Category Archives: Luckiness

School’s Out For Summer!

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Ooh, I hate that song, along with most Alice Cooper songs – although I do think that Alice Cooper, himself, seems like a very cool guy, as far as celebrities go. While I’m on the topic, I also hate the musical stylings of Tom Petty and that atrocious Kim Mitchell, I Am A Wild Party being, in my opinion, the worst song ever written.

The boys marked the last day of school in different ways – Mark had a Sports Day, and Jake had a pre-kindergarten graduation which of course was very cute and filled with “Everyone is special!” messages. Hilariously, the kids sang a song entitled “We are Special Kids” to the tune of “We Will Rock You.” Side note: my husband feels about Queen the way I feel about Tom Petty, but I think he would have enjoyed the cute factor.

They also wore caps and gowns which I think is quite cute, if a bit ridiculous. A few months ago, the school had a professional photographer come into to take graduation portraits of the children in caps and gowns, which, frankly, crossed the line between cute and just plain stupid. I voiced this opinion and was chastised by my mother for not ordering any of the prints. I don’t know; I think graduation portraits should be saved for an actual graduation, which I do not think applies to simply going to kindergarten. I did keep the proofs though. Jake is awfully cute.

Mark seemed to really enjoy his Sports Day, but dissolved into sadness at dismissal. “I’m never going to be THIS happy again” he stated, which gave me a Citizen Kane-esque chill. What if it’s true? I mean, there are books and movies with that kind of plot line, the end of innocence and so on. Fortunately after we got home I applied the well established depression remedy of videos and chocolate cupcakes which was effective. In no time they were very loudly playing in the backyard, much to the delight of my neighbour, I’m sure, as she dozed in the sun in her lounge chair.

One of the biggest parenting mistakes, I think, is to not allow your children to be sad. I think that it’s a huge mistake, when your child is sad, to try to cheer them up endlessly with Pollyanna, look-on-the-bright-side, silver lining-type chatter. Sometimes it’s good to just wallow in sorrow, watching TV and eating treats. It’s like when you’re in the midst of teenage angst and you and your boyfriend break up, the last thing you want to hear are cheerful “There are lots of fish in the sea!” type comments, because all you want to do is be sad and listen to sad music (“I can’t live, if living is without you, I can’t give, I can’t give anymore…”) and eat ice cream straight from the container. It’s natural to want your child to be happy, but being sad is part of life and I think sometimes we all just need a cupcake remedy.

Advice and judgement

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A few months ago, Catherine Newman ran a contest in which entrants were supposed to share the best piece of parenting advice they had received. Someone wrote that, with respect to infants, it was okay to sometimes feel like throwing the baby out of the window, as long as you don’t actually do it.

A number of years ago there was a particularly horrific local incident involving a young mother – a university student from Japan – who killed her two young children. I was discussing the case with a colleague, an extremely kind and gentle man, a devout church-going family man with a penchant for corny jokes. As we discussed the tragedy, he related that when his eldest was a colicky baby, he and his wife were often at their wits’ end, and that sometimes he felt like throwing her out the window.

This revelation shocked and outraged me, a sheltered, pampered, twenty-five year old non-parent. I couldn’t believe a parent would feel like that about their own child. I couldn’t believe that someone could feel that way and still be a loving, effective parent.

Fast forward several years when I was at home, alone, with a toddler who was not yet two and a colicky, sleepless infant. Sometimes my baby would scream, uninterrupted, for hours regardless of my efforts to feed, rock, and soothe him. Hours. I recall one incident when he cried for five straight hours before exhausting himself, as I walked the floor with him, singing and patting and attempting to feed him, all the while caring for my young toddler, by myself, while my husband was working long hours at the office. I understood completely. I felt like throwing the baby out the window, grabbing the car keys, and making a break for it.

I love my children like any mother does, an all-encompassing love, my greatest fear is that something will happen to them, and yet in the moment, I felt like giving up. I felt that way, me with my loving husband and parents in town and supportive friends, me with no worries about paying rent or putting food on the table, privileged, lucky me. If I could feel that way, how much worse would someone feel who was not fluent in the local language, someone with a deadbeat boyfriend and two young children to care for, someone with no friends and little money.

Perhaps some people will be shocked and outraged and think that I am a monster, but perhaps some will recall moments when they felt they were at the breaking point, and how easy it is to become perilously close to a tragic result. It’s the easiest thing in the world to pass judgement.

Mother, that sailor suit doesn’t fit anymore.

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How was your weekend? I hope all you moms had a lovely Mother’s Day. Mine was quite lovely. My husband and the boys took me to the garden centre on Saturday, a.k.a. my happy place. Then it snowed a little. Yes, Mother Nature, I bought plants before the long weekend. Thank you for reminding me why I shouldn’t.

But today was pleasant and sunny which was great as Jake had a field trip to the zoo. On the bus. Without me. I was a teensy bit freaked out about it. I kept envisioning all sorts of insane scenarios: the bus crashing, the school losing him and some crazy person snatching him, animals escaping from enclosures only to stalk and eat him or, alternately, give him some sort of unknown feral disease. You know, just the normal things that a normal mother would worry about. I actually considered not signing the permission slip, but really. Is that a good way to parent? Is that a good message? You are only safe if mommy is with you at all times. Wow, I just creeped myself out writing that.

Did you ever see that Simpsons episode – from many, many years ago when I used to actually watch The Simpsons – where Principal Skinner is using puppet therapy to deal with his overbearing mother? “Mother, I’m a grown man. That sailor suit doesn’t fit anymore!” I don’t want to be like that, not that any of my children ever wore sailor suits, such suits being the height of lame childhood clothing in my opinion.

It’s my goal to have the boys end up independently functioning, contributing members of society, as opposed to 40ish men living in my basement watching daytime television and hiding their porn magazines under their mattresses, claiming that I’m their best girl and that they could never leave me. So this is my first step: a field trip without me. I sat on the school steps waiting for his bus to arrive, saw his happy, proud face in the window, and I felt like it was a very good day.

May there always be mama

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This morning the pre-kindergarten hosted a Mother’s Day Tea. In related news, I am a complete emotional mess. The kids were so cute, serving up fruit salad and cotton-ball-decorated cards, and sang the following tear-inducing song: “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me.” I cried a little just typing that, so you can imagine the verklempt, grimace-y, trying-not-to-hysterically-sob face I made through the remainder of the tea. Pretty!

It seems trendy this year to discuss why Mother’s Day sucks: it’s a busy day trying to please mothers, mothers-in-law, and selves; husbands say things like “You’re not MY mother”; moms just want to feel appreciated, dammit, so where is my breakfast in bed? One writer discussed how she should get TWO gifts, one from husband and one from child, and they had better be worthwhile, buddy, because she carried the baby for nine months and lost her fabulous figure in the process – her t&a has never returned to their former glory, so bring on the jewellery and spa trips. And while I understand, to some extent – mothers frequently do feel or actually are underappreciated, it would be nice to have a day where everyone else picks up the drudge-related slack, it is very difficult to juggle family obligations, gifts certainly are lovely – I also feel these sorts of complaints are just categorically wrong.

This morning during school drop-off, a little boy in Mark’s class tripped and fell – not hard, he wasn’t hurt – and began sobbing loudly and dramatically. This little boy lost his mother several months ago, before he was even five years old. I picked him up and hugged and kissed him and he was instantly, miraculously FINE. This little boy is going to spend the weekend, Mother’s Day weekend, without his mother. Last year she celebrated Mother’s Day not knowing it was her last one.

If you have to make your own breakfast, rather than being served it in bed, it is really not that bad.

Halfway to 70, or Taking the A Train to Cougarville

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Tomorrow is my birthday! I am not at all shy about telling people it is my birthday. If it didn’t make me look like I have a mental illness, I would walk around with a tiara and a “Birthday Girl” button, or possibly even a sandwich board. I love my birthday. I don’t mind the whole “getting older” part because hey, who wants to be dead? Not me. So here I am, a day away from being halfway to 70, which is pretty much taking the A Train to Cougarville.

Obviously I am on that train because yesterday I was a volunteer with Jake’s class for their field trip to the firehall! The firehall! Nicole likes firefighters! A friend was telling me about her daughter’s field trip and how great it was with the female firefighter leading the tour; inwardly I was like I am going to be so ripped off if the tour is led by a female firefighter. I mean, girl power and everything, but come on. And what do you know? The firefighters were all male and attractive, which makes for a happy field trip. Also I got to live out my lifelong fantasy of putting on the outfit – is it called an outfit? I don’t know. The boots and pants and coat and things. You know what I’m saying. – plus the oxygen tank, all of which gave me even more respect for the firefighters, male and female, because that gear is HEAVY. I could not take five steps in all that gear let alone RESCUE PEOPLE and carry those heavy hoses and whatnot. I actually said, yes I did, that the firefighters must be in good shape. I said this out loud to a firefighter, which really puts me on Destination Cougarville.

It’s a good thing my loving husband is such a confident man, to withstand my chatter about the firehall. For the record, he is way more attractive than a thousand firefighters put together, firefighting gear notwithstanding. I’m a lucky girl. Or lucky middle aged woman, whichever.

Oh yes, and the kids learned about fire safety.

Ah, but for every high there must be a come down, and so after the firehall visit I had a dentist appointment. A friend posted a poll recently: what would you rather do, have a pap test or go to the dentist. I will tell you, people, I would much rather put my feet in the stirrups with one of those awkward paper gowns on than have my teeth scraped for thirty minutes. Yikes! My very sweet hygienist said, at one point, “You really love that red wine, don’t you?” Yes. I do.

So, it’s a busy busy week, what with MY BIRTHDAY, and a firehall visit, and the dentist, and now tonight is the start of soccer season! It’s actually warm and sunny which feels strange – where is the snow? Where are the gale force winds? So I had better look out my turquoise windbreaker track suit and hop on the train to Soccer Mom Town. I have a lot of cheering to do.

Gone With The April Snowstorm Wind

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Right now it’s snowing, big thick flakes; our entire yard is blanketed, the whitened trees swaying violently in the wind. After dinner the boys went outside with umbrellas and snow boots, running and screaming with joy in the wind. Wouldn’t it be nice to view an April snowstorm like that, like an unlooked-for and unexpected gift? Instead of a big giant soggy-dog puddles-in-the-mudroom power-threatening-to-go-out pain in the ass?

The boys finally came in, soaked and frozen, after the bizarre thunder and lightning started to accompany the snow, and I felt more like my normal self. All day I had been rehearsing for the starring role of Bitchy Mummy, and I think I was doing quite well at it, if I do say so myself. The problem lies within. My personal philosophy is that if you are a person like me – a stay-at-home mom with no babies or toddlers to look after – then you really should pull more than your weight in the volunteer department. My best friend, who has four children ranging in age from eight months to almost seven, is someone who I think should never be asked to volunteer ever. She is one busy woman. Someone like me…well, I’m not living a particularly hectic life, and so I think I should take on the lion’s share of volunteer work. Which is why I am rocking the role of Bitchy Mummy today.

Evidently I should say no more often. The past few days have seen me baking like a fiend and also, cruelly, refusing to allow the children to eat more than one brownie each. “Can you make brownies again someday?” Mark asked pathetically, like the Dickensian character he suddenly is, given his mother has become suddenly negligent and unreachable. I have been spending hours – HOURS – creating the community soccer schedule and I have been spending much time feeling utterly defeated with my forehead in my hand wondering if that many games can be fielded at one time or do I need to CHANGE IT AGAIN. This is my second year of taking on this job and if my husband has any say in the matter there will not be a third because my normal, fairly cheery personality is gone, people, gone with the April snowstorm wind. I initially volunteered for this job because hey, I used to create linear programs and other mathematical models, how hard could a soccer schedule be? This is called hubris. The soccer schedule is an evil, evil thing. I am having disturbing dreams about the soccer schedule. I am living and breathing the soccer schedule. And the children, the children with their Insatiable Curiosity and Natural Inquisitiveness, the children with their Need for Maternal Attention and their Nutritional Requirements, the children, they are driving me crazy.

So I’m going to go out on a limb here and incur the wrath of my neighbours and say that the snowstorm, while it is a giant pain, is also a blessing, a blessing that saw the children outside and absurdly happy, and that reminded me what it’s like to be a kid who sees excitement and fun in an unexpected snowy curveball. It took the Bitchy Mummy right out of me.

Girls! Gone! Wild!

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Today is a full moon and I follow with yogic tradition to not practice but take rest on moon days, which means that I slept a full hour and a half later than normal. Pure luxury! Since it is Spring! Break! and we had nowhere in particular to be today, I fulfilled my dream of leisurely coffee drinking; sipping eight – eight! – cups while watching Breakfast Television, or what I like to refer to ironically and with air quotes as “the news”.

Digression: while in university I was friends with a girl who referred to Entertainment Tonight as “the news”.

Speaking of Entertainment Tonight masquerading as the news, remember the OJ Simpson trial? I…don’t really, at the time I was much too absorbed in the fascinating dual worlds of the history of economic thought and step aerobics to pay much attention to it, but I do remember that beach bum houseguest Kato Kaelin, in all his dimwitted glory. I was startled to discover, many years later, the numerous careers that were launched due to a grisly murder trial. For example, Star Jones?

Digression to digression: how strange is it that OJ was acquitted at that time, yet the vast majority of the general population believes him to be a grisly murderer?

Wow, how did I get there? Eight cups of coffee is too much, people, especially when coupled with ninety extra minutes of sleep.

So, spring break good news and bad news.

Good news: The zoo was fantastic yesterday, we had an incredible day. It was the kind of day that I don’t trust myself to talk to people because I would surely boast about my amazing kids and their fantastic personalities and how wonderful they are. I even said to my husband that I felt sorry for him that he is not the stay at home parent.

Bad news: Karma. Today the boys have been fidgety, quarrelsome, and moody. They are DRIVING ME CRAZY. Crazier than normal.

Good news: We made caterpillars out of egg cartons!

Bad news: The groomer was sick and Barkley still stinks.

Good news: The weather was decent enough to send Mark outside to play, which improved his mood immensely. I watched him run around the yard with several garden implements, pretending to shoot and destroy various imaginary aliens.

Bad news: He accidentally hit himself in the head with a garden implement and had to come inside, where he and Jake played for all of five minutes before the game dissolved into an angry argument.

Good news: I baked a yummy looking loaf of bread and a banana loaf.

Bad news: I am not enjoying playing endless games of dinosaurs and killings that the boys are requesting of me, but yet I am acutely aware that they will not want to play with their mother much longer. Melancholy.

Good news: We still have seven days left of spring break, and it is a full moon, and I am focusing all my positive energy on tomorrow; tomorrow is another day.

Good news: We are having a great time!

Bad news: You can’t tell from the picture that this is a parasauralophus.