Shopping Is Not As Fun As It Pretends To Be
Posted: February 6, 2012 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Motherhood, Stress, Widdle Debil | Tags: bridesmaids dresses, children, flowergirl dresses, parenting, shopping, weddings 7 Comments »I woke up this morning with the skin of a 14 year old, which is…not good. I don’t really blame my skin, though, as stress can cause breakouts and I really put that theory to the test this weekend. It was good stress, I suppose, but stress is stress nonetheless.
Anonymous Husband has started a project at home that will consume his free time for the next few months, best case scenerio. I estimate by the time the last finishing touch has been put in place, we’re looking at mid-summer before he’s done. This is a good thing, in that the project is finishing our basement and, when complete, we’ll have added a few rooms and many additional square feet of living space to our home. But it’s also not a good thing because for the next few months, best case scenerio, the vast majority of parenting will be done by me in a solo parent type situation. Wherein from the moment they wake until bedtime, I’m it. Hundreds of thousands of families are run in this manner every single day, so I am in no way saying this is unusual or that I’m making some sort of unique sacrifice. I’m just saying, that’s all. Sure, the work AH is and will be putting in in order to convert the lower floor of our home into usable living space will be strenuous and the hundreds of hours he’s already put in to designing and researching every single minute detail is nothing to shake a stick at, but as many parents, many of you reading, can attest – there is no job as difficult and stressful as taking care of children.
On Saturday, I took the girls to gymnastics, to the bakery, fed them lunch, and then we went, with my mom and later, my sister, dress shopping. My sister’s getting married in the summer and Eirinn and Avery are her flower girls. With my mom changing one girl and me with the other, we tried on no less than 30 different dresses at several different stores. We kept telling them that we were playing Barbies and they were the dolls. However, Barbies, last I checked, didn’t wiggle and use outdoor voices and insist on wearing snow boots with their pretty dresses and smear snot across their faces, coming dangerously close to the clothes they don’t own. But, despite all that, which I’m pretty certain gave me a mini stroke, we came away with complete outfits fit for a wedding.
AND THEN on Sunday, I took the girls grocery shopping, to the bakery again, fed them lunch, and then we went, with my mom and sister and aunt, dress shopping. This time for me, who will play the role of bridesmaid. I bought the very first dress from the very first store because I had seen enough of the inside of changerooms to last a lifetime, thank you very much. The dress fit, didn’t look hideous. The only two requirements. I even bought shoes and a cardigan, all at the same store.
Dress, orange cardigan and flats from H&M. The other two bm’s will be in a different bright colour, similar to this.
THAT is how shopping is done.
I love my kids (obviously; who would say otherwise of their children?) and I love spending time with them. They’re hilarious and adorable and who wouldn’t want to spend time with cute things that make you laugh? But if I never go shopping with them again, at least until they’re of an age where they don’t require snacks and don’t hide under racks of clothes and can go a couple hours without getting “tired from walking”, I will not complain. But then there’s next week, and there are groceries to buy and a gift to purchase for a birthday party I’ll need to take Eirinn to after gymnastics, so there is no relief in sight.
To be fair, they were both shockingly well behaved. I mean, for them. Like I said, there was the ultra loud voices and the snot-nosed peek-a-boo through the very expensive ladies dresses and the relentless need for sustinence, but overall, I can not complain about how they handled it all. I mean, what kid likes shopping for clothes? Not mine, I know that much, and we didn’t have even one temper tantrum. I’m exhausted, though, and so are they. They’re both sick (so, yeah, my apologies to anyone who was at the mall yesterday) with nasty coughs. Avery has a leaky faucet for a nose, Eirinn keeps barking until she cries, and I CAN HAS SLEEP NOW, PLEASE? Bedtime could NOT have come quick enough.
I found my very first gray hair last night. I am…not at all surprised.
No, YOUR Mom Is A Winner
Posted: January 23, 2012 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Skool is for nurds, The world is full of crazies, Widdle Debil 2 Comments »So the kids were in the bath yesterday afternoon with their bathing suits on (as one does), playing with their Barbies and erupting in hysterics whenever one of them tooted (bonus points for bubbles!). I was on my laptop because a) it totally counts as proper bath time supervision as long as you’re in the same room (I know because I asked Twitter) and b) of course I was, so I was only 3/4 paying attention (ok, fine, 5/8). I was busying myself with whatever it is I do with my time (probably really important grownup stuff), when I heard the Barbies talking.
“Your mom is the winner,” said one particularly naked brunette.
“No, YOUR mom is the winner,” retorted an equally naked, save for a painted on swim suit, Belle.
Now wait just a minute, here. YOUR mom? YOUR mom? Spoken with the exact inflection and amount of forceful sarcasm as one would use while delivering a Yo Mama joke. No, yo mama’s the winner. Granted, being a winner isn’t necessarily the greatest yo mama punchline, but the intent was clearly there. And seeing as I am the mama to both parties, I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or do a victory lap. Should I be insulted? Was being a winner in this situation a bad thing, seeing as they were arguing over who had to be said winner?
I was about to ask for clarification when the tub exploded in giggles again when the oldest blew air bubbles into the water and made a farty noise while doing so. Given my extensive experience with these two, I’m pretty sure I should have been insulted, but I was kind of proud. I can take a joke.
“Hey, Eirinn, that water your just put your mouth into is the same water that touched Avery’s bum and I’m pretty sure her toots weren’t pretend.”
I’m not sure where all of the class went, but I am positive there is none left at my house.
On Trying My Best
Posted: October 26, 2011 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Family, Widdle Debil | Tags: children, LGBT, Motherhood, parenting, race 7 Comments »“All my rememberies are special.” Avery Quinn, age 3.
It guts me sometimes how perfectly innocent children are, especially my own. Not that they’re more innocent than other children, I just spend far less time contemplating the emotional and intellectual maturity of other people’s kids. Mine have so much to learn, despite being two of the smartest children their age I’ve ever met (not that I hold any bias). They’re wide-eyed, open-minded and overwhelmingly receptive to absorbing any particle of new information that floats their way. But they are still so new.
Eirinn asked me in the car yesterday if “gay” was a bad word. Well…that’s a very difficult question to answer when you’re dealing with a 5 year old. No, it’s not a bad word…until it is. I’ve always told her about how families are all different, that some people have a mommy and a daddy, like she does, some people just have one or the other, some people have both, but they might not live in the same house, and some people have two moms or two dads. No, gay is not a bad word, it’s an adjective used to describe one’s sexuality, but it can also be a bad word. My guess was that when she heard it, it was being used as a bad word. Someone took that simple, three letter word, and made it into a bad word. As is done a million times a day. But just because something is done a million times a day, doesn’t make it right.
I’m not ready to start talking to her about sexuality. She’s five. She knows that men can marry men and women can marry women and sometimes they have kids, just like her and just like our family. She knows that this is all ok. Sometimes her Barbies are girlfriends. That’s cool with me.
I told her that gay is not a bad word. I told her it means “happy”. I took the easy way out. She looked very confused, presumably because whoever used it that brought her to question whether or not it was a bad word was not using it in a way that meant “happy”, but I stuck with it. It DOES mean happy. I’ll elaborate on the word’s meaning when I’m ready to answer the follow-up questions. When I feel she’s ready to absorb them. I’m not sure if running away from it is the best thing to do.
We’ve had similar discussions about race. One of them will say something about “the black guy”, never in a negative tone or for any other reason than to point out a particular person on the television screen. This makes me cringe, even still. “No one’s skin is black,” I tell them. “Everyone is a different of shade brown and we shouldn’t use their colour to describe them.” I encourage them to use a different descriptor. “The guy with the hat”, “the woman with the pink lipstick”, “the nurse”, things like that. It’s very difficult to correct a child’s behaviour when they don’t know what they’re doing wrong.
They’re doing a very good job with that. So well, in fact, Eirinn had a friend last year that I didn’t even know was Asian until the very end of the school year. At first she was “the new girl”, then she was “my new friend”, and then she was simply known by her name. As it should be.
I’m trying my best here with these kids. Sometimes I fail (I CANNOT, for the life of me, get them to NOT make tootie jokes in public) but sometimes I think I might be doing alright. All of Avery’s rememberies are special.
Eirinn spent all last week at school writing a book. Her first novel. It was 6 pages long and she wrote the story, actually sounded out all the words phonetically herself, most of which weren’t correct, but that’s not important. She did all of her own illustrations and they were beautiful representations of the words on each page. It was about a princess who gets captured by a witch and taken to a haunted house. Or hanted hows. But in every story about princesses, there is a happy ending. The princess tiptoes out of the house and runs home.
To Eirinn, home is a part of every happy ending. It’s my job to make sure it stays that way.
Feed The World, Make It A Better Place…
Posted: October 3, 2011 Filed under: Dirty potty mouths, Widdle Debil 2 Comments »* Background – Eirinn hates to flush the toilet. She’s basically afraid of everything in life, loud noises included, so she only flushes when we tell her to get back into the washroom and flush.
Scene: Avery and me in the washroom, where we come upon an un-flushed pee-pee toilet.
Avery: “Eir-INN. She didn’t flush again.“
Me: “I know. She never does.”
Avery: “That’s rude.”
Me: “I know, right? Then we have to do it for her.”
Avery: “And it’s rude to the toilet.”
Me: derpy look “Huh?”
Avery: “Maybe the toilet’s thirsty. It wants to drink the pee.”
Me: “Uhh…gross? Maybe? You’re weird.”
Avery: “I’ll be nice and flush the toilet, then it will have some pee to drink.”
Me: “I’m sure it will appreciate it.”
…
Avery: “I bet the toilet’s hungry, too.”
I’ll let you use your imagination to figure out what she meant by that. Let me know if you don’t get it. Hint: she had to poo and apparently that’s what toilets eat.
Anything you can resist doing, I can resist doing…longer
Posted: July 31, 2011 Filed under: Family, Widdle Debil 11 Comments »I’ve been told I’m stubborn. I don’t think I’m that stubborn. I mean, I’m not going to get bullied around, which is a part of being stubborn, I guess. Deciding you’re going to do or not do something and sticking with your convictions. Not letting someone else make your decisions for you, even if maybe their way is better or easier than yours. Is that stubbornness? Maybe. I just like learning for myself. Making my own mistakes. Doing things the way I like doing them. Not doing things when I don’t want to. Stubborn? Ok, probably.
I also just happened to have birthed a stubborn child. A very stubborn child. But if there’s one thing I’m determined to not let happen, is there’s no way in heck* I’m going to get out-stubborned by a child.
Case in point. Scene – the girls’ washroom, as we’re getting them ready for bed. Avery was refusing to even attempt to go to the potty on her own. Her major malfunction was that she didn’t want to pull her shorts off herself, which she does all the time if they’re playing dress up or changing into a bathing suit, but because she got it in her head that I should do it and not her (*cough*lazy*cough*), we had…A STANDOFF.
I can’t.
You can.
I can’t
You can.
I cay-yant.
Yes. You can.
… 20 minutes later
I can’t.
Yes, you can. You do it all the time.
I CAY-YA-YA-YANT.
You can. Just do it.
I’m going to pee my pants!
Yeah, you are. Unless you do it.
I’M GOING TO PEE.
Yep. In your pants. It’s going to be a mess.
I CAN’T DO IT.
Yes, you can.
… 30 minutes later
I can’t.
You can.
I ca…ok, I can.
And then she did it. Because I’m the boss and she’s the child and I can sit on the washroom floor for HOURS waiting for her to go potty. She finally realized that she can’t beat me. I’m like a gold medal winning Olympian in marathon standoffs.
Honey, you go toe to toe with the bull, you best believe you’re going to get the horns. There is no one, NO ONE, who can out-stubborn me.
***
* Her new favourite phrase is “what the hell?”, and so we’re watching our mouths very carefully now. Eirinn never used grown up words, which is what we call them round here. But Avery thinks our reaction to it is hilarious. YOU try to keep a straight face when a three year old exclaims “what the hell is that?” in the middle of a busy grocery store. You will fail. Much like I have failed Parenting, apparently. Although, I have my very strong doubts that the offender was me. I blame the Ghostbusters.
