Quick thinking Saves the Party Girl

Happy Birthday Aisling! She's had quite the celebration this year - family birthday with the aunts and uncles and grandparents on the long weekend, a special brunch on her actual birthday, and a chaotic party with her friends at a ridiculous indoor activity place.
Mommy spent the evening before attempting to create a castle cake, and a frantic morning doing the last minute decorations and loot bags on top of the usual crazy Saturday morning routine. The festivities were scheduled for late afternoon, which meant having to answer just "how many more hours/minutes until my party?" a gazillion times. To add even more chaos to the mix, Quinn has been ill with a gasteronintestinal bug. He threw up several times yesterday, and then once more puked all over Mommy in bed last night. So, he's been out of sorts and miserable and clingy. To Mommy.
We finally made it out of the house. Took a wrong turn to the party place. Still made good time. Cake only shifted a little.
Left the list of invitees at home. Couldn't remember exactly how many kids were coming. Or who.
Parents showed up and offered, quite reluctantly, to stay and help out. I politely turned down their offers, knowing full well, they just wanted to get away from the kids for two hours. I know, because I make the same offer, hoping that no one actually takes me up on the offer.
The kids were let loose into the gym - climbing structure area. Quinn refused to venture more than two feet from me.
And then disaster struck.
Devlin and Ceilidh came running to me and their dad. Aisling had peed. In the climbing gym. On the top level. A lot. Her socks were soaked. And she refused to come down.
Well, I wasn't going to climb up. And I was VERY MAD. I had told her repeatedly to go the bathroom before leaving the house. I should have known better.
I attempted to find her, only to be stopped by a sobbing Quinn.
I sent the kids to bring her down, and could hear little voices, above the noisy din, "if you see something wet, it's Aisling - she peed her pants!". Great....
I took hold of Aisling and marched her to the bathroom. She left wet footprints on the floor. I left daddy to deal with alerting the staff to the clean up required on level 3 or 4.
My spouse asked if I brought extra clothes? Yeah, for Quinn. Not the six-year-old who's been potty trained for several years.
I looked at Aisling, and instructed her to strip off her wet underwear and socks. Into the garbage they went. As we wiped her down, and I verbally dressed her down for not listening to Mommy, she managed to look both tearful and defiant at the same time.
She couldn't go climbing without socks. What to do? It was the start of the party. I couldn't have her sit out of the fun, even though she deserved it.
Quick thinking Mommy came to the rescue. I recruited Ceilidh, who was wearing shorts. Had Ceilidh give Aisling her undies and Ceilidh went commando. Had Ceilidh also hand over her socks to Aisling and gave Ceilidh my socks. See? Problem solved. A little icky, but better than a sobbing 6 year old and a bunch of 6 year olds laughing at her.
Definitely a birthday party to remember!

Extortionist

Aisling's teachers communicate with us by way of a notebook. We use the notebook to alert the teachers of upcoming appointments. They send us notes whenever there is an "issue" with Aisling. It's never a good thing when we see writing in the agenda.
Today was no exception. This evening, we learned that Aisling had been taking other kids' toys from school and putting them into her backpack to bring home. Without getting the permission of the toy owner, according to the teachers.  Her defence? It was borrowing as the pilfered items never actually remained in her possession for long. Trust me, even with the ridonculous piles of toys we own, I would notice a new toy or two in the mix. She also stated the kids were fully aware and had given their consent.
But it gets worse. In some cases, she was directing other kids to get the toys from the unsuspecting kids and bring them to her. And when they hesitated to do her bidding, she'd tell them she wasn't going to be their friend.
I was shocked and upset and disappointed at this behaviour. And very dismayed - she's got the makings of a mafia boss. I'm raising a brood of criminals!
We explained that her actions were tantamount to bullying and was it any wonder that only a handful of kids had accepted the invitation to her birthday party?
Of course, the fact that this behaviour had been going for some time without any notification to us parents is also upsetting. Why would the teachers wait so long to alert us to this potentially criminal behaviour? Did they actually think they could handle this without the parents' involvement on the home front? Yeah, that's another issue for another day.
In the meantime, time to deal with little Miss. Mafioso.

Related to the primates

It's no secret that I refer to my offspring as monkeys. When Devlin was a toddler, I'd often point to the Telus monkey and tell him that it was "Devlin". I know I was successful in brain-washing my child when - in public - he pointed to a cartoon depiction of a monkey, and cried out excitedly "Mommy - it's me!"
Then there was the time, when I wondered out loud, in exasperation, "Where are my monkeys?" and Aisling piped up, "Here I am!"
On the weekend, I overheard a serious conversation between Daddy and his two daughters.
"Daddy? Ummm, which family do we belong to? Is it the gorillas?" asked Aisling.
"Pardon?" came Daddy's reply.
"I think it's the 'ragtangs, but Ceilidh says it's not. Which family are we related to?"
"We do NOT belong to the orangutan family, nor do we belong to the gorillas," came Daddy's answer which sounded like he was struggling not to laugh.
I piped in, "Nope, you all are related to the baboon family, but not Mommy, she's the only normal one."


After all, we do live in a zoo...

PDA

Last week, I committed the biggest sin for a boy. I tried to hold his hand. And caused sheer amounts of embarrassment to my soon-to-be 10 year old.
In my defence, it was dusk, and raining, and we were about to cross a dimly lit parking lot. As we prepared to sprint to the car, I did what has become second nature to me over the past decade. My hand automatically reached out to grab Devlin's little paw. I kept grasping air. I finally looked down to see what the problem was, and there he was, feet glued to the pavement, and a look of horror and utter disbelief on his freckled face. It dawned on me then. We were leaving Cubs, and his friends were nearby. None of them were holding their parents' hands. And he's growing up. So, I urged him forward with a pat on his back and we took off.
Was it just a few years ago when he would always reach for my hand when we walked? It seems like just yesterday when he would hold onto my legs and cry, refusing to go into his kindergarten class. Now he gives me a fist bump at the boundary of the school grounds. The first time I left him for a few days with my parents, he cried while pacing the house looking for me. Last year, when I dropped him off for his first overnight camping trip, he gave me a shrug hug. The kind where he brushed up against me, shrugged his shoulders and his arms kind of, sort of came up around my waist for a nanosecond before he quickly stepped away.
But I got a nice surprise this morning. I'll be away for the next three days at a conference. And yes, I won't lie, I have been counting the hours. Of course, I'll miss the monkeys, but I won't miss the 45 minute long temper tantrums, the arguments, the nagging to get their homework done, the begging to get them to eat their meals. It'll be a nice break.
I walked the kids to school, and reminded them to be good and listen to Arlyn and Daddy. We counted down how many days before Aisling would see Mommy. I promised to pick them up from school on Friday. At the school, Ceilidh gave me a long hug and a kiss. Aisling and I shared several hugs and kisses and waved goodbye for many long minutes. And to my utter surprise and delight, Devlin didn't do his usual props with me. He gave me a hug. Not a shrug hug, but a proper hug. And I didn't have to ask for it!

Low-tech family

A few weeks ago, I read an article about the family who attempted living a retro 80's life for a year. Aside from the mullet the dad sported, the kids weren't allowed any hand-held electronic devices, cellphones were a no no, and I think the television was an old model that involved getting up off the couch to change the channel. Interesting, but I don't I think I could survive a week, let alone a month.
At the same time, I understand the reasons why we should limit screen time for our kids, and it's increasingly hard when you consider the variety of screens that exist - smartphones, tablets, laptops, DVD players, DS or other small video games, the television, etc. At home, in the classroom, at a friend's house, at a restaurant (although that's about limiting the spouse's exposure to the big screen), in the car...you have to admit it's annoying to see a family out for dinner, presumably to spend time together, and the entire family is texting away or talking on their phones. Or my biggest pet peeve - seeing parents constantly on their phones at the play centres, not paying attention, let alone playing, with their kids.
I am not adverse to technology and its various gadgets. I'm blogging, aren't I? But for kids, I'm more old-fashioned. The laptop is in the kitchen, and the kids really aren't allowed onto internet unless it's an educational, parent-approved site or its for school projects. We haven't developed any hard and fast rules regarding social media, other than "no". We do give in, and let the kids play on the Xbox or watch television, especially when we need a break from the rugrats.
The one area where we don't have such entertainment is the car. Nothing gets me more annoyed that seeing a kid watching the DVD in the car on a trip to the mall. We regularly take car trips of four hours or more. There is no portable DVD player in our vehicle. We had one a looong time ago, but it soon broke down. And I couldn't be bothered to replace it. The kids have managed to survive the long car rides. They'll read, or sing along to the radio. They check out the scenery, and count the cows/sheep/tires on the trucks. They sleep, with the aid of Gravol (only the two prone to puking in a moving car), and more often than not, they get silly and bug each other, and prompt us to threaten to leave one of them on the side of the road. Surely, the last scenario would cause us to run out and buy a tablet or two to maintain the peace? Nah. I believe in learning the skill to entertain oneself, and to be comfortable with the idea that being bored on occasion is okay. And if nothing else, it's a rite of passage of childhood to annoy your parents and your siblings. Being able to converse with each other is a life skill, even if the topic is downright silly or gross.
And we LOOOVE saying over and over again "We'll get there when we get there! Don't ask again!"

(And we do own a tablet. It was purchased in preparation for a four hour long plane trip with a 22 month old who would be confined to my lap, in the window seat, on a sold-out flight. THAT was a necessity.)

Quinn no longer needs Mommy the Defender

I've identified myself as having 3 kids and a baby. And as mommy and defender of the baby, I've always kept an eagle on the other three kids to make sure they treated him with the gentle care and attention, and lots of affection. The other three have always been very good with Quinn. From the moment he arrived in their lives, he's always been subjected to hugs, kisses and cuddles. Ceilidh was so aggressive with her affection, that Quinn would cringe and shy away from her. As he got older and more mobile, his older siblings would be careful not to leave any tiny or sharp objects lying around, after much reminding from Mommy. As he began to reach and destroy, his siblings learned to not leave anything of value or importance anywhere near Quinn. For they all knew, as the baby, Quinn wouldn't be blamed for the destruction. Rather, the older kids would be blamed for their own carelessness.
Now some  may argue that leaving the baby blameless is wrong. But I call it in teaching responsibility for one's possessions. And reasoning with a 5 or 7 or 9 year old is much easier than explaining that ripped pages are a no-no to a 2 year old. When he would hit a sibling, accidently of course, as he had no concious control over his limbs, I would soothe the wounded child while explaining that as a baby, Quinn didn't mean to hurt.
But I've come to the realization that Quinn is ready to fend for himself. He no longer needs Mommy to fight his battles with his older siblings, or provide the ready excuse "He's just a baby, he doesn't understand!"
Aside from the fact that he has truly reached the "terrible twos", temper tantrums and all, he's learned to use his little fists to express his anger and frustration. I've seen his hands grab hold of his sister Aisling's long locks when he wants her out of the way. He uses his fists to punch and push me when I don't give in to his demands. And no, I don't give in, no matter how many little blows he lands while I try to "reason" with an angry toddler that hitting isn't going to get him the desired results.
I must admit, it's quite funny to watch him in a full blown temper tantrum. Remember Aisling? She used to strip down naked in major tantrum! Quinn just starts pleading with his big eyes staring up at you. Like Puss in Boots from Shrek. When that doesn't work, he starts shouting his demands. Then he starts jumping up and down in anger. While screaming. Then he falls to the ground, and cries and screams. When that doesn't produce the desired result, he gets up and starts punching, his little arms flailing like windmills. Then he spits and wipes his drooly mouth on my legs. Yeah, gross.
And finally, he collapses and sobs into my shoulder when he realizes he's just not going to get his way, and that Mommy's will is actually stronger than his. It hasn't always been the case, but it's time to stop spoiling the baby.
As for fending for himself? Quinn is not the instigator, but he's quickly learning to stick up for himself.
The other night, Quinn was going through his usual bedtime queries. "Where's Arlyn? Where's Daddy? Where's Ceilidh? Where's Aisling? Where's Devlin?" Once satisfied that all are sleeping, he'll settle down to sleep too. But last night, Devlin decided to tease his brother by asking him "Where's Quinn?" while poking him in the ribs, most likely in an effort to tickle him.
Quinn did not like the poke. And he stated, "Stop it Devlin!" while utilizing a lightning quick side punch at his older brother's head. That shut Devlin up.

Surprise!

Kudos to my kids and spouse for doing the impossible - surprising me on Mother's Day!
It started out as any other Sunday morning, trying to get an extra hour of sleep only to be poked awake by little fingers checking out Mommy's face. And the usual war over who got more of Mommy to cuddle. And playing peek-a-boo under the pillows.
It was the usual argument over who got to watch what show on television while I changed a toddler's diaper. There was the usual whining over who got more of the blanket on the couch. I quickly made my get-away and ran out the door, plugged in my ear buds and started to run away - well, no, just went for my run.
Upon my return, I started the coffee and rummaged through the fridge for breakfast ingredients. Quinn came along, demanding the fridge to be opened ("open fridge!") so he could decide what to snack on - strawberries this morning.
And then came my kids stomping down the stairs, followed by their dad. To my surprise, they came bearing gifts. A plaque for my desk, lovingly painted in pink by Ceilidh; a list of reasons why Mommy is so great from Devlin; a tea bag for an hour of relaxation from Aisling; and a lovely sparkly necklace and earrings from Quinn (ok, from all and Daddy). So, I got my bling, and yes, I was pleasantly surprised. I truly not expecting any of it.
Thanks kids and spouse!