wading...

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Believe

Strawberry hears her streetwise best friend tell her truths but her heart wants to let her accept childhood wonders. This was the first holiday that she began to question.

"The Easter Bunny, Santa and the Tooth Fairy don't really exist. It's just our parents?" her tone wavers into a question.

I ask her if that's what she truly thinks. I try to gracefully answer her question with a question. "How could I possibly be all those things? I'm just a mom."


This morning they woke only a couple hours after I had fallen asleep. Buttercup had struggled all night with bad dreams. Her whimpers and subconscious cries kept me awake. Still she bounced out of bed with four year old eager excitement to see what the bunny had brought. A sleepy older sister followed her.

Trails of shiny, foil covered chocolate eggs led to baskets of candy, new dresses, a movie, a CD.


They settled into peeling off the paper, unwrapping their sweets when Strawberry found her truth.

“Mom, I know there is an Easter Bunny! You couldn't possibly have got us all this stuff last night.”

"You're right. The stores were closed when the Easter Bunny came to our house.”

The little sister wisely piped in, “But you could have just got all this stuff earlier.”

I kissed the top of her head and told her she's way too smart. They were happy and content. Then we danced...

Trickery

“Good morning birthday girl.”
(sleepy smiles)
“How old are you today?”
“Three.”
“No, you’re four.”
“No.”
“Are you one?”
“No.”
“Are you two?”
“No.”
“Are you three?”
“Yes.”
“No you’re not. You’re four today!”
“Are you tricking me? I’m three!”
“Don’t you want to be four? Four is fun!”
“Three is fun. You’re tricking me. I’m not four. No one has sung happy birthday to me.”
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear buttercup. Happy birthday to you.”
(smiles coyly) “I haven’t had cake yet.”
“You’ll have cake at daycare! Hey do you want to open your presents?”
“YES!!!”
“How old are you?”
(holds up four fingers)
“Ok let’s go!”

Ballerina Rock Star

Buttercup twirled around the living room. Spinning round and round, she followed me into the kitchen. As she practiced her pirouettes, she sweetly sang “George and Paul, George and Paul.”

With glee, I gave her a standing ovation. Unfortunately I interrupted the artist and she did not take kindly to my clapping. Like the diva she was born to be, she went to admire herself pout in the reflection of the sliding glass door.

Buttercup turned back to me and asked, “Would you like to hear my angry song?”

“Yes!” I encouraged.

She marched back to the centre of the room and in her rock and roll voice she shouted, “George and Paul! George and Paul!”

I wanted to ask her what about Ringo and John but I thought it would probably be better to fill her rider requests without another incident.

Rocking the Boat

Last night I rushed home early for once because of the Canadian federal election.

I helped Buttercup put her shoes on. She was telling me about a boat.

“What kind of boat?” I asked.

“A yellow boat.” (Her favorite colour.)

“Oh a submarine!”

Off we went. The four of us went walking in the lovely fall evening. We basked in the glow of the big, round ball of a moon hanging low in the sky. The darkness was quickly taking over.

We got to the school and walked up the steps. Buttercup asked “Where’s the boat?”

“Oh no honey, not a boat. We are going to vote. But look there is a yellow sign!”

They waited patiently sitting on chairs in the busy school gym while we marked an x on the ballot. It took maybe five minutes out of our day. All done, we cut through the playground making our way home. When Buttercup realized that there was not going to be a boat she broke down in tears. Colin held her while Strawberry ran to get in two times down the slide. But Buttercup wouldn’t join in. She was heartbroken that there would be no boat.

Maybe that’s why 41% of our population did not bother to rock the vote. I hope that Americans do much better than us in their turnout to the polls. I am amazed that some people do not have an opinion or care enough about the state of their world to make their voice heard.

Skadoosh

She's already a skilled three year old. That means she knows the ways of the sacred Dragon Scroll.

I lub you my little Buttercup.

xoxo

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Things I've learned this week

On cars

• The recovery rate of stolen cars is less than 70% in Toronto. Yes bandits have made off with our car. Luckily we now have a rental while we wait the specified fifteen days before we are allowed to get a replacement. Who steals a car with two car seats? Not cool dude.

On food

• If I make stuffed baked potatoes, my daughters will refuse to eat them no matter how much cheese is melted on top and even with all the yummy ingredients I throw in.
• Lately I have almost become a vegetarian as I am turned off by most meat.
• The longer I stay up, the more that I want to dive into chocolate.

On dreams

• Strawberry giggled while she slept.
• Buttercup cried out in terror "No! Nemo."
• I keep dreaming that I am running either being chased or it is a race against time.

On underwear

• When lounging in comfy pajamas for an extended period, I should first make sure that I am not wearing irritating underwear.
• I was shocked that daycare told me that Buttercup is potty trained and ready for cotton undies. As per their request we ditched the pull-ups last week and I am doing more loads of laundry than ever. While I love that daycare has great belief in my daughter, I'm hoping that they know what they are doing because I'm losing my patience with the mess.

On happiness

• Strawberry reading to me.
• Buttercup cooing, "You're awesome mummy."
• Binkywood gossip.

The Terrorific Tantrum

We started the week with a rough start. As you will soon see, that is a magnificent understatement. I was convinced that my life had turned into an Adam Sandler comedy and I have been keeping an eye out for the camera crew. This story would be funny if I wasn’t so embarrassed by my daughter’s unruly behaviour. When it's this bad, you have to laugh.

Before dawn on Monday, Buttercup woke up crying out for orange juice. I filled her request and stood beside her bed. She sleepily smiled at me, pointed and said, “I don’t like you.” This was a warning sign of things to come.

Later that morning, I couldn’t get anything right. Buttercup was getting more agitated. She wanted cereal but after seeing Strawberry’s pancake, she changed her mind even though she was close to finishing her breakfast. When it came time to leave the house she broke out the waterworks and tried to run and hide from me. I had to carry her to the garage and go back to lock up the house. Back at the car she had upset Strawberry with her loud display of protest. I found them both in tears.

For the life of me I could not get her to sit in her car seat to do up her seat belt. I drove the car out of our garage so that I could park in the lane way in order to manipulate the little monster. While I was driving she reached from her seat behind me and wrapped her hands around my neck and started strangling me.

I quickly pulled over and got out of the car. Hysteria had set in. There was nothing that I could do to punish her without sending both girls into a state of horror. I couldn’t get Buttercup to calm down. I tried every trick that previously had worked and nothing was flying except for the snot.

About twenty-five minutes of this and I had only managed to do the top strap of her belt. Thinking this was going to be as good as it gets, I decided to drive. I could hear her struggling and Strawberry animatedly let me know that she had pulled a Houdini. I stopped on a side road and ding, ding, ding: round two begins.

Top strap done up, I pull away on to a main street to be met with the same fate. I pull over even though this street is a high traffic area. I take Buttercup out of the car where we stand by her door on the road. She wraps her legs around me and clings like glue. Somehow I get her back into her seat and we are motoring again.

I pull up to Strawberry’s school very tardy. While I’ve separated myself from this disaster scene, both my girls are distraught. I try to offer hugs but the fight continues. Buttercup is trying to run away from me so I pick her up like a football. One of Strawberry’s good friends happens to arrive at the same time and they hold hands all the way to the office to get their late slips.

After I’ve hugged my four year old and sent her off to learn all the wonders of Junior Kindergarten, I try again to calm down my two year old. We stand outside the school and I become the negotiator. I am talking her down with distraction tactics. Finally I win and she lets me carry her a few blocks to her daycare. Her face is nuzzled into my neck the whole way. After giving her plenty of hugs and kisses while I offer explanations regarding her state to the caregivers, she looks up to me with the weight of sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t want me to leave.

And so, began our week.

Surprisingly the next morning everyone was a picture of happiness.

I don’t know how much more of two that I can take.

The Death of Me

They know when we are weak. They sense it. They smell it. Their instincts hone in and they know their mission. Make mommy crack.

I shouldn’t really say they. I’m not referring to both of my lovely daughters. No Strawberry was listening to me with the utmost grace. It was Buttercup in all her terrible two-year-old toddler glory. She is well on her way to three so you could say she is an expert at these two-year-old shenanigans.

We had concert tickets to see Nada Surf but I had come down with the flu. We cancelled the sitter and Colin left me alone with the girls. I can barely move from the horizontal position. Every bone in my body throbs with intense awareness. My mind is so foggy that I see clouds in my living room. That could be the reason I agree to let them watch my nemesis, the My Little Pony video. Pinkypie shoots rainbows from her butt to save Unicornicopia. Good times.

The video ends and I turn the TV off. The lights are dimmed. Colin had suggested that they would easily fall asleep on the sofa while I surf the web. That would be easy like climbing Mount Everest, right?

Buttercup gets up from her chair and goes to the corner. “I don’t like you Mommy.” She hides behind the furniture and starts pretend sobbing looking for a reaction. I take Strawberry to the kitchen to wash the unknown, unnerving rash that has recently broken out on her face. Buttercup continues to throw her tantrum. I tell her we are going upstairs and that she can come too. She however is enjoying her emotional release behind the furniture and decides to carry on.

I tuck Strawberry in bed. I make my way back down to the screaming banshee in the living room. I lure Buttercup out with her favourite thing in the whole world. Orange juice. The crying turns into whimpering. I know that the juice is not a great idea being that she’s had an upset stomach but it was the only thing she’d fall for. She tells me that she’s made another poo. “A Big One.” She doesn’t want to go upstairs because that means bedtime and there is no tricking her. She’s back to full on scream crying as I carry her up the stairs. As we go by Strawberry’s room I can see that she’s already fallen asleep. The protesting wails do not disturb her.

I clean Buttercup and give her new pajamas. I put her in her bed and let her cry. You’d think a few minutes of this would tire her out and she would be fast on her way to la la land but no.

Before the neighbors call child services I go back in. I try to calm her down and I rock her and sing and she thankfully turns down the volume on her sobbing. I see that there is no way that she’s going to sleep any time soon. I know that there is no fight in me so I gather up her most loved stuffed animals her pink kitty Curtsy and her panda bear Shanghai. I take the orange juice that she has not yet sipped and we head downstairs. Normally at this point we would curl up on my bed where I’d fall asleep before her but I figure that my room is infected with one million flu germs and the last thing that I need is for this bug to infect my whole family.

I resign that we will watch some television. Hopefully all the hooking up that’s going on at Paradise Hotel won’t scar her for life. Buttercup is restless and she’s fidgeting around. She’s singing commercials. Pretty much she’s doing everything she can to keep herself awake. I’m fading. My patience has disintegrated. I need sleep but what do I do with this ball of energy? She tells me that she’s made another big one. I carry her back upstairs. I wipe away the explosion; a new diaper; a third pair of pajamas. I tell her to stay in her bed and I’ll be right back.

I take my time in the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of apple juice and took some nighttime cold pills. I can hear Buttercup calling for me. Every other child in the entire world has been asleep for hours. I go back to her.

I hold her and I sing a few lullabies. I tuck her into her toddler bed. I snuggle her stuffed animals in next to her. She throws them out of her bed. Buttercup begs to go back downstairs. I insist that it’s bedtime and that mommy is going to bed too. She asks for daddy. Finally she shows the first signs that she might be ready for slumber. I leave her cooing and go to my room where I fall into a deep sleep myself.

Word (Full) Less

It is a funny thing that as soon as I say that I am going to stay away from writing for a short spell, words have a way of finding me.

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Oooh, Baby, Baby

Oh the fun we have
Sing Push it, Push it real good
Over and over.

It's the master plan
Who knew 1986
Would get the job done?

Here in the bathroom
We sit and sing a plenty
Cause it's potty time!

Sure I am still beating myself up about being a failure and yet I am singing in the bathroom, because that's how I roll. I am looking forward to being done with diapers. Potty on my friends...

Hush Hush

Ever since Strawberry was about fifteen months old she has always been shy around others outside of our home. She will cling to me for the first half hour of any family gathering until she warms up to her surroundings. Buttercup has been taking notes. Now anytime she doesn't want to do something she lowers her eyes and coos I'm too shy.

It's time for supper.

I'm too shy.

Let's get you in the bathtub.

I'm too shy.

All evening I have had Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy" stuck in my head.

100% sociable, bashful, extrovert and working us.

Twenty Eight

To my little peanut Buttercup,

Twenty eight months ago you changed my world by making your grand appearance. The love I have for you is endless. In fact everyone around you falls head over heals for you. It is an easy thing to do because you show your affection in leaps and bounds.

You embrace me often with strong, full on squeeze hugs. You want to keep everyone happy and show concern for others. When you are upset, everyone knows because you feel emotions with deep intensity.

As I have watched your personality enlarge, I can't help but think you are incredibly like me. We most certainly share similar interests. You are my girlie girl with a strong maternal instinct and a passion for music. I love to listen to you sing and watch you get your groove on.

At your age, your big sister had a strong aversion to dresses while you demand them. I have had to purchase many because I obviously did not have enough. Smart girl! You found a way to get around those hand me downs.

Your daycare was overwhelmingly impressed with how quickly you knew all the other children's names. You could even pronounce them all. That is not an easy thing to do with the names that were given in 2005. I am awed with your social skills. Your aura draws others to you. Even your big sisters friends are enamored with you.

You adore Strawberry and hate to be parted from her. The bond that I have seen between you and her makes my heart balloon up and lifts me off my feet.

Lately your favourite things to say are "I did it!" and "That's me!" with enormous pride. You use your signature phrase "Whaaaaaaaat?" at anything that excites you.

I cannot believe how fast these twenty eight months have gone by. My baby has turned into a little girl.

xoxo...

Fringe

Anyone who has ever tried to grow out their bangs knows how difficult the process can be. There are many awkward stages. Do you pin the hair out of your face or let them hang in your eyes? The crazy amount of time waiting for the front to catch up with the rest can feel like eternity.

I highly do not recommend growing out bangs in the infant or toddler years. All those silly same moments are multiplied. Have you ever watched a child who has not mastered walking skills maneuver through a mop of hair? Quick add a layer of padding to everything!

Toddlers are fairly snotty creatures. Who am I kidding? They are snot machines. Boogers stuck in hair are not fun to brush out or peel off of cheeks.

Plus don't you want to see that adorable two year old hiding under there somewhere?

All this is to convince myself that I've done the right thing. This weekend I reached my breaking point. Buttercup was placed in a pink car salon chair and bangs were created. To make me doubt myself even more, she sat perfect still with her bottom lip perched way out. The girl is a pro pouter. Now I can see it clearer.

Of course I think she looks perfectly cute but a little more typical. It might be bang remorse but I don't know if we are back to the long process of growing them out all over again. I only have a small window of time for deciding how I want her hair to look before she exerts her individuality with her own decisions on style.

Counting

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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.

Malfunction

It never fails.
Cute shoes always end up killing your feet.
Cute toddlers always end up draining your soul.

The terrible twos have descended upon us. Throwing herself to the ground in a fit of hysterics, she tries to rip off the offending clothes that I have painfully struggled to put on her little body. There is screaming, kicking and crying. I wonder how she remembers to breathe. I kick into survival mode because I must have her dressed and out the door. This is just the start of the day. She continues to carry on her drama the entire way to daycare. I concentrate on driving the speed limit. Strawberry is close to tears because she can see that I am fuming and her little sister is obviously experiencing a traumatic event.

I take Buttercup to the toddler room. Her hair clings to her tear-stained face. Her bottom lip still quivers. She sees the daycare employee and within a brief moment her face lights up. She rushes over to give her a hug then she dismisses me with a smile and a wave.

"I love you," I reassure her. You little spawn of Satan is only a fleeting thought tacked on in my mind.

It's complete déjà vu as I went through this with Strawberry. These mornings of the world crashing in drama abruptly came to an end when she turned twenty-six months old. That was when her little sister was born and I pulled her out of daycare to spend leisure days at home with no more rushing to start the daily routine.

As there is no younger sibling in the works to rescue me from the destruction of the terrible twos, I am dreading the next three hundred and twenty-one days of hell. Like magic, on her third birthday she will turn into a picture of sweetness again, right? I am desperate for the power of reasoning through communication.

B.O.B. (Bullets Over Blogland)

As seen here, here and often here, bullets are all the rage.

I can't get my act together. I'm twelve days behind in the 365 project. I have dozens of personal e-mails that need to be composed. I have to write for MBT. I'm sick. It's just a chest cold/throat thing. I must comment on your site. Gah! Please, please forgive my lack of blather commenting. I've been reading through bloglines and google reader so I know how far behind I am. I figure most of you have given up on me, as you should. But the love! I have so much love for you all. I should install an official slacker seal. You don't even want to see the sorry state of my house.

You may ask, "What have you been doing?" That is a really good question. I don't have time to ponder that and I have absolutely no idea. I guess I spend my time going through the motions of every day life and exerting an insane amount of energy on feeling guilty for not being able to keep up my online life.

Strawberry had a birthday. She's four! I seem to be struggling with this. Up to eighteen months is an infant and then comes the tantrum filled years but at four she has moved beyond that. Four seems so grown up. The changes in appearance and behavior, the quick grasp of knowledge, the ability to reason, the range of emotions and the fragileness that comes with all of this is overpowering. We had a birthday party for her at Nana's house. Strawberry requested a Happy Feet birthday cake. While her guests played outside, she wanted to do a new puzzle on the dining room table. Her little sister slept in the living room. It was the most fun I've had in a long time.

I also had an extreme amount of fun with Metro Mama when we went to Evil Dead: The Musical. I couldn't stop smiling! If you get the chance to see it… Go! You can check out Metro Mama's recap of the night.

Two days earlier, I took the girls to a musical of their own - Go Diego Go! It was Buttercup's first time at one of these children events. She couldn't understand why there was an intermission and cried for Diego to come back for the whole twenty minutes. We're still singing "We're gonna get your growl back" around the house.

I'm off to the airport for a trip out west and I've run out of time. I'm scared of mosquitos... Later!

Say What?

Upon looking at a half moon, my future astronaut worries, "The moon is broken."

At daycare, the caregiver tells me, "When we were out on our walk, Strawberry pointed out Madonna on an H&M billboard. How does she know who Madonna is?" One of the preschoolers in her group answered for me. "She lives with them."

The family was gathered in front of the television. We saw this commercial for the first time. Awestruck by it, we doubled over when Buttercup followed with her rendition of dancing and singing Boom Chicka Wah Wah. Colin's face was priceless! The fun the girls will have in torturing their dad has already begun.






123's & ABC's Dude! from something blue on Vimeo

Real dudes do memes.
Thanks L.A. Daddy and Misterpie (well of course the Kitten was behind that one.) We are hoping Buttercup's "Hey Dude" will inspire a few more guys to jump on this wagon. You know you want to!

An Experiment

How do you find out if your wife is checking up on her blog while she is away on business?

You post pics like this and simply wait...

You could spice it up a little by saying something obvious like: "Don't worry Honey. The Girls are eating well and I haven't had to bribe them once in order for them to behave while you've been gone."