Giving Thanks

It's very important to me that my children have fond memories of the holidays. Like I do. So, I try very hard to make these days happy. Am I successful? It's kinda hit or miss...

We had Thanksgiving at our house. Despite having to work during the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I was sure that I would be able to pull this off.

Then my dishwasher broke. I frantically called Sears, bought a new one over the telephone, and asked Dan to pick it up from the store. I gave him strict instructions not to touch either the new dishwasher or the old one. Instead, he could watch TV, play with the children, or find something else to do. I begged  him, "Please, for my sake, do not touch the dishwashers".

I came home from work on Friday, and guess what?! He touched both of the dishwashers. Neither of them worked. I could have killed him.

I asked to see the turkey that he had purchased for the dinner in 36 hours. It was frozen.

I asked if he had cleaned the house knowing that we were having people over. Yes, he replied enthusiastically, he had cleaned the children's rooms. Super. What about the kitchen? The living room? The bathroom? Uhhh...no.

Needless to say, I was a bit stressed about Thanksgiving.

But Jamie Oliver came through, and we had the best turkey ever. It was soooo good that I think that Jamie Oliver may have ruined all other turkeys for me. Sigh.

Nice turkey. Crap roasting pot (unless you're roasting a 5lb chicken, then it's lovely).

Bob got the honours...

As dinner was served, the twinnies ran into the garden and told me that I was the worst mother ever, and that they were going to have to run away from home. My sin? Knowing that they didn't like turkey, I prepared some ham for them, cut it up nicely, and served them all their favourites on a plate.

Turns out that the twinnies wanted to serve themselves, like the adults. No problem, I took them inside, they carefully filled their plates with all of their favourite Thanksgiving yummies, and then headed outside with their plates heavy with food.

Then Katie dropped her plate...and her little heart broke. She was quickly cheered by the idea that the dogs were happy because they got to have Thanksgiving dinner, too!

I couldn't believe that we had summer-like weather in October. This was the first time in my life that it had been warm enough to eat Thanksgiving dinner outside!

Gluttony.

Elizabeth - she was thankful that I am her Mummy, and we live in Canada, and that we had the "best Thanksgiving ever".

Katherine - she was thankful for her family, and that everyone was safe and healthy.

Sarah - she was thankful that we had gone to the pumpkin patch that morning.

A happy ending.

My cup runneth over.

Forever and Ever

On my 6th birthday, my grandmother called me on the telephone and said:

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was hardly new.
When I was Three,
I was barely me.
When I was four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be Six now forever and ever.

And then my grandmother told me that I must memorize the poem, and that she would call another day to ensure I had. I memorized the poem. Twenty eight years later, I can still remember talking to her that day. And it seems so long ago.

Today, my babies turned six.

SIX!

And I find it difficult to believe that Katie and Bethie, my babies, are now six years old. They are on the cusp of great learning, great friendships, and great adventures. They have so many choices and opportunities. The possibilities are endless.

Yet, I want to hold them close to me. I don't want to let them go.

I'm trying to tell myself that they are getting older, more capable. They are becoming "big girls". But when I see them sleeping at night, one sucking her thumb and holding a fluffy, the other cuddled with her two bears, I find that hard to accept.

These "big girls" still need lots of cuddles. They still become upset when a sister touches their crayons. They still believe that fairies come out a night. Okay, Katie doesn't. Katie thinks I tell her stupid little lies for my own amusement. But they both believe that our garden gnomes frolic while they sleep.

They are still so little.

Tonight, on their sixth birthday, I think back to the day they were born. Tiny, premature, and utterly helpless. We've come a long way over the last six years. I also look to the future, knowing that they will continue to thrive, excel, and soar. I'm excited for them, but there's a big part of me that wishes they would "be Six now forever and ever".

My Assessment

Here's my "status update":

I don't have a roof...anymore.

But I still have these:

Who's the lucky duck?

Moi!

Three

My Littlest One turned three on Sunday.

Sarah - opening her gift from Bethie

Sarah - opening the gift from Katie

Playing every body's favourite game, "Catch A Twin"

Trying out her Crayola Bubbles

After using Crayola Bubbles. Sigh.

"Helping" to make the birthday cake.

MORE PRESENTS!!! (Some for the twinnies, too!)

The "Dora Cake"... otherwise known as "Birthday Mush" (it didn't quite work out) 

Blowing out the candles.

I can't believe that she's THREE!!!!

My Sarahburrah

Real Live Women

There's a song by Sugarland that I really like. In it, there's a line about knowing "which hands to shake/which hands to hold". I've shaken a lot of hands in my life. I've been pleased to have met a person, enjoyed the time we've had together, and moved on. No hard feelings, best of luck with your future endeavours.
But I have been lucky enough to cross paths with some extraordinary women. Good women. Clever women. Make you laugh until you cry women. Let you cry until you laugh women. And their hands are the hands that I chose to hold.

Another Sarah. That's what I call her. When I was pregnant with my baby, Sarah, I didn't know anyone else by that name. Once she was born, I met 30 women named Sarah, each needing a nickname. Hence, Another Sarah.

Another Sarah has an ease about her. Being around her is easy. She makes people feel comfortable in their own skin. Especially women. Because people seem to know that she's not judging them. She cares only about the soul within the person. Another Sarah has the great ability to use her humour and her wit to lighten the situation. There is never the concern that she will use her humour to embarrass. Another Sarah thrives when everyone is laughing. When you speak, she looks you in the eye. Because she really is listening. She asks questions, offers supports, makes a joke. After being with her, I feel happy.

I've known Cara for about 10 years now. In my eyes, she's perfect (Cara is screaming her objections at her computer as she reads this!). She's beautiful... blond hair, blue eyes, peaches and cream complexion. She married a beautiful man, and had two beautiful children. You would think that I would hate her, right?! But Cara has a quiet kindness that wraps around you. She cares ... about her family, about her friends, about the world, about all the children in the world. She has opened up her home and her heart to an orphan in the Congo, because her love is not limited by lines on a map, DNA, or skin colour. Her heart only sees her child, in a far away country, and she's fighting to get to her baby.

Cara is wicked smart, and she has the advanced degree to prove it! She finds joy in the world around her.  She raves about how wonderful a father her husband is. She likes cuddling with her children and watching He-Man. When her life gets too hard, and too painful, and too much to bear, she looks for these simple joys. I admire Cara.

Lisa is my Erma Bombeck. She doesn't mean to be. Whatever struggle I am facing, Lisa has already faced the same thing, but it was ten times harder and 100 times funnier. Lisa "gets" me. She can take one look at me and know what I'm feeling and (typically) why. She knows the right words to say, when to say them, and when to say nothing at all.

Lisa doesn't care what the world thinks. She cares about what she thinks. I care about what she thinks, too. Because Lisa is clever. She's insightful. Also, she's wicked funny! Most people don't know that because Lisa is also very quiet. She keeps her thoughts (mostly) to herself which makes me feel privileged when she shares them with me.

Lisa is the strongest woman I know. She holds on tight to her husband and her children. Life sends massive "waves" to knock her down, and silent "drips" to erode her self-confidence. And my friend stands tall. She is the breaking wall between Life and her family. She wishes she were some pampered duchess in a time long ago. Instead she is a pillar of strength. She is the force that keeps everyone going. Safe. Together. I adore Lisa, and I am so proud to call her my friend.

Melissa would have made this list, too. I think about Melissa every single day. Her death has had ripple effects throughout my life. But it's still too soon to lay my heart out for the world to see. It is, however, important to me that everyone knows that she is included in my list of extraordinary women.

Just Like Mum

Sarah thinks I'm wonderful. I am the very best human being ever. She always wants to be with me, and she always wants to do what I'm doing. The child cracks me up!

P.S. Note the picture above the couch? Crooked and way too small for the space, right? Guess who hung it there and refuses to move it?!

The Magic of Christmas

On Christmas Eve, I went around the table and said why I thank God for each person sharing dinner with me.  Everyone got a turn. Everyone one said something sweet. Bethie said of me, "I thank God I have Mummy because she always tries so hard to make things nice for us". All the agony of December was worth it...because she had noticed!

On Christmas morning, the twins came rushing downstairs and saw this:

Both Katie and Bethie rushed to the tree and started rummaging through the presents. They shouted to their father "Daddy! Where's the gift that we got for Mummy?". Finding those gifts became the center of their attention until the gifts were produced and I had unwrapped them. It was only then that the twins turned to the tree, and became interested in their own presents.

I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. Most 5 year olds don't rush downstairs on Christmas morning and think of other people first. I applauded myself. Obviously, I must be an extraordinary mother to have created these superior children...

Christmas morning was not as successful for Sarah. Sarah needs to cuddle with me for about an hour in order to "wake up". On Christmas, she got about 2 minutes of cuddling before I heard the twins coming down the stairs. I threw Sarah to the other side of the couch, and I leaped up to take the twinnies' pictures. Sarah was offended, and never really bounced back.

While unwrapping presents, Sarah started to meltdown. She would get angry because she didn't like the wrapping paper that Santa used. She opened presents that I know she loved. She would shout, "I don't like this" and heave the present across the room. Dan and I were shocked!

Did this affect in any way the view I had of myself as being a "superior" parent? Not at all. Sarah's behaviour was due to her being tired, and out of sorts, and a little bit sick...and, of course, she is her father's daughter. I blame him!

True Love

Katie stayed home from school today as she was quite ill. Actually, I have a kind of embarrassing story about that (who is shocked?).

I had to call the school to advise them that Katie would be staying home because she was sick. However, once I had the secretary on the phone, I couldn't remember which twin it was that was home sick. I looked over at my little sicko...and I couldn't tell who I had in front of me! I panicked because I didn't want to sound like some dippy  mother. Also, I do go on a bit that, despite being identical twins, they don't look "identical" to me. In the end, I had to ask the secretary which child she had at school! Yup, embarrassing. I blame it on exhaustion.

Anyway, while at school, Bethie coloured a picture of a squirrel. Then, she coloured one for Katie. Isn't that sweet? But it gets better!

Bethie got off the school bus, and raced inside. She shouted, "Katie! I have something for you!". In her rain soaked boots, she ran across the living room floor and presented Katie with the picture of the squirrel. Katie was delighted! Bethie said to her, "It was raining, so your picture got a little bit wet. Mine got a lot wet. Know why yours was only a little bit wet? Because a sick baby is more important!".

Bethie had put Katie before herself because Katie was sick. She understood that when people are sick, we go out of our way to please and to accommodate them. And she did this on her own accord.

Another great bit? Katie had spent a long time today creating a very colourful fan for Bethie so she would have a surprise when she got home!

My daughters may have their faults, but their compassion is endless. And that warms my heart and makes me proud.

Update: I have learned that the compassion doesn't extend beyond the three sisters. I had a coughing fit. Katie ran into the kitchen, where I was, and yelled at me "Don't throw up on my picture!". Gasping for air, I made my way to the washroom to get some water. Katie then shouted, "NO! I have to use the bathroom BEFORE you throw up!". Thanks for the concern, kiddo!

My Man

I just read Bibliomama's blog, and have been inspired by her post "A Real Man?". Like, Bibliomama, I do not put much stock in gifts and flowers (although a lump of chocolate is very much appreciated!). Any fool can produce a gift, but a real man does so much more.

A real man gets up at 5:30am everyday, and goes to work. When he arrives home, he overlooks the mess and the chaos, and makes sure that he keeps up the facade that his wife has had a "hard day". Despite not having to go to work herself. And being home. Alone. Sans enfants.

A real man helps make dinner. After the children had been fed, he ushers them upstairs where he proceeds to bathe them. He puts the children to bed. Twice. Because the first time didn't take. Then he comes downstairs and helps to clean the kitchen.

After all the work is done, a real man doesn't relax. He grabs a colouring book and crayons, and then colours a picture for his little girl. Because she wanted a pretty picture to give her teacher, and he had made a promise to her that he would colour something beautiful.

Then he colours another picture because he knows that when one girl gets something wonderful, her twin wants exactly the same thing. Then he colours yet another picture for the baby. So she doesn't feel left out.


A  real man understands how very important these things are to little girls. And he understands that this means more to their mother than a handful of flowers or a truckload of gifts. Thank God for real men!

Thanksgiving

I am thankful for fresh fruit everyday. For clean, running water. For free, accessible health care. For affordable medicine. For vaccines. For public schools that accept everyone, regardless of sex, race, religion or income.

I am thankful for our home. For 4 walls and a roof that will protect us from the elements. For our safety. For our neighbours, who delight in my children and who look out for each other (and each other's children).

I am thankful that I can read. That my children will read. That my children will have opportunities that most people in the world can only dream of. That their focus won't be on preventing starvation, fleeing from violence, or survival. They have the luxury to grow and thrive.

I am thankful for the sound of little girls laughing. For kisses blown at each other. For giant hugs. For the love and comfort of having my family around me.

I am thankful that there is a child in the Congo who will soon be with his Mummy, Daddy, brother and sister in Calgary. I am thankful that Cara's love doesn't comprehend differences in race or territories mapped out by waring countries. Her heart has reached across the ocean and grabbed hold of her child, and the hold she has on him is stronger than all the forces that may try to diminish that bond.

I am thankful that I get to share my dinner of Thanksgiving with those that I love most in this world:

Despite their "nuances" (yes, Dan, this includes you. Exhibit A: insisting on wearing sunglasses while you are photographed eating your Thanksgiving meal), they are everything to me. And I am everything to them. My cup runneth over.