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.

Being old is a relative thing

Some say you're only as old as you feel. Or is it you're only as old as you look? After all, age is just a number. It's all about your attitude and perspective on being mature.
Yeah, whatever.
As the years drag on, and my children get taller and older and sassier, I'm learning that being old is a relative thing.That is, it's my relatives that make me old, both in body and spirit.
Is grey hair hereditary? Of course it is. It's caused by the off-spring and their antics.
Ceilidh announced today she finally met someone whose mom is older than her mom! A classmate's mom is 48!
And then there's Devlin, who asked if it's possible to have a baby at age 15?
I cautiously answered that, yes it's biologically and physically possible but certainly not advisable. Why, I wondered aloud, would he ask this?
It turns out he doubted that his classmate's parents could only be 26 years old!
I think another hair turned grey when I realized I am old enough to be the parent of a classmate's parent, if I had been a precocious child.

Then there's Aisling who doubted her mom would own a pair of Chucks (Converse sneakers for you old folks).
"Are those your shoes?" she asked doubtfully. "Cuz they look like something Auntie Grace would wear."

Yes, Auntie Grace is the cool and hip aunt, and in her eyes, the fashion icon to follow. Clearly, her own mother is nowhere near that cool.

But alas, I've regained a bit in the "hip" category. Ceilidh saw me wearing an old motorcycle-style black jacket, and declared me "cool".