Fresh From The Vine

In June, Bethie convinced me to buy a watermelon plant. Truthfully, it would be more accurate to say that buying the watermelon plant was a compromise because Bethie had wanted to grow corn. In suburbia. In my opinion, watermelon was a better choice.

So, I bought the plant and stuck it in the back corner of my garden. In the shade. In an area that I barely water. Needless to say, the watermelon didn't thrive.

Every once in a while, Bethie would check on her watermelon. I felt badly. I tried to prepare her for the fact that the vine wouldn't produce any watermelon. Time passed, and Bethie gave up on the watermelon.

The other day, I was preparing the garden for winter. I pulled out the neglected watermelon plant and went to throw it in the compost. Dan said, "Oh look, there are watermelons".

I was shocked. I called Bethie to have a look. She was thrilled as she picked three watermelons.

Don't get too excited, they weren't very big.

Bethie held this one up and declared it to be Sarah's, as it was so small ... and so is Sarah.



This one was slightly bigger, but it was smashed in half before I got a picture of it. It was still white on the inside. Bethie gave this watermelon to Katie.



The last watermelon, and the one that Bethie kept for herself.

Even thought this watermelon was red on the inside, I informed Bethie that it couldn't be eaten. I was too late. Apparently, it CAN be eaten.

I told Bethie that I would buy a watermelon plant again next year. I will plant it in the sun, and even water it. I may even add a little bit of Miracle Grow to give it a wee boost. Bethie is very excited. In fact, she responded so positively that I just might decide to grow corn.

(Dan will read this post and declare that there is no way I will be allowed to grow corn in our garden. However, he won't be at all surprised when it appears!)

The Unloved

When I was growing up, my brother had a friend named Francois. He wore glasses. He always seem to have them held together with tape. At the time, I wondered what was wrong with his mother. How could she send her child to school with his glasses held together by sticky tape? Didn't she love him?

Fast forward twenty-five years.

I have two daughters who need to wear glasses. These glasses cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars each. I wanted to get them glasses that were less expensive, but they all look...cheap. So, I splurged. Because the more expensive glasses flatter their little faces. And it's important to me that my daughters feel beautiful.

My dainty little daughters have managed to strain, break, and damages their glasses. Over and over again. Once, Bethie left her glasses on the floor by the front door. I didn't notice. Neither did Dan when he came home from work and flattened them. And it embarrasses me every time I have to take their glasses, which have been twisted in to the shape of a pretzel, in to be repaired.

Katie recently ripped Bethie's glasses off her face. More accurately, Katie ripped one arm of Bethie's glasses off her face. Bethie's glasses were presented to me in two pieces. I didn't yell. I got out the sticky tape.

I found that medical tape works better though.

I've learned that Francois was, in fact, loved by his mother. She was just at the end of her rope...or the end of her money! Or both!

Splatter Party

I decided to have a Splatter Party for the twins 6th birthday. I booked the party for the day before their actual birthday. Because their birthday fell on a Monday. Because it's easier to have a party on the weekend. Because it was no big deal.

Wrong!

The twins were rather insistent that they have their party on their birthday, not the day before. So, I lied to them. I told them that their birthday was on the Sunday and that everyone else was confused about the date. They bought it. Thank God.

Anyway, they had a lovely time with their friends, covering canvases (and themselves!) in paint.



The children had to fling the paint on to their canvases.



It was a very messy procedure.

Everyone was covered in paint.

Only one person cared.

OK, two people cared...but Katie was "painted" intentionally by a little darling she had invited to the party.

Bethie is soooo animated. Sarah kept going to the basin to wash her hands, but she always came back for more fun.

These balloons were filled with paint, and the children had to pop them over the canvases.

Blowing out the candles on the Splatter Cake.

All the children gasped when they saw all the colours inside the cake. It totally made all the work worth it!

Everyone had a great time!

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".

The Little Sister

The other day, it was very hot. I wasn't feeling that great. I thought that it would be great fun for the kids if we got out the little pool and sprinkler. They could play nicely together, and I could just sit on the deck and watch them. Win, win.

All three girls had a blast.

They REALLY loved the sprinkler.

Bethie showed Sarah how to twist the hose so the water stops.

Sarah had a go at it.

But she wasn't very good at stopping the water. Bethie measured the height of the water coming from the sprinkler, and announced that Sarah would have to apply more pressure.

Bethie measured the height of the water again, and said that Sarah had done a wonderful job!

And then Sarah blasted Bethie.

And then Bethie, bless her heart, let Sarah do this to her over and over and over again. Just to make Sarah laugh. And I loved Bethie for it.

I am quite sure that one day, Sarah is going to be blasted in the face by one of the twinnies.

I am also quite sure that she won't be laughing then!

The Patron Saint of Lost Children

You may not have known this about me, but I am the Patron Saint of Lost Children.
It's true.

Any, and every, lost child will seek me out, and I will comfort them and find their parent. It has happened 3 times in the last week alone. And I am happy to do this because I have a child who routinely gets lost (yup, it's Bethie. And Bethie swears that it is I who is lost, not her. Sigh). Once, mall security was involved. Not because I requested their assistance, but because I (apparently) panic quite loudly.

Funny little side note: Mall security was useless because they announced that they had found my little darling and she was safe in the arms of her father. When I rushed over to her, I became very annoyed and said "That's not my missing child, that's her twin. Look for someone who looks JUST LIKE HER!".

Even though I am the Patron Saint of Lost Children, I understand that these behaviours are not exclusive to me. The vast majority of people, of either sex or any age, will help a lost child. In fact, Bethie was once "rescued" by a 7 year old. As a result, I have always encouraged my children to talk to strangers. If they need help, find someone who looks kind and let them help you.

Of course, the school disagrees with me and has informed all the children never to talk to strangers. The twinnies wondered out loud (as is their way) about how I could be so idiotic as to encourage my little darlings to ask strangers for help when they are in need of assistance. Sigh.

I explained that most people are good and most people will help children.

They worried about being kidnapped. I informed them about the "Ransom of Red Chief" and reassured my little angels that nobody wants them!

And then I felt badly. Because I want them. I want them to be safe. I want to help navigate their way through a terrifying and highly unlikely situation.

I told the twinnies that if anyone should try to kidnap them, they are to yell as loud as they could "This is NOT my Mummy" (or Daddy). They are to pitch an almighty fit. They have my full permission to knock things off the shelf, to fight, to bite, to do whatever it takes to get people (strangers, the good ones) to look at them and to step in. We talked about how it is important to keep shouting "This is NOT my Mummy" as opposed to just screaming. Strangers will help if they think children are being kidnapped, but will simply cluck their tongues if they think children are being naughty. I even practiced this with the twinnies.

At the end of this conversation, I looked both girls in the eye and said "Do you know what will happen if you pull this stunt with me?".

Katie said with such sureness, "You will beat us". This from the child who has never been beaten, hit, punched, or (let's be honest) disciplined in any way, shape or form. So, no, I will not "beat" them.

Bethie said, "You will kill us". Umm...not literally, which is how she meant it. What is wrong with my children?

I informed my sweet cherubs that if they pitched a fit for me while in a store and shouted out "This is NOT my Mummy", I would reply "Quite right! I'm not!" and then I would giggle while skipping out of the store... without them. Because the Patron Saint of Lost Children has no problem intentionally "losing" any bad ones!

Mr. Photography Goes To School

Bethie won an award at school. Again. The first award was for "Trying Her Best". This one was for her wonderful writing ability. Katie is ticked off. She's keeping score. No worries, she wrote a note to the teacher informing her that Bethie has had 2 awards and Katie has had no awards. She would like the teacher to rectify this situation. Sigh.

I sent Dan to the school to watch Bethie receive her award. I asked him to take some photos because I am soooo proud of my child and soooo disappointed that I had to miss the awards ceremony.

Here are the results:

It's my fault, I know. I shouldn't have asked him to take pictures. I just set myself up for disappointment.

There was one picture that was salvageable. Here is my baby accepting her award. I am very, very proud of her.

One Hundred Years Old

Bethie is obsessed with death. We talk about it all the time. Not intentionally, but it seems to come up. Tonight, Dan said to the twins, "You can't keep waking your mother up so many times during the night because you're going to kill her". Bethie replied, "Is she ninety-nine, and is her birthday tomorrow?". Because, according to Bethie, only people who are 100 years old die.

My friend's father died. He was far too young. But we allowed Bethie to believe that he was 100 years old. She needed the security of knowing that no one she knows is going to die.

Then Melissa died. She was only 28. Again, we allowed Bethie to think that Melissa was 100.

The mother of a little girl in her class died. We reassured Bethie that this woman was sooooo much older than I am. Because Bethie lies in her bed and worries. I didn't want my child worrying about my death.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting my five year old girl. Saving her from her own worries. I thought that it didn't matter if I allowed Bethie to believe that people have to be 100 years old before they die.

The kindergarten teacher sent a note home. There is a little boy in the twinnies' class that has just been diagnosed with a tumor on his brain stem. My heart aches for this little boy, and for his family, and especially for his mother. I can't even begin to imagine what this family is going through. His mother is at the Children's Hospital praying for the life of her child. And I am not a good enough writer to convey my sorrow.

All I know is that I don't want to explain to my daughter that children can die, too.

The Most Wonderful Day of the Year

All three children go to bed at 7pm. No. Matter. What.

OK. Sometimes they go to be a touch earlier if Mummy has had a hard day.

During the winter, there's no problem. The sun is down, the moon is up, and the children believe me when I say it's 7pm. But now that we are into Daylight Savings Time, there's still a little bit light out at 7pm. Bethie has noticed.

I tried to explain to the twins the concept of Daylight Savings. They didn't get it. I eventually said, "The sun stays up longer during the spring and summer, but not you. It's 7pm so OFF TO BED!".

Bethie tried to convince me to let her stay up until the sun goes to bed. I said that I would make a deal with her: she can stay up until the sun sets but as soon as it's dark, she must go to bed. And this rule is applicable for an entire year. Being short-sighted, and only 5 years old, she has happily accepted these terms.

Yahoo!

Some people count down the days until their birthday. Some people count down the days until Christmas. I am counting down the days until Daylight Savings Time ENDS...on November 6. It will be like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one!

A Life Less Urban

I want to move to a farm. I'm kind of obsessed with it. Which is funny, because I am not a farm type of girl. I don't enjoy animals. I don't enjoy physical labour. And I don't "muck". But I'm pretty certain that I should move to a farm.

I have convinced Dan that raising our children on a farm is an excellent idea. He was hesitant at first, and may have even laughed a little bit, but he came around when I reassured him that he wouldn't have to do any work...and he fell for it. I told him that I would do most of the work, and my brothers would be thrilled to do the hard stuff, while Dan went sailing (oh yeah, I found out that Dan fancies himself a sailor. It's okay to laugh, I did).

Convincing the children to move to a farm proves to be a bit more challenging.

Years ago, the twinnies wanted a pet. I said "no" (remember, I don't like animals). I told them that animals poop and I wasn't cleaning animal poop. They reassured me that Granny would come over and scoop poop. Granny told my precious little darlings to give their heads a shake and there was no way on Earth she was going to come over to our house to clean up after animals. She seemed rather passionate about it. She's funny like that.

The twinnies thought that a gold fish would be a reasonable compromise. I pointed out that fish poop, too. Then they wanted a dog. I said "The bigger the animal, the bigger the poop". Now, none of them want a pet. Nor do they want to live on a farm because of all the animals that would be there pooping, even though I promised that I would be the one scooping poop. They don't believe me, and are not willing to "risk it".

About once a day, I tell my children we should move to a farm. Just in case we win the lottery, I want them to be prepared. I ask them which vegetables we should grow in our garden, or which animals we should raise, or what we should name the cow. I mention all the yummy things I could make.

The other day, Bethie and I were sharing my egg sandwich (fried egg, cheese, and toast). I told her that if we lived on a farm we could get the eggs from the chickens, I could make the cheese from the cow's milk, and I could bake the bread. We wouldn't have to go to the store at all!

Bethie replied, "Yeah. If you want to do it the hard way..."

My children are soooo .... URBAN! Just like their father.

Speechless

I have never participated in "Wordless Wednesday". I have too much to say.

Until I saw this:

Bethie got hungry, I guess.

Katie caught me off guard, too. She said, "Trevor says FU. And Jason says FU. Know what Ethan's favourite letters are? FU. Also, Ted on the bus says FU all the time!". I responded by saying, "Will you please stop saying FU because it's upsetting me!". So now, Katie only whispers it in my ear when she's ratting out her classmates.

And I am absolutely speechless.

How To Get Children to Participate in Cleaning

Dan has took a week off from work to be home with us for March Break. During this week, he has been fixated on cleaning. I have been fixated on everything but cleaning. Mostly, Dan has been scrubbing the house, and I have been in charge of ensuring that our little hurricanes refrain from destroying the room he is currently working on. This has only been slightly successful. Why? Because I am happy when the children decide to bug Dan instead of bugging me!

The other day, Dan was cleaning the kitchen. The children started getting in the way. He called to me so I could offer assistance. Instead, I took pictures (I'm funny like that).

Dan said "Fine. Do you want to help me vacuum?". Bethie said "No, but I will RIDE the vacuum!". Big help, eh?

She yelled at Dan to "go faster". I laughed.

This was soooo much easier when they were little.

After I took about 200 photos, Dan said "Will you take the children NOW?". Ummm, no.

Following Orders

This cold winter has been very harsh on my children's skin. The skin on their faces and hands becomes very red and hard. I've been using Spectra Jel Eczema Care, and that does a tremendous amount of good. However, I try to do my best to prevent outbreaks.

Everyday, the twins come home from school with soaking wet gloves. I have explained to the little darlings that wet gloves will exasperate their eczema. I send them to school with extra gloves so they can switch if their gloves become wet. They never do.

Yesterday, I was particularly concerned. I asked the children to refrain from playing in the snow before the bus comes in the morning. This way, their gloves would be dry when they arrived at school. And I would feel better.

The twins thought this was a well thought out idea. They said that I was most clever and they would wait until recess to play in the snow. With their promises not to go in the snow, I ushered them out the front door saying that I was going to get Sarah some more milk and then I would be right out.

It took about 90 seconds to get Sarah her milk. I walked out the front door and saw:

I shouted, "You weren't supposed to go in the snow!"

Bethie looked up at me and said "Oh. I forgot".

Yeah, right.

True Love

Valentine's Day is quickly approaching. At school, both Katie and Bethie had to cut out a heart and write the name of someone that they love inside the heart.

Katie thought long and hard about who she loved. After careful deliberation, Katie wrote that she loves ... her sisters!

Katie's sisters are her co-conspirators...

...her buddies...

...her fan club.

Katie is hero worshipped by her little sister ...

...and adored by her twin.

Katie couldn't imagine her world without her sisters. She proudly, with love and affection, wrote down the names "Sarah" and "Bethie" in her little cut-out heart.

Bethie did not need a moment to ponder who she loved. She wrote "Jerry". Because Jerry is her boyfriend. Every day, Bethie assures me that she loves Jerry and will one day marry him.

Ladies, let me introduce you to my future son-in-law, Jerry...

...the bus driver.

Sigh. At least he has a job...

Richer Than God

Monday at 4pm, I lost my mind. After 5 years of turning myself inside out to accommodate, please, and delight my family, I threw my hands in the air and shouted "Enough!". I sat down on the couch and watched TV. Dinner waited, the children waited, and Dan waited...while I watched Oprah.

But I didn't really watch it because I was angry. I was angry that Dan got a lovely week long vacation in the Bahamas and then come home and had a four hour nap. I was angry that the children wanted to throw a Welcome Home Party for the man who had been living it up on Paradise Island! I was angry that I had to go out and buy party decorations, as well as having to make home-made pizza and a multi-coloured cake. I was angry because the people that I love dearly refused  to help me. They were too busy telling me that I wasn't doing a good enough job.

Oprah was meant to distract me. She was going on about finding a sister she had never known. This sister was put up for adoption at birth but tracked her family down as an adult.

The twinnies decided to talk. Big, huge, exaggerated SIGH!

Katie wanted to know what "adoption" meant. I explained adoption was when parents give away their children, and other people love and take care of those children. Katie was horrified. I explained that most people who had to give up their children did so because they couldn't afford to take care of them, and that they loved their children so much that they found new parents who would give them an excellent life. Now BE QUIET!

Bethie thought the command for silence was meant solely for Katie. She asked "Do you have enough money to take care of us?". I reassured the child that her father and I could, in fact, take care of our children. We dropped the subject.

At one point, the long lost sister said something like "I just knew that God would help me find my mother. He would show me a sign.". Well, this caught Bethie's attention. She was glued to the TV. She couldn't wait to see what God was going to do!

While Bethie was waiting for God's debut on TV, she asked "Why is God poor?".

Huh? Where did this come from? I explained to the child that God is not "poor".

Bethie responded, "Then how come He gave us to you?".

I wanted to tell her that God gave me children because I must have been a very wicked child, and the children were (obviously) my punishment. But that wouldn't do. Also, it wouldn't have been true. I was a delightful child. Instead, I replied, "Ummm...because I'm richer than God". Because that was equally amusing to me, and far less upsetting to the children. Win, win.

After 45 minutes, I got tired of watching Oprah and felt compelled to make dinner. I changed the channel back to Treehouse. Bethie asked me if she could finish watching Oprah because she was "waiting for a sign from God". Because God communicates to the masses through...OPRAH! Turns out that it was both an "Ah ha" and a "ha ha" moment for me!

Mixed Media: My Family Is Killing Me

My children do not have low self-esteem. They think that they are pretty wonderful, and they are confident that you will, too. I'm glad that they think highly of themselves (because I think that they are the most exceptional human beings that have ever walked this planet), but they tend to get carried away. This may be my fault, as I tend to get carried away, too.

When I was a child, if I had painted a pretty picture, Mum would put that picture on the fridge for a couple of days. And I was proud of myself. So when my kids started scribbling, I stuck their "art" on the fridge. The fridge became too full because I was never allowed to take anything down. So I moved to the kitchen walls. I covered every square inch of wall space with their artwork. It was silly, but the twinnies loved it.

Last year, Dan and I painted the kitchen. This involved taking down all of the twinnies art. What a relief! I had grown tired of random crap stuck to my walls. Dan bought 3 bulletin boards, one for each child. Art was to be displayed on their bulletin boards only. Well, that was the theory...

Of course, I have no control over my children. They do what they like. Apparently, Bethie likes to take banana and orange peels and sticky tape them to my walls. I don't always find them right away. Sigh.

I wrote on Facebook, "Why, oh why does Bethie feel the need to sticky tape orange and banana peels to the walls? Is this her way of telling me that my efforts to compost are not appreciated? Or is this her way of saving me from bending over and picking discarded peels up off the floor? Can someone PLEASE explain my 5 year old to me?????".

Aunt Carol responded, "Praise her for her artistic abilities. That gal is an emerging artistic genius. It's called "mixed media". :-) Actually, despite her obvious talents, it must drive you nuts. Give her a particular piece of wall space within which she may make her art. That way she won't be responding to negative attention and the "art" (read..mess) is confined. HA"

Aunt Carol lives in Toronto. She hasn't been in my house for about 2 years or so. Here's a guided tour:

The kitchen. See the 3 bulletin boards (above the toy kitchen)? See how those bulletin boards have failed to confine the crap?

You may have missed this, so here's a close-up. Bethie couldn't find any paper, so she coloured on painter's tape and stuck that to the wall.

Another wall in my kitchen. See the big empty space below the clock? That's where the latest orange peels were found taped to the wall. Above the clock is the bottom half of a Gap box that has been coloured. Most of the time, the children tape things to the wall. This time, Dan must have thought that I would really enjoy having my RECYCLING on display because he was the one who put it up there.

Moving into the hallway...we have two signs. Bethie made the one on the top left. I have no idea what she is banning, but whatever it is, it was really pissing her off. Katie's sign banned Sarah from peeing on the floor.

Here's the close-up. There's Sarah (the chick without the torso, duh). The "a" is actually an inverted "p" (Katie knows how to make letters but she has "issues" with the alphabet and refuses to abide by society's rules so she makes the letters the way she would like them to look...sigh....a story for another time!). And then a big honking "X" through it. Katie carefully explained the meaning of the sign to Sarah. Sarah, too, has a repulsion for authority and peed on the floor just to spite Katie. And that was just great.

 

The other half of the Gap box . And in case you're wondering, Dan hung those paintings on the wall. When I wasn't home. As a "surprise". I told him to take them down and do it again properly. He was most offended because he thought he had done a good job. His only criteria was that they didn't fall down. I wanted them to be hung nicely, and not as though a child has come and sporadically nailed paintings to the wall. And so I've looked at it for years. And it drives me bat-shit crazy! But now that the top of the Gap box is sticky taped next to the paintings, I feel more peaceful about the whole thing.

The front door. The picture just above the light switch was coloured by DAN. I kid you not. I guess he thought that he had done such a wonderful job that every person who comes to our home should see it. And that's why he taped it right at the front down and at adult eye level. You don't understand what an ass I feel like when I have to say "Yup, that one was coloured by my husband. He really did a good job, don't you think?".

And then there's the sporadic graffiti. Everywhere. Where you least expect it.

So, Aunt Carol and all of you, please forgive me when I lose my ever loving mind about banana peels being taped to my walls. Every mother must draw a line somewhere...mine is freakin' compost on the walls. Sorry. I forgot. Mine is freakin' "mixed media" on the walls!!!