Decision time

So we're now at the end of September, and still no nanny in sight. The last we heard, the embassy sent a bogus, delay tactic letter asking our potential nanny to send in her criminal record check, which SHE HAD ALREADY! So, it's still a waiting game that continues to fray on our nerves. The federal government has not resolved its labour issue with their striking workers, and we are still not resolved on our long term child care plans.
However, my month of working from home is coming to an end, so hard decisions need to be made about Quinn. I hate to do this, because I have enjoyed being at home, juggling work-related duties with mommy stuff, but I must return to being a physical presence in my office. I've loved being able to witness Quinn at this stage - hearing him try out new words, playing cars with him (his latest fascination), playing floor hockey, watching Dino Dan and the dino train (another new fascination), reading him stories before nap time. I don't want this to end. I've tossed around the idea of taking some vacation time to prolong my stay at home, but with a full plate at work, and no timeline regarding our nanny's arrival (soon I hope), I probably should save my vacation days for emergencies. Like a sick kid. Or if we still don't have a nanny in December. We don't have any family close by that we can ask to help out, and even if we did, my newborn twin niece and nephew trump all baby-sitting requests I may have.
I also hate the thought of putting Quinn into a daycare.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against day cares per se, even though a few children have died in home daycares in recent years in the GTA, and illnesses run rampant in day care centres, and there have been documented cases of abuse in such places. We had Devlin in daycare for a year or so. But when the opportunity arose to have my children taken care of in the comfort and familiarity of their own home, we seized upon it. We've never regretted the decision to hire live-in caregivers. We adjusted to having another person in our household, and the issue of "family privacy" became a non-issue. Our nannies have been an extension of our family. Our children have loved their nannies, and three of the have known no other child care scenarios. As I've said before, it takes a village to raise a child, and I guess I'm going to have adjust to that "village" becoming larger in a geographical sense too.
I'll also admit, it's been a great convenience to have a live-in caregiver. No more morning rush to get the kids up, diaper bags packed, kids fed and dressed while doing the same for yourself, then rushing to drop them off and getting yourself to work on time. Not to mention no teary goodbyes. I think Devlin cried and sobbed almost every single day of his short day care experience. Then there's the afternoon rush to pick them up and get back home, be greeted the remains of the morning chaos, and try to get dinner on the table. With our nannies, we've been able to leave for work early when needed, not worry about getting a sleepy one out of bed, and never stressed about getting them to school on time. While I still prepared the evening meals, the dishes were done, the kids were fed a snack and homework was done by the time I arrived home.
I don't want to disrupt Quinn's life as he knows it. I don't want to have him sleep in a strange cot, without his favorite blue pillow. I don't want to change anything, but I also know I have no other viable and feasible options at this time.
It is with heavy heart that I'm now making the plans for Quinn to transition to a home daycare. It's just down our street, operated by one of Devlin's classmate's mother. Which is convenient since she'll also walk the older ones to school.  She's got two other tykes she takes care of, so I know it'll be good for Quinn socially. I'm just going to miss him like crazy. And I know he's going to cry and sob when I drop him off. And yes, I know he'll also eventually adjust to the new environment and schedule. Just like the rest of us.
At least, our current nanny Rose will still be able to take over after her classes. So Quinn will wake up from his nap to a familiar face picking him up, and his after nap schedule will remain the same. The older ones will have to wake up earlier and get ready to be dropped off earlier as well. But, their after school routine will remain the same as well, with Rose picking them up, and bringing them home for snacks, homework, piano practising, and getting ready for their extra-curriculars.
For now. Rose will be leaving at the end of November. If our new nanny isn't here by then, we'll have to figure out something else.

Helping Mommy

For the past two weeks, Daddy and I have been trading off days working from home while we anxiously await the arrival of our new nanny. Rose informed us she wanted to return to school back in December, so we started the process of sponsoring a new nanny last December! We expected her to arrive in June, then  July, August, and now it's September, and we're still waiting. We've had no word from the Canadian consulate in Hong Kong despite several efforts at contacting them, and our patience is wearing thin, very thin. All we need is an answer as to when the visa will be issued, but thanks to the federal government's lack of good faith bargaining with the striking foreign workers, we're beginning to despair.
As a stop gap measure, we've been working from home for this month, in the hopes (that now seem far-fetched and misplaced) that our new nanny was to arrive. And no, since we agreed to sponsor this individual who also has dreams of immigrating to Canada, I don't think it's right to abandon her and hire someone local. Not that we haven't looked, but the new live-in caregiver rules has made live-in caregivers a rarity. Also thanks to the federal Conservative government. Yeah, I'm not Tory supporter, never was and never will be. I'm this close to calling the Treasury Board Chair Tony Clement and telling him to be our nanny given that much of this prolonged work stoppage is HIS fault.
But I digress.
So, we're working from home. And it's been working, pardon the pun. Since Quinn naps for three hours and our current nanny comes home from school at 2:30 to take over, there's a good chunk of the day that's devoted to paid work. In fact, without the constant interruptions of the phone and emails, I'm accomplishing more at home than at the office.
Honestly? I've also been enjoying this time at home. Walking the kids to school, playing with Quinn, chasing him around the house, reading to him, hearing all the new words he's starting to pick up, listening to the giggles and uncontrollable laughter -  it's been a balm to my frayed nerves while dealing with the nanny situation.
I also get few household chores done in the morning too. The breakfast dishes, a load of laundry, sweeping, and sometimes even Quinn helps. He sorts out the laundry to be folded by owner, and will move the chairs out of the way when I'm sweeping. He'll put away his toys when asked. He's even started to help without asking.
Like today. I thought Quinn was occupied by a kid's show on the television, so I picked up a file from work and quickly reviewed it. I also checked my emails. I heard happy charttering in the background, and decided to answer an email or two. And then I turned around. There was Quinn, proud as punch. He had a wet paper towel in his hand and was industriously mopping the floor. With water. From the toilet. My floors needed a cleaning, I guess, in his opinion.

Potty Mouth Mommy

Quinn has been talking for awhile now, and he's adding words to his ever expanding vocabulary on a daily basis.
Although his most common words are "Mom", said in an increasing tempo and volume until he gets the desired effect (i.e. Mom, Mom, Mom, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM!!!") and "Dad!", there's also "car", "plane" (while pointing to the sky), "ri" which means rice, "chee" cheese and, of course, "goal!" with arms up after a shot on the net.
He's also stringing together 3 word sentences:
"I want joo" meaning "I want juice".
"Where it go?" referring to the search for his lamb or soother.
"I don't know!"
"Who did dat?"
He has learned the word "no", but surprisingly uses it sparingly, preferring to shake his noggin vigorously and throw himself on the floor.
And last night, he picked up another word.
It was the usual crazy bedtime routine. Looking for security blankets, finding bedtime storybooks, telling the kids to brush their teeth, locating Quinn's lamb, telling the kids again to brush their teeth, prying the toothpaste out of Quinn's hands (this little boy LOVES to brush his teeth, or rather loves to suck on toothpaste - probably why his teeth are so pearly white!), and so on. You get the picture.
Quinn was upset that he had to give up the toothpaste. I handed him his sippy cup. He motioned to be picked up. I did, and had a brief discussion with the dad. As I turned to go into the hallway, Quinn dropped the full sippy cup, right onto my bare toes.
Unable to drop the offender to grab my aching, smarting toes, I reacted with a "F---!"
And then, I heard "Puck!" from the innocent looking toddler in my arms.

Caught Red-handed

Our after school routine involves emptying the backpacks and placing lunch boxes and agendas on the kitchen counter. There are after school snacks consisting of fruits not consumed at school or fresh fruits and crackers before homework and piano practising. It's a well established routine.
Which is why my Mommy radar went on high alert when Aisling rushed into the house and was quick to dump off her lunch box even before I had gotten in the door. As I finally entered the house after putting away the stroller and convincing Quinn it was time to go in, I saw Aisling rushing up the stairs, with her hands underneath her shirt.
"Whoa, where are you going?" I asked.
"Upstairs. I need some private time. Can't I have any privacy around here?" she retorted indignantly.
(Technically, her question was quite astute. There is no such thing as "privacy" in this zoo, especially for mommy who always has Quinn hot on her trail.)
"Umm, sure, but what's in your hands?"
"Nothing," came the reply as she scurried up the stairs.
Then came Ceilidh the tattle-tale of the family. "She's got cookies in her hands! I saw her take cookies!"

I gave Aisling the stare and demanded she return to the kitchen with the contraband cookies. She knew she was caught since I  had opened up her lunch box by then, and saw the evidence of her uneaten fruit snack.
However, not to be beaten, Aisling took the longer route to the kitchen (through the living room) and by the time she arrived, she had successfully stuffed three-quarters of one cookie into her mouth, and relinquished the other.

The Tidy Bed Fairies

Despite whatever dreams or hopes I have for Devlin for his future career endeavours, I suspect he’s got a path leading towards a role that involves finding ways to do the absolute minimum. Or perhaps that might be a trait of the XY chromosome.

For example, when I ask him to clean up the basement with his siblings, he makes sure to only put away the toys that belong to him, in a haphazard pile in one of his bins.

So, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to me his delight in learning that his bed got made by someone, other than his mom, while he was at his day camp session. No, we’re not staying at a hotel. Our accommodations while I am at this continuing legal education is by no means luxurious. Not by any stretch of the imagination. We’re staying at the university dorm, complete with stale beer scented carpets and uncomfortable twin beds with thin foam mattresses, not to mention the showers with the thin trickle of water. Of course, the kids think it’s great since they’ve gotten bacon every morning for breakfast in the cafeteria.

This morning, Ceilidh was not quite ready when it was time to head down to breakfast. I asked Devlin to see what was taking her so long.

Devlin: Hurry up! What are you doing?

Ceilidh: Making my bed.

I felt a sense of satisfaction that I was raising a responsible child who didn’t need to be nagged to do the simple everyday task of straightening the bed covers. Until I heard my son’s response:

“Don’t worry about it! There’s someone that comes everyday who makes your bed for you! You can leave it messy!”

Mean Mommy / Fun Mommy

In our household, I’m often referred to as Mean Mommy. Mostly because I enforce the rules, insist the kids eat their vegetables, make their beds, and veto calls for staying up late on school nights. Now I’m not saying that my husband is not a disciplinarian but let’s face the facts – Mommy is the one who’s in the background preparing meals, scheduling extra-curricular activities and medical appointments, going through the agendas, doing loads of laundry while Daddy is in the forefront playing with the monkeys, and taking them out so I can tidy the house and enjoy the tidiness for a few minutes before the orderliness is destroyed. Daddy is the one who takes them to the park, or plays hockey in the driveway. Daddy is always the one who is on board for an après-dinner walk to the ice cream store, and sporting events complete with junk food and a souvenir or two.

But for a brief couple of days this week, I am getting to be Fun Mommy. Somehow I got roped into bringing half of our brood with me to my annual, week-long, professionally required, continuing legal education course. I usually look forward to this work related duty as a reprieve from my parental duty. There’s usually a spa session booked for after class hours, leisurely meals at restaurants that have real tablecloths and not a television set in sight, nights spent reading books without pictures, and a glass or two of fine wine. This year, I brought Devlin and Ceilidh with me. While in class, those two are at day camp – sports for both, art for Ceilidh and science for Devlin. Both seem to be enjoying their stay, and have made friends at camp. Aside from the 5 minute walk to the camp drop off location which always seems to elicit much groaning, both have been behaving for the most part. I think I’ve only raised my voice twice.

As Fun Mommy, I’ve stocked our room with chips and cookies. I rewarded their willingness to try a new food item (yummy Mediterranean cuisine) with ginormous bowls of frozen yogurt topped with all sorts of candy, of which they only ate a few spoonfuls. This Fun Mommy hasn’t raised a stink about the lack of vegetables in their meals. They had dinner at the movie theater last night! Hot dogs and popcorn, all washed down with the forbidden drink – coke!

Fun Mommy sat down and watched the Avengers with Devlin and worked on puzzles with Ceilidh. Mean Mommy is still lurking underneath to ensure teeth are brushed and manners are on display. Reasonable bedtimes are still maintained. Clearly, piano practice sessions have been cancelled and I’ve given them a break on the daily homework assignments. I’ve encouraged some leisure reading, but agreed to letting them watch a movie on the laptop before bed instead.

I’ve revelled in the spontaneous hugs from my first born, sleeping with Ceilidh in a tiny twin bed because she can’t fall asleep on her own, and having the luxury of really listening to their silly jokes and their fantasies of having a unicorn for a pet. Sometimes, I wonder if this is what life would be like we stopped at two? A more sane pace of life? Probably not.  Alas, our week is ending, and I’ll be resorting back to my usual role of Mean Mommy. I’ve enjoyed these few days of reprieve from the daily drudgery of commuting and rushing to tackle laundry, meal preparation, cleaning, handing out household tasks, nagging the kids to brush their teeth and cleaning up the bathroom after bathing 4 kids. (Why can’t the water ever stay in the tub?)

But I can’t begin to tell you about how much I miss the other half of my off-spring. It’s been a nice vacation parenting two instead of four, but I am an incomplete mother this week.  Just remind me of that when I’m cursing under my breath about the whining, squabbling, and the frenetic chaos of my life.

Delegation by Devlin

One summer evening, after cleaning up the dinner detritus and starting a load of laundry, the kids and I rode our bikes to the tennis courts. Daddy was playing a match and I thought it would be nice to cheer him on. However, the older kids had a different idea. They begged to be allowed to play at the nearby park. I agreed, on one proviso.

“Devlin, you are in charge of your sisters. You are to keep an eye on them. Mommy and Quinn will be at the tennis courts, and I’ll come get you after Daddy’s game,” I instructed.

Devlin nodded and his sisters agreed to be supervised by him.

(For those of you parents who are outraged that I left the kids alone, the park was less than 250 metres from the tennis courts, and within hearing/shouting distance.)

Quinn and I continued on to the tennis courts. Fifteen minutes later, while I was watching Quinn chase after a wayward tennis ball, I spied Devlin coming towards me on his bike.

“Devlin!?!? What are you doing here? Where are your sisters? You were supposed to be watching over Ceilidh and Aisling!”

Very nonchalantly, he replied “Don’t worry Mom. I left Ceilidh in charge of Aisling.”

That’s a sure sign of maturing, I guess. Learning the ability to delegate.