What Happened to My Norman Rockwell Moment?

Do you hear that delicious silence? You probably don't hear it over your gaggle of children but, currently in my house, I can actually hear the clock ticking on my piano. That's always an indicator of how quiet my house actually is. It's such a pretty clock, isn't it?

Alleluia for Grandparents

The reason it's quiet here right now, at this very moment in time, is because my children are spending the afternoon and evening with my mom. God bless her for taking them for a few hours so I can just suck in the glory of my house without children ransacking it and filling it with their polluted sounds of fighting and complaining. My children really are lovely... with other people... most of the time. Lately however, when they are at home, they just sucks every morsel of life and energy I have. I'm thankful for this few hours to refuel and refocus. Shout out to grandparents!!!

I'm also thankful that my mom came with us to the mall today to see the big man himself, Santa Claus. As she told me, "I haven't done this in 30 years." I'm glad I could help bring back those warm and fuzzy memories for her, living the excitement through her grandchildren's eyes.

Not What I Pictured

I always have these huge plans for these picture perfect activities for us to do as a family. In my mind, I always imagine everything running like a Disney movie - the perfect setting, a lesson learned, and beautiful memories I can put in a box with a pretty bow, and store in my mind until I'm old and grey where I will relive them as I sit in my rocking chair with my grandchildren on my lap. Sigh... The life of an optimist....

The reality is that almost none of the activities I plan for us to do, no matter how awesome and exciting they might sound, ever turn out like the rosy pictures I conjure up in my little head. Never. Ever. I personally blame the three-year-old with an attitude.

How It Plays Out

We're not even out our own door and the always-cranky baby B (who is now 3) exclaims like he does every 3 hours, "I am so mad!" By the way, he got that line from an episode of Daniel Tiger's Neighbourhood where Daniel Tiger's teacher, or mom, or somebody tells Daniel, in sing song of course, "if you feel so mad, that you want to roar, take a deep breath, and count to four." Great advice from the show but the only part my son retained was Daniel Tiger saying "I'm so mad!" at the top of his lungs. Thanks PBS. You're awesome.

Once I've convinced him to put his boots on (usually by bribing him with food or a toy), I get him and the girl and the husband into the car, ready to roll. But wait... The husband forgot his phone, or keys, or wallet - it can be any of said items or a combination of said items. Considering I have to remember everything else, it'd be nice if I didn't have to take care of the other adult in the house too. Just sayin'.

The car ride is usually a nightmare with cranky baby B screaming at his sister for looking at him funny, or my 8-year-old daughter Z complaining that she doesn't like the music on the radio. I yell at them to be quiet. They do not make an effort. I'm irritated. Can we go home?

We get to our activity, let's take visiting Santa, since that's what we did today. The kids are starving because they haven't eaten in 20 minutes. So we have to get food at the mall. Because they are dressed in their Christmas outfits to have their pictures taken with Santa, they inevitably spill ketchup and wipe fry grease all over their brand new clothes.

We take them to the bathroom to clean them up. Baby B, who has just learned to go potty, pees on his pants because he does not know how to control that male appendage of his I just don't get. (Why does it shoot in so many directions?) I clean him off as best as I can and hope that Santa doesn't get pee on his lap. (I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time anyway. Poor Santa!) Z is filthy so we have to hose her down from top to toe, and tuck her hair back into the braids I meticulously spun before we left.

As we are walking to see Santa, which is in the centre of the mall, we pass by stores that are calling my kids' names. They see all the shiny and flashy objects and get distracted so we keep having to get them back in line like sheep dogs herding their flock.

We finally get in line to see Santa, and the two of them just can't sit still. My kids have a lot of energy and never stop moving. Plus, kids and lines just don't go together. Ever. They shuffle around the line in the area we're standing in, just hyper with excitement as they can see the top of Santa's hat around the corner.

We finally get to the front of the line and cranky pants Mr. B. does not want to see Santa. So I drag him a little, bribe him with yet another treat (Santa's candy cane), and wait for the magical moment when the nice picture lady can snag a shot of them sitting up on Santa's lap. Well, they were sitting. And their clothes look sort of clean. Baby B looks constipated, and Z looks drunk but we got the picture, I guess. Another family trip over. Another dream of a perfect outing crushed.

Life Is Never Picture Perfect

I know life is not the perfect pictures we see in movies, and that it's super messy, and hard, and some days, down right shitty. It's not my kids' faults that things don't turn out the way I imagine. It's my OWN fault. My creative, overly-perfectionist brain has a way of concocting these scenarios that no real family could live up to. I have to learn to lower my expectations, and just live in the moment. Because when I'm old and grey, sitting in my rocking chair on the front porch, looking back on this picture of my two babies, I won't remember the chaos that took place getting them to that moment. All I'll remember when I look at those pictures are those two beautiful kids and how they were, and will always be, the most magical part of my world. And I'm very lucky to have them in it.

And The Answer Is.....

Although having a 6 month old is challenging (yes, he's 6 months now - wah...), I'll take his crying fits and dirty diapers over the CSI-style questioning my daughter has been subjecting me to lately. These are questions to which I have no idea how to answer without shattering her dreams or completely horrifying her. You'll see what I mean.

Today she had a series of questions about Santa Claus. In our house, Miss Sassypants still believes in the big guy. I'm glad because it's such a magical experience for her and the longer we can continue the charade, the better. Don't get me wrong, if she's 18 and still waiting for Old St. Nick to come down the chimney, my parenting skills should be questioned. But as I see it, a few more years can't hurt.

Today she asked me: "What happens if Santa dies? Do they have a replacement? And is Santa born like in a mom's tummy, or does he just appear?" As far as I know, there's no manual in the world that tells you how to answer these types of questions. (Look into that and get back to me if there is.) And to be fair, these are really good questions. Considering that I'm lying to her about the entire Santa situation, I just said: "you know, what? That's a good question! Nobody ever told me either. Maybe you should ask Santa next year." Ha! I feel sorry for the old mall Santa who gets those drilling questions. Might make him spit up his eggnog. But in parenting, passing the buck is always a valid option.

While we're on the subject of Santa, we might as well talk about the stork. I've never used the stork story with Miss Sassypants. I've been pretty honest to her about where babies come from. The way I explained it is that the daddy has a seed and the mom has an egg and they mix together in the mommy's tummy and the baby grows in there. I'm extremely grateful that she's never asked me about how the egg and seed get in the mommy's tummy. I'm still surprised she's never asked. That's so unlike her to leave any stone unturned. If it does come up, I may have to revert to the stork, cabbage patch or download theories. 

I guess the question for us parents is how much information is too much information, and at what age are certain things appropriate? I want her to know where babies come from because it's important to know the truth, but how much do you reveal? And if I'm telling her the truth about babies, why am I lying to her about Santa? Again, if you find that manual, email me :) Being a parent is flippin' hard.

Better go. The baby is screaming (again), the cat just threw up on the carpet and I need to apply another coat of ointment to my eye which is suffering from a fourth bout of pink eye. Miss Sassypants brought it home from school a few months ago and I can't seem to get rid of it completely. Threw out the makeup, washed my pillow cases, disinfected everything from light switches to phones to computers. I'm about to poke my eyes out with a fork.

Things Your Mama Didn't Tell Ya!

I'm starting a new series on my blog called "Things Your Mama Didn't Tell Ya!" It's going to highlight things all mothers should know that nobody tells you about.

I'm a little short on time today since I have to take Mr. Crankypants to his 6 months well-baby appointment soon, so I'll keep this one brief (no pun intended, you'll see what I mean in a sec.)

It took nearly 3 weeks for me to figure out why Mr. Crankypants was constantly peeing through his diaper. Were the diapers the wrong size? Was I not tightening them enough? Did he have an unusually strong pee stream? I couldn't figure it out. So I did what any mother in crisis would do. I googled it.

Turns out when the wee-wee is free-free (and not pointing down), the pee shoots up and out of the diaper causing major leakage. So always point the wee-wee due south to avoid pee breach.

Also, the little fringes along the leg holes of disposable diapers need to be out of the diaper. If for some reason they stay tucked in, you'll get some leaking there too. I learned that one years ago but I have to remind my hubby of this all the time as he forgets and then there's pee everywhere. It's not pretty.

Must go shower. Engage Jolly Jumper! (See my last post about that one)

Peace.

spring = shiny, happy, nosy people

Yup, spring is in the air! And mud is on boots, mitts, ski pants and floors. Blech! I only like mud when it's in a spa, in a mask, on my face. Otherwise, I could do without it. I actually got a shoer yesterday. If you don' t know what a shoer is, you're not Canadian. LOL....So for my international readers (if I have any), it's when water gets over the top of your shoe and enters it. Like from a puddle or any other wet substances..... That could be gross.


I was walking over what I thought was a hard section of snow, but to my surprise, it was not hard packed snow. It was soft and it was deep! My foot sank a good foot until I was knee-deep in snow. Then all of a sudden, I felt cold, icy water enter my shoe. Crap! So I pushed down on my other foot to step out of it, and my other foot sank. Noooooooo!!! It too filled with freezing cold water. Boo! Might I mention I was also wearing the baby in his cuddly wrap at the time. So the prospect of falling face first into the snowbank was not a good one for me or my son. But it's okay. We got out fine and I proceeded home with two frigid, squishy feet while my husband stayed at the park with my daughter.


Besides melting snow and muddy carpets, Spring also brings people out. Spring is when we all crawl out of our winter dens and start mingling with humankind again. And there were lots of people mingling at the mall today. I got to meet a few of them.


The first incident was at A Child's Place where I purchased a few cute items for a baby gift. I was wearing Baby B in his cuddly wrap because he gets agitated when he's in his car seat for too long. While I was standing in line to pay for my purchases, this older lady, probably about 75 years old, came up to me and said: "well that's quite the contraption." She was referring to the baby sling. "Well, he likes it," I replied. She snickered and went on her way. I sensed she didn't like my baby sling. Hmph.....


After that purchase, I decided Mr. Cranky Pants had had enough and it was time to go. As I was putting him into his car seat at Chapters, he starting crying. He does this every time I put him into his car seat. He usually settles down pretty quickly, but initially he is ticked right off. So while I'm trying to sing his favourite song (always gets him to stop crying) and strap him in, some middle-aged lady comes over and starts stroking his face and shushing him. "Oh, he's so upset," she says. I smile because I'm nice that way and say, "yeah, he doesn't like his car seat." She keeps stroking and shushing. As time elapses, it's getting more awkward. I want to say, "please go away. You're not helping him but rather only prolonging the madness." But instead I keep smiling until she leaves. After she "helps me", I get him strapped in and leave.


I know babies make you vulnerable to crazy people ambushes.For the most part, people mean well and they are mostly just excited to see your baby. Mine IS pretty cute. See?


But sometimes, I just want to get my shopping done. I just want to deal with my kids' outrages in private without advice, dirty looks or contact with other humans. It's not so much to ask, is it? 


Okay, I should be honest though. I'm pretty sure once my kids are grown up and on their own, I'll be the crazy lady chasing down all the babies at the mall, giving their moms advice about baby carriers and shushing and stroking their cute little faces. That is the circle of life. (Insert Elton John's Lion King soundtrack here.) And who am I to break the circle?