Little Things

Time, my old nemesis...

Max is really into Garfield these days. I mean really into Garfield: it's his favourite show on t.v.; he named his pet fish (and science-project beans) after Garfield and his trusty pal Odie; and pretty much every breakfast/dinner I have to wrestle a Garfield comic book out of his hot little hands to get him to focus on his meal. He's into Garfield the same way I was into Garfield circa 1982.

As in, 30 years ago.

I had to do that math three times. Not because I can't subtract 2012 from 1982; but because I simply can't believe that my son is into something that I was into THIRTY years ago. Or maybe it's just that I can't believe I am at the age where I can even SAY that I did something I still remember doing THIRTY years ago. Thirty years!!

I looked at my reflection in the kitchen window as I was doing up the dishes last night. I don't think I look like someone who was into Garfield 30 years ago. In fact, in the kitchen window, I think I look just about the same as I did when I was 20 - ok, maybe 25 - except for a few more prominent creases on my forehead. There might be creases in a few other places as well, but luckily the lights were quite dim in the kitchen, so all I could see were the creases on my forehead. I certainly feel the same inside as I did when I was 20 or 25. I'm the same in many ways, I think.

Age is a funny thing. My dear old Dad turned 70 last week. I keep telling everyone he just turned 60; then correct myself. How could Georgie Wall be seventy - almost a quarter of a century old? There must be a mistake. 

I don't want to be one of those people who spend their lives talking about how fast time flies. I don't want to be one of those Mothers who exclaims loudly, "Look how much you've grown!" to every kid I haven't seen in a few months. I don't want to be one of those people who opens every conversation with, "Where did the time goooooooooooo?"

But my God, where does the bloody time go?

I have an ongoing battle with time. There's never enough of it; unless it's 5:00 in morning and my turn to get up with Ben and Sam and each excrutiating minute goes so slowly I'm sure the clock must be broken. I'm always rushing rushing rushing to get to school on time, but we always seem to arrive on time; except for the mornings when we have so much time that we can do anything we want (so of course, we are inevitably late.)

Last night, before bed, I re-read one of my favourite pieces about Motherhood by Anna Quindlen. (Read it here.) It's a beautiful piece. In it she says that the biggest mistake she made as a Mother was not living in the moment enough. That she wishes she had cherished "the doing a little bit more and the getting it done a little less."

I can relate to this. I feel like some days we are just going through the motions; those motions add up to days which add up to weeks which add up to years and before we know it, we are celebrating our newborn baby's 8th birthday. How did this happen? Max was in my tummy 5 minutes ago. Maybe 5 months ago. Possibly 5 years ago. But certainly not 8 years ago! I haven't savoured 8 years worth of Maxwell James, not to mention the 5 of Sammy and the 2 and a half of Ben. How could I have let those precious  years, months, days go by without appreciating them more? I feel my heart contracting.

I want to savour them more in the here and now. Believe me, I do. I would love to live in a constant state of parental bliss and gratitude. It's just that, you know, that old life thing just keeps getting in the way again! It's hard to feel gratitude when you spend an hour lovingly cooking a dinner with all your son's favourite food in it and then he takes one bite, spits it out on the floor, and then yells, "Yuck!" Or you get awoken at dawn by your dreamy toddler who then proceeds to throw up into your hair. Or you feel like you are a hamster running on the wheel of life and when you finally step off that crazy wheel at the end of the day, you collapse, unconscious on your bed. No time for quiet contemplation there. What's a Mama to do?

Today, my friend Gayla posted a lovely piece by Glennon Melton called "Don't Carpe Diem" (read it here) on her Facebook page. Glennon writes about how the old "Carpe Diem" message we Mamas constantly get just doesn't work for her. She talks about two kinds of time - the time we live in (the "staring down the clock till bedtime time"), and the magical time  ("the time outside of time.") She believes that if she gets just a couple of minutes a day of the magical time, that's good enough for her. 

This makes me breathe. A couple of minutes of acknowledgment. Like when I sing the Cowboy song to Ben at night, with our faces really close together, and he smiles as he sings along, his sweet, high-pitched voice trying to form words he doesn't understand but knows by heart. And like when I walk to school with Sam, hand-in-hand, and he recites the show-and-tell order of the kids in his class like a song; and his bright eyes sparkle as he brainstorms what he is going to bring in tomorrow - tomorrow, the most beautiful word on his lips - because tomorrow he will be the class's special helper, his favourite job. And like when, at the end of the day, Max pulls me into his bed to lie with him just for five minutes, so we can talk a little bit more about the day, and I see a contentment in his being, and a confidence about him, where I catch a glimpse of the amazing adult he will be, even though he is still a boy right here, right now, lying next to me.

A few minutes of acknowledgment a day. I can get behind this kind of thinking. And not just because it helps to alleviate some of the guilt of not feeling gratitude every minute of every day, but because there is an underlying acceptance that washes over me when I think in these terms. An acceptance that seems to say, "You are enough, just like that; covered in puke or covered in kisses; exhausted and fed up, or energized and inspired; full of grumpiness, or full of love. It is all a part of your journey. It is all a part of being a Mama."

When I think about it this way, I can surrender to my battles with time. I can vow to try harder to live in the present and savour all the beautiful moments that come with being a Mama of three little boys; and I can also appreciate that it won't be like this forever...and some days, that's not such a bad thing.

And thirty years from now, when the creases in my forehead are even deeper, and Max and I will talk about the things he loved when he was 8 - The Canucks, Lego, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Calvin and Hobbs, and of course, Garfield - I'm sure I will smile and exclaim,

"Where did the time goooooooooooo??"

A few pics beause yes, I realize it's been a leeeeeetle while since I've updated my blog...(see "Where did the time go" comment above...)

Sam clutching his Valentine booty after school on V-day...Tangible love overflowing in his arms and heart...

My sweet, darling niece Lily turned 3...and Max and I were lucky enough to spend the morning with her (see my new invention: muffin-cupcakes...muffins packed with bananas and raspberries, with the usual iced decor on top. The kids never seem to eat the cake part anyway, so why not make it healthy? Mind you, it was breakfast...)  

He's the third child. We just take more pictures of him. How could we not?

A hopeful Mama and Max before a dreadful evening....maybe the Patriots didn't win the Superbowl this year, but you just wait....they'll win next year! In this photo you get a good view of the creases in my forehead...though Instagram helps to minimize the effects some. Gotta love that Instagram app!

Happy Thursday, y'all! As always, I will try to write in this space more in the days to come....wish me luck! If you'd like to add your thoughts about your own battles with time, I'd love to hear them...

 

 

 

Always moving...

About a month ago, at 1:00 in the afternoon, I looked at the clock, said, "Oh!", and put little Ben down to sleep in less than 2 minutes. A quick "Twinkle, twinkle"; a kiss; a "have a good nap" - and he was down. My friend Jocelin, who was visiting at the time, was amazed by my swiftness, my mothering finess, my je-ne-sais-quoi. I don't remember what I said, but probably something like, "Well, we just follow our routine; he's always been easy to put down."

Last night, for the tenth night in a row, I lay on the floor beside Ben's crib for half an hour, singing my whole repertoire of James Taylor, Puff the Magic Dragon, Cat Stevens- you name it - while Ben stared at me with wide-open eyes, a big, cheery smile across his very-awake little face. I took him downstairs to play for an hour, then back again to the floor and to the song, followed by some heavy breathing.

Lying there on the floor, pretending to be asleep (you know, to set a good example), I laughed. Isn't this just like parenting? The minute you think you've figured something out, or begun to establish a "reasonable" routine of some kind, the next day you wake up and everything has changed. Your child doesn't sleep. Or eat. Or play nicely with other children. And you are back to square one, trying to figure out what happened, trying to backtrack your steps to see where you went wrong - how you got from there to here in such a short time.

The truth is, I think the only thing I can safely say I've learned in the seven and a half years since I've been a parent is this: that every day - and every child- is different. That parenting isn't a straight and narrow path, but one that winds up and down and all around and sometimes even wanders off the beaten trail for a while. And until you've truly accepted this - until you've really felt it in the very core of your self - you will continue to beat yourself up for all of the things that you wish had gone differently in your parenting journey. For all the things that you swore would never do, but then find yourself doing one day. For all the times you thought you were that type of parent, or your child was that type of child, and then found out that - oh!- maybe you weren't, or they weren't, after all.

I have been both the Mama whose kids have eaten 14 different kinds on vegetables in one day; and the Mama who has fed her kids bunny pasta for lunch three days in a row. I have been the Mama who believed firmly in letting my kids "cry it out" so we could finally get some sleep; and the Mama who co-sleeps most nights with one (or two) of the little boys who somehow find their way into our bed. I have been the Mama in the grocery store who people smile at because my kids are so sweet or polite or adorable; and the Mama they shake their heads at, in digust or pity, because my kids are so wild or impolite or won't stop screaming.

The more this happens, the more I start to accept that parenting, like life itself, is just not black and white. It is not one way or another. It is not the same day in and day out, or from one family to the next. It ebbs and flows; always moving, always changing. Not unlike the very children we parent.

There is comfort in this movement. Knowing that each stage is finite helps us to keep pushing on; to remind ourselves that they are small for such a short time, really, and that all the struggles we have today will soon be distant memories. If we remember them at all.

And so, as I lie on the floor of Ben's room, night after night, singing him the Cowboy Song and watching him play the stand-up-lie-down-stand-up-again game, I will try to smile and ignore the fact that he isn't sleeping - and instead, savour his smallness and sweetness and the way his eyes crinkle up when he looks at me. This is what I want to remember.

 

 

Those days...

My sweet little redhead baby, who used to do nothing but coo and smile, and then smile and coo, has officially turned into a toddling screamer. And I don't mean the occasional yelp or screech when he's hungry or injured: we're talking a full-on, parrot-pitched, give-me-everything-you've-got scream, every 5-7 minutes (or more if there's actually something drastically wrong, like his brother took his bunny cracker, or he wants to get out of his highchair.)

Ah, parenting.

The other day I was at the grocery store at the end of a long, rainy day. I had Sam and Ben with me, and by the time I reached the check-out, Ben was doing his opera-like scream (Steph, you would've been impressed) at the top of his lungs. I'm not sure why. Hunger? Boredom? The snacks in his hands weren't exciting enough? Who knows. His dear brother was running up and down the area on the other side of the check-out, taking gift cards off the rack by the dozen, and offering snacks (that we hadn't yet paid for) to all of the other children who were also trying to get out of dodge.

It was one of those days.

The cashier winced as Ben let yet another scream fly. I smiled at her, and delivered what has become my standard response as of late:

"He's the third child", I said kindly, "He's already learned that if you don't get what you want in life, you just have to scream louder."

She looked me straight in the eye and said, "I never gave in to my daughter's screams."

I looked at Ben - one hand overflowing with crackers and an animal cookie, the other clutching a gigantic cheese stick from the bakery - and answered confidently, "Oh yeah, I don't either."

It was one of those days.

Though when I sit down to think about it, it seems that there have been a lot of "those days" lately. Days when my patience is tested, over and over again- and I flat-out fail the test. Days when I think my children actually have an "off button" in their brain when they hear my voice. Days when I think that I would truly be happy if my boys could get along with each other for just one day - just one! Days when I actually feel a rush of joy or pleasure or relief when I see another child having a full-on temper tantrum in public (the more outrageous, the better - which I think officially qualifies me as a bad person, by the way).

But there is comfort here. There is comfort in the conversations with other parents in the school yard, or waiting for swimming lesson to finish, or on the sidelines at the soccer game. There is comfort in the collective sighs we breathe, and the sympathetic looks we give each other. There is comfort in knowing that we all have parenting struggles of some kind, on some days. There is comfort in knowing we are not alone in this crazy, chaotic adventure we call parenting.

And I know no one ever said it would be easy. And I know there are more good moments than bad moments. And I know children are precious and the fruit of the earth and yada yada yada.

I love my kids. Don't get me wrong. I looooooooooooove my kids. And I love being a parent.

It's just that some days, being a parent is fucking hard.

What else can I say?

It's just one of those days.

(And you should read this post quickly because as Max reads - and frequently reads my email and my blog - I will need to delete this post soon. You know, so I don't have to explain what fuck is.)

Ah, parenting.

The screamer.

 

Today

This weekend was the first time since the summer where we didn't have a single thing on the calendar. Imagine! No hockey, no soccer, no baseball, no cheerleading, no birthday parties - nothing! Instead, we went to the zoo, we went for a hike by the sea, we made robots out of boxes, we organized the basement, we watched movies, we had lovely meals...and we didn't rush anywhere (or anyone). 

Not once.

If that isn't the definition of a fabulous weekend, I don't know what is...

Benny, our shiny-eyed boy...

Sam at the zoo with the llamas and flamingoes.

Bashy in front of the weird North African giant rodents. This was the only place he agreed to pose for a picture (I tried in front of the cheetah, leopard and lions, but sadly, no. :)

Snacktime at the zoo. (We had lots of those). Oh yes- we also made rasberry muffins this weekend!

And here are Max and Jonah, who had a very different sort of weekend - in the snow in Calgary! In fact, from the sounds of it (in the few times he actually agreed to speak to me on the phone!) they had a whole wonderful Spring break week of lego-building, pie-making, sledding, hockey-playing, and Grandma-and-Grandpa-ing! Lucky boys :)

So truth be told, the very best thing we did this weekend was pick up our sweet Maxie at the airport.   It's lovely to know he can be away from us and feel secure enough, at seven, to not feel homesick. But it's also lovely to have him be back home in our midst. Because truth be told, his Mama was a little Maxi-sick while he was gone...

But then again, if you've met Max (or have a Max of your own) - I know you don't blame me.

I know you understand.

 

 

The Game of Life

Remember that board game called "The Game of Life", where you had to pick a little car that was either blue or pink, fill it with a partner and some little pink or blue children in the backseat, and head out on a journey called "Life"? The journey was filled with all kinds of ups and downs, backwards and forwards (depending on the spaces you landed on). I can't seem to remember what the conclusion of the game was, or how you won. Which means it must have really been about the journey (how nice).

I played this game a lot growing up. I remember liking it. I don't think I ever attached any significance to this game - I thought it was just a game. You know- something fun to play on a rainy day. 

For some strange reason, I've been thinking about it - the board game - again lately. I'll find myself in a situation where, for example, my neighbour rings my doorbell and says, "Hi, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but someone just smashed into your car out front and then drove away", and in my head, I hear, "Car smashed. Go back 3 spaces". Then the next day, I'm walking down the street, and someone, out of the blue, hands me a Tim Horton's gift card, and as I smile to the world, my brain says: "Free coffee. Move up 2 spaces" (I don't even like Tim Horton's coffee, but in the Game of Life, that is totally irrelevant).

It works for lots of things in my life. The kids getting sick (3 steps back); Max losing his first tooth (4 steps forward); Ben learning to walk - and run, and climb (3 steps forward); getting a flat tire (2 steps backward); finding myself a new passion/obsession (sewing- 5 steps forward); Someone spilling their milk (1 step backward); planning a trip to Italy (without the kids! - 17 steps forward!); shattering the glass on my iphone (doh! 4 steps backward); and going back to "regular" work a few days a week (though I still can't decide if that's 3 steps forward or 2 steps back). It seems like everything that happens to me could fit nicely on a little playing card.

Ok, well maybe not everything. The other night Ben puked up at least 3 cups worth of his dinner/bottle right onto my chest (I was still wearing my "work clothes" and a really nice new pink bra). You can't find a card that says that in the Game of Life! Nor do they have cards that say, "Bad morning: Your four year-old dumped out his cereal, ground it into a million pieces on the floor with his shoes, and then squeezed out an entire tube of toothpaste on top". What would that be - like 700 steps back? Come to think of it, much of what Sam does wouldn't fit on a little playing card (but then, would I really want it to?).

Of course, I recognize that what is happening right now in Japan and Libya - and many other disaster, war, and poverty stricken places  - could not fit on playing cards, either. It sure saddens me to think that for the children in those countries, these events are very much a part of their "Game of Life" right now. They don't have the luxury of thinking about the inconvenience of flat tires and spilled milk. Their life is not like a game at all.

So once again, I am left to ponder how lucky I am in so many ways. And though I sometimes feel like a hamster on a wheel, running running running around and around, if I can only stop every now again to really look at my little pink car and the lovely people who are on this journey called Life alongside me, I will see what incredible cards I have been dealt in this game called Life. And for that, I am thank-full.

A few recent pics of the kids, since it's been a while :)

This is Ben's cheeky face...he has officially turned into a "third child", and has figured out that to be heard in this family, you must scream and screech and yell until someone gives you what you want. So of course he gets what he wants quite quickly these days :) Smart boy.

Max finally lost his first tooth a little while ago, and here's the little tooth pillow we made together for the occasion. Did you know that the tooth fairy in these parts pays $6 a tooth? That's some serious inflation from the quarter I used to get, don't you think??

I'm going to try to be in this space more in the next weeks and months, so check back again soon!

Have a happy Tuesday.

xx s

 

Bali

Oh wow - I have been waaaaay too absent from these pages lately! Terrible. But I have a good excuse: apart from that life thing that always seems to get in the way of my blog, Max and I went to Bali for 10 days to visit Pete and company! Yes, Bali - you know, the Indonesian one.

It was a fabulous trip for both of us.

Max loved it because he got to hang out with his cousins for seven days straight; and because he got to do all "big boy" things like zip lining and snorkeling and water-parking (and no "baby" things like we do at home...it's hard to be the oldest, don't forget.)

I loved it because I got to spend ten full days with my incredible boy; and because I got to see the world through his beautiful eyes for those ten days. I was blown away by how calm and self-assured he was, even when he didn't speak the language or see anything really "familiar" to him. I loved how excited he was by everything, like when we were on our final plane, about to land in Bali, and he leaned over to me and whispered, "Oh Mama, I'm so excited I could just SCREAM!" It was just such a dream to travel with him, and I hope to do this with all of our boys individually in the future. Hopefully many times.

It was great to see Pete and Janet and spend some time with them. They have a pretty amazing life over there, and it was wonderful to see. It's amazing how easily one slips back into the traveling way of life...within hours on being there, Janet and I were walking around the streets and it felt like I was back in my pre-children days of wandering through markets and exploring dusty cities. I'd been to Bali twelve years ago, and I as struck by how much it had grown: it was like it had been a child when I was there, and now, all of a sudden, it had turned into a full-blown adult. But underneath it all, it was still Bali, you know? And I was still very happy to be back.  

If you want to read Max's impressions of our trip, check out Pete's blog- here

or see more pictures of our trip - here!

 

 

Tricks and Treats

I know that looking at Hallowe'en pictures in mid-November is like listening to Christmas music in February (SO not fun)...BUT, the thing is, the days just keep going by, and I don't want to complain or anything, but I just can't seem to keep up. So forgive me, if you will, for posting our Hallowe'en pictures now, and not mere days (or even hours) after the all-important event, as most people do. It seems the expression "better late than never" can be applied to most parts of my life these days. Getting to school on time, getting to hockey practice on time, getting to bed on time. But alas! We do what we can, no? Anyway.

The lead-up to Hallowe'en was fabulous this year. Max, who is six and a half (going on 20) was more excited than ever and spearheaded every activity with unprecedented enthusiasm. He was like the Hallowe'en cruise director. "Mama! We HAVE to go to the pumpkin patch! We HAVE to carve our pumpkins! We HAVE to roast the pumpkin seeds! We HAVE to make paper bats and pumpkins and get out the Hallowe'en decorations!!!" I liked his unbridled excitement. But it was his positive attitude that impressed me the most. 

Let me explain. We were making Star Wars/Hallowe'en cookies for his class party, and things weren't exactly going as planned. Sam added a few extra fistfuls of flour to the mix when I turned my back for a second; Max tried to dramatically throw the butter in the bowl and missed, causing it to be smeared all over the counter; the jar of sprinkles tipped over (God help me); and the mixer went a little too fast by mistake, causing batter to fly all over the kitchen, as I screamed and screamed for Max to slow it down (who lets their 6 year-old run the mixmaster alone???). I swear I'm not making this up. It was like a bad afterschool special. Anyway- after all of this (and I'd aged 5 years), as we are rolling out the gazillionth cookie and putting it on the gazillionth cookie tray, Max looks at me and says, "You know, I think this is the best cookie-making session we've ever had."

I almost fell over.

Really? I mean, really really?

But I smiled at my boy anyway, thought of all the things that went wrong that he didn't see, or didn't care about- and said, "Yes, Max, I believe you are right." I figured anyone with that good an attitude deserves to be agreed with (even if I did have to spend half an hour picking up sprinkles).

Sam was a peacock for Hallowe'en, and he spent the whole day SQWALKING and then explaining to people - "I'm a peacock: sqwalk, sqwalk". He was quite adorable. And PROUD! I finally understood where the expression "Proud as a peacock" comes from. Boy, was he proud. Strutting around showing his plummage. He loved it so much he said that next year he wants to be a peacock again. AND, to top it all off, he now wants to be a peacock when he grows up, and not a zebra anymore. Who ever said Hallowe'en was just about tricks and treats? 

And Ben - dear sweet Ben - was Yoda for Hallowe'en, to go along with Luke Skywalker (Max) and Princess Leia (me), of course. The funny part was that on Hallowe'en night, Ben started to actually talk like Yoda, saying, "ahhhhhhh" and "oohhoooh" when he saw all the candy. Check out this video of him "handling" the candy he and I were giving out to the neighbourhood children:

   

Overall, I think it was a successful Hallowe'en season. The costumes held up; so did the rain. There were lots of smiles. Of course, the treat bags runneth over. And the kids still don't question the fact that Hallowe'en candy has a 7-day expiration date...so the loot is safely out of their teeth and their reach - in their Mama's treat cupboard!

Sweet Ben

Our sweet, always-smiling, everything-goes, zucchini-loving, board-book-eating darling Ben turned one on Friday, and so we've spent the last few days singing Happy Birthday, showering him in kisses, and, well, eating zucchini (even his cupcake was chocolate-zucchini...which may explain why he devoured the whole thing in about 2 minutes flat.) 

I know there is nothing more boring than hearing mothers talk about their babies, so you should probably stop reading right now and just skim down to the pictures. Because I can't help myself. This boy, this boy...oh my. I spend hour upon hour with him every day, yet I still can't get enough of him. He's so delicious I could just eat him right up. As his Grandma Susan says, his default is just to smile. At anyone. And everyone. When I take him shopping, he just stares at people intensely until they smile at him, and then he laughs. And he is such a good sport. He gets dragged around from school to activity to appointment, all day long - and still, he smiles. This boy is pure sunshine, I tell you. Beautiful, brilliant, gold-hued sunshine. The kind you want to bask in all day long.

Anyway- here are some photos of his first birthday and family party (and yes, I realize that he is in his high chair in all of them...but food is very important to him, you see. And for some reason, I only pulled the camera out when he was in his high chair. So there's that, too.)

The story of the cupcake tells itself.

Sweet Ben. If you are even a tenth as joy-full for the rest of your life as you have been in your first year, I think you'll do just fine in this world. Happy Birthday, my darling boy. May we all take a page from your book and try to greet each day with a smile and a light heart...