Category Archives: parenting

October 9, 2012

What Do You Say?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Last month I sat around a table with 1/2 a dozen sticky faced toddlers. Each one clutching a mangled dixie cup of cheerios in their hot little hands. Upon reaching the bottom of the cup they lift hopeful eyes in my direction. The more assertive personalities hold up their cup beseechingly.

“What do you say?”

Each one, in turn, squeaks out an adorable “pa-wease.” Even S rubs his tummy to sign the word.

After that, it’s smiles all around, flush with the success of snack acquisition and the effusive praise that comes with having “SUCH good manners.”

This is what we do. We teach our children what to say.

Say “Hi” to Grandma. Wave “Bye-bye.” Tell your brother “No thank you! I don’t like it when you throw sand in my eye/take my toy/hug me until I fall to the ground/bite me on the shoulder.”

We give our children words to foster relationships, stand up for themselves and express their feelings. We teach them how to treat others, and ourselves, with respect. Words are the sticks and stones brick and mortar of relationship development.

At the end of a meal our big kids are expected to clear their plate and say to whomever prepared the meal, “Excuse me, thank you for my dinner.” It’s a pretty habit we admired in the respectful, well-behaved children of other families we know. We do the same in the hopes that one day our children will morph into something similar.

I’m not so deluded as to believe it is always the honest expression of heartfelt gratitude. Some nights is sounds more like “excusemethankyouformydinner, it’s MY turn with the iPad, put it DOWN, it’s NOT FAIR, where’s MY ice cream, DON’T touch me, MOOOOOOO-OOOOOOM.”

Other nights we get the sullen, slumped shoulders version which sounds like the exact opposite of gratitude “Ex-cuuuuse me. Thanks for my ‘dinner.'” And we launch immediately into a lively post-dinner discussion about attitude and tone of voice, which is always fun. “What do you mean? That’s my normal voice. I always talk like that.” This actually does have a ring of truth, since sullen-pre-teen-cool is becoming our new normal. Sigh.

But we plug away. Every time they say the words, they go through the motions of Grateful. If nothing else, it is a reminder that meals do not magically appear on the table; they are a gift of time and effort, and hopefully (most nights) some small amount of skill.

Manners are a big deal in our house. I went toe to toe with the speech therapist who insisted that the sign for “want” was the strong verb B needed to use most in her communication. I insist on “please” when she needs something. It may seem like a small thing, but when words are few, they should be the right ones.

And hopefully attitude will follow action.

The easy part is writing all of this about my children; yet another parenting technique we subscribe to. The hard part is applying it to myself.

Glen and I had one of those rare lingering disagreements this weekend (we usually have heated/hurt feelings/cry/make up/I-can’t-really-remember-what-the-big-deal-was-anyway/quick fights). We are tired and overwhelmed and in this life stage, with head colds all around, it’s probably inevitable. But the lingering is worrisome. And unhealthy. And I haven’t been ready to let it go.

I won’t go into the details (mostly because they are pretty stupid and petty), but we both felt disrespected and devalued. Me, by his actions and he, by my words.

I’ve been absolutely certain that actions trumped words. Wasn’t that the point? Not what we said or how we said it, but what we DID. Sure, I had been a little bit wrong, but he was wrong-er.

So there.

Then this morning I dusted off this blog post that I had started weeks ago: pontificating about the importance of words. Gah. I suck.

I thank the doctor for his time. I say ‘please’ to the waiter who brings me a drink. I excuse myself from a meeting rather than abruptly walking out. I would never demand or yell or belittle someone I had just met. Doesn’t my family, and especially my husband, DESERVE respectful words even more than the strangers and acquaintances I practice my manners on all day long?

I know they do. And when I am feeling entitled and ungrateful and irritated, I can only hope that saying the right words will help adjust MY attitude too.

So here’s me, thanking my husband for all he does. He speaks to me with respect and that means a lot. I’m sorry.

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October 3, 2012

Lies I Tell Myself

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Sleep is for the weak.

I’ll just have ONE bite.

This is the best I can do.

I don’t know how this happened.

It’s not like she’s going to wear diapers forever.

That’ll wash right out.

I’m sure it’s just a phase.

There’s probably some nutritional value in it.

These pants must have shrunk in the wash. Again.

I’m just resting my eyes.

It’s not my fault.

And the TRUTHS that make all the difference:

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Sex burns calories and releases positive endorphins.

I AM doing the best I can.

We’re in this together.

They’re worth it.

God made me special and He loves me very much.

So here’s me, preaching the gospel according to Bob and Larry. I think Preschool Theology is highly underrated.

Note: I do realize that “doing the best I can” made both sides of the list. I shuffled it back and forth several times. Figuring out if it is a lie to let myself off the hook OR a truth to accept about myself is the real trick right now. Well, that and naps. I’m pretty sure a nap will help too.

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September 27, 2012

McParenting

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

There are 2 kinds of parents in the world. Those who take their children to McDonalds. And those who don’t.

Sadly, we fall into the first category. I say “sadly” not because I’m wracked with guilt about the fat content, insane amounts of sodium and lack of real food value. Much.

I say “sadly” because our trip to “Old McDonalds” (as B calls it) usually dovetails with some of our less-than-stellar parenting times.

Times when we are overly busy. Rush, rush, rush, who has time to make something (from scratch) and put it on the table, then stand over the offspring like prison guards to ensure that they actually eat.

Times when we are feeling lazy. There is only so much of a person to go around. As we slice piece after piece off for housework, carpooling, changing diapers, earning money to pay for diapers… talking to family on the phone, talking to the neighbours, talking to the teachers, talking to the speech therapist, talking to that very friendly checkout lady (I’m an introvert, I like the talking, really, but it exhausts me)… reading emails, checking Facebook, watching Sliders reruns on Netflix… showering, bathing the littles, insisting that the big girls shower (and YES you have to wash your hair this time)… Pretty soon, we’re paper-thin and eager to settle for fast, relatively cheap and, above all, easy.

Times when we eat our emotions. We celebrate with food: got a bonus at work, a perfect mark on your science report, a birthday… We medicate with food: not invited to the party, playing single parent for the weekend, realized the your 8-year-old is NEVER, NEVER, NEVER going to be potty trained… Whoever named it a “Happy Meal” must have felt the same. It’s not a habit that has served ME well over the years. Yet, here I am passing it on to my children.

Times when I am feeling rebellious. I wasn’t raised like this. My Mom fed me nuts and twigs and all manner of healthy crap. We rarely ate out and NEVER had white bread or processed foods or anything with “whiz” or “a-roni” tacked on the end. She once told me that hot dogs were made with pencil shavings, sawdust and whatever else they could sweep off the floor at the end of the day. She was probably right. But I eat them anyway. Not all the time, but occasionally. Because I can. And no one can stop me.

We’re not the only ones. That indoor playground at our local Mickey Ds is often filled to capacity. And beyond. Shell shocked dads, doting grandparents, exhausted nannies, and guilty moms practice McParenting in all its many forms:

The McSanitizer: It’s true that the play structures are a giant, plastic petri dish full of germs and disease. To fight it off these twitchy parents scrub each surface with antibacterial wipes, line them with napkins, pull out extra pairs of socks et voila – instant McHazmat suit. A vigorous rub down in hand sanitizer is a necessary final step for decontamination.

The McWeary: This parent has surrendered. “Just eat something, anything…” I saw one dad pushing fries through the play centre netting into his sons mouth each time he crawled by. I can relate. “Mom, B just ate something she found at the top of the slide.” Try NOT to think about it. It was probably edible. “Can I borrow some hand sanitizer?”

The McThug: See no evil. Hear no evil. Or just chuckle about it and shrug your shoulders, like, “hey, whatcha-gonna-do? Sure my preteen just dropkicked your toddler across the room, but gee, isn’t he cute?” See how cute it is when I push YOU to the ground and step on YOUR face.

The McRockwellian: “No playing until you eat ALL your fries. I mean it young man, that milk…er…dairy-related-substance-shake isn’t going to drink itself. Let’s enjoy some meaningful family time.” Who are we kidding? Unless we recently installed a climbing apparatus in the dining room and invited every preschooler we’ve ever met over to give it a spin, this is NOT the family table.

It is what it is. Not that clean, not that healthy, not that safe and not all that family friendly. BUT the world isn’t either. Not even with bean sprouts and quinoa on the menu.

We all have to live in this dirty, imperfect, not-always-good-for-us world. So, if that same world OCCASIONALLY brings some reasonably priced, convenient, keeps-the-kids-out-of-my-hair-for-a-few-minutes food my way, I’m not going to feel guilty. Much.

Moderation in all things.

So here’s me, and maybe it makes me a total McCop-Out, but I think our family can handle a once a month McSplurge.

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September 12, 2012

8 Years Old

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Total honesty… not the cupcakes I made for B’s Dr. Suess birthday, yet. These are the ones I’m planning to make. I’m sure they’ll look JUST like this. Really!
from goodlifeeats.com

One more birthday letter for the year…

First up, my favourite Guest Poster: the Dad.

Dear B,

As you’ve been telling me for weeks, you’re 8! Today it’s finally true! And, since you’ve been telling me “Happy Birthday Daddy!” several times a day for the past year, today I’m thrilled to be able to say, “Happy Birthday B!”

It’s been another year of adventure for us with you, as we wait with expectation for your next surprise that will have us laughing loud and long. Often it involves layer upon layer of dress-up clothes. Lately it’s involved you shouting, “Blow me down, guys!” and when we do, you teeter and squeal and eventually fall down backwards. Of course, once you got one laugh, we were destined to play this game about 800 times. That’s okay though; it’s still just as funny as the first time.

This was the year your world got rocked. After almost 8 years as the unchallenged ‘baby’ of the family, there’s suddenly a new baby on the block – one who’s not afraid to stake his claim to everyone and everything in our house!

There was no way to fully prepare you for what was coming when we decided to add S to our family. As much as we talked about him and explained that a new brother was coming to live with you, we couldn’t really help you understand what was about to go down.

We worried about how you were going to react to this new little person competing for our time and attention – not to mention your toys! And, truth be told, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. You gave us a good run for our money for a little while there, finding ways to get our focus back on you, for better or worse.

But through it all, I was amazed at how you loved S. If you were upset about all the changes, you didn’t take it out on him. You’re not known for your patience, but I think you’ve been extraordinarily patient as you and your brother have adjusted to each other. You’ve shared – often willingly – and you’ve been a wonderful, loving big sister.

You’ve also grown up in ways that I didn’t foresee. Maybe Mommy and I being busier than normal has caused you to try things for yourself instead of waiting for us to help. I’m not sure, but I know that you have seemed much older and more independent these past few months. You’re talking in much longer sentences – it’s wonderful to be able to have real conversations with you!

Amidst all the changes, I hope you know that some things haven’t changed. My love for you hasn’t changed. My promise to be here whenever you need me hasn’t changed. The fact that I am so proud of you hasn’t changed. And your ability to make me laugh harder than I’ve ever laughed before hasn’t changed either. Thank you for bringing so much joy into my life. Happy birthday!!!

Love from,

Your Daddy

~~~~~~~~

Today you are 8-years-old.

For most people, 8 is when the cute starts to wear off. Not you. You remain as cute and sweet a little girl as ever. Except when you are cute and ornery. Even then, we’ll keep you.

This has been a big year for you. A lot of change and a lot of growing up have made for a bumpy ride at times, but we’re getting used to the drama. Our life is never boring, and usually, we have you to thank for that.

You are a born comic. There is not much you won’t do for a laugh. You’ll yell “Blow me down, guys!” until we’ve stopped what we are doing to puff in your direction, at which point you flail your arms, make worried “aaah, aaah, aaah” noises before collapsing in a heap on the ground. Your gales of laughter afterwards are contagious. Each night before dinner you lead us in the song “Open/Shut them” (presumably to ensure that our hands are properly folded for prayer time), then thank God for the food and for the cats who are partying. You’ve decided that your horse at therapeutic riding is named “Toot”; which is the word for ‘fart’ in our house and consequently, super-funny (he’s actually named “Dot,” but you will not be convinced otherwise).

You’ve always had a lot to say. From the beginning you taught me that everybody has stories to tell, whether they can express it or not. But this is the year we’ve begun to understand so much more of your stories. It is such a gift to hear your thoughts and ideas and strange pretends. You love to jump on the trampoline, then when “BubbleMan” comes, we are all required to lay down. Okay, so I still don’t understand a lot of what goes on in your world.

You are a true believer. When you are pretending, you do it with your whole heart and assume that it is just as real to the rest of us. Whether you are barking as a dog and eating your snack off the floor, or wearing 6 fluffy skirts, a neck tie, large floppy hat and mismatched shoes all afternoon (the costume of choice for a discerning “pwetty pwin-cess” we’re told), or even answering to a nickname (sweetheart, honey, silly goose…) – you will very seriously demand my attention, throw your hands out and trill “It’s me! B!”

The biggest change this year has brought is your sudden acquisition of a baby brother. Since he is not actually a baby, but the ripe old age of 2, you have actually acquired a partner in crime. Most of the time he is your little shadow, dogging your every step, getting into your stuff, and trying to hug you with his entire body. You have been mostly patient, if not a bit alarmed by his desire to wrestle. He’s a pretty good sport too, because you’re sister-ing style is somewhat tyrannical.

We call you the “Dastardly Duo,” and you have brought mischief to an unheard of level in our home. Just last week I noticed the bathroom door was closed with both of you in it (never a good sign). Worried that you had once again blockaded yourselves in the room (took 1/2 an hour to extricate you last time), I rushed in. Just in time. To see the sink overflowing onto the ground while you happily splashed one another. As I bundled up the sopping towels, having turned my back for no more than 2 minutes, I heard a piercing shriek. You had both climbed into the tub, fully clothed and turned the cold shower on. I was just relieved that nothing found its way into the toilet that day.

I’ve probably written more in my blog about your funny little quirks and extreme stubbornness, ahem… determination, than just about any subject. It can be a challenge, but you are certainly worth every long day, tearful break and prolonged battle of the wills. Because at the end of the day, you are a kind, gentle, funny, strong person. And the world is a better place because you are in it. And I am a better person because you are my girl.

I love you!

Happy Birthday 8-year-old!

Mom

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September 6, 2012

Still Holding Out for Normal

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s called tempting fate. Opening my big fat mouth (or laptop) and waxing eloquent about how FABULOUS something is going to be (The Most Wonderful Time of the Year).

Maybe it’s a case of unrealistic expectations. Maybe it’s God keeping me humble, “Oh so now you think you’ve got it all figured out and don’t need me anymore?” …smite. Maybe it’s just life. Which is rarely as perfect as my daydreams.

As I prepared to embrace my first blissful full day of school, I made a crucial error. I set myself up for disappointment. I didn’t allow for that all-important adjustment period. You know, the weeks where I have to re-train the entire household to get off their butts and get their act together.

“What do you mean I have to take a drink to school? I’ve never taken a drink before.” Only every single day, always.

“My lips are really dry. I thought it was chapstick.” Bright red lipstick actually. Are we seriously dealing with this already, in Grade 5? I let her put blue streaks in her hair last week. Is this the slippery slope those pastors have been warning me about all these years?

“Everyone mismatches their socks Mom. It’s better that way.” I didn’t realize I was so out of touch. Thank you for informing me so graciously.

“Honey, your shoes are on the wrong feet, again.” Sheesh. Calm down. I love you just the way you are. You still look VERY pretty. Just leave them that way. We’re already running late.

2 head injuries, 3 wardrobe debates, 362 fishy crackers bagged, 1 leaking water bottle replaced, 4 minor sibling skirmishes and 5 really grumpy people piling into the van.

yay. school.

Let the bliss begin. Except little brother isn’t feeling it. At all. He keeps looking for his favourite entertainers/helpers/victims. What’s a boy to do with only boring old mom? Sure, we enjoyed more cuddles and book reading than usual. We played at the park and walked around the zoo and tried desperately to distract him from the fact that he really, really misses HIS normal.

So, I anticipated pick-up time. I counted down. I thought THIS would fix our day.

But B was at the end of her rope. She’s not used to such a long day away anymore. While she was enjoying her New Class, she isn’t quite as happy with her perfectly good New Teacher. She wants “Smelling!” (her grade 2 teacher). She wants a snack. She wants her blankie. She wants to watch a show. She wants to do anything but sit quietly while I make that all important First Contact with New Teacher. Who seems great, so that’s something.

Meanwhile, the boy is happily mauling his sisters. I think this means: “Hello. I missed you. Don’t ever leave me again.” But it feels a lot more like grabby, grabby hands, head butting and the occasional bite (ouch).

They are patient. But they are tired, too. And have a million things to tell me. Which I’m DYING to hear. Except there is only one of me. And the littles are melting down. And the garbagemen made a mess on our curb. And snack is REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY. And I wonder WHY I was looking forward to this…

We spend the evening corralling the boy, calming the weeping B, wiping up blood (when she picked open a bug bite on her face, and once again as she scraped her entire face on the side of the trampoline), encouraging our neighbour-friend who had a day of miserable-girl-drama for HER first day, assuring C that strict does not mean unkind (while secretly being pleased that she’ll be whipped into shape this year), discussing grade 7 grad plans with L (because it’s never to early to rub those fun plans in your sister’s face), and finally, shopping for some last-minute school supplies.

I was sure we had it all sorted out last week, but that’s just crazy-people thinking. There’s always something missing. I was so tired I went to the expensive dollar store. That’s right, there’s a MORE expensive one. A crazy splurge for me, but it is slightly closer and takes credit card. But even with two stops, I didn’t find everything. So we scrounged and rummaged and wondered where on earth all the stuff from last year went. I suspect the same place that our Wii remote, iPhone charging cord and DS player went (B likes to hide things put things away for me).

C will have to make do with my dictionary until I can find the “right” edition, which I’m pretty sure we’ve bought several times over at this point. I may have donated this last one to charity. Oops.

I try not to take it personally when she laughs and laughs at it being called the “New” Websters Expanded Dictionary. “It was made in, like, the 1900s Mom!”

AND I stubbed my toe.

So here’s me, and tomorrow I’m spending the day at Children’s Hospital with the boy. I’m pretty sure that’ll give me a boatload of perspective when it comes to all these petty irritations.

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September 4, 2012

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Never has a hand-me-down been so happily recieved by a little sister.
B wore the sparkly backpack all day and screamed for joy when we wrote her name inside it!

The commercials show jubilant parents skipping down the aisle caressing the Back-to-School supplies as they go. Petulant children trudge behind looking depressed. It’s an office supply store’s dream come true.

Mine too.

I often feel a bit guilty to number myself among those excited parents, thrilled to see September on the top of the calander. I have friends who lament the end of summer days with their beloved children. And I wonder, do I enjoy my children less?

But, I felt this way back in the days of homeschooling, when the end of summer “holiday” meant not less, but more time and interaction with my offspring.

It’s NOT that I don’t like spending time with my kids. Though, in all honesty, every moment of hands on parenting is not blissfull and life affirming. Admittedly, I relish the idea of a quieter house and days where I don’t have to extend my bathroom breaks to protect my solitude-craving soul. But, I miss them too. And I hate not having the inside track on all the goings on. Despite my daily bribes, “you must tell me 3 things about your day before you get an after school snack”, I don’t hear about everything they are doing (or not doing… yes, I’m talking about that spelling homework, C).

I felt this way as a school kid myself. I loved the crisp white pages of an untouched notebook. I loved neatly lining up all of my supplies. I even loved packing that very first bag lunch of the year. What can I say, I’m a total nerd.

It’s NOT that I don’t enjoy the freedom of summer. Lazy mornings, trips to the beach, family holidays, letting Glen cook dinner for a change (sorry honey, I don’t know which button to push on this thing and you are SO good at barbecuing)… Every week brings some new adventures and the kids have time for uninterrupted play (the thing I miss most about homeschooling). This used to be elaborate forts and pretend games, but lately it’s been building sets and designing costumes for their latest movie.

The truth is, I miss normal. I miss routine. I miss predictable. I miss knowing what each day is going to hold. And I know my kids do too, though they claim loudly that the only good thing about it is seeing all their friends. They thrive when things go according to plan. Even my free spirit sleeps better and gets her chores done with minimal drama when things are back to normal.

We line up the pictures on B’s weekly calander and she can see which days are school and when she gets to go horseback riding or have speech therapy or swimming. She knows what happens next and she is so much better behaved. Just like her mom.

So, today as I snap the requisite “first-day-of-school” photo at the front door, it’s not the new backpacks and carefully considered outfits that put that hopeful smile on their faces (and mine). It is a giant sigh of Back-to-Normal relief!

So here’s me, definitely in need of a brand new notebook. It’s unnatural to be this jealous of a 7th grader.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in parenting, school

August 28, 2012

Snot at the Fair

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m sorry, okay. Consider this a blanket apology on behalf of my entire family to the world at large. Or at least everyone who attended the Fair yesterday.

For the germs.

For the snot.

For the coughing and sneezing and general whininess.

And the kids were even worse!

I swear, we were on the mend when we decided to make our way to the Fair at the PNE. Pretty much. Close enough. Because Dad being able to take a weekday off entirely AND the cousins planning to go that same day AND incredibly wonderful benefactors arranging for 2 of our 6 tickets to be free… are all goliath-sized motivators in our household.

So, we dosed them all up with Tylenol Cough and Cold. We brought water and fruit and our absolute faith that rides and mini donuts and as-seen-on-tv-kiosks and mini donuts and rigged carnival games and, yes, still more mini donuts are worth all the effort.

Rides are a new experience for our boy. From his perspective it seems to go something like this:

  • watching from behind iron bars while other children do something fun (not cool)
  • climbing onto a large contraption that smells, feels and IS a completely Strange and Unusual Experience (also not cool)
  • something’s happening, there is movement and this May Possibly Be Fun
  • after a full minute of Possible Fun it becomes clear that this is The Best Thing That Has Ever Happened To Him and He Never Ever Wants It To End
  • at which point the ride ends and we pry his fingers from the bar and drag our devastated toddler to the next round

Poor kid. He was a confusing mass of excitement, exhilaration and disappointment all day. But he loved the donuts.

B spent the day coveting every painted face she saw. Particularly the kitty-cats. It was cute when she meow-ed and pretended to groom the lady sitting beside us in the shade. But all day we distracted her from her quest to get “a kitty…uhhh… MY cheek.” Because history has taught us that face painting is Not Her Thing. And I hate, hate, hate paying for that sort of thing. If only I had some eyeliner and lipstick in my purse, I could have done it myself. Cause I’m that kind of mom (I was thinking inventive, but yes, cheap is also accurate). She had as hard a day as anyone. Waiting is hard for her and she was tired and feeling sick and more than anything she just wanted her very own cat on her cheek. On our way out of the park we finally gave it a shot. And she sat as still as I have ever seen her while the lady painted a little white cat with pink sparkles on her cheek. And she danced all the way to the van. By the time we got home, it was smudged beyond recognition. Still, it was the best $3 we spent that day.

C is FINALLY tall enough for the big kid rides. At 10, this has been a long time coming, and she is a whole 2 inches over the 48″ cutoff. So, we tried a number of the big rides (for which my husband considers me a hero, despite the fact that I usually love them even more than the kids, except not so much with a head cold and a fever, so I will hang onto hero status with both hands). She loved almost everything. Except the boat. She did NOT like the boat. And she wanted to get off it almost immediately. And it seemed to go on and on as I coached her through it and held her close and assured her it would be over soon. I felt like the worst parent ever born since I was the one who convinced her to try it. This is a girl who loves the coasters and the dropping elevator rides, but NOT the boat. She talked through the whole experience, expressing exactly how she felt and what she wanted and what she Never Ever Wanted To Do Again. Apparently all those “use your words” talks are paying off. What a trooper.

L is too tall for the elephant ride. And the mini cars. And the boats. So basically, a gigantic hulk of a child. Or a willowy preteen and we just have trouble admitting it. With her out of the mix, there were quite a few rides which were out of the question for our littles. Although when the mood is right, B is quite capable. And when it isn’t, she needs a good deal of coaxing and encouraging and holding onto her so she doesn’t leap from the still-moving ride. We miss our helper-girl. Though the helper-young-woman is pretty cool too. Plus, she likes to go on all the rides with her mom.

The Dad, well, he’s a hero because he spent a lot of money (not his favourite thing, at all), and he held the bags and entertained the littles and even used the baby change room on his own more than once. The only ride he likes is the log ride. Which is yet another reason why we are a perfect match. Because I’m NOT a fan of wet underwear.

So here it is; the moral of the story. The wisdom we have gleaned during this great adventure:

Enjoy every moment, for they are fleeting. The ride is over before you know it.

Have patience; don’t be in such a hurry. When you get impatient ,you only start to worry. Remember that God is patient too, and think of all the times when others have to wait for you (as sung in my head over and over again today thanks to one of my very first records “Music Machine”. Yes, record, as in vinyl. Sigh, I’m so very old… and cheesy).

Finally, and perhaps most importantly:

Fishy crackers are always the answer. Always.

So here’s me: my feet hurt, my nose is runny, and it is clear that this head cold is here for the long haul, BUT I’m glad we went. People like us are the reason hand sanitizer is a good idea in public places. So sorry.

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August 23, 2012

Age 12 and On the Threshold

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Another beautiful birthday cake from Aunt Erin. Thanks!

12

We are teetering on the brink of Teenagehood. And it shows. Some days you could easily pass for 16. And others I find you still playing like a girl. There is something bittersweet about these threshold years.

It seems to be flying by. Even you have wondered at how quickly time passes this year. Trust me, it only gets worse the older you get.

I will miss the child you’ve been. Not my first-born, but my first-grown. My first panic about exactly the right baby food consistency and the proper potty training technique and how exactly to broach the subject of sex. My first vicarious thrill as you stuck your little toes in the ocean and met the “Real” Cinderella and fell in love with characters in a book.

Once again you are blazing a trail for your siblings. And strangely for us as well. We don’t always know what to do or say, if anything. And I’m pretty sure you’ll have a few things to discuss with your therapist someday. Whether it is because or in spite of us, you have become a lovely young woman. And we are so proud of you!

You are kind, thoughtful, easy-going, nurturing, gracious (with the glaring exception of your closest sister, hmmm…), intelligent, and talented. We hear all the time how mature and responsible you are. But the compliment that thrills me most, are the frequent ones about your gentle, loving spirit.

We see it everyday with your baby sister and your new brother. You are like a second mommy. And though we try to protect your own childhood, you (and your other sister) have eagerly jumped in to help out when we need it. You have been such a blessing to us this past year.

As you look forward this year and childhood fades behind you, I hope that you will use that analytical brain and extreme love of planning to prepare for life you want to lead. This is the time to make many important decisions which will carry your into adulthood. Who do you want to be? What will you devote yourself to? Where are your limits and boundaries? Who is your God?

We’ve made most these decisions for you as a child, but in the next decade we will slowly hand all the control over to you. It is not easy to step back, but we are not worried. We can already see glimpses of the woman God intended for you to be and we are thrilled with what we see.

The teens are an exciting, overwhelming time and there will be times when life and hormones and emotions may seem to overwhelm you. It’s easy to simply react. So many poor decisions are made impulsively, without the bigger picture in mind. Don’t let anyone or anything take your purpose from you.

Be calm and easygoing, but don’t be a doormat.

Be kind and thoughtful, but don’t be people pleaser.

Be nurturing and generous, but find a balance.

Be responsible and conscientious, but let other’s take the lead too.

Be creative and orderly, but get messy.

Be godly and devout, but open-hearted.

Be yourself, but try new things.

More and more our role is to be a consultant rather than a manager. We will always be here to listen and advise and pray and hope the best for you. You may outgrow stuffed animals and clothes bought in the children’s section and bedtime hugs and kisses (though you WILL continue to give them, for my sake if nothing else), but you will never outgrow your Mom.

I love you. I believe in you. And I am incredibly proud of you!

Happy 12th Birthday L!

Love Always,

Mom

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy 12th birthday, my almost-teenager!

It’s funny… as I sit down to write this letter, I realize that I’ve been thinking of you as older than you are. Truthfully, I have a hard time believing you still have another 365 days left of “childhood” before we officially enter a new era.

Today, you’re legally allowed to babysit for other families. You’ve been babysitting for us for a year already.

At the age when other dancers in your school graduate into the seniors’ class, you’ve been dancing with the seniors for two years already.

;

Though most parents would think of their 12-year-old as “one of the kids,” we think of you as a seriously contributing member of the family. Your return to school in a week and a half will not be a relief or a break for us; it will mean that our best helper is now away for most of the day, busy with school and dance and friends and youth group and everything else that fills this life that you’re building for yourself.

;

We’ve been spoiled by you this summer. Spoiled by your role as second mommy to The Littles, as you’ve selflessly cared for them and helped us manage the chaos of adding a toddler to the family. Spoiled by the joy it brings us to have someone else in the house that we can talk to at an almost grown-up level.

I hope you know that we appreciate all that you have given to this family this summer. I know there are times when we have been consumed by the chaos, and we have barked an order for you to “Watch The Boy!” as we have dashed off to care for someone that needs caring for, without a please or a thank you or an I love you. We’re big believers that, in a family, everyone is expected to chip in and do their share. But that doesn’t mean that we take it for granted that we do, or that we don’t notice and appreciate the sacrifices you have made.

Of all our kids, you are the one who was gung ho about adoption right from the start. You didn’t care what it might cost you personally; you knew there was room for one more in our family. You’ve backed that up since we brought S home, giving so much of your time and energy to be with him, and to help us wherever we need helping. I thank you, I appreciate you, and I love you. Again and again, I have told people that I have no idea how we would have survived the past three months without L and C. Your support has meant the world to us, and has given us a glimpse of the caring, generous young woman you are becoming. We couldn’t be more proud of you. Happy Birthday!

Love from,

Your Daddy

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August 20, 2012

The Big One-O

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

To my zany, brilliant, girly, funny, non-conformist offspring:

These AMAZING hamburger cupcakes were courtesy of Aunt Erin… the birthday girl loved them!

Today is an important day. The big one-O. Now that you have that first decade under your belt, we can see more clearly the kind of human being you are becoming.That is not to say that any of this is written in stone. You can certainly change your path along the way. After all, you love to be unpredictable.

But I hope you don’t, because you are shaping up to be a pretty cool person. Possibly cooler than me… a fact you vehemently remind me of, quite often. If eye rolling were an Olympic sport, we’d be cashing endorsement cheques right now. Do me a favour and cut me some slack now and then. I bet when you are 36 you will look back and realize I wasn’t quite as lame as you thought. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: it’s kind of fun to push your buttons. If you didn’t protest quite so loudly, I wouldn’t have to sing/dance/act like an idiot quite as enthusiastically. Embarrassing our kids, well, it’s sort of a family tradition. I have a feeling you will one day do it also. With gusto.

You are passionate. This will be both a blessing and a curse. I speak from experience. Passionate seems a lot like emotionally volatile sometimes. So watch the temper. It isn’t wrong to feel angry, but it can give birth to all sorts of wrong (and stupid) reactions. That’s been my experience all too often. Don’t be your own worst enemy. Take a breath. Use your head and not your heart before you speak. Passionate can be a lot of work. BUT, worth it, because: You love fiercely. You laugh with abandon. You take risks. Passionate is an important ingredient for greatness.

You are a leader. I remember when you were a toddler and you would boss your older sister around. I had to tell that almost 4-year-old not to let her baby sister bully her or push her around. You know your own mind and are not afraid to share it. I know it doesn’t always seem like this is something we appreciate. But we do. Strength of will is something to be admired, but used wisely. Pick your battles. If you are always contrary, then people (and by people, I mean your Dad and I) will stop listening to you. Save your strength for the issues that really matter. The best way to win, is to win people over. You have the wit and intelligence to do it.

You are unique. Yesterday at your birthday party, you played volleyball with a fish (whom you named Bob). You waded in a pool full of blue jello. You threw balloons full of milk at your dad. You had a whipped cream fight with your friends. Instead of a cake, you had hamburger cupcakes. Because you don’t want just a regular old birthday party. You love to be different. The world is more interesting when you are around. I think anyone else would be lost in the shuffle as the middle child in our family, especially with another special needs sibling in the mix. But it is impossible to overlook you. You were designed to stand out. With teenage-dom already breathing down our necks, you’ve begun to follow the fashions and trends of the friends around you. Which is fine. As long as you don’t lose that one-of-a-kind flare that is all you. Don’t be afraid to be silly. Or weird. Or different. You can totally pull it off.

You are loved. It seems like you and I go head to head more often than any one else in the family. Both of us are emotionally volatile passionate people. This year, I promise to try to be more patient and to listen better. I’d like it if you could do the same. Because, life is better when we’re friends.

But first and foremost, I’m your mom. So we won’t always be pals. And that’s okay. It might even be necessary. But no matter what happens, I want you to know that I am passionate about how much I love you. And how important you are to me. And what a gift you are to the world. I think you are an amazing person. I’m pretty sure you always know that I love you (on some level), but I think you should know that I like you a whole lot too. You are one of my favourite people in the world!

I’m not a perfect mom. And you aren’t a perfect kid. But I think we’re a perfect match. I’m so glad that God made you a part of my family. I can’t imagine my life without you.

Happy Birthday!

Love Always,

Mom

~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy 10th birthday, and welcome to the double digits!

What a year it has been for our family – a year of change, which is not your favourite thing.

For three years, we talked about adoption. We renovated our house to make room, and we dreamed about what kind of child would join our family.

All along the way, there was one girl in our family who wasn’t so sure that this was a great idea. She worried about what the changes would mean. Would the new kid fit in? Would she like him? Would he wreck her room and mess up her stuff? Would there be enough time/attention/money to go around? Weren’t we too busy already?

In case you haven’t already figured it out, that girl was you. And, truth be told, you had a much more realistic view of the situation than your big sister did. You knew that there were going to be major changes, and that it was going to take a lot of hard work, sacrifice and patience to bring a whole new person into the family. You were right.

I’ll admit, I was worried: what if C hates adoption? What if she resents him – or what if she resents us for making this decision?

But here’s the thing: I have never admired you more than I have in the past three months. As we’ve gone on this new adventure together, I have seen the wonderful, accepting, loving, giving young lady that you are becoming. It all started when you helped paint his room. From that moment on, C was on board the adoption train. I saw that you loved S the first day we met him, and that’s when I knew everything was going to be okay. The feeling was clearly mutual, as a few weeks later it was you who caused him to laugh harder and more hilariously than I’ve ever heard a child laugh.

Since then, you have patiently endured every change. You’ve given up things that you wanted to do, to play with him and keep him entertained – and you’ve done it without complaining. You’ve come back to him again and again after every time that he’s accidentally hurt you – and that’s happened a lot. Last night you spotted him on the couch looking at a book, and you said, “I’m going to take advantage of this opportunity,” and scooped him right up onto your lap for a cuddle.

I am so unbelievably proud of you. I tell everyone that I don’t know how we possibly could have survived the chaos of the past three months without C and L. You have been incredibly helpful, and surpassed all my expectations for how you would handle this. Thank you. I love you. And I will carry you to bed for as many years as you’ll let me.

Love from,

Your Daddy

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August 15, 2012

The Underwear Crisis

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

She’s captain of her own destiny. Rebel with a cause. Trendsetter?

She’s the kid running around our house with a bare naked bum.

But the oppressive forces of conformity (a.k.a. Mom) continue to insist that wearing panties is NOT optional. Pants, skirts and dresses are also strongly encouraged.

Before I alienate all the nudists who may someday read this blog post, let me clarify that nakedness is not the real issue. In fact, naked is an improvement!

My soon-to-be 8-year-old is deeply committed to pull-ups and diapers. Our keenly tuned parenting instincts tell us that these are not really the “thing-to-wear” to grade 3.

Of course, we are not completely freaking out; as parents of a special needs child we know that developmental timetables are for other people. Sure, we try for socially appropriate, but we accept her where she’s at.

BUT she is fully capable of keeping her beloved pull-up dry ALL DAY (especially when chocolate is provided as rewards). She has low muscle tone and this has only been possible in the last year. We must diligently remind (cough*force*cough) her to “try” several times a day. BUT after 5 long years of potty training, IT IS POSSIBLE.

The last time we made a concerted panty effort, it was a massive failure. She would sit on the toilet for long stretches at a time: reading, singing, talking to herself… but the minute I pulled on those panties she would pee like a race horse. The triumphant smirk on her face did not endear her to me at the time. We tried to wait it out, for several days, but apparently she has a much better tolerance for puddles of urine than we do. So back to pull-ups we went, and immediately she was dry the whole day. At the time I proclaimed that she could wear pull ups to High School for all I cared (this is the time we refer to as “potty training burn out”).

I have no doubt she can easily slay this dragon if she simply decides SHE wants to. So a very special reward has been promised for the day she keeps panties dry ALL DAY LONG.

But before we can reach this triumphant day, we must conquer Step 1: put panties on.

It seems so simple. We have a range of colours and styles to choose from. We have padded training panties. We have Hello Kitty panties. We have butterfly panties. We EVEN have Disney Princess panties!

Attempting to harness the power of peer pressure, we celebrate the universality of underwear. Mommy wears panties, L wears panties, C wears panties, EVEN Daddy wears panties. Manly, manly panties to be sure, but as far as B is concerned, EVERYONE wears panties. If we’ve ever met you, chances are we have assured B that you also wear panties. Ginny wears panties, Lenny wears panties, Olivia wears panties… The neighbour who just waved to you – panties. That man who delivered our morning paper – panties.

I can understand where she’s coming from. Wearing panties seems risky and potentially messy. What if she has to go right in the middle of a fascinating playtime? What if she decides that the toilet downstairs looks/smells/vibes slightly wrong at that crucial moment? Despite the many upsides of panty wearing, she prefers the familiar and the easy. I can relate.

As understanding as I am, this IS happening. I have written it and thus it shall BE.

Let the screaming and wailing and body-slumping-over-like-a-corpse begin. And each pair of panties which are removed and shoved into a kitchen cupboard/under-the-bed/behind-the-dresser shall be retrieved and PUT BACK ON. And baby brother’s diapers shall be moved to a higher shelf so she will stop trying to put them on. And I shall not be moved when she tells me she is “so, so sad” (okay, fine, I was moved, but I sucked it up and put on my no-nonsense face).

And each time she pees in the toilet we will beam with pride and praise her effusively and feed her a chocolate (and one for mom too, because this has been a tough morning).

So here’s me, wearing MY big girl panties.

By the end of today we had 3 accidents, but twice as many successes. The underwear tyrants shall prevail! Hoo-rah.

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