Gone

Summer has come and gone. Where did the time go? While the rain kept us guessing, I had the craziest luck. My car was stolen; I took a lay off soon after but the kicker of it all has got to be breaking my collarbone while riding my bike home from a concert. Not exactly the luck I’m used to. They say bad things happen in threes so I’m hoping that this is all that is in store for me.

When I was a kid, summer used to mean jumping in the car the second school was over. We would call the cottage home for the next two to three months. This was MY world. Bonfires, bridge jumping, kick the can, boats, swimming, water skiing and the best friends anyone could ever ask for. In the city I was the shy kid. Up north I was fearless; seeking adventure and occasionally getting into a little trouble now and then.

Time didn’t exist. The days were endless. I wouldn’t know what day of the week it was. The only sense of time that I had was in knowing if it was July or August. I always dreaded the Labour Day weekend. It meant that long drive back and walking into a home that felt familiar but didn’t feel like it was your own. I know I was lucky. I got to enjoy this until I was 19. Being the eldest my younger brothers didn’t get as long as I did. When I turned 20 it was my job that held me to the city. I would still escape every chance I had but by then things had changed. Friends lost touch or stopped coming up all together. In time I started venturing downtown and got into the bar scene. Once again I was seeking adventure and occasionally getting into a little vodka induced trouble now and again. I would still make it up to the cottage but by now I was bringing my friends up for a weekend.

Now as a parent I want to provide the same things I had as a child for our kids. But things are so different than thirty years ago. Who can afford a home in the city and also a cottage? If you have the finances for the two properties then odds are that you cannot afford to take the time off to spend it with your kids. We would even have to pay for daycare because we couldn’t possibly lose our placements once school started.

I know our kids are not lacking in any way. They are loved and we give them lots of opportunities to enjoy plenty of experiences in the city. Their friend network revolves around daycare and I know they are happy. I see it in their faces everyday.

Over Scheduled

Children love routine so I cannot figure out why the daycare drop-off is incredibly difficult. The tears shed could fill an ocean. It is not just the goodbye moment either. I have witnessed other parents dealing with the uncontrollable tantrums upon arriving at daycare. The mom losing her patience quickly asking her child what is wrong. I give the empathy smile and make a swift exit. Move along. There is nothing to see.

I know that ours is a good daycare and that the crying does not stem from a bigger problem. Of course children want to be with their parents but even more so I know that my children would prefer to be lounging around the house in their pajamas, playing with their own toys and watching a marathon of cartoons.

Once again I am afraid that in some circumstances I may be spoiling my children. I might be letting them get away with more because I do not have the ability to be with them for most of the day. When it comes right down to it, I know I carry working mom guilt. I am afraid of all the time that I am losing out on that I can never get back. The tears are little confirmation markers that me feel like I am making the wrong choices.

Yet the days when they happily skip away to join their group also leave a hole in my heart. Toddlers are not supposed to be independent. Please don't get me wrong. I do want my children to be well adjusted but I also want them to prefer spending their days with me. I also want myself to be a well adjusted person. After living three decades not as a mother it is hard to morph out of everything else into a full on parenting role.

The weekends are mighty short. The down time I need to regroup and gain strength to carry through another week while I jam pack in family time flies by. Work days are too long. Weekends are too short. Could this be another balancing act in wanting to have it all?

If I pulled them out of daycare and became a stay at home parent, the level of care that they are given would go down. I cannot do the same job that the current teams of workers provide. They have kitchen staff that prepares a variety of healthy lunches and snacks. They have scheduled indoor and outdoor activities. They have a zillion art projects. They have interaction and socialization with children in their age group. I most certainly am not the overachiever that could organize this as a daily occurrence.

Maybe the reason for the crying is because it is human nature to want to spend our time with less structure and more room for relaxation. There are mornings where I have struggled not to burst into tears at the thought of the work load that lies ahead of me. As we are adults we learn to push that feeling aside because there are expectations put on us. Are organized toddler activities pushing our children into the work world too soon?

When we are a family unit I let them have a little too much TV and give in to their requests for treats too often. Does this make them value listlessness? Will my desire to work, make my children lazy? Am I over thinking this because I wish I could spend more time with them? Am I worried about this because that just comes with parenting?

Parents of children in less structured daycares and homecare please let me know if you too experience irrepressible sobbing on many mornings long after you have established a routine.

On Rarity and Pretty Pop

This weekend I took the girls to wander around a department store so that Colin could spend some time working in our garage on yet another busted car CD player. I found the advertised frying pan that was sixty six percent off and then headed to the DVD section to look for the least mind numbing children's show that we could watch forty thousand times consecutively. It turned out that the only thing that peaked their interest were My Little Pony movies. I hightailed it to the toy section with promises to expand their collection so I wouldn't have to suffer through the saccharin escapades that include evil songs from the dark side. I've had "My Little Pony, Is full of baloney" stuck in my head for days now.

Pony from something blue on Vimeo.
Why not fill up your pretty head with a little song?

I try not to buy toys and treats every time we leave the house in fear of raising Veruca Salt. We have warned them that if they get everything that they want, the squirrels will determine that they are bad nuts and toss them aside. There is nothing like installing a bit of fear of small, wild animals to keep your children in line. That didn't prevent Strawberry from having a mini meltdown deciding which pony she wanted to add to her collection.

I am thankful that I am not made of money because I have a hard time not buying everything that they fancy. I have a habit of stockpiling toys for gifts. I put many items in closets for future celebrations and pat myself on the back that my daughters will have more values than the Hilton sisters. Before Christmas, Strawberry spied a play veterinarian kit in our basement. This was how it came to be the present she gave to her little sister.

Somehow Buttercup has decided that these medicals tools are actually for being a tattoo artist. She has given me dozens of imaginary tattoos which is a hundred percent more than I currently have. Mamatulip asked me back in November if I had any tattoos when I was looking for content for NaBloPoMo. Obviously I am easily distracted. This mild diversion reminds me that the Ring Toss was a gift from my mother-in-law.

I did go to a tattoo parlor last year with some ideas and talked to an artist but I never went back in to get inked. I don't know if it's because I am not sure exactly what I want on my body. (Forever… which is a mighty long time.) Plus I am not sure about placement. There is not an area of my body that I necessarily want to draw attention to. I remain a blank canvass for my daughters to practice creating sleeves of many a multicoloured prancing Pegasus and dancing unicorn.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

The strings are frayed and I am grasping for loose ends trying to hold it together. Last week I must have still been in vacation mode. I did not adjust from the three hour time change. Seven A.M. felt like four o'clock and of course it was wrong to be waking up at that hour of the day. Yet I needed every second of the morning to get the girls out the door. Buttercup was clinging to me with every atom of her being.

I managed to only have to get one late pass for Strawberry's school. Colin shakes his head at every little school thing and mutters it's only JK. I know he will likely be saying the same thing throughout all the elementary grades. He is always more relaxed about matters but it leaves me wondering when does it start to become relevant? The child experts state that the early years are the most important. The conflicting attitudes battle it out on my shoulders, yelling in my ears and they are giving me a headache.

I can also hear an announcer, "Now performing in the circus ring is another mother juggling coffee cups while walking on a tight rope." Only I know I will be outdone by the better dressed show stopper who also swallows swords.

One might say with all these voices, it's time to introduce a friendly medical prescription but I think it's likely more normal to feel completely overwhelmed and conflicted on some days. Really if I could just squeeze in an extra hour of the day to exercise then all my problems would vanish. However the day is long enough and my energy is all spent. Instead I'll sneak a bite or two of chocolate. We are coming up to another big candy day of the year. Thank goodness there are so many of them evenly spaced out all year long.

The other thing that has me beating myself up is I clearly am failing in outer layer clothing requirements. My daughters stand shivering outside in their light jackets while I'm coatless. I couldn't spare a moment to search for a fall jacket or sweater so I ran out the door knowing that I would be the only person in the school yard not dressed for the cool morning.

This doesn't bear well with my overachiever personality.

Extreme Parenting

I'm beginning to realize that this parenting gig is dangerous but that doesn't have me running scared. No, I'm one tough mother cookie so I can handle it. I wasn't too fearful of labor. I knew that it would be a painful moment in time that would eventually end. Period. Having an ending in sight allowed me to face the pain head on. I would make it through. I would come out the other side transformed into a mother with a sweet, cuddly infant. Little did I know that this was a drop in the bucket for future pain that would be inflicted on me. I've suffered from the tantrum flinging of the head backwards into my immediately swollen lip at least twice. Now Buttercup has taken the cake.

The girls were so happy to have me home this weekend. We were spending some quality time playing fort and having a giggle fest. As the girls are all about enforcing exclusivity, they were inside the fort and I was not allowed in. Every time I peaked in, they closed the blanket, shooing me out with their contagious laughter. It was all fun and games until Buttercup decided the best way to get rid of mom was with a headbutt. As in any accident, time has a way of switching to slow motion. Her affectionate smiling face inching closer. Smashing her cranium against me. Unable to move away, I feel the direct impact, hear the crack and I feel my nose being smushed rightward. My hands go towards the excruciating pain. Tears spring forth. The game is over. My nose is broken.

I didn't sign up for extreme parenting and now I am thinking my children are going to break me. It will be a good two weeks until the pain subsides but my nose will never be the same especially since this is technically the second time it has been broken. Hell, I don't even have a million dollar NHL contract. I'm rethinking this tough mother cookie business. I'm afraid.

On the upside I'll be able to use this against her when she's sixteen.

Since then I've been looking for non-violent activities to distract the girls. I've discovered that this video is even better than Treehouse. We parents have to bond together. If it works for me, it might work for you. One must have other options than a screaming Spanish girl that sings little ditties.

Brutal

There are days when I feel distraught with negative energy. I imagine myself crouched over, slowly turning my head. My eyes become wild shooting rays of death and I want to scream. SCREAM so loud that you could hear me across the ocean.

There is nothing so wrong or bad that is causing me to feel this way. It's not one thing. Rather it is every little thing piling on top Jenga style, with people pulling out loose slivers until I come tumbling down. In pieces.

I deem myself a worthless parent. Why is it that every day I am bombarded by pictures of Angelina and Brad in route with Maddox to and from school? I don't have the luxury of being able to pick up my daughter from school. I don't get to ask her about the fun things that she did in those three hours while it is still fresh in her mind and exciting to her.

Daycare asked my husband if it's okay for them to phase out Strawberry's naps. He agreed but then he let her sleep in the early evening hours before I got home from work. I should rephrase that because "let her sleep" actually means cannot wake her because she is completely exhausted. So the evil off cycle continues where she goes to sleep later and cannot wake up in the morning. She loses her mind and I practically have to rip her pajamas off her body. I beg, plead, demand that she get dressed while I have the same fight with her toddler sister. Everyone's crying. This has got to get easier.

A weight so heavy
My stomach is tied in knots.
Me. Monster Mommy.

J To The K

When it came time for my parents to send me off to school with a box of raisins (I really loved raisins), they tried to enroll me at the school that was the closest to our house. This Catholic school rejected me. It was something to do with not being Catholic.

It's pretty much undisputable that school is a great force in molding and shaping us into educated and respectable people. Our first years in school establish our habits and passion to learn. Magazines release articles about the top 25 schools in Canada. As with all our parenting decisions it feels like more pressure is placed upon us to make the right choices for our children. Our shoulders are strapped with heavy bricks.

It's true that I know nothing about Ontario schools being that I did not grow up here but I'm not the kind to fret. I am a strong believer in the theory that things will work out they way that they should. I did not sign up for daycare at the moment of conception. Instead the daycare that I drove by every day on the way to work had one opening when we were looking. I booked a tour and then lucked out even though there was a waiting list. It was all in the timing.

I know some women that began researching elementary school's grade averages and scores before their child's first birthday. At Christmas, Colin's relatives urged me to enroll Strawberry in Junior Kindergarten as soon as possible. Once again I decided to go with the school that I drove by every day. It's not the closest school to our house but it one of the closest to her daycare. This is where it gets tricky. We discovered we would have to get extra forms in order to apply to this school. It was at this point that I did a little bit of research on the internet. I found out that it is a coveted school. Bonus! Of course I did not connect the dots at the time to realize that this meant more parents would be trying to get their children into this school.

There were six spots available for children outside their district. They received twenty two applicants. I began to worry that I would have to start looking for a new daycare solution if Strawberry did not get into this school. Luck intervened! Our daycare rubbed it in reminded me that I should be very thankful and to cool it with my laxadaisy attitude.

This began the era of shout outs to Strawberry's big girl school whenever we drove by. We are all getting excited. I even dragged Colin to a tour and introduction to JK where other parents horrified us with their PTA overachieverness. Yes, that is a new word that is special for them! They must have thought we were delinquents that crashed their meeting for the apple juice and cookies.

Twenty three more sleeps until our first born is in the school system. I already think that Ms. G. rocks for sending a hand written letter in the welcome package.

We are super lucky. Please don't hate us. You would not believe what we had to endure in our past lives. Maybe the Catholic school should have taken me.

All the Colours of the Rainbow

With respect to science, we've discovered some disturbing, unofficial test results, not once but twice.

It appears that if you give your children every colour of the rainbow, you will discover that one colour is triumphant in the end. That's right. This is a mommy blog so I am talking about poo here.

After eating multiple shades of licorice, the dominant colour that will shock you with its vibrant shade and revolting chunky bits is a radiant shade of green.

Not actual poo!

Of course further research would be required to prove that this phenomenon goes beyond my two willing test subjects. However I do not condone the testing of any products on children even fruit flavoured candy. I think we will stick with regular Twizzlers from here on out.

Now if this doesn't seque into all matters green ever so nicely... Would you kindly spare a moment of your day to answer one important question?

The Invitation

Ask Strawberry who her best friends are and she will always say the same three names. Madeline, Nyla and Molly. I think it’s kind of cute that she has a posse. Often her bedtime routine will involve a cuddle and chat about her day. We will lie in her big girl bed and have a bonding heart to heart. Then I change the discussion into fun things to look forward to. I tell her that when she gets older she can have her girlfriends sleep over and we’ll have a pajama party. She asks if she can take them away with her on trips. The girl already dreams big!

I worry about all the friendship heartbreak that my girls will have to endure. I recently discovered that I don’t have it in me to be the strong, protective mom. The first clue happened when I dropped the girls off at daycare and saw little envelopes in a few of the cubbies. The detective in me observed that they suspiciously looked like they could be birthday party invitations but Strawberry’s locker was empty. The first thing I asked Colin when I saw him was if he had picked up an invitation the day before. He hadn’t.

A couple days later, I overheard Molly’s mom tell a caregiver that Madeline was only person that had not RSVP’d for Molly’s birthday party. All the hurt from my own friendship rejection came flooding back. The only saving grace is that Strawberry doesn’t seem to be aware of the party. Oh how I hope that she doesn’t find out. It’s likely that she was overlooked as a guest for this event has more to do with me than her friendship. I don’t know the other parents and I haven’t arranged playdates.

Just minutes after my heart was ripped out of my chest, Molly and Strawberry gave each other a gigantic, giggly hug goodbye.

Momma bear goes off to weep in the corner.

Celebrate Good Times Come On

There's a party going on right here. The guests of honor, Liz, Christina and Tammie, are probably not looking for any advice right about now. Those last moments of pregnancy are trying and then the various unsolicited assvice comes rolling in. For every "Find a schedule and stick with it" you also hear "Adapt the baby into your own lifestyle." Do this. No do that. As your family grows you will find your own groove and you will discover what works for you. Of course you know best. You're the mom!

However I don't recommend sleeping when the baby sleeps or you may never blog again. We will be sitting eagerly near our feed subscriptions waiting for new posts with pictures. Adorable, beautiful baby pictures. Seriously when I see tiny, little fingers and toes, the big eyes and apple cheeks I will melt. When those pictures go up, I am sure many lurkers will swoon and gush.

I always want to say that I could just eat up that brand new baby. I want to express how delicious it would be to breath in that sweet baby freshness and smother your little one with kisses. What I would never mean by this statement is that I would attempt to eat your baby.

Please note: This is a chance photo that recently arrived in a joke email. It is not anyone that I know!

But if you are hungry, fresh rolls are yummy plain. Really no one with a wee babe has time to make a sandwich anyway. When the time comes, I would totally send my daughter to hand deliver you some fresh baked buns.

Plus then I'd get the chance to hold your newborn!

Keep It Real

The very real Metro Mama challenged me to spill ideas on real mom truths.

Real moms wait until their children are asleep before indulging in chocolate. We say we are doing it for their benefit because we don't want them to have all that sugar but really we don't want to share.

Real moms encourage their children to discover an interest in cleaning. Swiffer Dusters make excellent toys.

Real moms dress their children funny... because we can. It inspires them to find their own sense of creative flair. They will later look at these photos and express repulsion but secretly love the ensemble their mom created for them. This explains my fondness for green velour matching outfits and bell-bottoms.

Real moms see their children's boo boo's and they experience every ounce of that pain multiplied by a hundred. We feel it in our hearts.

The millions of hugs and kisses make us better too.

I tag Krista and Scarbie Doll.

Pop-Culture Parenting

Back in 2002, while I was out shopping in a boutique in the trendy and exclusive area of the metropolitan core, I realized that I needed something unique to give me an edge. All the other music industry insiders were chomping at the bit to one up their peers. We were known for promenading through the Queen West clubs to be seen. It was expected that we would air kiss our arch-rivals, toss in grand declarations of new accomplishments, while posing listlessly to show that we were utterly bored with the scene.

I arranged a party to celebrate the latest signing to our roster. While the guests sipped champagne, my boss took a moment to commend me publicly to the crowd. I nearly fainted. It was a rare occasion that I was offered praise. More often the moments of glory were never shared. I was thrilled. It was a good thing I managed to maintain my composure or my secret status would have been revealed. I smiled from the inside out because earlier that day I had discovered that I was pregnant.

I had a plan! I would become a hipster parent-memoirist. I would give my children made up names like Syra and Coane. They'd wear environment friendly designer limited edition clothing. They'd have their tiny, pinky finger on the pulse of the punk rock scene. They'd be born with the ability to shun the mainstream.

I'd exploit their brilliant child like ways with their go-go first words and humorous antidotes of suntan lotion substitutes. However I would not do this for profit. No, I'm much too alternative than that! I'd use these new accessories disguised as children so that I could become the most unique and creative individual. I would fashion the modern mother role and be worshipped by Mini-Me #1 and Mini-Me #2.

Who thinks like this? No one has this agenda. Becoming a parent is not a decision that people make lightly no matter if the situation is planned or not. The rewards of reproducing go far beyond some social equation of cool.

Our parents shared funny stories about things that we did only they did not hit the publish key on a computer. Instead they picked up the telephone and related our childhood comical behavior to their friends and neighbours. No one questioned if they were trying to maintain a level of hipness by sharing our daily adventures. No one judged our parents on whether they exposed us to Elvis Presley, Led Zeppelin, The Bee Gee's or Raffi.

Parents who blog are not writing to prove to non breeders that they are still free thinking individuals. Having a child does not change that. Yes, we do have another thing that is truly important in our lives that we find fascinating.

Becoming a parent is a defining moment but it does not define me. Much the same way that getting a job is a defining moment but your career does not define you. People are made up of every experience they have encountered and the people that surround them. I wish we could move away from the need to slap a label on it so that it's not so daunting. Now I understand that hipster + parent + blog = scary. Boo!

Please Mum

I do like those chocolate bars.


This Santa tastes yummy!

You can find out why I'm letting my girls eat treats over at Mommy Blogs Toronto...

Where I Reveal My Outer Dweeb

Ooh-wee! I got to talk to a few of my favorite bloggers! Kristen, Lena and Mrs. Chicky on Kristen's BlogTalkRadio show! I was so nervous to chat with these amazing women that I am sure that I sounded like an utter buffoon. Duh!

The topic that was being discussed was the decision to have more than one child. Of course I've already made that choice. I am lucky to have my two easygoing girls. I did share that I find it much easier with two.

Tantrums are diffused, routines are easier to follow and eventually as they get older, they do entertain each other. I remember when Strawberry wouldn't let me dress her to go to daycare. I was pregnant with Buttercup, usually running late for work and I'd be up against a wall trying to get Strawberry ready to leave the house. Some days I would break down in tears as I exhausted myself trying everything. Getting her to sit in her car seat was another daily battle. It was pure torture. However now that Buttercup is in the picture, everything is peachy. Even when the little one starts being a fuss pot, the older one will sing her songs or give her a toy to make her feel better.

I credit the fact of knowing what size of family I desire to my daydreams of the future. I don't picture myself with babies or even young children. My long range vision is always of our children as young adults coming back home for meals and celebrations. I do imagine that there will be many bumps along the way but the end goal is to have raised happy, well adjusted individuals that enjoy their parents company.

Selfishness is a funny word when it comes to parenting. It is used to describe so many groups of people. A co-worker once expressed that it is selfish to want children. She refused to have any children because she felt that people procreate so that they have someone to look after them when they got old. As an independent person this would never cross my mind as a reason to have children. I hope that I don't become a burden to my children.

Parents of only children are called selfish because they don't give their child a sibling. Everyone who has a brother or sister knows that there is often a lot of fighting going on with that supposed playmate. It is not until we mature that we value our siblings with great appreciation.

Some parents with one child find it selfish to want a second because they don't want to divide up their time between two. Time, money and love are not really things that can be measured with children. Even though I too complain that there is not enough time in a day or money for everything, when it comes to children those are three things that work themselves out. It's like life after you get a raise. You don't really see the extra money that you are earning. It disburses itself naturally and you would find it very hard to go back to having to your previous lifestyle. This holds true with children.

Now whether we want more than two... that is still up for debate.

Preschool Part One

I have started to question the importance of my language to Strawberry. In particular, I am having doubts about the routine motherly advice that I offer. Every morning, after we drop Buttercup off in the infant group, Strawberry bounces over to the fountain to take a sip of water. I see this as her way of stealing an extra moment with mommy. We then climb the stairs to her senior preschool group. It's hard for me to imagine that my three year old is a Senior! That sounds so funny to me.

She often wants a few hugs and kisses before she will leave my side to go join her buddies. I cherish this display of affection and know that it won't last nearly long enough. Naturally the words slip though my mouth "Be a good girl." I find myself cringing. Is this the message I want to leave with my daughter? Well, yes and no.

I do want her to behave but it's not so important that she become a natural rule follower and pleaser like me. I want to her to know what is right and to choose to live a life that is right for her. A life that brings her great happiness. Overwhelming happiness with the courage to turn her dreams into reality. I want her to have a strong spirit that challenges ideas and yet to have plenty of common sense in order to keep her grounded.

Her manners have been reinforced both at daycare and at home so she knows her please and thank yous. She's currently a little bit obsessed with the words Poo, Pee and Toot but that is because she finds them funny and has always shown a great interest in making us laugh.

So now I catch myself. Before I let my rule follower tendency slip out a motherly "Be good," I'm consciously replacing that with "Have a fun day!"