very matter of factly, he stated, "Yeah, my girlfriend, Elissa."

The next day, wanting to know if there was a difference between his friendship with Lia and his relationship with Elissa, I asked him about his "girlfriend".
"Quinn, how come Lia is just a friend and Elissa is a girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend!" he said forcefully.
"But yesterday, you said Elissa was your girlfriend," I reminded.
"She told me to shut up today. So she's not my girlfriend anymore."

Pre-tween Ceilidh

It seems like only yesterday that I had a little girl with unruly hair, chubby cheeks and twinkling eyes who would dance for a potato chip. Now, I've got a pre-tween daughter who is almost as tall as me, who is spending hours curling her hair and putting together outfits, and constantly on You Tube. Her friends are calling on the phone, and she's asking me to buy her shoes with heels! A cookie or juice from Starbucks is no good enough. Now, she's ordering a cotton candy frappuccino with whipped cream. It's not even on the menu board."It's on the secret menu, Mom. Everyone knows that!" she states while rolling her eyes. Clearly, I am not cool enough to know that.
I am not ready to be a mother to a teenager. My oldest child who is only a year from that has not given me any cause for concern, yet.
But all of a sudden, I find myself shopping for training bras, at the request of pre-tween, and I am in shock. What happened to my little girl who liked frilly dresses and Barbie dolls? Where is the toddler who would dance, in a diaper, to ACDC's You Shook Me All Night Long with the innocence that only a child can? Who took away the child whose eyes grew to the size of saucers when a tub of Cool Whip and a spoon were placed in front of her? (It was easier than constantly scooping a dollop, that kept disappearing, onto her tiny slice of pie.)
Ceilidh was my easy child. The one who actually slept 6 hours a night when she was 8 weeks old. She was difficult to potty train but night time training was not an issue. She did not want to poop in the toilet, and I remember watching her like a hawk all day. Of course, the minute my attention was diverted by a wailing infant or I had to answer the phone, she'd scurry to a corner and poop in her pull-up. When she was tired, she'd crawl up the stairs to bed or curl up on the couch and simply fall asleep. There were no big productions of fighting bed time.
Unlike Devlin, I rarely had to cajole her to practise the piano. She doesn't need much prompting to do her homework, and she devours books at such a rate that I am Amazon's most loyal customer. Where she gained the flair for creativity, I don't quite know. Ceilidh can spend hours patiently and meticulously creating a school project.
She's the more mature child, and generally speaking, the more responsible one. If I have to leave the house for short period of time, I ask her, not her older brother, to keep an eye on Quinn. She's still the tallest too.
She dislikes competitive sports and anything that seems to require physical exertion, other than dance. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Ceilidh was the always the lazy one, who figured out a unqiue method of motoring about that was a semi crawl, semi scooch around on her bum. We called it the crab crawl. She disliked mini golf because it made her sweaty. Soccer games were about picking flowers and twirling around the goal post. There wasn't much interest in chasing after the ball, which frustrated her daddy to no end. Especially given her long legs and the ability to run fast, if she truly tried. While the other three play hockey, Ceilidh is not interested. It's boring. And cold. Her progress in Tae Kwon Do has come to a halt because she refuses to spar.
I've enrolled her in Korean language lessons as she's got an aptitude for learning. It's also part of her cultural heritage. I'm hoping her initial frustrations at not understanding the teacher will ease and she'll learn to ignore the annoying boys in her class.
Over the past year, we've noticed some changes in her attitude that we haven't liked. Sometimes we wonder if it's the influence of her friends. Her dismissive and impatient attitude with her younger sister irks me.  As an oldest sibling, I so understand that younger sisters can be annoying. But Aisling idolizes her older sister and brother. She wants to be a great skater like Devlin on the ice and she wants to dance like Ceilidh. Now she wants to take singing lessons too, just like her older sister.
Sometimes I wonder if because she was the easy child, and didn't need as much discipline, that Ceilidh thinks she can get away with pretty much anything. I can tell you that is certainly not the case.
A few weeks ago, Devlin was too ill for school. Ceilidh decided that she wasn't going to school either. Not because she had nothing to wear. Not because she was ill. Not because she wasn't getting along with her BFF. Ceilidh was refusing to get dressed for school because she didn't like the snack Daddy put in her lunch! To top it all off, Quinn decided he wasn't going to school either, if his big sister wasn't going. Of course, she went to school, but her stunt caused her to be late, and she lost her allowance.
If her silent glares, stomping feet and slumped shoulders are a sign of the times to come, then I've decided that I am moving out. She's only 10 now, but I've heard this is nothing compared to the true hormonal rages that are soon to occur.
I still see my little baby girl every once in a while. Ceilidh is the one child child who craves bear hugs and needs to be cuddled. Her eyes still light up when a bag of chips is opened. She still bites her nails. When she's feeling ill, she sobs. And when she's happy and excited, she still hops around while clapping her hands.
I'm not prepared for teenaged angst. But I suspect my little baby girl is more than ready to embrace it.

Middle school child

As I walked away from a crying Quinn this morning at school, I reflected on the quite opposite reaction I received from my first born an hour earlier. 

Devlin is now in middle school (when and how did that happen? Wasn't it just yesterday that he was learning to ride a bike and crying his heart out at the kindergarten gate??). Middle school which means new teachers, new classmates and a new school much further away. All week, he's woken up at 6:30 and hit the showers. He's left the house before 7:25am to walk to school. I've been impressed. Today, on my last day of vacation, I offered to walk with him halfway before finishing my morning jog. Even before we were halfway, my firstborn told me he was fine, and I could run home. I offered to walk a bit further. He declined. I insisted on going another block, only so that I could catch the trail home. He reluctantly agreed. I swear he slouched a bit more and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

The sidewalks were deserted.

"What's wrong? Are you ashamed of me? Do I embarrass you? Am I cramping your style? I mercilessly queried.

"Stop mom...it's just that, you're a small person, and it looks like I'm walking with a girl..." came the muttered reply.

This, from my first born who is still smaller in stature to his younger sister.

And no, there were no fond hugs and kisses for his mom when we finally parted ways. I think I laughed the entire way home.

At least my daughters are still happy to be seen with me in public.

Another school year begins...

Yesterday I felt a lump in my throat and tears gathering as I walked away from dropping off Quinn at the kindergarten gate. Was it only a year ago that I had to peel his arms off my legs and hand over the sobbing tot to the kindergarten teachers? Was it only a year ago that I had to walk away from his heart wrenching pleas to not leave him behind?
Now, he was walking confidently to his spot in line and waving me a cheery good bye.
Another milestone reached. Over the summer, he's learned to swim a little, managed to start wiping his own bum after being bribed with a new lego set, and no longer wets the bed at night.
He's been looking forward to hockey season all summer. Soccer, we learned from many tortourous sessions, is NOT his thing.
He carries around a notebook and laboriously prints his name whenever he can, and his drawings of his family are beginning to look more like people, and less like alien stick creatures.
And so, I felt a tad emotional realizing that my baby was growing up. I saw other families with new additions in strollers and felt the tiniest bit sad, knowing that part of my life has truly ended.

And then, this morning, I felt exasperated as I walked Quinn to school. He clung to my leg, crying about his legs being tired and begging to be carried. Then he switched to wanting to stay at home.
At the kindergarten gate, much to the amusement of the other parents, I dragged a sobbing tot to the line. And peeled his arms off of me, several times as he buried his face against my back. As he cried,  I handed him off unceremoniously to his teachers and walked away, my heartbreaking a little.

And so, it goes...

The Red Square

When Quinn started junior kindergarten this past September at the tender age of 3 and half years, I admit I was nervous. I was worried that the day would be too long, his classmates and teachers wouldn't understand (his missing front teeth and all), he wouldn't understand the concepts being taught, and out of frustration, he would act out, hit, scream and behave badly.
When the first week, and then the first month went by without a call from the teachers, we breathed a small sigh of relief. The teachers seemed to understand he was very very young, and whenever his kindergarten teacher saw me, she had nothing negative to report. Still, I wondered about his behaviour in the classroom, because, well, because I know my kid.
Academically, Quinn seems to be growing in leaps and bounds. He can write his own name, and is starting to figure out slowly which letters make what sound. He counts well, especially if he's expecting a certain number of treats. He knows his left and right much better than his older siblings. He's always excited to read books and will have memorized the story within a short period of time.
Still, we wondered about his behaviour because he can be an absolute brat at home, and will hit or kick or scream when he doesn't get his way.
But the report cards made no mention of any unacceptable behaviour in the classroom.
On the weekend, Quinn was acting out. He received a number of warnings, and was about to placed on the time out stool.
Daddy asked, "Do you do this at school? How many times do you get send to the time out corner?"
Quinn replied, "We don't have a time out. We have to sit on the red square!"
Daddy and I looked at each other. Red Square? This was the first time we had ever heard of this!
"Really? Red square? How many times do you have sit on that?" we asked.
"A lot!" he answered unabashedly.
"What?! Who else sits on the red square?"
He named off almost of his friends.
We were aghast! Here we were thinking our youngest was an angel in class! Well, no, not really. We had acknowledged to ourselves he was probably a sh-- in class, but the teachers were handling it and we hadn't received any calls at home, yet. Unlike Devlin, whom we received calls from the vice principal during his first week of junior kindergarten, and didn't find out until recently that he had thrown his shoe at the teacher! But, we hadn't asked Quinn's teachers, because, why rock the boat? No news is good news, right?
Daddy went to the school today and inquired about Quinn and the red square.Turns out, he hardly ever earns a turn on the red square. His cronies, however, are regulars.

Mother's Day 2016

A few weeks ago, we were having yet another dispute over homework and getting assignments completed in time. We as in daddy and I versus Devlin. We were getting fed up with his sloppy writing, and his last minute rush efforts to complete typing his projects. On night, Devlin asked me for a family recipe, out of the blue. I blew up at him. Here again, was another example of a last minute attempt to complete a homework assignment. As well, I was probably under pressure from the amount of work I had brought home from the office.
"What kind of recipe?" I snapped at my first born.
"I don't know...something that's about our family...something good," he mumbled.
I was exasperated. I had to review a trial file and prepare the next day's meal, while overseeing laundry or pulling Quinn off my leg.
"Well, we cook lots of foods, so give me a hint" I yelled. "Main course? Appetizer? Salad? Dessert?"
Devlin decided after much hemming and hawing that he wanted the recipe for the oreo brownies, aka better than heaven brownies, which is a lovely, chocolately combination of chocolate chip cookie, oreos and brownies.
I admit I was really pissed at my first born at this point. I gave him a very easy short cut recipe, and I probably was yelling out the instructions, while making observations about his lack of work ethic when it came to school.
Then I forgot about that incident. Because, in a family of four kids, there was another crisis to deal with, like holey socks, or the lack of apples for lunch.
It was Mother's day yesterday. I was awakened by a cuddly 4 year old who thought it was great fun to eat all the strawberries and whipped cream that was my "breakfast in bed". And command his sisters to bring more.
I also received several handmade crafts with messages proclaiming their love for me. Quinn had a planted flower, slightly crushed, and card stating his mother's vital stats. According to him, I am 5 years old, my favorite colour is blue, I love to play with toys and I do read him stories.
Devlin presented me with a cookbook. An international cookbook. It was a collection of recipes from all of the students in the class who contributed family favorite recipes, reflecting their cultural and ethnic backgrounds. There was a recipe for Jolloff rice from Ghana, Ackee and saltfish and fired plantains from Jamaica, chicken palao and butter chicken from India, stuffed peppers from Serbia, perogies from the Ukraine. There were lots of southeast Asian recipes. There were some unexpected recipes like moussaka from Serbia, chicken pot pie made with Stove top stuffing from Ireland, something called lamb on a stick from Ireland.
And the last page was my son's contribution. "Magic" Brownies. And, the only Canadian contribution.
There were pictures accompanying the recipes. Thank gawd there was only a photo a chocolate brownie, and not something leafy green!

It's hard to argue with a 7 year old!

I had a late frisbee game tonight.  Usually that means Daddy is on solo parenting duty, but tonight, Daddy and Devlin were having a boys' night out, watching a the Habs game in Buffalo.

The girls and Quinn were quite upset at the thought of Mommy leaving for an hour. I explained they'd have their nanny taking care of them, and it would be late, so they'd be asleep at any rate.

"Why do we need a babysitter then, if we're going to sleeping?"

"What do you mean? I can't leave you alone at home at night," I stated.

"Well, if we're sleeping, then there's nothing for the babysitter to do," Aisling explained. "It's not like you watch us when we're sleeping either. You sleep too!"

Well, I guess I couldn't really argue with that logic. Except I pointed out if something was to happen while they were sleeping, and I wasn't home, then our nanny could help them or take care of the issue. Similarly, when I am home, albeit sleeping at night, I am there for them to awaken if the need should arise. Like when she threw up in bed last week. 

Teaching Devlin Responsibilities (aka delegation)

This year, after much pleading, we decided to give our kids allowances. However, we also instituted a penalty or fine system. There's a list of chores each kid has - suitable to their age level - that must be completed to earn their allowance. However, misbehaviours result in fines, starting at $0.25.  For instance, talking back is $0.25 and so is a missed chore. Fighting with a sibling is $0.50. And going over the half hour allotted free screen time (not related to school task) is $0.50 per 15 minute time period. It works out well for us - we have yet to pay out a full week's allowance.
Since he's the oldest, Devlin has the longest list of chores. He's also has the responsibility of keeping an eye on Quinn. Sometimes, both he and Ceilidh are given the task of babysitting Quinn for short periods of time, (no more than an hour) while both mommy and daddy are out running errands or at a hockey game.
A few weeks ago, we gave Devlin the task of bathing Quinn. It was still early in the evening but Quinn was insisting on a bath, and both Daddy and I were exhausted and hungry. We had just sit down to eat. The kids had already eaten. And Quinn didn't want to wait 10 more minutes.
I could hear Devlin in the bathroom, having his bath. I told Quinn to go up and get in the bath. He happily complied.
I shouted up to Devlin to bathe Quinn. I figured he heard me. But when Devlin showed up two minutes later, freshly bathed and in his pyjamas, I realized he hadn't.
"Go and bathe Quinn," I instructed.
Up the stairs he went. Two minutes later he came down.
"Where's Quinn?" I asked.
"In the bathtub," was the answer.
"Did you wash his hair?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you take him out of the tub?"
"Cuz he didn't want to come out," my eldest replied just as we heard the pitter patter of a small child getting out of the tub and coming down the stairs.
"Go and dry him off," I instructed. "Lotion, and pjs too."
Ninety seconds later, Devlin returned.
"Did you put pjs on him?"
He had forgotten. Back up the stairs he went.
Two minutes later, he was back. Trailing along was Quinn. With damp hair and clad in pyjamas.
M: Did Devlin give you a bath?
Q: Yup.
M: Did Devlin wash your hair?
Q: Yup.
M: Did he dry you and put lotion on?
Q: Yup.
M: Got underwear on?
Q: Let me check.
He peeled off his pants, to reveal no underwear, and announced "Nope!"

After all that, and a trip upstairs to get the missing underwear, I had to wonder if I had gained anything in my attempt to delegate a simple chore.

New Year's Resolutions

I am the first to admit I have a potty mouth. It's a miracle that my kids haven't picked up my vice. Well, three of the kids. Quinn has decided to try out a few, but he's learning that it's only okay for mommy to use such words.

This year, Ceilidh is in a split grade 4-5 class, and the older boys are not to her liking. She has labelled them as trouble makers who cause many disruptions to the classroom. Furthermore, she has made it clear that she doesn't believe the teaching staff is effective at reigning in the behaviour of some of the boys. One of her main complaints is the inappropriate language the boys use.

So I had to ask, "Well, what do you consider inappropriate?"

C: Just bad words.

M: Are they words you've heard before?

C: What do you mean?

M: Are they words you've heard from Mommy before?

C: Yes.

M: Then just ignore it. Like you do at home.

Then, my wise daughter had a brilliant idea.

C: Mommy, I think your new year's resolution should be to swear less. 

M: Excellent idea. But I need your help.

C: What do you mean?
M: When do you hear me use those words? All the time? When I'm happy?

C: No. When we're bad, or you're mad at us or Daddy.

M: So, if you guys behave better, then I won't get upset and I won't use "inappropriate" language. So your new year's resolution should be to behave, and do things when Mommy asks!

She didn't look thrilled at that suggestion.

The end of childhood??

A few weeks ago, Ceilidh and I had the evening to ourselves. We did what most females would do - we went shopping. Okay, it wasn't for anything exciting. It was my weekly trip to Costco. But Ceilidh was simply happy to have some "alone" time with Mommy.
We shopped. We chatted. About school, the upcoming holidays, what Santa would bring, and then conversation became serious. She brought up the topic of ...wait for it...PUBERTY!
Ceilidh thought it was gross because she heard that one sweats more and might get more hair with the onset of puberty. But more worrisome, she heard that it would hurt.
Since I was already in shock about the topic itself, I didn't delve into where she "heard" all of this. I knew the school hadn't started the new sex-ed curriculum so I was pretty sure it was coming from the schoolyard.
I explained, without going into specifics, that the onset of puberty was painless. Furthermore, it's supposed to be a good thing because it means maturation. That apparently, was the cause of Ceilidh's concern.
C: But I don't want to go through puberty. It means it's the end of our childhood, and I don't want that to end! That's sooo sad!
M: Ceilidh, puberty is about maturing physically and biologically. You can always keep the emotional aspects of childhood, and never let it go.
She thought about that statement, and realized I was right. (Is mommy every wrong?!)
C: That's true - Daddy is a big kid. And so is Uncle Billy and Uncle Dan. Especially Uncle Dan! Do you know he and his friends like Kraft Dinner? I mean, only kids like that stuff.

Body Hugs

Full contact body hugs are the best from a little warm child. I get snuggles from Aisling who likes to bury her face against me. Ceilidh loves hugs. Devlin will cuddle up still, but only in the privacy of our home. I don't even get a props or a wave when I walk him to school. It is not cool - I get it.

And Quinn? It's the full on, coming right at ya at top speed body hugs. I love those!

I know it's only a matter of time before he won't be proudly pointing to me at the school yard and telling his classmates "That my mom!"

I know the days are limited where he'll demand to be picked up and carried. Yes he still does that once in awhile.  He can curl up in your arms and snuggle his face against your neck and all is good in the world.  And yes, I love that feeling so I am suckered into carrying him to school, on the very infrequent opportunities I have to walk the kids to school. It's an extra workout - a half kilometer trek with a thirty-something pounds of a wiggling and giggling little boy.
There have been many changes with Quinn is the past four months. He's started school and we have to yet to receive a phone call home about any misbehaving. He can identify his name and is making valiant attempts at spelling it too. Quinn's vocabulary and pronunciation had grown by leaps and bounds. There was a moment of concern when he was assessed by the speech therapist at school. But once his age, lack of two front teeth, and a foreign born nanny were factored in, it was determined he was right on target with his speech development.
And still, after baths, he's still the same little monkey who loves to run into mommy's bed, naked, and hide under the covers, waiting for Mommy to come look for him. The tiny bump under the covers could be a pillow, but for the wriggling from all the giggles he's trying to suppress. Once you find him, there's a wrestling match to get lotion on him and pyjamas on, all punctutated by slobbery kisses and hugs.
We also decided to start Quinn in hockey this year. Yes he's the youngest and the littlest kid out there. And yes, he couldn't stand without falling at first. But I had decided my back couldn't handle another season of being bent over and holding onto a child who wanted to spend the entire session crying.  It's been two months, but he's moving across the ice, and staying upright. I love watching him come off the ice after a practice or game, with his entire face lit up by the toothless grin.
In the change room, once I get his jersey and skates off, Quinn is able to undress himself. He's quite adept at undoing the velcro straps on the various pads and throwing with unerring aim into the hockey bag. Surprisngly, he also knows his left and right which makes getting him dressed so much easier. If only he'd agree to go to the bathroom BEFORE getting on the ice. Putting a kid on the toilet, in full hockey gear, when the kid is small and the gear is huge means Mommy has to provide extra assistance in holding steady and aim! Not amusing.
But I digress...this blog is about body hugs, and the best body hugs are after hockey. After the gear is stripped off, and while I'm trying to get this kid dressed, he will launch himself into my arms because he's so happy and plant a big kiss. Sometimes, he'll lick my face too.