Picture Perfect (Yeah, Not So Much)

I wanted some photos of Sarah. Nice ones. With her smiling. Sarah didn't feel so inclined...

This was the best I could do:

Although I do love:

I've decided the fault lies with the subject and not with the photographer.

My Last Sleep In Day Was January 3...2005

Friday: I wake the children up at 6:30am so they can have breakfast, get dressed, and be ready to catch the bus at 7:30am. Like every school day, they refuse to get up and cry "It's dark outside! It's still night time!"

Saturday: Bethie wakes up at 6:15am. She immediately wakes Katie up, and the two of them start rearranging the furniture in their room until I come in and yell at them to BE QUIET!!! At which point, Sarah wakes up, too.

Sunday: All three children are up by 6:10am. I demand to have more sleep, so they tip toe downstairs and feed each other icing and sprinkles until I come down and yell at them. Then they act shocked that I am angry they ate junk for breakfast. They, apparently, had no idea that this was unacceptable.

Monday: By 6:45am, I am losing my mind because they still won't get out of bed. I explain to the little darlings that if they can get up early on the weekend, then they can get up on time on the weekdays. The twins respond by rolling over towards the wall.

The only solution that I can think of is to put them to bed by 6:30pm. It'll be dark outside. Dark = sleeping...right????

The Year of Nature

I live in suburban Hell.

All the houses look the same. White front doors, two cars in the driveway, and a tree on the small patch of yard out front. Each house has a 7' fence, cordoning off their own little plot of land. It's a relatively new development, so there are only a few gardens. When I stand on my porch with my back touching my front door, I can see 64 sets of windows that over look me. SIXTY-FOUR!

It drives me crazy that the other four people that I live with have no issue with this suburban Hell. The cookie-cutter approach to life works wonderfully for them. Just do what everyone else does. Don't call attention to yourself. Your value is measured by what others think of you. Keep your mouth shut and your head down.

I have had enough.

In 2012, I am going to help my children to be less suburban. I have decided to teach my children about Nature. I want them to learn that their food doesn't actually come from the grocery store. I want them to learn how plants grow. What they need to survive and thrive. I want them to learn about farming. I want them to see a cow being milked, a pig in a sty, and chickens. Not like at a petting zoo. It's important for me that my children are exposed to agriculture. I told myself that I will do anything in my power to assist my daughters in understanding the world around them. Having compassion for, and an interest in, wildlife. I felt happy, and thrilled a little at the prospect. Kinda nervous about finding a farm to visit, but eager about us examining Nature.

And the Bethie ask for a fish.

She wants a fish to love and watch and occasionally feed, but otherwise ignore. She wants a fish so I have one more soul to worry about, one more soul to pick up after, one more soul to feed.

AND...fish ain't cheap. Well, the fish are, but all the stuff you need to maintain the fish are really expensive. Dan said that I need to buy a minimum of a 10 gallon aquarium. I'm not at all sure how much a gallon is, much less ten of them, but I'm guessing it's gonna be bigger than a fish bowl.

So, I'm off to check out fish. Because, apparently, having a fish is my first step down the road to "Nature". Not quite how I imagined it...

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!

The Couch

In our living room, we have my grandmother's lovely couch. It was in excellent condition when we received it.

It's now trashed.

The couch used to be white. It's not anymore. But that doesn't really bother me. What bothers me is having to mediate the fights between three girls who each think that they have the sole right to lie down, outstretched on the couch. If a sister is in the way (or within reach), a swift kick is the only solution. Sigh. I'm too tired to be a policeman...

Dan and I cracked.

We bought a new couch.

(Ummm...the couch photographs poorly. It's not brown, exactly. It's a lovely earth colour, with a rose undertone that turns almost purplish in the evening. Trust me, it's lovely.)

We set the couch up in the living room, and I explained the rules to the children:

1. No eating on the couch.
2. No drinking on the couch.
3. No jumping on the couch.
4. No silliness on the couch.

Yeah, I give the couch 6 months before it's destroyed.

The End of The Stress

One of my rose bushes was "stressed".

The leaves turned yellow and fell off, leaving a big empty spot. Google suggested that I water the roses more deeply, and create shade around the bush.

Google didn't have any helpful advice to get rid of the Japanese Beetles that have attacked my bushes year after year. They aren't particularly harmful to the plant, but the beetles drive me crazy! So crazy that I even have nightmares about them during the winter months.

Many people don't notice the beetles. In fact, my neighbours came over just the other day and went on and on about how much they enjoy looking at my roses. I thanked them. It was kind of them to compliment me on my garden. But it was too late. I already had a plan.

My neighbours left, and I called Dan outside. I told him how I wanted him to deal with my "stressed" roses.

He was shocked, but did what he was told.

And that was the end of that rose bush.

I hope the other four bushes have taken noticed. I don't handle "stress" well.

Hungry Girls

Seriously?! Can the children not be left alone for two minutes?!

Not Just a Hat

I asked Dan to take the children to the store and buy them each a new hat. I said that the hats had to be wide-brimmed. They must not be baseball caps. I wanted something pretty. I wanted something with a ribbon. I wanted a hat that would be appropriate in an Enid Blyton novel. The effect I'm going for is a little girl from 1920s England on holiday at the seaside. Something that would make old ladies stop me on the street and tell my how sweet my children are. Something classic.

Something like this:

But not quite so big:

So Dan loaded the children into the car and went out to buy hats.

This is what he bought:

Yippee ki-yay.

Wait. It gets worse.

Sarah got a conductor's hat. ALL ABOARD!

And this is why I was forced to revoke all of Dan's purchasing privileges.

Crayola Bubbles: A Review

This...



...is not worth this:

Dan In Charge

Dan has a lot of good qualities. He's funny. He's clever. He's good with the kids. And he always has good intentions.

After my surgery, Dan decided that he was going to take 10 days off work to take care of me. He would do all the things he would normally do, and he would take over the things that I do. No problem, according to Dan, because I don't do very much anyway (rolling my eyes).

I knew that it was going to be difficult the morning I got home from my operation. Dan announced that Bethie was mad at me because the house was cold that morning when she woke up. I was a bit surprised because I hadn't been home the night before because I was being gutted. How could I be responsible? Dan said that when I had left for work on Tuesday morning, I had opened the windows ... and I never came home to close them. The temperature had dropped over night. Therefore, the house was cold. And it was my fault. It is rather unfortunate that the four other people that live in this house lack the ability to close a window when they get a little bit chilled.

Dan said that I could sit back and relax because he would do all of the cleaning. I popped into the laundry room and noticed that he had done two loads of his own laundry, and none for me or the children. At 7:30am, I said "Can you please wash some PJs for the children as they don't have anything clean to wear tonight?". I reminded him once or twice throughout the day. At bedtime, I said "Did you wash the children's PJs". Dan was most offended and said "Yes, I did!". I asked him where they were. He had just thrown them into the dryer. Again, this was my fault. I had only nagged him to wash the clothes, and I had completely neglected to nag him about drying the clothes. Sigh.

As it turns out, it is absolute agony watching Dan "clean" and "take care of the children". He's really not as competent as I had once thought. Also, he finds it to be exhausting. At one point, he had to go and have a nap leaving me to referee the children's constant fighting. Upon hearing that, my Mum came and kidnapped me. Thank God.

But Dan is awfully good to step it up and "take care" of things. Did you notice when I described some of Dan's good characteristics that I didn't say "empathetic"? Yeah, that was intentional.

Dan lacks empathy.

72 hours after my surgery, my husband looked at me with such concern in his eyes and said, "How do you feel?". I replied, "I hurt". And he said, "STILL?!". Yes, Dan, STILL!

The point is, too much "quality time" together is becoming too hard on our marriage. I got angry and shouted at Dan that I was going to get in my little red car and drive to my mother's. He said, "You can't". I thought he was saying that he wouldn't let me drive because I am still in quite some pain. I thought he was concerned about me, and all of the other drivers on the road. I thought he wanted me to stay because he now saw exactly how he has failed me, and wanted to make it right. Because he loves me. So I said, "Why not?" hoping to elicit all sorts of lovely compliments because it was clearly time for him to start laying it on thick.

My love, my protector, my care taker said to me, "Because I never bothered to renew your driver's license. You had surgery on your birthday so I didn't think there was any rush".

Three more days to go....

Two Singletons

I have twins.

Identical twins.

It's funny. Some people swear that they can tell the twins apart. Some people swear that there are no differences between them. The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

I got a call from the kindergarten teacher this morning. She would like to put the twinnies into different classes when they enter grade one.

Not because they are suffering academically. They're doing beautifully, in fact. Not because they are suffering socially. They love to play with the other children.

The teacher would like to separate the twinnies because she, and the students, can't tell the twinnies apart. After almost nine months.

Being a twin is special. I don't think that we should be so quick to separate twins based solely on the fact that they look similar. I don't think the objective should be to create two singletons. To make them like everyone else. To make them "normal". Especially because my twins thrive on being twins. And they are doing exceedingly well in all aspects of their lives.

The teacher is a kind woman. A good woman. A clever woman. She has done her best to be fair and considerate and compassionate. I have the utmost respect for her, and her opinions. But my heart has broken.


Because when I look a the twinnies,

I see the child, not the unit.

I see a little girl who rages like a thunder storm, yet is instantly calmed when a cotton ball is placed in her hand. This child sees the world in black and white, right and wrong. And in case you were wondering, she's right and everyone else is wrong. The world is her stage, and she lives to perform.

Katie

I see a little girl who is ruled by loyalty and love. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and that heart bleeds for everybody. She is a thinker, and lies in her bed figuring things out. She studies the details. She's quick to laugh. She loves being outside.

Bethie

And it breaks my heart that people can't see beyond the unit to see the individual. The individuals are worth knowing because they're special. The unit is worth preserving because it's special.

I used to dress the twinnies identically because they looked super cute and they preferred to have the same outfits on. Now, (most of the time) they don't care if they are dressed identically or not. I let them choose what they wear. I figure that one day, they will want to be in separate classes and have different friends. And I will support them. Until then, I will allow them to remain together. Because I have spent five years with my twinnies, because I know both of them collectively and individually, because I know them best.

The End of My Rope

Things around here have been challenging.

1. Everyone in the house has been (or currently is) sick. Wake me up in the middle of the night kind of sick. Rush to the doctor's kind of sick. Arrive at the doctor's and act like a healthy kid kind of sick.
2. The roof blew off.
3. The insurance company is dodging my many calls. After two weeks of trying to get in contact with my adjuster, she said, "Climb into your attic and check for damage". Umm, no. Then she said, "I don't understand why you're so frustrated!". It went downhill from there...
4. The amount I have to pay in taxes is shocking. Double what it was last year, and last year I just about had a stroke when I saw the number. I'm pretty sure that Stephen Harper hates me.
5. I have to pay almost $40 so the twinnies can go on a field trip.
6. I also have to pay $4 so they can have a Pizza Day at school. I told the twinnies that they'd better extract that amount from Stephen Harper!
7. Sarah lost/hid her shoes at the museum...never to be seen again.
8. Mum bought Sarah replacement shoes, and now Sarah won't take them off, even to sleep!
9. All the brakes on Dan's vehicle had to be replaced to the tune of $750. I got the pleasure of taking care of this. Dan got to drive my car instead. I missed my car...
10. I need to get a part-time job to pay off the fines at the Ottawa Library. The children lost two books and I have looked everywhere and cannot find them. AHHH!

Throughout this, I kept reminding myself, "When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on". And that helped me muddle on.

And then I saw this:

And that, my friends, was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I yelled, and screamed, and pitched an almighty fit. I threatened my children to within an inch of their little lives, and demanded to know who had broken the curtain rod.

All three, who were very unimpressed by my wrath, said "Not me".

Funny, that's the same person who coloured the toilet with marker.

And painted the bathroom floor.

And drew a great big A on my kitchen floor with red marker.

And filled my bird bath with gravel and dandelions.

But what really pissed me off was when good ol' Not Me washed the outside of Dan's car with my (used to be lovely) white towels. To add insult to injury, the towels were left in a wet heap on the driveway...for me  to discover.

I swear, if I ever get my hands on Not Me, I will take that rope that I've been hanging on to and wrap it around Not Me's little neck!!!

A note to those who are worried about the welfare of my little cherubs: I'm not going to kill the darlings, but in 25 years I will go to their houses and do as much damage as I can. And I'm going to do it at 5am. While demanding ice cream.

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!

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.

My Photography Goes Out With the Children

I confess: I take a lot of pictures, especially of my children. Because they're so damn cute:

I'm not a very good photographer, so I feel the need to take lots of photos hoping that I will end up with several good ones in the end. Also, we have a digital camera so I can erase the ones that really suck. No extra charge.

Lucky me, I married Mr. Photography. He doesn't need to waste lots of time taking pictures. Because he's so good, the first shot is typically the best shot, and it is the only shot he takes. Lucky, lucky me.

Dan took the children to see Disney On Ice. They were super excited. I was, too, because this was obviously an excellent occasion to take some snaps of the children. I charged the camera battery, cleared the memory stick, and gave the camera to Dan. Since I wasn't able to go too, I asked him to take lots of photos.

Dan came home and told me all the cute things that the children did. I was thrilled! I asked him how many photos his took. He replied, "Seventeen".

Seventeen?! Before the show started?

Nope. Just seventeen. In total.

I downloaded the camera. There were five pictures of the children:

Katie with her eyes CLOSED

Katie looking PAINED

The diaper bag and the twinnies

Sarah sucking her thumb

Dan's finger and a weird shot of Sarah

And then twelve shots like this:

A blurry image of Mickey and Minnie skating AWAY

Oh look, another blurry image of them ... but at least it's not their backside.

The ice, Goofy, and some legs

I have absolutely no idea

I was really upset. And disappointed. I wanted pictures of the children having a lovely time. I wasn't particularly interested in the skaters. I expressed all of these feelings to Dan, and I think he kind of felt badly.

The next day, the twinnies went to a birthday party at place that had lots of slides and tubes and fun things to do. Dan took them while I entertained Sarah. Know where this is heading, Ladies?

When Dan got home, I asked to see the photos from the birthday party.

Ta da:












HE DIDN'T TAKE ANY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why?

Because the twins had been to this place TWO YEARS AGO and why on Earth would we need photos of a place that they've already been to?

Because, dear sweet Dan, I want pictures of THE CHILDREN and not of the gym. Because THEY LOOK DIFFERENT. And THEY WERE HAVING FUN. And ... JUST DO IT!

I think that from now on I should give him a quota.