The Pumpkin Patch

To add complications to my life, I insisted that Dan and I take the children to the pumpkin patch...a couple of hours before we were expecting people for Thanksgiving dinner. Keep in mind that the turkey was not in the oven, I was supposed to be at home waiting to have my dishwasher installed, and I hadn't bought all the groceries I would need for the party. The children were eager. Dan was less than thrilled. But I need his brawn.

So off we went.

The twinnies pose for a photo.

Would it kill them to give me one nice group shot????

I told Bethie that each child had to carry their own pumpkin...

...Katie found one that was easier to manage.

(As it turns out, Dan and I each carried the massive pumpkins chosen by the twinnies, and Katie carried the little pumpkin that Sarah chose).

The twinnies didn't want to sit with me on the way back to the car. I was annoyed, but they felt rather "grown up".

When we returned to the car with the pumpkins, the children announced that they were dying of thirst and may possibly even die from starvation. I told them that we were 5 minutes from home and I would nourish them promptly. That's when I was informed that I was an inadequate mother, and that all they really needed was some pumpkin pie, sold conveniently at the gift shop. Ummm, no.

When we got home, the children placed their pumpkins on the porch and admired them...for 30 seconds. Then they announced that they needed more pumpkins, but not to worry, the ones from the grocery store would do.

Sigh.

Not Good Enough

I'm a lucky girl.

Some people walk blindly through life thinking that they are pretty good, or at least, good enough. I know better. I have three children who are kind enough to give me a detailed list of my shortcomings. The list is constantly updated, and no detail is too small not to mention.

This morning, I was informed that I was a complete and utter failure as a mother. Why? Because I have failed to take a picture (or a hundred) of the twinnies each and every day before they went to school.

Really.

I thanked both twins for chastising me because this clearly is a significant shortcoming. I also thanked them for raising their voices, as I have great difficulty appreciating the seriousness of their concerns unless it is shouted directly into my face.

I quickly got my camera out, and proceeded to have a photo shoot. At 7am. Sigh.

Katie

Bethie

Bethie (l) and Katie

Bethie (l) and Katie

Bethie (l) and Katie

My favourite of the twinnies.

With the photo shoot completed, I thought that I would be back in the children's good books.

Not quite.

As the twinnies were walking out the door to catch the bus, I handed them each an umbrella. Just in case. Because I care.

Bethie said, "Is it going to rain today?". I replied that I wasn't 100% sure, but it might rain in the morning.

Bethie, knowing that I am prone to make mistakes and I need to be carefully monitored, said "Didn't you check the Weather Network?". I assured the little darling that I had, in fact, checked the weather, but the weather man's "best guess" was that it  might rain. I said that no one knows for sure, but the cold wind and the dark clouds are kinda a hint.

Bethie said, "God knows for sure". Quite right, but I am not God, nor does He feel the need to update me every morning on the state of the weather.

Not good enough.

I hear that raising little girls is tough, and it will only get harder. Really? I don't think that my self-esteem will endure, especially when I need to be as all knowing as God!!!

Passing Grade One

I failed kindergarten.

Not the first go 'round. I've been told that I performed brilliantly when I was in kindergarten. As a matter of fact, my father will tell you I was the most clever student in the entire class.

Turns out, I absolutely suck as the parent of kindergartners.

My first big failure last year was that I failed to ensure that my children (who were not yet students of the school and who couldn't read) won the Summer Reading Contest. Turns out that all of the other parents of future kindergartners participated in the contest, and their children won prizes. My children sat in the school gym feeling left out and crying. Because their mother sucks.

I wasn't about to make that mistake again!

As we understood the contest rules, there is one ballot awarded for each book (if it's short) or each chapter that is read to the darling child. I hit the library. More than once. And requested books online. (I seldom took the children in  to the library because they would morph in to three unholy terrors) Dan and I quickly saw the value in reading "chapter books". More bang for your buck (or more ballots for your effort). He focused on Harry Potter, and I became well acquainted with Junie B. Jones and her very difficult life.

The night before the twinnies first day of Grade One, we had read the children 101 books/chapters. That number seemed kinda made up to me. So, I woke the children up and read them 2 more chapters of Junie B. Jones. Dan and I congratulated ourselves for reading 103 books/chapters.

And then we noticed our mistake.

The school didn't award ballots based on quantity. There would be one ballot awarded for each 20 minutes of reading. AHHHH! Dan suggested that I take our list and do it over again according to the school's specifications. I calmly explained to Dan that I would not be doing the list over again (well, maybe not calmly, but I only swore once).

Off to school the twinnies went with their lists.

A week later, the twinnies come home from school thrilled to bits! Their "prize" is to be Principal (Bethie) and Vice-Principal (Katie) for a day!!!

I was ecstatic! I had done right by my little girls. They got the benefit of lots of reading during the summer (sorry, I can't give you the exact amount of minutes, but quite a lot) AND they get a fun day at school. AND the Principal (and their teacher) is sure to think that I am the most wonderful mother in the world.

I congratulated myself at how well this Summer Reading Contest had turned out. And then I overheard Bethie and Katie dreaming up some new "rules" that they are going to enforce when they have Executive Power. Sigh. This may end badly...

The Very Last Day

Every evening during dinner, I ask the children, "What was your favourite bit of the day?". Since tonight was the very last day of their summer vacation, I asked, "What was your favourite bit of the entire summer?".

The children had a pretty good summer. I put a lot of effort into keeping them entertained and happy and active. They had soooo many things that they could have chosen from.

They could have mentioned:

• seeing the RCMP Musical Ride
• seeing the fireworks
• going to several wading pools many times throughout the summer
• going to beaches, during the day and the evening
• visiting Little Valley Animal Farm
• driving all over the city to go to new, as well as "tried and true", parks
• going to the Cumberland fair
• making lanterns
• attending the Lumiere Festival
• going to the Farmer's Market
• having an afternoon out of Uncle Sean's boat
• having a picnic in the park with Dan
• painting at the Children's Garden
• seeing "Winnie the Pooh" in the theatre
• making endless batches of pudding pops
• painting their very own ceramic piggy banks
• going to a friend's birthday party
• playing with their cousins
• spending hours and hours in Granny's hot tub (kept a "refreshing" temperature for their enjoyment only!)
• playing outside on their very own Bouncy Castle, and on their new massive inflatable water slide (and a wee blow up slide for Sarah)
• going to see the lights on Parliament Hill
• dining out at their favourite "fancy" restaurant (Swiss Chalet) TWICE
• having a Splatter Party for their birthday

Had any of the children mentioned any of these activities, I would have been thrilled. I would have felt that all my energy, and my careful planning, had been worth it. Instead, each child agreed that the very best bit from the entire summer was today when Dan stopped at the gas station and let them each have a Slushie.

Great.

Summer 2012 is going to be super easy!

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!

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!

The Tired, Old Hag

A two-pronged attack on my sanity.

First: After school on Friday, the twinnies were telling me that they had a supply teacher that day, and he was a man! I asked the girls if the teacher was older or younger than I am. They assured me that he was younger. But the twinnies always get things muddled in their little heads. In need of clarification, I said "Is the same age as I am, or is he Daddy's age?". Bethie got annoyed and "He was younger than you, like Daddy!".

Umm...just to set the record straight, Dan is older than I am .And the age difference increases with every one of his birthdays. Each year, Dan ages and I remain 27. Those are the rules. In fact, I insist on celebrating the anniversary of my 27th birthday every year. So, yeah, I'm younger than Dan.

I said to the twinnies, "How old is Daddy?". They responded "37". The follow up question was, "How old do you think I am????". Katie quickly replied "76!". Wrong! You lose! No dessert for you!!!

Second: When Sarah woke up this morning, it was still dark outside. Sarah, bless her little heart, is an early riser. When I heard her calling for me, I got out of bed and went to get her. She said "I'm hungry and thirsty and I want to watch TV".

I carried Sarah downstairs and deposited her on the couch. I went into the kitchen and put some milk in a sippy cup and got her a bowl of dry Cheerios. I went back into the living room, gave her the food, and sat down on the couch. Sarah said "I want to watch TV!". So, I got up again and went to turn on the TV (our remote hasn't worked in about a year thanks to the children). That's when I saw the time... 2:30am!

So, there you have it. I'm old and tired. And cranky.

It's Complicated

The City of Gatineau wants me to move. Not just to a different house. They want me to move back to Ottawa.

At first, the City of Gatineau just gave me little clues. Like sending me my tax bill in French. I called and asked to have it sent in English. They agreed, and sent it again. In French.

Then I had the "discussion" with a By-Law Officer. He objected to me watering my gardens with a sprinkler. He said that I could only use a sprinkler on odd numbered days. Fair enough, I thought. Then he added "Between the hours of 3 and 5...AM". What?! And never, ever, ever on Mondays. And not on days that are sunny and hot. Only when it rains, and it has been raining for several days. Sigh. Well, at least I was allowed to drink the water. "No, no" said the By-Law Officer, "there's a boil water advisory in effect." I have since learned that there's always a boil water advisory in effect.

The main road leading to my home is fatal. It's quite a fast road. The posted speed limit is 80km/hr...or is it 70km/hr? Whatever. I go about 90km/hr. Anyway, the road has buckled and has also been compromised by potholes. There is one spot where, if you're not familiar with the road, you will become airborne. What did the City do? They put up a BUMP sign, and they promised to fix it in...wait for it...2020. That was one councillor's campaign promise, and he WON!

Speaking of signs, in Quebec, they are unilingual. But the language they chose was French. I remember driving with Dan through a construction zone shouting, "What the Hell does LENTEMENT mean?!". Really, some signs need to be bilingual...especially when it comes to the safety of the men trying to put up the BUMP sign!

This wasn't enough to make me move. Really, the City has to do better than that if they want me to give up $7/day daycare. Dan and I would giggle, thinking we were tough enough to withstand all that the City could throw our way.

Last month, the laughing stopped.

The City of Gatineau, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to reduce garbage pick up to twice a month. I was livid. I immediately started googling the names of all the City counsellors so I could decided who would get the poopy diapers on the off weeks.

Then, I found out that the City intends to fine me if I don't compost. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for composting...yard waste.

Bethie, seeing that I was about to have an anxiety-induced heart attack, offered to help.  She has a thing for compost.

 

That was a super big help.

Dan says that we can't move. So I'm stuck constructing compost bags from newspaper origami (I got the instructions from the City of Ottawa website. Funny, eh?) and giving great thought and care to my garbage. I have a massive amount of recycling now that I recycle every little thing that can be recycled. Each week, I put out a bin full of compost.  My actual garbage has decreased significantly. And once I got into a rhythm, it isn't that bad. Keep in mind that it's -20C out. I'll be sure to update you when it's 35C!

Despite my new found "greenness", the City of Gatineau still wants me to move. They sent me a nasty letter saying that typically people pay school taxes to the same school board that their children attend. Not us. We send our children to an English school, but send our tax dollars to the French school board. Why? Because the City of Gatineau still can't seem to send me my tax info in English...just the nasty letter!!!

Product Denouncement

The twinnies don't like lotions. Or creams. Or sunblock. They don't like any ointments smeared all over their bodies. They object. Loudly.

My twins have a touch of eczema. Not too badly. But badly enough that my mother had 15 fits when she saw them one day after school. Their little faces were beet red, seemingly a reaction to the wicked cold wind. I had to reassure Mum that they didn't look that way when I sent them to school. I applied some eczema cream to their faces, which cured the eczema with one application, and that was the end of that...or so I thought.

Mum came across an article in the newspaper about eczema. It recommended various creams to reduce eczema. Mum thought that her precious granddaughters deserved the recommended cream, despite me saying that it was expensive. She rushed out to the store, and agonized over which cream would be the absolute best one for their delicate little skin. And she bought it. Because she loves them. Dearly.

Last night, after their bath, I put the eczema cream on the children. They were livid. They screamed and yelled and cried and demanded to know why I would buy cream for them. I was tired. So I said, "I didn't buy it, Granny did. Complain to her!".

Bethie took my words to heart. She ran downstairs, found the camera, and brought it to me. She said, "I want you to take my picture and email it to Granny.". Katie, not wanting to miss out on a photo opportunity, jumped in the picture.

Apparently, the correct response to this is not to laugh hysterically. I, of course, acted very inappropriately. I'm sorry, but I find it really funny that my 5 year old twins decided that Granny needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to see the consequences of her actions. They believed that showing Granny their displeasure would be her punishment, and it would "correct" her behaviour. It's as though they are royal princesses from a time long, long ago. She's lucky that the twins didn't shout "Off with her head!".  And that made me laugh. Hmmm...I wonder if Mum will laugh?

Broken Crayons

Yesterday was the last day of Christmas holidays. Katie was too sick to go out, but I wanted to do something fun with the children. Something that would cheer Katie up as well as entertain the other two. I decided that we should make our own crayons.

I announced this suggestion to the children and they were thrilled! I suggested that we all look for broken crayons together. No one moved. They told me to go and look for the crayons, and then I could let them know when we were ready to go. Like the idiot I am, I went off in search of crayons.

This search was harder than I thought it would be. Not because my little darlings treat their stuff with respect and, therefore, no crayon ever gets broken. It was because I got mad about a month ago and started throwing out any and all crayons that I came across. As a result, it was a difficult hunt.

When I had gathered all the broken crayons in the house (and broken some on purpose because I thought we should have some brighter colours in the mix), I peeled all of the paper off the crayons. This job sucked. But I did it. All by myself (I didn't say that to get a round of applause, I said that so you would envision my children lazing in front of the TV shouting "Are you done yet? Hurry up!").

I decided that I had enough crayons (which was after I sent Bethie across the street to beg for more broken crayons from Emilie).

Then I told the children to stop watching the TV and to help me. 2/3 of my offspring responded.

Then they got bored (after 2.5 seconds), and left me alone to finish it up.

I popped the crayons into the oven and waited. But the damn things just wouldn't melt fast enough. I turned up the heat...waited a moment...and then turned up the heat again. I did this until I had doubled the temperature of the oven. This was not a brilliant idea. The crayons started cooking. And they looked kind of disgusting.

I threw the muffin tin into the freezer. When I got a chance (hours later), I pulled them out.

Awful. Sarah certainly thought so. She tried to eat them! But they are super waxy, and completely ineffective as a colouring instrument. I am quite disappointed. I put a lot of work into doing these!

Lisa suggested that I should make candles. Maybe I will...

The End of Christmas Break

I had high hopes for the Christmas break. I had planned all sorts of fun activities for me and the children. We were going to have so much fun. Museums, tobogganing, skating. I had envisioned happy, healthy children playing outside. And, of course, I was going to take a million pictures of my rosy cheek girls so I would have proof that I am a super de-duper mother.

Then Dan got sick. Then I got sick. And all of my plans were cast aside.

Instead of fun and adventure, my children had days and days of looking at the four walls. Instead of healthy outdoor pursuits, my children have torn my house to pieces. Instead of harmonious laughter, my children have taken to beating up each other (and me!).

Tomorrow, the twins go back to school and Sarah goes to daycare. And I am soooo excited. My house needs to be scrubbed. My fridge needs to be stocked. My Christmas tree needs to be packed up and put away! And Mummy needs some peace and quiet.

A Quest For Superdom: Super Mum 2011

Every year, I attempt to win the title of "Super Mum". Every year, I blow it. Usually at some point in January. Early January.

This year, I'm really going to try my best. I've given it a lot of thought, and I have come up with my Six Easy Steps to Achieving Super Mum Status. I'm quite confident that these guidelines will ensure success.

1. When the children are hungry, feed them. Better yet, anticipate that they will need three meals a day, and two (preferably) healthy snacks. It is not sufficient to roll your eyes and say "Oh my God, you want to eat again?!", and then instruct them to go and get a piece of bread and try to convince them that it's a "Bread Sandwich".
2. Stop referring to your children as "the animals", as in "I have to go and put the animals to bed". "Heathens" and "spawns" are also inappropriate. They are you beloved darlings. Try to remember that.
3. Expand your vocabulary, Hot Shot. While the effort to curb your swearing has been appreciated and noted, you sound like you have a speech impediment when you are "disciplining" your children. For instance, this is what you sound like "Katie! Bethie! Sarah! Oh my G... (pause)...Who are you??? What the...(pause)...? How the...(pause)...? Are you..(pause)...KIDDING me????". You have a degree in English. Use it.
4. Put you babies to bed by first reading them a story and then drowning them in hugs and kisses. Good mothers do not stand at the bottom of the stairs and shout "If you don't go to bed right now, then the Sand Man is going to get you!".
5. Biting is not allowed. Regardless of how cute those naked bottoms look racing up the stairs, do not bite. First of all, your biting encourages the children to bite each other. Second, but far worse, the children will bite you back. Hard. It's not worth it. A little smacky smack is sufficient.
6. When your children misbehave in public, discipline them firmly but gently. Do not pretend that they are not your children. Especially if your child has striped herself of all clothing and is running naked through a crowded park. Do not tell your children that you are going to drop them off at the fire department on the way home. And never turn to an elderly lady and say with such concern in your voice, "Where could this child's mother be?". It upsets others.

Wish me luck!

The Real Me

I've become disenchanted with social media. Well, not Facebook because mostly I just write wicked funny things to amuse my brother. And that has some real value for me. But Twitter is killing me. Most blogs annoy me, too. Why? Because I seem to be "friends" with women who are perfect.

These women love their children...all the time. They think their husbands are simply wonderful. The have lovely homes, and time to focus on cleaning and decorating those homes. I read this stuff, and take a look around.  My life is wonderful, but far from perfect.

I don't want to be perceived like that. Like I think I'm perfect. Because I'm not. I have surrounded myself with friends who are far from perfect, and I find that it's their idiosyncrasies that make them worth knowing. So, I have decided to share some of mine:

1. I read. A lot. And when I say "a lot", I mean more than any other person I know. I read non-fiction. I like learning about all types of things. Things that I would never have any use for. Because of all of this reading, I have a lot of useless information stored in my brain. My friends just love it when I wow them with whatever I have learned. When asked, "How do you know that?", I roll my eyes and say "It's common knowledge. How come you don't know this?". And they love me for it.
2. I get my books from the library, but I don't have a library card. Because I technically don't live in the City of Ottawa, I would have to pay $50 to have a library card. I'm too cheap to do this, so I "borrow" a card. When the owner of the card wants to take out a book, I get annoyed and say "Just tell the librarian that you forgot your card, and show them some ID". Then this person calls me and says "I showed my ID and they made me pay your late fees!". Oops.
3. I use Lysol. And Vim. And Mr. Clean. And CLR. Because they work. In fact, I don't think I have ever purchased any "green" products. Truthfully, I don't intend to. Want to hear the worst bit? I have hospital wipes that are meant to be used to sterilize surfaces (and are only meant to be used in health-care settings)...and I use them! I know, I know, everyone is against using these types of household cleaners. And that's why I don't tell them about my love affair with Febreeze. In my house, "Febreeze" is a verb, as in "Oh my God, just Febreeze the children!".
4. I don't like people. No, not all people. Just the vast majority of people that I have to come into contact with. It's kind of funny because most people like me. They look for me. They want to talk to me. They want to be my friend. And that's very sweet of them. But, unless you can make me laugh (and laughing at you doesn't count), then I really can't be bothered...
5. I can't remember things. I used to have a very good memory, but then I had kids, and the ability to remember things was destroyed. People have had lengthy conversations with me, and I have absolutely no memory of them. It's like it never happened. On the flip side, the situations that I do remember, I remember them very clearly. It's odd.
6. I have two pairs of shoes. Two. I have my regular old black shoes, and I have my $10 Walmart sandals. The sandals fell apart this summer. I taped them back up with electrical tape. My mother was horrified.
7. I love my children. Passionately. Completely. With every fibre of my being. But I don't always like them...mostly because they have plotted to kill me. Kidding! They would be content if I was simply shipped off to the Looney Bin.
8. My husband is a good man and an excellent father. Having said that, he makes me swear. A lot. I don't think it's physically possible to live with the man and not say "What the f@ck?!" at least 3 times a day. I think he intentionally dreams up ways to harass my sanity.
9. I have a super human skill. Ready for it? I have the ability to get red vomit out of white carpet. Not impressed? I can do it at 3am. In the dark! I know, you're green with envy.
10. It's all about me. I tell people this, and they laugh. They think I'm kidding. Or exaggerating. But I'm not. I've tried to work on this, but have not been successful. I have decided to "accept the things I cannot change".

And that's the "real" me. Obviously, not all of me. But enough for you to understand where I'm coming from.

Exhaustion

December is killing me.

Katie has an ear infection, on top of everything else. She seems to have turned a corner...again. Last time I said that, I was wrong. Kinda afraid to even think that she might be getting better...

Bethie won a Principal Award at school because she "always tries her very best". Lovely moment for her. I went to the assembly and discreetly took some pictures. She was very relieved. Apparently, I embarrass her. Payback sucks, my little girl!

Sarah doesn't want Santa to come to our house. She's kinda afraid of him. She has agreed that he can give Katie and Bethie presents, but doesn't want any for herself. On a related note, all my shopping for Sarah is done!

Dan is relieved that his passport has  finally arrived. He's going on a trip in about three weeks, and he has been waiting not-so-patiently for his passport to turn up. He was really starting to stress about it. He even filled out a form online to request information about where his passport could be...and that's when I told him that I hid it, about a month ago. Why? Because Dan plays games with my mind for laughs, and this was payback (and I'm really bored and things like this entertain me!).

The 25 Days of Christmas has been whittled down to 24. There was nothing special last night. The children didn't notice. And I have started doing things over and over again, like "Have A Christmassy Dessert". Because that's the type of mother I am...

I have 8 child-free hours left until Christmas. I'm off to create some magic...

Day Eight

This year, I have decided that the girls were old enough to participate in the 25 Days of Christmas. That means, every day we do something together, as a family. The hope is that the focus of Christmas is a little less "Santa and presents" and a little more "love one another".

It's a lot of work! Life unravelled for me before I made all 25 envelopes. So I have eight envelopes hanging from a ribbon on my light fixture, and 17 clothes pins that are just hanging there. Empty. Mocking me. And I haven't put the activity in the envelope the night before because I have been too terrified to commit to any one activity. I feel badly because Bethie has been sooooo excited.

Before we had even started the activity on Day Two, I had 15 fits and cancelled the whole damn thing.

After I cooled down, the festivities continued.

It has been a challenge because we've pretty much been house-bound because Katie has been so sick. We did leave the house for two activities. Although Katie and I still had a good time, we endured a whole lot of Hell, too.

Here are the activities we've done thus far:

1. Watch a Christmas movie
2. Have a Christmassy dessert
3. Paint ornaments for the tree
4. Go to The Nutcracker ballet
5. Decorate the Christmas tree/Get a little present
6. Listen to Christmas music while having a candlelit bath
7. Make snowflakes out of wrapping paper
8. Play in the snow and have hot chocolate afterwards

I have no idea what we're doing tonight. I have run out of stay at home activities. I wonder if they'll like "Early To Bed Because Santa Is Checking His List Tonight!"?

Treats for My Sweets

Sunday morning began with me taking a child to the walk-in clinic. This isn't anything out of the ordinary. I like to swing by the walk-in clinic at least once a week. For laughs.

Anyway, this time I took Katie. She didn't want to go because she said that she was "fine". This almost stopped me. Especially since I rushed Katie to the clinic two weeks ago and she told the doctor that she was perfectly healthy, and he agreed (ahhh!). But she has had a fever for a couple of nights, and I was out of coffee. Since the clinic was in the grocery store (yup, this cracks me up!), I could get the child checked and pick up more coffee. Easy peasy.

Except that Katie refused to see the doctor. As we sat in the exam room, she started giving me a preview of what she was going to say to the doctor when he walked into the room. I panicked. I told her that if she behaved, I would buy her a treat. Problem solved.

After collecting the prescription and three princess stickers (one for her, and one for each of her sisters) from the nurse, we headed towards the coffee aisle. En route, Katie announced that she would like a cake for a treat. Not a cupcake. A great, big cake. I laughed and told her that she wasn't sick enough to get a whole cake! She said, "It wasn't just for me. I wanted to share with my sisters. It's not fair that I get a treat and they don't".

Awww...wasn't that kind of her? So, I got a cake. A tiny wee Deep 'n' Delicious cake (for $1.10!), but a cake nonetheless.

Then Katie announced that she needed some eggnog. To share with her father. I pointed out that the last time she had eggnog, she wrote her name on it and forbid her father from consuming any of it himself. This time would be different, she promised.

It turns out that I couldn't find any eggnog. I offered to get some hot chocolate instead. This way she can share with Bethie and Sarah (who refuse to drink eggnog). Katie agreed, but added "You can't have hot chocolate without marshmallows...". So I bought hot chocolate and marshmallows.

We headed to the check-out. As I waited in line, I was amazed that I was buying coffee, a cake, hot chocolate mix, and marshmallows when I had only come in for coffee. Wasn't that good of me? I sure thought so! Katie did not spend the time reflecting on what a wonderful mother I am. Instead, she spotted a cooler containing bottles of 7 UP.

Katie announced that she was dying of thirst and had to have some 7 UP. I told her that I would be more than happy to buy her some 7 UP...but she would have to return something that I was going to buy. I may have mentioned that I am not an ATM and I may have gone on a little bit about how she and her sisters have one goal in life: to ensure that their father and I die poor.

While Katie ignored me, she examined each of her treats. Which one could she possibly part with? The agony! She decided to leave it up to chance, and started with "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe...". Her last "moe" ended up on the marshmallows. Without missing a beat, she picked up my coffee and said, "You can return this, Mummy".

Through gritted teeth, I snarled "Not. The. Coffee. Katie".

After a very heated discussion, "we" decided that it would be best if I just bought the 7 UP and "stopped talking so much". So, I did. Because my five year old runs the show.

The Bribe

My kids have worn me down. They have zapped any resourcefulness and creativity from me. After 5 years, I have thrown my hands up and begged for mercy. And that didn't work.

So, I've started to bribe my children.

I realised how effective it was last night. Bethie announced that a little boy in her class would like her to buy some toy (it has a weird name, I don't know what it is, you'll have to ask Dan) so that they can play together at recess. I said to her, "Did you tell him that you don't have a job? Either get a job so you can buy the toy, or you'll have to go without". That went over well (not really). Apparently, 5 year olds are not "allowed" to have jobs. With all the sympathy I could muster, I said "Bad luck, kiddo". All that got me was some tears and yelling.

The next request from the twins was for $2 - each! They had some bizarre story about the school raising funds for the Grade 6 field trip and selling popcorn. I didn't really pay attention ... until I was asked to hand over money. Sigh. I am soooo sick of handing over money. So, I gave my list of demands: they had to have a bath and get into bed as fast as their little legs could take them. If they did this, I would "pay" them each $2. If I heard any whining or resistance of any kind, the Coffee Fairy would transform the coins into coffee for me (there's a new Tim Horton's near my house and it's costing the Coffee Fairy a small fortune!).

All three girls raced up the stairs and hopped into the bath. They behaved beautifully, and I handed over my coffee money. Totally worth it!

This morning, the twinnies were waiting for the bus. Bethie mentioned for the 100th time that she would like a poppy. Remembering last night, I told her that if she and Katie were super good after daycare, their father would buy them each a poppy. They were thrilled! As they got on the bus, they told another little girl, "After school, Daddy is going to buy us a puppy!".

WHAT?!

As the bus door started closing, I shouted "A POPPY! NOT A PUPPY! A POPPY!". They waved at me and blew kisses as the bus pulled away.

Sigh.

I said a little prayer, "Please, let the twinnies be really, really bad after daycare so I don't have to buy a PUPPY!". After Dan breaks the news to them, I am quite confident that they will, in fact, be really bad!

Attack of the Lint

Our change table is in our laundry room, off of our kitchen. It's a handy location. I never have to run up and down stairs to change a diaper. Or to change the children's clothes. Despite the fact that each child has a dresser in their bedroom, no clothes are actually kept there. All of the children's clothes are kept on the change table. For my convenience.

This morning, I had taken Sarah into the laundry room to get her dressed. She noticed that on top of the dryer was a rectangular clump of dark blue/blacky lint. She had no idea what it was (because I am such a good housekeeper that my child, in her 2 1/2 years, has never seen lint), and she mistook it for "poop".

I giggled and informed the child that I, typically, prefer not to leave poop on the dryer. I picked it up and said, "It's lint. Here, look!". Sarah went ballistic and backed away from me. I said, "It's soft, like a Fluffy (what we call Katie's cotton balls)" and then I tickled my cheek. Sarah was horrified!

I thought if Sarah could just touch the lint, she would understand. This is a "Teaching Moment", or whatever they're called. But the closer I inched towards her, the further she would move backwards.

Then, I got annoyed. I just wanted her to feel the lint. I don't know why. I thought that she might like it. But she refused!

So, naturally, I make a quick dive towards Sarah, caught her, and started rubbing the lint on her belly...kinda tickling her. Sarah responded by screaming and running as fast as her little legs could take her away from me. Because she thought I was trying to smush poop all over her body! But I wasn't! It was just lint. I chased after her. Waving the lint in front of me. Making serious attempts to catch her. While shouting, "IT'S NOT POOP!".

The twins, not having witness the lead up, only saw Sarah shooting past them while crying, and me chasing her with the "poop". Bethie, not in the least bit fazed and not even looking away from the TV (!), said, "Why are you chasing the baby with poop?"

I stopped. Why was I chasing the child with what she believed to be poop? I don't know why I was doing it. Things just kinda went badly. But I said to Bethie, "Because, with the school bus being only minutes away from arriving, and no one being anywhere near ready-to-go, I guess I thought I would have a little fun". Bethie response? "Oh". In Bethie's five year old brain, she thought that it was plausible that I would chase the baby with poop for my own amusement. Really, kid?!

Wanna know how I responded? I went up to Bethie and tickled her with the lint/poop. Turns out that I do antagonize children for my amusement. And, boy, was it fun!

Goodbye, Brain

I used to be smart. Honestly! I used to be a lot of things. Then I had children, and everything changed. However, I miss being smart.

I try to keep up with current events. For instance, I check TMZ everyday! Kidding. Well, no, I guess I'm not, but I check out newspapers, too, and I have Anderson Cooper tweeting me ALL THE TIME! And I read. A lot. I just finished "A Thousand Sisters" by Lisa Shannon (you should read it, too!).

So, maybe I'm not as clever as I used to be, but I am trying. I, now, realize that all my efforts are in vain. Why? Because regardless of how many books I read, or how well versed I am in world politics, my children think I'm stupid. Because I have demonstrated this over and over again.

Here's the latest:

On Sunday, I was very busy (okay, I was writing snarky comments to my brother on Facebook...and I was on a roll!) and not really paying attention to the children. Sarah came up to me and asked for some popcorn. If I hadn't been so engrossed in my own humorous online musings, I would have suggested something else. But I took 2.75 seconds and filled a  Tinkerbell bowl up with popcorn for the baby.

After a moment or so, she requested a spoon. Okay, whatever. I handed the child a spoon. I went back to Facebook, reading aloud to Dan all my witty comments that I knew would irritate my brother.

Again, Sarah interrupted me. AHHHHH! Can't she see that I am busy? Now she wanted milk on her popcorn (kinda like cereal). Dan told me that I was not to put milk on her popcorn. Umm...seems to me that Dan has done worse than this to accommodate this child (I am not going to publicly state what the baby has demanded of Dan and what he has done to please her...you know what I'm talking about Dan!... but if everyone else must  know, email me). So, I got the milk and poured it over the bowl of popcorn.

To tell you the truth, I was a little bit pleased. I was pleased because it annoyed Dan. I was pleased because my baby knows what she wants and demands it. And I was pleased that Sarah was finally happy and I could return to Facebook and not be interrupted again.

Thirty seconds go by, and Sarah starts screaming for me. I shout back, "Are you kidding me, kid? There are TWO adults here. Shout for your father!". No, no. Daddy would not do because Daddy is not an idiot, according to my 2 year old. She shouted at me, "I said Corn Pops, NOT popcorn!!!".

Oops.

Sarah was ticked off! It was never her intention to have a bowl of milk-drenched popcorn. She simply wanted a bowl of cereal, and her mother responded to her requested by morphing into some sort of batty bonehead.

To add insult to injury, I was laughing hysterically while scooping the milk-soaked popcorn out of the bowl and replacing it with Corn Pops. Sarah was not not amused. But we all know that this was not her first encounter with her befuddled mother. And it surely won't be her last. Because I stopped being smart the day the children were born!

The End of The Line

I try hard to be a good mother, but I usually come up short. Or, more accurately, all my best plans are better in theory than in practice. And sometimes, I am just plain tired. But I do my best.

I have a lot of role models in my neighbourhood. There's Super Mom. The name says it all. She's the one who built a fence when she was nine months pregnant. She takes her three boys out every day so they can have rich and fulfilling lives. When things are slow, she'll take the boys outside for a game of road hockey. She doesn't sit on her front step and chat on the phone while her kids are playing. She actually plays with them! Pretty super, eh?

Then there's the Librarian. She goes for a jog every morning at 6am. I wave at her as she goes by. She rides her bike to work. She takes her kids to the local swimming pool, and walks there. She has beautiful gardens, and lovely ivy climbing up the side of her house. She probably serves her kids healthy meals. I really like her, but I don't measure up.

Emilie isn't perfect, but she tries to be. She has such a good heart, and loves children. All children. She dreams up wonderful games and crafts for the children. She has FOUR HOUR long birthday parties. She decorates the exterior AND the interior of her house for every holiday. How can I keep up with her?

Elise is more my speed. I like her a lot. Her house is attached to mine (we live in semis). Every couple of months, one of us will say "Can you hear us through the walls?". What we mean to say is "Can you hear me screaming at the children through the walls?". Well, that's what I mean to say. Elise is more relaxed when it comes to parenting than I am. She helps calm me down. She reassures me that my little angels will survive elementary school (but has made no promises that I will). She has physically restrained me when Sarah was climbing a rock wall at the park, saying "Let her try. She can do it!". And I appreciate that.

As wonderful as all the ladies in my neighbourhood are, they are out of my league. I admire them, and they feel sorry for me (I'm sure!). They seem to do things sooooo much better than I do. For instance, I am quite sure that none of them have sprayed their smelly kids with Febreeze instead of giving them a bath. I only know one other person who may have.

That's right, I wouldn't be surprised if Lisa sprayed her kids with Febreeze.

Anyway, this morning, there was a light dusting of snow. My children wanted to play in it before we left for dance class at 9am. I thought, "Here's my chance to shine!". Dan and I got all the kids fed, dressed, and outside, with plenty of time for play...and for pictures!

I must confess, I was pleased with myself. I was pleased that I took the kids out. I was pleased that (for once!) I had snow boots before the snow fell. For once, I got to be Super Mum! And it totally does not detract from my superness that I lied to the children and told them that the snow was the wrong type for making snowmen.

On the way to dance class, we drove past the Librarian's house. She was out with her kids. They had already built two snowmen. She was smiling at her children. Sigh. I returned to my rightful position at the bottom of the heap.

This afternoon, I emailed Lisa a couple of the snaps I took of the kids out in the snow and carving pumpkins. This was her response:

These pictures are priceless...

We are also just carving the pumpkins now...however the kids are acting up, the sink pipe in the kitchen broke and flooded my kitchen...no one is dressed for the day, we are just finishing brunch (late because of the flood) and we are expecting one of Trystan's school friends to go trick or treating with...oh did I mention that Kelly borrowed my vacuum and hasn't returned it yet so my floors are also filthy gross...not exactly a day for pictures over here...just sent the kids to their room to play; hopefully, Kelly will return the vacuum soon and I am just about to clean...all in all a very crappy stat to my favorite holiday...this year sucks...I hope tonight is better but I do not anticipate it will be...lets hope I at least get pictures...haven't had Halloween pics since Trystan was 3! *gasp*


Great pics though...hope the girls enjoy trick or treating

And that is why she's my best friend. She and I, together, are here at the back. Snickering.