tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40537109520798464042024-02-01T21:14:13.467-08:00Mine Want Milk, MommySuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-67000840489048045422011-09-04T19:26:00.000-07:002011-09-04T19:48:46.041-07:00Bad CopI have this friend, D, whom I completely respect and admire. We were at D's house over the weekend for a little bit of sadness and a little bit of fun. The sadness was because we were on the mainland for my Grandfather's funeral, and the fun was because we hit Splashdown Park Waterslides directly after. How was I to know that planning to take your kids to the waterslides directly after a funeral is considered irreverant and bad form? I suppose when asked to join the family at the wake after that I could have refrained from telling everyone that we were going to the waterslides instead, but that just wouldn't be me.
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<br />So anyways, back to D. She's just this totally awesome, sunshiney gal with a constant smile and positive nature. And she rocks at Mommying. The thing that struck me was that her boy sassed her just the tiniest bit and she said, "No. Uh-uh. We don't talk to each other like that. Go to your room please." And without arguing or continuing the sass, he walked. Straight to his room. Like, she didn't even have to yell at him or start counting or turn colours or anything. He had a little time-out, came back and apologized, then life continued on as normal. Easy Peasy Mac and Cheesy.
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<br />When we see parenting we respect and admire it does one of two things. It either makes us try to emulate it, or it makes our shortcomings glaring. And my shortcomings were glaring at me today. No, wait, it was just my sass-a-frass son. Glaring, giving me the "karate arms" threat, telling me no when the expected answer was clearly yes, and just being generally unpleasant. There was one incident after another, one time-out after another, one too many rude comments directed in my direction. The final straw was when Superdaddy and I sat him down to talk to him and after explicitly explaining that if the rude behaviour continued that he would be staying home instead of going to our friends' house for a bonfire he tried to subtlely smack his fist into his palm like he was continuing to threaten us and then raised his middle finger in his cupped hand, which he recently learned was NAUGHTY. YOU DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED ME, SIMBA. I kept him home. Everyone else left. I missed the bonfire and the food and the friends and the bikeride I was going to have on the way because I was not taking that naughty little boy out for some fun tonight.
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<br />And then a funny thing happened.
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<br />After about half an hour of hysterical crying and threatening and then crying some more, he rested in my arms. I talked to him again about how his rudeness was hurting my feelings. I offered him some dinner and he was polite about it and ate it. He cleared his plate and mine without being asked. We read some books together on the couch and he snuggled in close. We went up to the library, me running and him on his bike, and returned our overdue books. All evening I could see him doing things to emulate me. If I stooped to pet Max, he did the same directly after. If I went for a glass of water, he was suddenly thirsty.
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<br />I don't think my first-born is ever lacking from attention, but I do think tonight was good for us. I think it was good that he is reminded that if we make a threat we will follow through. More importantly I think he realized that even though his behaviour can be naughty he's still a pretty good guy and it turns out that Mom really likes to be around him. He missed out on some stuff tonight. I didn't let him watch a movie, there were no yummy snacks, and he went to bed early. Not enough to make his life miserable but enough for him to recognize business. Because I did mean business. But I love that guy. Even when I miss out on roasted marshmallows.
<br />SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-66790502342899991602011-08-02T11:46:00.000-07:002011-08-02T12:17:09.032-07:00To Make a Short Story Long<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This one is going to meander a bit, but worry not, we'll get there.<br /><br />So a while ago now a good friend of ours, M, got a new kitten. Skyler, who is afraid of all things living, was absolutely terrified of this sweet little creature whom we shall call Baking Powder. We sat on the couch for a while with Baking Powder sitting calmly beside us and I soothed Skyler and assured her over and over for about ten minutes that Baking Powder was just a kitten and would never hurt her, that he was kind and sweet and cute just like OUR little baby Talia.<br /><br />And then Baking Powder pounced on her hand and bit her.<br /><br />Proving once again that I am, in fact, a liar.<br /><br />Last weekend we went back to M's house for dinner and Skyler comes running and screaming from the back of the yard. "What happened, honey?" "Mommy, some random cat bit my hand!" We were sitting around the fire later and Baking Powder came slinking under the chair I was sitting in with Skyler in my lap. Skyler started getting all squealy and worried and I asked her what the problem was. "Mommy, it actually wasn't some random cat bit my hand, it was Baking Powder."<br /><br />We went to the lake yesterday afternoon and pulled up to the house just past dinner time, hungry and tired but content. As we pulled into the driveway we saw the neighbourhood Mama Deer with her two little fawns grazing on our front lawn, but paid them no mind because we see them so often. We opened the van door and saw our neighbour's dog, Otis, come running down the street to greet us. He comes over quite a bit because Marcus is really into throwing a ball for him, so again, nothing unusual. However, as wee Otis got closer he saw the fawns and I swear a smile spread across his little doggy face. Otis loves to chase. He chases our cats all the time (but not in a way that bothers us--in a sweet 'I'd never know what to do if I caught up with them' kind of way). So he started to chase the fawns that bolted between the van and the house. But Mama Deer did not bolt. Instead she started to clobber Otis with both of her front hooves and remarkably with her back hooves as well. I stood frozen at the sliding door of the van and the kids both watched with mouths agape in horror. I took a step towards them like I was going to assuage the ire of the deer but David uttered, "Don't. You. Dare." Otis finally freed himself from the barrage of kicks and ran squealing and yelping up the road. I hoped the deer would then take off but she didn't. She started looking around the yard like maybe Otis had some little doggy friends that she could clobber, since she was in a clobbering kind of mood. I quietly got back into the van and closed the door behind me. Marcus started whimpering, "I'm scared. How are we going to get back to the house?" We assured the kids that they needn't be scared of deer and that the deer was just protecting her fawns (of course, I am a known liar). But when I finally mustered up the courage to open the van door, I was scared too. I had a bottle of shampoo in my hand so I threw it at the deer hoping she'd go on down the street but she didn't; she blinked at it and looked at me expectantly. I carried Skyler quickly to the house and went back for Marcus, not willing to put them on the ground to walk. David brought Talia in quickly.<br /><br />Otis went to the vet and it turns out he is okay. At first his owners thought he was a goner; he just lay on their porch and closed his eyes and whimpered. But, no broken bones, no internal injuries, he's going to be fine.<br /><br />Later that evening we're sitting on the couch looking out the window and watching the offending Mama Deer munching on some apples our across-the-street neighbour left out for her. Marcus says, "Uhm Mom, you know, I have a phobia now." "Oh? Of what?" "Of deer." Skyler looks up excitedly, "OH! I have a phobie TOO!" "Really? Of what?" Fully expecting her to have a new deer phobia too.<br /><br />"I have a phobia of M's cats!"<br /></span>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-51747388331437746272011-07-07T16:07:00.000-07:002011-07-07T16:23:12.034-07:00ReciprocityI'm getting tired of the unreasonable demands. Or maybe it's the pure unreasonableness of the demands that is tiring me; either way, it's taxing.<br /><br />I'm sitting on the front lawn watching Talia play and Skyler and Marcus are taking turns coming up to me and demanding that I get up immediately to find a toy, get a snack, replenish a cup of milk, or dance like a monkey on a string. I am up and down and up and down and up and down and I start feeling like maybe I'd be better off staying on my feet. If I were to embrace indentured servitude, that is.<br /><br />But I have a better idea.<br /><br />I decided that from now on for every time-killing and irrelevant demand made to me by the kids, I would make a similar demand on them. A demand that would actually save me some time in some way. For example, Marcus comes up with a random plastic toy watch and asks me to put it on him. I survey the room and say, "Marcus, I will put that watch on you if you pick up those cups that Talia pulled out of the drawer." He wins, I win, we both win.<br /><br />When David heard of the reciprocity agreement he was ecstatic. "Skyler, I'll read you a book if you go get me a beer." He walked around grinning and exclaiming, "I like this new rule. This is a great rule!" Marcus glared in my direction.<br /><br />The reciprocity idea actually came to me as I was cleaning the house the other day with two little turkeys underfoot demanding constant service. I needed them out of my hair so I could tidy up before dinner and now without cable that takes some creative solutions. But I realized if every time they came up to me I gave them a chore they would sooner or later stop coming up to me. By the time they clued in to the ruse they had picked up every toy in the living room and had washed the front window as well. After that they kept their distance. I knew then that I was onto something good.SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-59156930749602219202011-06-17T18:46:00.000-07:002011-06-17T21:36:21.488-07:00Caring for Five<div><div>Lately I've been taking care of some extra kidlets for a friend of mine who got a few weeks of work. It was a no-brainer for me--she has taken care of my children so many times I couldn't even begin to count. So let's not dispute the "why". Let's, instead, discuss the how. The how is far more entertaining.</div><div> </div><div>So my friend, let's call her J, has two kids. With my three, that makes FIVE. I'm doing the math to emphasize the large amount of children that are in my barely capable care. J, I'm sorry, but it's true. At the best of times I'd barely call myself inept. J has a little girl that is almost three and a little guy that is ten months old. They are fabulous kids and have been so well-behaved around here it's silly.</div><div> </div><div>What's pretty funny is how I'VE been behaving through all this. Because although all the kids seem to be very content and have been smiling and playing all day (even MY kids have been behaving), I have been in a constant state of panic the entire time. Panic. I'm lying on the blanket on the front yard surrounded by happy and smiling children and in my heart I am panicking.</div><div> </div><div>Because I have to pee. Or because somebody has asked me for a snack. And I can't even begin to wrap my head around how I can do anything besides sit on the blanket and look after the babies. I actually felt at around 2pm today that I had to pee, looked at my watch and thought, "Meh, J will be here in an hour, I guess I'll just wait." When the kids need a snack I bring one of the babies in the house and leave my five-year-old in charge of the other one. Yes, that's right, my five-year-old. But I leave the front door wide open so I'll be able to hear him if he starts panicking.</div><div> </div><div>Today I had the kids all out front and I had J's baby on my hip inside while I frantically prepared him a bottle and poured frozen blueberries into a bowl for everybody, and the doorbell rang. I do my inside jobs like I'm playing Beat the Clock because although I will leave my five-year-old in charge of my baby, I won't do it for more than thirty seconds. So every thirty seconds I race to the front window and make sure that my baby is still on the blanket, that nobody is sitting on her, and that Random Marcus isn't balancing her on his handlebars. I didn't rush downstairs to answer the door because I honestly thought it was just Marcus messing around and I knew I wasn't going to be able to work up the energy to ask him to stop so I just ignored it. </div><div> </div><div>When I made it to the front door thirty seconds later, there was an actual person there. A lady who had come to our door mistakenly, but it made me survey the scene that she had just encountered. Several unattended, somewhat dirty children out front. The entire contents of my diaper bag strewn about the blanket (because I change the diapers outside when we're outside). Me coming to the door with yet another dirty child on my hip, and then the rest of the kids swarming the bowl of blueberries like I had neglected to actually feed this unfortunate little group of ragamuffins. She realized right away she had the wrong house. And she backed away slowly. </div><div> </div><div>It's not technically hard to look after this many children. It's just rather impossible to do it without a sense of humour.</div><div> </div></div>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-1409587766880876332011-05-04T16:38:00.001-07:002011-05-04T17:23:13.579-07:00Your Kid is a Liar<div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, maybe not your kid. But my kid is. And it’s completely unintentional but</span> seriously, kids are liars. Bold-faced, unabashed liars. As a teacher I feel it’s my duty to share this with you because it is extremely important that you<span> take everything your kid says with a grain of salt. Because your kid is a liar.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Case in point: Marcus had t-ball the other night. I wasn’t able to make it because I</span> was sick so David took the kids. David must not have noticed that Marcus came home with a ball that didn’t belong to him. This is the conversation that took<span> place between Marcus and I:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> (on stairs): Look mom, the coach gave me a ball!<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>Me (in kitchen): What do you mean? Why did he give you a ball?<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus:</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I dunno, he just gave it to me. I don’t know why.<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>Me: Did the other kids get a ball too?<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus:</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I don’t know, I got a ball though.<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>Me: Well what did he say when he gave it to you?<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus:</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> He said, “Here Marcus. This is for you.” Then he gave it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, it says Marcus on it.<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>Me: Oh. That doesn’t say Marcus honey, that says Marlins. Do you think that maybe<br />you thought that ball said Marcus and you thought it was yours?<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus:</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> It says Marlins? Are you sure? It doesn’t say Marcus?<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>Me: Look honey, it starts with Mar, just like your name, but look at these letters. Do you have these letters in your name? Did your coach actually GIVE you the ball, or did you just see it on the ground and thought it had your name one it?<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: Hmm.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Maybe my coach didn’t give it to</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> me. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br /></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span>You see, with less than three minutes of interrogation I got to the root of it. I didn’t even have to torture him. I should work for CSIS. The thing is, Marcus wasn’t intentionally lying. For whatever reason, he thought his coach had given him a ball with his name on it. He believed that his coach had given him that ball for keeps. He created this scenario in his mind in which his coach gave him a ball.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So if your child comes home from school with some whack-a-doodle story about some</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> hijinks that occurred in class, take a minute to do some investigative parenting.</span><span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> There could be more to the story.</span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-8075027873289559212011-04-27T22:14:00.001-07:002011-04-28T15:26:23.707-07:00On Loyalty<div><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">First of all, I’d just like to say, I don’t care how important the hockey game is, it is just not okay to wake a sleeping baby. I don’t understand how you can become so emotionally invested in a game on tv that you would hoot loud enough to wake a sleeping, TEETHING, possibly SICK with LYME DISEASE baby. Come on! <!--?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /--><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ahem.</span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Skyler has this little blue bear that she loves. His name is BearBear. She’s had him forever, and I don’t know where she got him but he has been her best friend for a long time now. About a month ago we were driving in the van and out of nowhere she says, “Mom, you know, BearBear is mine friend.” It’s true, he is her friend. When she is worried or sad she seeks him out and hugs him hard. She sleeps with him every night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Then one day Skyler went to Save-On-Foods with Daddy and there was a bear just like BearBear, only larger, and pink. She lost her damn mind over that bear, looked up at Daddy while hugging the bear and said in the most adorable voice she could muster, “He’s so fluffy I’m going to die!” Don’t give her too much credit on the cute scale here—that was a direct quote from the movie Despicable Me. She’s cute, but not THAT cute. So of course Daddy bought her the bear, which I am fine with. The more the merrier, right? But Daddy had a different idea. He thought it would be okay if Baby Bear Pink REPLACED BearBear. As in, “Skyler, you can only bring one bear to bed with you.” I’m all, “WHAT?!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Wait, I should also let you know that there is not just one BearBear, although Skyler didn’t know it at that point. We have two, well three really, BearBears. They’re in rotation. Rather, two of them are in rotation but we had to pull the third because his outfit could be removed but the other two had outfits that couldn’t be and we were worried she’d figure out the ruse. When I realized how much she loved BearBear I bought a couple more on Ebay so that we’d never have to search for BearBear in the middle of the night, or break her heart if she<br />lost him. Because it is IMPORTANT to me that she LOVES BearBear. And LOVE means something. TO. ME.<o:p></o:p><br /><br />Obviously that is one flaw in the Baby Bear Pink idea. But what really got to me is how she was completely willing to abandon BearBear, her confidante, her security, her soulmate, her FRIEND for some random pink bear. I was sad that suddenly it seemed as though the only person that was really worried about BearBear was me. Yes, I’ll admit it, I love that bear. That bear has kept my daughter emotionally safe for years. I love that bear. <o:p></o:p><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was worried for nothing though. Because now that the novelty of Baby Bear Pink has worn off, she is often forgotten. Skyler still sleeps with BearBear. AND Baby Bear Pink, and some random pink hamster. And anybody else she can fit in her tiny little arms. But always BearBear. And last night when I snuck into her room to kiss her goodnight, Baby Bear Pink was on the floor. And BearBear? Nestled safely in her arms. That’s my girl. <o:p></o:p><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></div></div>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-81665365899924600622011-02-13T14:06:00.000-08:002011-02-14T14:18:06.995-08:00The Cute Kid Debacle<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Debacle is a great word. This is probably not an ACTUAL debacle, more of one of those little non-events that make my life somewhat interesting and slightly humourous.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I heard on the radio of this contest of cute kids in which you could win a brand new car. Check it: a BRAND NEW CAR. Do I actually need a brand new car? No. Could I even fit my entire family into the car they were offering? Again, no. But I DO have cute kids, and I DO love to win things, so I figured I had this in the bag and should enter immediately. Without delay. So I sped home, whipped the kids out of their carseats and powered up the old internet. I chose some adorable pictures of my children and entered the contest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This contest lets the viewers vote on the cutest kids, rating each child out of 10. When voting began you could actually see the score of the child and where they stood in the ratings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I raised an eyebrow at this. I worked it though with facebook status updates, such as: </span></span></p><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><o:p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: yesfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#3b5998;" ><?xml:namespace prefix = v ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:vml" /><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f" coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" spt="75" preferrelative="t"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype></span><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: ENfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" lang="EN" ><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=813585149"><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: none; mso-bidi-: nonecolor:#3b5998;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sarah Davidson</span></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Hey! Somebody is voting my kids DOWN! I don't think I like this contest!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Followed by:</span></span></p><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: ENfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" lang="EN" ><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=813585149"><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: none; mso-bidi-: nonecolor:#3b5998;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sarah Davidson</span></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I suspect that some of the leaders are probably voting others down.</span></span></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: ENfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" lang="EN" ><o:p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then:</span></span></p><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><o:p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: ENfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" lang="EN" ><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=813585149"><span style="TEXT-DECORATION: none; mso-bidi-: nonecolor:#3b5998;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sarah Davidson</span></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Okay so now I am feeling bad for the people whose kids are on the last page so I'm giving them all 10s because how mean is it to say somebody's kid is only a 2.5?! They could get stuck with that label for life! They'll start dating 4s even though they're really 7s and could possibly be dating 8s. It's just not right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At this point I decided to email the guy in the promotions department to mention this alarming fact. We do NOT want 7s dating 4s if they can get 8s. Right? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal" align="right"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">12/02/2011 <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#555555;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To c___@radio.astral.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><table style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm" class="MsoNormalTable" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-firstrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">SuperMommy<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sent:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">February 12, 2011 2:05:52 PM<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To: <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">C__@radio.astral.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Okay so I entered my kids in your cute baby contest thinking, why not, it's time those little ingrates started earning their keep. <span class="ecxmessagebody">I am shamelessly exploiting my kids trying to win a new car. And I don't even need a new car. I'm told these are the types of hobbies housewives should have. </span>Seemed like a good idea at the time. My kids are usually pretty cute when they're not driving me completely insane at the market or even better, in the bank. They're good kids. We like them.<br />So I've come to realize this voting thing is kind of mean but more importantly, could be really damaging! I am feeling bad for the people whose kids are on the last page so I'm giving them all 10s because how mean is it to say somebody's kid is only a 2.5?! They could get stuck with that label for life! They'll start dating 4s even though they're really 7s and could possibly be dating 8s. It's just not right. So anyways, I hope when you guys choose a winner you choose a 2.5 because I bet you last night's leftovers that some of those 7s are going around voting down all the babies that are uber-cute. So even if their KIDS are 7s the PARENTS are 2s and should just be ashamed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Regards, <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">SuperMommy<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s funny how the anonymity of the internet allows you to be cheeky to people you’ve never met. After that email they did change the contest so you couldn’t see the scores but the photos were still arranged by popularity. My status update:</span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-: ENfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" lang="EN" ><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=813585149"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sarah Davidson</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> It used to show their scores but they changed it. Now you can tell when you hit "browse" as it takes you to the first page. Mine have no chance though because every time a kid gets on that front page they get assaulted with low votes. It's really sad!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Could I stop there? Have we met? Of course I couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Not without a little more sass. Back to the old emailer:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><span class="cici5"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><a title="Picture of Sarah Davidson" href="http://bl157w.blu157.mail.live.com/mail/InboxLight.aspx?n=1578465467"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-no-proof: yescolor:#0066cc;" ><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f" coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" spt="75" preferrelative="t"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="WIDTH: 0.75pt; HEIGHT: 0.75pt; VISIBILITY: visible; mso-wrap-style: square" id="Picture_x0020_84" type="#_x0000_t75" spid="_x0000_i1025" alt="http://gfx2.hotmail.com/mail/uxp/w4/m4/pr014/is/invis.gif"><v:imagedata title="invis" src="file:///C:\Users\DUMASF~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.gif"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></v:imagedata></v:shape><span id="rmic1_frame"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a><span id="rmic1_name"></span></span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#555555;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To c___@radio.astral.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#555555;" ><o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></o:p></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"></p><table style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm" class="MsoNormalTable" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-firstrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" >SuperMommy</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sent:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">February 13, 2011 7:17:45 AM<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" >To: </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#555555;" >c___@radio.astral.com<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Don't know if you got the first one but that's okay as I often carry out one-sided conversations. I like that you took off the ratings and the rating order although I think you've underestimated the mental capacity of your rabid car-coveting mothers. Have you never watched Toddlers and Tiaras? These ladies are not your average Isn't-My-Kid-Adorable cut of mommy. They know that when you hit browse those kids are lined up nice and neat in order of votes and they assault the leaders with a barrage of low votes. Cutthroat. I've never seen such a thing.<br /><br />Have a nice day!<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">SuperMommy<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I can tell you whose kids AREN’T going to win this contest! :)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyhow, I did actually get a reply, which surprised the pants off me! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: #f3f7fd" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#555555;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To Sarah Davidson<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"></p><table style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm" class="MsoNormalTable" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-firstrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: boldfont-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" >McWilliam, Crosby</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" > <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sent:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">February 13, 2011 8:35:09 AM<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr><tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes"><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#6e6e6e;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To: <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td><td style="BORDER-BOTTOM: #f0f0f0; BORDER-LEFT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-BOTTOM: 1.3pt; PADDING-RIGHT: 2.55pt; BORDER-TOP: #f0f0f0; BORDER-RIGHT: #f0f0f0; PADDING-TOP: 0cm; BACKGROUND-: 0cmcolor:transparent;" valign="top" ><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">SuperMommy<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hi Supermommy, <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thanks for your emails. We appreciate your observations and as you noticed removed the viewer on the ratings in order to protect the kids. We're working on another way of displaying the photos alphabetically in the hopes that there's no perception of who's in first, but it might take a day or so to make that active if our web people can do it at all... <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thanks again for writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Crosby McWilliam<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Promotions Director<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Virgin Radio<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Tahoma', 'sans-serif';color:#2a2a2a;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I find it equally interesting when you write someone with cheek and sass and they respond to you like you are a regular sane and reasonable person. He must deal with crazies all the time. I look forward to seeing if their web people are able to alphabetize. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt; BACKGROUND: white" class="MsoNormal"></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"></o:p></span></span></p></o:p></span></span></o:p></span></span>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-32593467027997511412011-02-09T10:01:00.001-08:002011-02-09T10:03:04.969-08:00In Which SuperMommy Loses her Mind and Enacts Martial Law Over the Household<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well come on, we all knew it was coming.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Right now Marcus is in his room hurling insults at me as I blog about him. Luckily the worst he can come up with is, “Mommy, you are a BABY! You are a BIG POO!” Pfft. Not even worth lifting an eyebrow. That the best you got, kid? I thought so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yesterday I had a moment when I realized that all I do, all day long, is clean up random messes. I dismally surveyed my hurricane-struck living room and absolutely lost it. I made the kids clean and clean and clean, issuing one job after the next. When Marcus complained I LOST IT COMPLETELY, got a big piece of newsprint and scrawled the new House Rule: When you are finished playing with something you MUST put it away before moving on to the next thing. NO EXCEPTIONS. I then taped it up in the dining room above the table as a daily reminder. Now, if only I could teach those kids to read...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today I’m all over them. Well, all over Marcus, as he tends to be the maker of random messes and destroyer of my sanity. I’ve already had to call him into the kitchen to clean up a tag he cut in pieces out of his pants, a yogurt top that he dropped on the ground beside the garbage, and a craft he had made that he took down and left on the ground. I figure it’ll be two weeks of me being all over him and then he’ll get it. I don’t anticipate this to be a very lovely or fun two weeks, and I’m regretful that I haven’t had them be more responsible all the way through. But I’ve had it, and I know that I can’t just continue to clean up after these little rugrats because the messes are becoming more creative and I’m beginning to think they’re doing it on purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don’t know why it happens but it feels like behaviour comes in waves around here. Right now it’s storming. Marcus is being rude and crabby at us, the messes have increased, and his randomness is as random as ever. Skyler has developed an acute case of selective hearing. I’m going to take her to the doctor and get her tested for naughtiness. I’m pretty sure she’s got it. Talia of course continues to be a doll, but unfortunately she is a doll that refuses to be placed on the floor, playmat, in somebody else’s arms, the exersaucer, the jolly jumper, or ANYWHERE THAT IS NOT ON MOMMY.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CAfont-family:'Times New Roman';color:#333333;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So to make a long story short, I’m losing it completely. Luckily today is grocery day and there is a grocery store that MINDS YOUR CHILDREN in a play area while you shop. Without your kids. I can’t even believe such a thing exists. I’m going to start shopping in small batches, a little bit every day. Every single day. Dear QF: Thank you for being you. I love you. Forever yours, SuperMommy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-35859729170041521992011-02-03T08:23:00.000-08:002011-02-03T08:24:59.431-08:00Herding Cats: Not a Bad Job if You Can Get It<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I’ve got a real love-hate relationship with my current job duties. Most days as I’m cleaning toilets or miserably contemplating what to make for dinner I stop and consider my two degrees and wonder if I may be overqualified for this gig. Funnily enough though, my worst day of parenting is still better than my best day at work, and I actually really love teaching. Parenting definitely has its perks, so here are my top 10 reasons why herding cats isn’t all bad:<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">10. In the summer you can spend your days lounging at the beach in the warm sunshine and it is considered to be both selfless and good parenting. SUNTANNING, people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">9. People give your children very cool toys that you get to play<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>with as part of your work “duties”. Three words: Night. Vision. Goggles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">8. In the winter you get to go tobogganing. Again, considered to be good parenting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">7. In the winter you can also throw snowballs at your little terrorists and not have to worry about repercussions because fortunately you haven’t yet corrected their jelly-like throwing style.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">6. If you laze out and make Kraft Dinner and Shake N Bake for dinner you get a standing O.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">5. You never get lonely while on the toilet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4. You get seconds and thirds because your children refuse to eat their dinners.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3. You get lots of fresh air because you know you need to get them out of the house before they or you or both become completely insane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2. You never have a problem coming up with new facebook status updates because they are always doing something random.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1. You can choose to wear your jammies ALL DAY and your employers think it’s AWESOME and decide to wear their jammies all day too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why would I ever go back to work?! Well, besides that whole disposable income thing. That was nice to have.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-7469651169263161542011-01-06T13:21:00.000-08:002011-01-06T13:25:39.160-08:00The Clothing Neurosis<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus is not your average happy-go-lucky kind of kid. He’s intense. He’s sensitive. He furrows his brow and gives the stink-eye on a regular basis. He takes things very seriously and likes things to happen in a certain way. When he was a little younger he used to script out conversations and play for us. As in, “No, Mommy, my guy says let’s go and then YOUR guy says okay.” So much for spontaneity. He doesn’t like milk that has already been poured and then stored in the fridge. It has to be NEW milk, from the jug. You can imagine my friend D’s surprise when we were visiting her house and Marcus asked for some milk, “... But NEW milk. Not milk from the fridge.” We advised her to buy a cow. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyhow, that being said we didn’t find it particularly concerning when several months ago Marcus began to have issues with his clothes. He didn’t like clothes that didn’t fit properly, which was fine because hey, who does? But then it started to escalate. He didn’t like any of his clothes anymore. He’d get changed several times each morning, and each time he’d get more and more frustrated. “There’s LUMPS in the front!!!” He’d frantically try to smooth them out but he couldn’t. By the time he was dressed he was in tears, I was fed up, and nobody was happy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We got him some nice new clothes for Christmas and were so careful to choose out pants that would fit him well. We were so sad when the new pants were rejected as soundly as the old pants. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Finally, when David was dropping Marcus off at preschool the other day, he decided to investigate. Marcus was beginning to panic about his clothes as he was changing his shoes and David said, “Marcus, WHY does it bother you that there are lumps in your pants?” “Because J and C (his best school buddies, or so we thought) say that my clothes are too big and have lumps in them and it makes me sad.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh. My. Goodness. When David came home for lunch and told me this tale I was so upset. Somebody is hurting my little boy. Now I am going to have to go all the way over to the preschool, find the little kids that are doing this, and hurt them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No, wait, I can’t do that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s not going to work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The worst part for me was realizing that Marcus had been struggling with this for MONTHS and HADN’T TOLD US. And when he said that he didn’t like school we dismissed it because we thought he just didn’t want to go because he liked hanging with us more. When we asked him why he didn’t like school he said because he’d rather be with Mommy. Well no kidding, Mommy never makes fun of him! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The instinct when hearing that he’s being teased is to provide him with a full arsenal of rebuttals and insults. If we followed our initial physical response we’d have that guy speaking like a newly-released convict with a bad attitude. But I realized that isn’t going to work. The other kid is always going to have a better comeback and he’s going to have it on the fly. Marcus would have to wait until he got home to get a new one from Mom and Dad because he just doesn’t have that kind of a mind. He’s not a mean kid, and so far his best insults are to stick his tongue out or call somebody an idiot (Thank you Disney-Pixar). We realized that we were going to need to teach him the most important lesson—how to be strong. How to look somebody in the eye and say, “I don’t care what you think. I like me.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I let the preschool know what is going on but I didn’t give the boys names and I told them that we were handling this at home but I just wanted them to be aware. There will always be people in life that will try to make you feel bad about yourself. You have a choice to give those people power by letting it affect you or to take their power away by being strong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We explained to Marcus that there is nothing wrong with his clothes. We told him that if anybody teases him in a way that makes him sad, he has the right to tell them that they are wrong, to tell them that he likes his clothes, and to tell them to worry about themselves. We also told him that if he feels like he needs backup to go tell a teacher and to TELL US when he gets home. I hope that he heard us, but I have a feeling that he did. Today when he was getting dressed he chose out a slightly baggy dinosaur shirt that he got for Christmas, really liked, but hasn’t really worn. And he looked great.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-88747215736919991122010-12-17T13:32:00.000-08:002010-12-17T13:38:35.895-08:00Check. Your. Kid.<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This may come across as catty, but I flat-out do not care. If you are sitting on your duff playing with your i-phone with your nicely manicured nails, taking a moment here and there to preen your chemically straightened hair while your child is CAUSING HAVOC all over the flipping place then YOU HAVE IT COMING TO YOU! Today’s parenting fail thankfully is not mine. Well, it is a little, but mostly not.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There’s this kid in Marcus’s gymnastics class that is a holy terror. He NEVER listens, he ALWAYS hits and he rarely does the things he is supposed to do. His mom sits on the bench and watches and sometimes threatens to take him home (although they’ve never left yet). So today Skyler had to use the bathroom which is just off of the gymnastics room. I’m sitting with Talia on an exercise ball outside of the bathroom beside a bucket of balls. Normally I wouldn’t mess with another person’s kid just randomly, but that little monster came up to the bucket of balls and started throwing them at me. Before I even realized that he was doing it intentionally he beaned Talia in the head. I looked up for his mom but she was TEXTING (parenting fail!). I looked him in the eye and said, firmly, “That is NOT okay.” He looked back at me, picked up another ball, and chucked it at me. I got down to his level and quietly informed him that SANTA did not bring presents to boys and girls that are NAUGHTY and he better be careful because SANTA is watching RIGHT NOW!!! (Have I mentioned how December is my favourite month?) He then proceeded to pick up every ball in the bin and toss them onto the floor, which was fine with me because thank goodness he was not my child. His mom was still texting. After he emptied out the balls he was going for the hula hoops but I decided that I didn’t want him chucking around things that were hard so I held them in the bin and stared him down. His mom FINALLY came over to collect him. She was about to walk away with him so I said, “He just emptied all those balls out there.” And pointed. So that she would know exactly which balls she would need to clean up. And she gave him heck and made him pick them up, threatened to take him home again, then sent him back to his class. After Skyler was done in the bathroom I saw the boy head-butt another boy. Mom was nowhere to be seen. As we walked through the lobby I saw her talking to another mom. I said, “He just head-butted another kid. You may want to go in there.” And she did eventually meander back to the room, after she finished her conversation. Lady, you want to be lazy and self-indulgent, that’s your problem. Your bad parenting is going to become society’s problem and that sucks. Parenting is easy. You just have to check in. React. Follow through. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My kids aren’t perfect. But they’re more imperfect in a funny and entertaining way. Their public displays are usually somewhat containable and if they're not then WE LEAVE. Because my kids are MY problem (not that I think of them as a problem), not anybody else's, and they should not be allowed to disrupt at random. When that little turkey runs away in gymnastics class seven other kids have to stand there waiting while the teacher goes to collect him. Don't even get me started about what happens in classrooms!</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Breathe deep. Find your happy place.</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Skyler is my funny girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I think she’s going to grow into a funny woman, and goodness knows I like a funny woman. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I put her in her bed she’s always wearing appropriate attire. She has many sets of lovely pyjamas; she chooses her own out and she puts them on willingly. But something happens to her in the night (or during the day if she’s napping). She undergoes a miraculous transformation. She never awakens in the same outfit she went to sleep in. One night I went in there and she was wearing her tiara and sleeping peacefully. The other day she woke up in her hockey jersey (that’s my girl!). One day I put her down for nap in my bed. I went in when she awoke and saw a hint of lime green sticking out of the waistband of her pants. “What’s this?” I asked. “I’m wearing your panties!” she smiled. Hmm, I don’t have any lime green panties. She was wearing my sports bra under her pants like a pair of panties. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus has been using many of our words against us lately and he’s finding himself in his room more often than he cares for. Today he was chasing Skyler down trying to talk her into giving him a toy and she smacked him when he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He came to complain to me and I shrugged and told him he should have listened to her when she said no the first five times. Once he confirmed that I was unwilling to parent her he decided the right move would be to go parent her himself. “Skyler, it is never okay to hit. What could you have done instead?” My smart little cookie replied, “Barcus, I told you no and you didn’t LISTEN!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He gets so crabby sometimes. I sent him off to school the other day crabby and I worried about him all day. That evening I asked him if he was crabby at school and he said no. I wanted to know why he was so crabby here and not at school. “We’re not allowed to be crabby at school,” he said. You’re allowed to be crabby here?! I had to know what the secret was. How do they enforce the non-crabby rule? What happens if you’re crabby at school? “You have to sit on the stairs and the teacher talks to you.” That’s it? Because I can do that! I DO do that! You’re still crabby when I do that! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-31344215336697309872010-11-30T00:19:00.001-08:002010-11-30T00:19:39.818-08:00MY you look SKINNY!<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I was in university we played this cool game called Ba-faa Ba-faa. It started out by separating our class into two groups in two separate classrooms. After the other group left we didn’t know what was going on with them. In our group we were taught a new language and given these little number cards that represented a sort of commerce. We were initiated into a new culture that valued commerce above all else and required aggressive trading practices to succeed in the society. After some time, after we’d perfected our aggressive trading skills and amassed a suitable amount of wealth, we were selected in small groups to visit the other culture. When we arrived, it was literally like a different planet. Nobody was interested in doing commerce with us. They were very huggy and got right in our personal space. What really struck me was the greeting ritual—they started each conversation with, “How’s your father? How is your brother? OH you have many men in your family, good for you.” It was disconcerting because it seemed like such an odd thing to value. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So what’s come into my mind lately is the bizarre greeting ritual us women partake in on a regular basis. If you run into a woman you haven’t seen in a while the greeting will sound something like this, “Oh hi! Wow, you look great. Oh my goodness, you’re so skinny!” I engage in this practice regularly. What really struck my attention is this: I went to visit an old friend recently. She is self-admittedly a lazy person. She doesn’t exercise at all and dislikes going outside. She eats whatever she fancies. She is not a person you would describe as healthy. Yet, when I saw her, the thing that I noticed and commented on was how GREAT she looked and how SKINNY she was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I’ve been working like a mad woman to lose my pregnancy weight and I’ve succeeded—my weight is now below what it was before I got pregnant with my second child and is almost down to what it was before my first. In September when I started to watch what I ate I thought that when I reached my goal weight I’d feel good about that number and good about myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I do feel good about myself physically, but the preoccupation with my weight hasn’t subsided. I still weigh in daily, I still watch what I eat, and I still feel guilty if I miss a day of exercise. Once you decide to start caring, it’s really hard to shut that off. Because being skinny is what we value. It’s the first thing we notice about each other. It’s the most common compliment we pay. In fact, whenever I get stressed out with life in general, the first outward sign is a complete preoccupation with my weight. I think that’s partially because I’m all about power and control and that is something I can exercise my power and control over, but it’s also about self image. If I could just look right then everything would go right. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I actually find this topic depressing to think about because I have two daughters and I have no idea how to break the cycle for them. I can try to not self-scrutinize in front of them but I can’t protect them from the bombardment of images that have already begun to assault them. I don’t want them to be obsessed about their looks and preoccupied with their body image, but I have yet to meet a woman who isn’t. That’s a pretty sweeping statement, but I’ve had these weight conversations with women that you would assume couldn’t have a complaint about their bodies. They do. They pinch their skin and claim they need to lose five pounds. I wonder how much I will have to weigh to be satisfied with my weight. But YOU! YOU look wonderful! Have you lost weight?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-38357489498965561752010-11-25T07:35:00.000-08:002010-11-25T07:36:33.025-08:00Can I Get a Witness?!<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Warning: The following blog post is about bathroom stuff. Enough said.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Our kids wake us up at night. I mentioned this already. Every night one of the kids gets up, and it is usually Marcus. So when I hear him screaming at me from his bed, I don’t usually rush to his side with frenetic helpfulness. I may even dawdle. Last night I looked at the clock to see what ungodly hour he was waking me in (it was actually morning—6am). Considered pretending to sleep through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I would usually take this opportunity to elbow the husband and remind him of his parental duties, but sadly that guy was down in the basement with another man-cold. I finally took pity on his cries and left the bedroom to help him. He was in the bathroom. On the can. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There’s a chain of thought that goes through a parent’s mind when their child calls in a state of panic from the toilet. The first thought is, “PLEASE do not throw up,” followed by, “Oh no, what’s wrong?” Luckily, he did not throw up. But then I realized that Marcus was having one of those toilet episodes that causes your whole body to shake and get cold sweats. I felt so sorry for him that I sat down on the stool and let him put his arms around me and held his weight for him so he could focus on his business. That was a bad move. Because it turned out that this episode was going to repeat itself about eight more times, and now I had set a precedent. This boy no longer wanted sacred toilet privacy. He wanted me to hold him and console him every time. It went something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: “Mom, I have to go again! I don’t have much time!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: “Then GO! What are you waiting for?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: “I need you to come with me! What if I have allergies again?!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: “It’s called diarrhea, son.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: “Let’s just call it allergy-diarrhea.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: “GO!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: “Okay, but I need you to come.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: “Gelk baklkd fgfgfff.... fine. Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There I go, taking a bullet for the team again. Throwing myself in the face of danger to once again save the family. Maintaining my superhero status is no easy feat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-55501697845272321212010-11-06T14:34:00.000-07:002010-11-06T14:36:01.229-07:00You Slept Through the Night Once. Honest.<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">DADDY! DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDYDADDYDADDYDADDY!!!!<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I roll over and try to swat at David with an outstretched hand but to no avail. My arm flails at the empty spot where his head should be. “Wha the fuh? Where is he??? Arrgh Blegh bleeeggggh.” It may not be a fair deal, but it’s David’s job to get up with the big kids. The rationale behind it is that when I get up with the kids I am UP for at least an hour after trying to get back to sleep, whereas David manages to actually deal with them WHILE sleeping and returns to bed, rolls over, and resumes snoring. So if those two get up at night, he has to go and sort them up. UNLESS he is M.I.A. Like last night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh right, inventory. He’s gone all weekend, working, and didn’t get in till after midnight so he opted to sleep in the spare bed to a. Not wake me, and b. Get a full night’s sleep. That meant that I would be on child patrol for the full squadron. Which is actually perfect because most of my best parenting occurs in the middle of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I stumbled into the bedroom and said, “Wha? Wha? What are you yelling for? Just stop yelling and go to sleep!” I then stumbled back to my bed, satisfied with a job well done. Until about ten minutes later when I heard some frustrated grunting and whining that was again WAKING ME UP. So I go back to the bedroom and start whisper-yelling in the direction of Marcus’s bed, but when it didn’t elicit a response I realized the bed was child-free. I tried to re-focus and again heard the whining and the grunting. This time I could pinpoint the source—it was in the living room. Marcus was out there, trying to spread a blanket over himself, and every light was on. Now, hours later, by the light of day, I realize he must have had a nightmare and upon receiving no sympathy or support from his dear mommy he decided that the best thing he could do was to try to protect himself by leaving the scene of the bad dream. However, in the middle of the night, the best I could muster was, “It. Is. The. Middle. Of. The. Night. Get. Back. In. Your. Bed. IMMEDIATELY.” He went back to bed, I went back to bed. I checked the clock—just after 5:30. I wouldn’t be turning human for at least two hours. I settled back into the covers and closed my eyes... and approximately five minutes later Talia woke up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Look, it’s all my fault. I tempted the fates. I had two glasses of wine last night. I stayed up well past my 10pm bedtime. I KNEW David wouldn’t be around to help out today. Don’t get me started about the disaster that was swimming lessons for Marcus, but let’s just say that when your children are very used to swimming in the fun pool after lessons, it is very hard to convince them that will not be happening. Even Talia was mad. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now that I think about it, I’m beginning to realize that Marcus waking in the night happens almost every night. Either that or Skyler is YELLING outside our door, “I HAVE TO GO PEE! I HAVE TO GO PEE!” not because she needs help—it’s just an announcement. She then goes to the bathroom by herself and returns to bed. Talia sleeps through the night far more often than either of the older two. I think we’ve been hoodwinked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-FAMILY: 'Calibri', 'sans-serif'; COLOR: #333333; FONT-SIZE: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">How is it that Marcus got less sleep than I and will STILL not nap? </span></span>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-13871438043916772862010-10-28T13:50:00.000-07:002010-10-28T13:51:23.639-07:00Living with Terrorists<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Feeding children is difficult. Rather, feeding children WELL is difficult. It turns out those naughty little people do not tend to like foods that help them grow and be strong. I have (many) memories of sitting at the dinner table hours after everyone left, staring miserably at a plate completely cleaned off except for one unfortunate pile of peas. Or broccoli. Or string beans. As a parent I smugly predicted that if I didn’t force my children to eat they would just go ahead and eat those things. Because before I had kids I of course presumed I had some sort of magic child-rearing abilities that it turns out I do not happen to possess. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So my kids don’t eat dinner. Well, about six nights out of seven they don’t eat dinner. Every once in a while they like to throw me for a curve and eat a meal I’ve prepared, but it’s always random what it’ll be. Like one day it was chicken, and Marcus was declaring, “This is the best food I’ve ever tasted!” but it was the same darn chicken I had made last week that he met with a full-fledged tantrum. I don’t try to make special meals for the kids because I’m pretty certain that the food is not the issue. I just don’t know what the issue is. Our rule is that as long as they try everything on their plate, they can listen to their own bodies (yeah right) and decide when they’ve had enough. That being said, we will not offer snacks in the evening. We do save their dinners so if they’re really hungry later they can eat those. After they go to bed, the dinners are cleared and we start fresh the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus has not had dinner in four days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I generally make dinner for the family and then go exercise, eating my meal when I return. Skyler has taken to returning to the table while I’m eating and trying to beg off my plate, but when I put her plate in front of her she will eat. So at least 2/3 of my children are fed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I tend to eat quite a bit of food, partly because I’m breastfeeding and partly because I’m super-active. So at some point after I’m done my dinner, I tend to get a little snacky. I want some frozen raspberries, or some tortilla chips, but I wouldn’t feel right hauling out a snack in front of my starving little children and munching away while they salivate all over themselves. Sometimes I’ll sneak into the kitchen and try to cram a few morsels in my mouth before I hear the little feet approaching, or I’ll try to get into the chips without crinkling the bag too loud, but invariably I hear, “Mommy, what are YOU having?” So now I have to wait until all the terrorists are sleeping before I can have my snack. Sometimes I’m so hungry I kiss them goodnight and head straight to the kitchen. Then Skyler gets up to go pee and she comes into the kitchen to tell me and looks up and sees me frozen, deer in the headlights, with a mouth crammed full of food, a bag of tortilla chips in one hand and a container of hummus in the other. It’s hard to say “Okay, go ahead honey,” with a mouth full of chips. Darn hard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think the hardest part about the dinner dilemma is if we have evening plans. If we don’t make sure the kids are fed we have to deal with terrorists, and nobody wants to deal with terrorists in public. They cannot be reasoned with. They utter threats. They explode in well-populated areas. Make no mistake, when Marcus does not eat dinner, he is not a peach. He turns into a full-on nutjob. And if I suggest he eat some food, he flips out. Because he is so obviously NOT HUNGRY. So then, if the kids don’t eat their dinners, they can’t go out. But see, that’s a problem too because we don’t want to feel like we’re “tricking them” or “blackmailing them” into eating. We would really like those kids to get it into their own heads to hop up to the table with smiling faces and EAT THE DARN FOOD I HAVE LOVINGLY PREPARED FOR THEM!!! And I will not make turkey dinner seven days a week just to see that happen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></o:p></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-22265857899348060002010-10-21T13:41:00.000-07:002010-10-21T13:42:41.931-07:00To Gift, or MY Preference: Not To Gift<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is going to sound kind of scroogey. Okay, a LOT scroogey. Let me preface this entry by saying I LOVE Christmas. It is one of my favourite times of year. I love almost everything about Christmas—the baking, buying gifts for my kids and other people’s kids, seeing family, all of it. Well, most of it. Every year we have the same dilemma, and every year we are left with no answer.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Those of you that know me know that I may have some issues about power and control. As in, I like to have power and control. Over everything. I don’t like things to change around me. I like to have a schedule. And I don’t. Like. Surprises. This may be why I absolutely abhor exchanging gifts for Christmas. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Well aren’t you just the Grinchiest McGrincherson around?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But let me explain, there’s a weird and twisted logic that accompanies this most unfestive sentiment. You see, if I could send out a pre-Christmas memo with an itemized list of EXACTLY what I want/need and received only items from the list, I would probably enjoy receiving presents. Sometimes people do get me presents that were on my mental checklist, and I do enjoy those presents. But I do not like receiving things that I do not want. Because I am cheap. Not making the connection? When I receive a gift that I don’t want, I look at that gift and think, “Man, I could have used that money to buy something on the LIST.” I’m sad for the loss of the money I never actually had. The worst part is if somebody buys you a present that is close but not exactly what you wanted because then you are forced to settle for the thing and will NEVER be able to get the one you actually wanted because you are already in possession of the very near replica. This is so not in the spirit of Christmas. I’m almost ashamed to be telling you this. BUT because I’m such a nitwit at receiving presents, I do the honourable thing. I opt out. I let all adults know beforehand that I do not want to exchange gifts. I LOVE buying gifts for kids because I know what they want and I know that they’ll like what I get them. I do not have that confidence in picking out presents for grownups.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, you may wonder why this odd compulsion precludes me from GIVING presents. The answer is simple—I agonize at not having the other person’s pre-Christmas memo. I would be mortified to buy somebody something that IS NOT ON THEIR LIST. I will happily make little gifts with my kids so that they have something to exchange but I’m not going to go out and spend money on something that will end up in somebody’s junk drawer or worse. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grinch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Scrooge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know, I tell myself the same things. It’s shameful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So last year we let everybody know that we would not be exchanging presents. And then everybody bought us presents anyway. That’s fine, if that’s what you have to do to feel good at Christmas, I don’t want my grinchiness to kill your buzz. Just know that if you buy me a present at Christmas, it’s for you, it’s not for me. And it may end up going to charity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This year if you would like to exchange presents with me you will need to send me your itemized pre-Christmas memo by November 15<sup>th</sup>. I will reciprocate the memo with makes, models, and the names of appropriate retailers. Either that, or we can just skip the entire gift-giving fiasco and enjoy a little Christmas nog together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Feel free to spoil the kids rotten however, because they apparently DIDN’T inherit my OCD. Yet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-91398681191245217092010-10-13T13:43:00.000-07:002010-10-13T13:44:10.961-07:00Poor Sport<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was a poor sport when I was a little kid. I was the kind of kid that would pitch a big fit if I didn’t win a board game. My family had a choice: either let me win, don’t let me win and deal with the noisy consequences, or don’t play games with me at all. So they let me win. I think they did, for the most part. And I turned out okay—a bit competitive but I don’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. Competition is healthy and fuels progress. Or something.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The problem is, I’m still competitive as a parent. If my kid is the best behaved kid, then I win, right? And if I don’t make a big deal of it, if I just demurely smile and accept the kudos, then I am a good sport and I’ve played the game fairly. So you can imagine my absolute horror in discovering that my son is a poor sport. Publicly. Like, as in, in front of everyone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We went to Oliver Woods park for a soccer class today. Before class we played on the awesome playground and we were having a great time. Marcus made a little friend and I knew the mommy from StrongStart so her and I chatted a bit, and it was nice. When it was time for class I called Marcus and he came right away, because he was excited for soccer. The other mommy commented on what a good listener he was (Me: 1, Her: 0), and I told her, “Well, he’s just excited for soccer.” See: demure. That should get me bonus points. Her guy was having a fit about going inside, but I’ve seen so many of those fits that I didn’t think anything of it. She seemed stressed, managing with her baby and her angry little man, so I sidled up to her and told her that my four-year-old could be a terror. I told her about the stuffie down the toilet. And I told her about the testosterone thing. A dad there joined in and commented on what a terror HIS four-year-old girl could be. The mommy didn’t seem to be feeling much better, but at least she knew she wasn’t alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The kids were having a great time with the soccer lesson. But I sensed something coming. I’m kind of like one of those animals that senses the tornado approaching. I wanted to gather in my children and hunker down, but that’s not really protocol for soccer lessons. The teacher announced that we were going to play a game and I could see Marcus’s anxiety rising. He looked up at me, lower lip out just a trace, and said, “Mommy, I don’t want to play the game.” I told him to just watch the game for a minute, and if he wanted to join in, then he could. Hmm, not sure about it, but willing to comply. So the teacher explains that all the children will have a pinny on their belts, and the goal is to pull out each other’s pinnies. If your pinny gets pulled, you just pick it up and put it back in. Easy peasy. Marcus gives me the thumbs up, which temporarily lulls me into a false sense of security. Because sure enough, the moment his pinny gets pulled, he’s crying full throttle, “I WANT TO GO HOOOOOOOME!!!” Uhm. “Marcus, son, I see that you’re really—“ “I WANT TO GO HOOOOOOOME!!!” I got him over to the bench and explained that we would not be going home and I talked about winning not being important and being a good sport, etc. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And then I let him sit there sobbing while I helped Skyler play the game. Of course I was horribly embarrassed that my son was the poor sport (Me: 0, Them: more than 0). Sigh. I would take comfort in the fact that at least the other mommy got to see that it was true, other four-year-olds were equally rotten, but then I would have had to acknowledge that she won. Which meant I lost. Double sigh. I wonder where this poor-sportsmanship could possibly have come from?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The fits continued outside the building (“I WANT TO PLAY ON THE PLAYGROUND!”), in the van (“I WANT A SNACK!), and when we got home (“I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A NAP!!!”). All of my children are asleep now. My ears hurt. And my throat, a little, from yelling. I’m not sure who wins this one, but I’m pretty sure it’s not me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-81283212583135517602010-10-04T23:35:00.000-07:002010-10-04T23:38:20.809-07:00THWAP!<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">THWAP!<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Things are weird right now. Things were so weird that I had to actually stop drinking coffee. My friends, I had worked myself into a frenzy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A hockey-playing, bootcamping, running frenzy that was fuelled with excessive amounts of caffeine and self interest. I knew something<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>had to go, so I chose coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">THWAP! That is the sound the drunk robins make when they smash into my beautiful front window. THWAP! THWAP! That is the frequency with which they randomly hurtle themselves into said window. These nutty birds hang out in the tree in our front THWAP! yard and eat the fermented orange berries, which I suspect were poisonous in the first place, and then kamikaze themselves straight THWAP! into my house. THWAP! I can sit on my couch and watch them coming. I think, “Don’t do it man! There’s so much to live for!” but they can’t be dissuaded. Even with the blinds—THWAP!—closed, they persist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">David wants to cut the tree down. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So ya, the coffee thing. I think it’s been about a week now, and I have to say, the frenzy has definitely ebbed. The anxiety has petered down to a light fervour. I’m still massively over-scheduled but I’m so excited about all the things I’ve got going on right now that I’m not willing to cut anything. Bootcamp is awesome, hockey is absolutely amazing, and I like the occasional run on a Sunday afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Is anybody reading this? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Taking pictures doesn’t help you remember what your kids were like when they were little. I remember Marcus as a baby in theory, but I can’t remember what he felt like, or what he looked like, or what his chubby little hands felt like when they gripped my finger. Videos don’t help either. I only know him the way he is now. Even Skyler, I can’t imagine her any way besides how she is now. Everybody says this time goes by so fast, but this time really does go by so fast. I find it alarming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">I checked tonight. And I skated into another girl and she got a penalty, which was awesome. She skated up to a teammate of mine at the end of the game and said, “You know, I was just standing still!” and I responded, “Ya, I know!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was totally looking down! I ran right into you!” And then I started laughing. It was great. My teammate said, “You’re not supposed to admit that!” Whatever, I wanted full credit for that great play! </span><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Wingdings; COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings">J</span></span><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">THWAP!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-4752382285795017222010-09-16T13:12:00.000-07:002010-09-16T13:15:58.942-07:00Get Yer Skates Out!<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I married a hockey nut. I married a guy that played Junior A and a bit of semi-pro and coached and watched hockey and basically lived and breathed hockey when we met. Shortly after we started living together we moved to Port Alberni where he was coaching the Junior B team. I remember getting phone calls in the middle of the night from players or disgruntled parents, and I remember the seeds being planted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The “I Hate Hockey” seeds. Maybe it was even earlier; I still have recollections of my Mom, brother and I decorating the Christmas tree while Dad watched the game. I guess it doesn’t really matter when it started, but those seeds began to sprout. I started to revolt against hockey. I stopped going to watch the games he coached. I didn’t even really want to hear about them, but I listened patiently. I never liked watching it on TV in the first place, but I stopped letting it be ON the TV. When we got a second TV David and I wouldn’t see each other all season long. I was thankful when David stopped coaching. I was blissful when I cancelled cable and didn’t have to deal with the games anymore.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Which is why it is so surprising that now I am anxiously anticipating the start of hockey season so that I can watch some games. And even MORE surprising is the reason I want to watch some games is that I want to learn the rules. Because I have started playing hockey. On the ice. With skates on. So what happened in between last season’s cable-free stance and this season’s sudden fervour? I’m not really sure. I have a friend that plays and it sounded like a good idea at the time. Why do I do any of the things I do, really?! Because I don’t sit down and really think about them. I just do them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, after having never owned a pair of hockey skates, or even any skates that I can remember (I probably had figure skates as a kid, but I don’t remember them at all), I bought my first pair. I paid $50 at Sports Traders and also went on a spree at Sportmart and bought all of my gear. I was able to borrow some of David’s stinky old gear (romantic, I know). He wanted me to use his old jock but there I drew the line. If I’m going to play with ladies, I’m going to be wearing a Jill. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Monday night was player evaluations. I still hadn’t thought things through at this point. I was just rolling with it, trying not to think about too much so I wouldn’t get nervous. Didn’t think about it right up to the point where I was about to step out on the slippery, freshly-zambonied ice. And then I thought, “Whoa.” And then I thought some more. It sounded like this: “What am I doing?! I don’t know how to skate!” But I chewed those thoughts back down and got out there. We started doing easy laps around the rink. I was in awe of the women skating around me and remember thinking that they skate “like men”. I was rickety and tippy and didn’t know how to stop, but I skated around and around. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Then we had to line up for drills. This was the point when I realized that I was going to have to learn how to stop, since the first drill was to skate as fast as you could for the side and then stop with your skates, not just by slamming into the boards which is how I’d usually get that job done. Luckily the coach running the practice knew I was new on skates and gave me some instruction. I swallowed my fear and I did it. I did every drill that night. I did not do them well, but I did them. I worked my butt off, and by the end of the practice I was able to stop, able to skate backwards, and able to stay on my feet most of the time. The best part was that I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. I have never worked so hard and I have never been up against such a steep learning curve. I had sweat dripping off of the end of my nose. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I will no longer be a hockey widow. My husband and I will continue to know each other through the winter months. And I think he’s kind of getting a kick out of me gaining an appreciation for a sport that helped shape his life. Turns out I actually love hockey. Whoops! Sorry about those last ten years and the whole "hating hockey" thing. Better late than never!</span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-61517293930771998832010-09-08T15:20:00.000-07:002010-09-08T15:23:46.613-07:00Raising Boys<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, I bought the book that had the testosterone theory but was thoroughly under-impressed. I did not like the author’s writing style, and found the book content underwhelming at best. The main gist of the book was a. Fathers are important, b. Boys are different to raise than girls, and c. A bunch of stuff about adolescence that I didn’t bother reading as I’m not at that stage yet. So anyhow, I already knew those first two things, but didn’t get any advice or info on HOW to raise my son differently than my daughters. The only thing reading the book really did for me was it got me thinking about the positives of having a little boy. Here’s what I came up with.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">His imagination is so very different than mine. I can stretch my brain into new shapes playing superheroes and flying around the living room, or super spies sneaking around the house. I can watch him manipulate his toys into doing all sorts of boyish things and having all sorts of boyish conversations. He is my window into the world of all things men.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He appreciates a good fart joke, and I’ve discovered that I’ve got plenty to share. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He loves to be physically active. We can ride bikes in circles for hours, or play tag or hide n go seek. He has boundless amounts of energy that although at times can be exhausting, can also be exhilarating. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He is careful with his affection and only brings it out from time to time. I feel special when he chooses to hug and kiss me. I feel like magic when I can make him giggle with abandon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He makes me brave. I have to touch bugs and worms and snakes when I'm with him so that I can help make him brave too. </span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He is a careful guardian of his two sisters. He can drive Skyler wild with fury, but he is also loving and kind with her, and if she falls down or gets hurt he comes and gets me right away with wide-eyed concern. He always lets me know if he hears Talia crying in her crib. When he gets himself a drink of water at dinner he always gets Skyler a cup as well. At times I marvel at his caring. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Even if at times Skyler’s cup has three drops of water in it and his is</span> overflowing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Boys are amazing little people. They are completely exhausting but I wouldn’t have it any other way. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">See, I’ve completely let that whole “flushing the stuffie down the toilet” incident go. Well, for the most part. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-3952705212348742482010-09-02T13:22:00.000-07:002010-09-02T13:23:47.003-07:00T is for Testosterone<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Random Marcus (aka Random Dave Jr) has been at it again. I won’t get into the gory details, but let’s just say that the last straw was when he tried to flush a sizable stuffed animal down the toilet. He seems completely not in control of his behaviour. We had some people over for dinner the other night and he couldn’t contain himself—he was positively vibrating. I keep taking him outside to ride his bike up and down the street, but sooner or later we have to come inside. Somebody has got to fold the laundry and make dinner!<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was totally at my wits’ end and was complaining about his behaviour to a friend of mine, also with a four-year-old boy, who mentioned that she had heard that at this age the testosterone level in boys doubles. This causes some major erratic and aggressive behaviour. Now, Marcus has not been aggressive, but erratic? Oh yes! And then some! I was interested in the theory but haven’t been able to find much online about it. I ordered a book from the library that was referenced, so we’ll see when it comes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the meantime, it’s amazing how a plausible explanation makes the random behaviours so much easier to deal with. Now that I can imagine that there is some biological imperative that makes Marcus dissect my hand soap into hundreds of tiny little nubs, it makes the behaviour that much easier to fathom. I’m still pissed off that I have to squidge the soap back together into one knobbly ball, but at least I know that he’s not doing it on purpose. Also, it helps me explain to HIM why he’s getting into so much trouble these days, and how we can work on it together. Now when his head is spinning and he can’t control his facial expressions I can pin him down and look him in the face and say, “See? You’re acting crazy because of the HORMONES!!!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Four-year-olds. Who’d have thunk it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-47845412561354547082010-08-19T14:53:00.001-07:002010-08-19T14:53:54.805-07:00“SuperMommy” Strikes Again<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, the only way to grow is to err. As I tell my kids OVER and OVER we make mistakes so we can learn from them. And then I make a mistake and beat myself up about it for days. So here we go, let’s have some blogtherapy. Internet, you won’t judge me, will you?<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We had some friends over for a playdate and it was going swimmingly. Two boys, one a bit older than Marcus whom we’ll call Chuck, one a bit younger whom we’ll call Sam, and the guys were having a great time playing. Chuck and Marcus were instant buds and were running around together outside while Sam was very interested in checking out baby Talia. A couple of hours into the playdate, the boys all went downstairs into the basement to play.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, our basement is a multi-functional space, and there are a lot of things going on down there. There is a spare bed, a bunch of toys, a sitting area with a tv, and an open bit of space where I do my exercise videos, with mats and a few handweights. Sometimes when I exercise during nap one or both of the kids will get up a bit early and wander downstairs where they entertain themselves with arts and crafts while I finish my workout. I have a bunch of my scrapbooking supplies out on the coffee table (i.e., paper, glue, stickers, etc.) and they are welcome to help themselves and do a nice craft. They usually create some multi-layered masterpiece and proudly present it to me when I am sweating and grinning after my activity. But I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So the other Mommy and I were upstairs having a coffee when we hear Chuck on the stairs. “Mommmmm...” he calls, “Sam is putting glue EVERYWHERE.” Oh. My. Goodness. Inside my eyelids a series of images flash by. FLASH: The white glue! FLASH: Scraps of paper! FLASH: My beautiful couch! I don’t remember actually thinking so much as flying down the stairs into the rec room. “SAM!” I call. I don’t see him anywhere, but what I DO see is a whole lot of glue on a whole lot of surfaces. “SAM!!!” Still no answer. I’m flying around the basement searching for the presumed culprit and I CAN NOT FIND HIM. Boy with glue. Lost. In my house. So anyway, the part that really shames me is I actually had this thought, as I was searching the house for this kid. Now, don’t get all judgy on me here, you are WAY too deep in this to deny you’ve ever had this thought. If you have kids and haven’t had this thought yet, you will one day. I thought to myself, “Self, those art supplies have been out there for over a month. (wait for it, here it comes...) MY kid would NEVER have done something like that.” BOOM! And with that, a bolt of lightning came from the sky, through the first story, into my basement, and struck me dead, just like that. I am a TEACHER! I have HEARD that line from parents and thought, “YA RIGHT! Have you not MET your kid?!” Shame on me. But just wait, it gets better. That in itself is not nearly shameful enough to blog about. I had to take it one step further. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“I found him!” called Marcus from the rec room. Sam was hiding under a table clutching the bottle of glue. I can’t remember if he came out willingly or if his mom pulled him out by the ankle. He tried to run past me with the glue and I yoinked it out of his hand. I then got down to his level, looked him in his eye, and proceeded to PARENT him with his MOTHER right there!!! Because I am obviously SUCH an amazing parent that parenting my own three kids isn’t enough, I have to go around parenting other people’s kids too. I said, in the best teacher voice I could muster, “SAM! I am VERY frustrated right now! You need to help clean this up immediately!” Okay, that’s not the best part. It’s pretty impressive, but still not the best part. The best part came later, after the glue was cleaned up, after the toys were put away, after the friends had gone home. The best part was when I talked to Marcus and asked him what had happened downstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And he said to me...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Well, I was putting glue everywhere and...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">That’s when the other bolt of lightning struck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-74694948457786661852010-08-17T00:06:00.000-07:002010-08-17T00:07:23.348-07:00Oh Ya, The Funny Stuff<p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin"><span style="mso-list: Ignore">1.<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA">We’ve taken to calling my husband “Random Dave”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>because of the random stuff he sometimes does. If you knew him, you’d understand. So he has his own theme song where we say “Ran-dom Daaaaave” in a DUH DUH DUHHHHHH kind of tune. Kind of hard to describe, but I’m sure you get the picture. So Marcus and Skyler are enjoying calling everybody random. “Ran-dom Marcuuuuusss. Strikes A-gaaaaain.” <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin"><span style="mso-list: Ignore">2.<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA">Tonight at dinner:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: MM this is good chicken!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: It’s pork<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcus: This is so good, what kind of chicken is this?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me: PORK!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don’t know why I found this so hilarious, but I really did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin"><span style="mso-list: Ignore">3.<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA">Skyler at dinner (also tonight, but Marcus had already left the table)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Skyler: I’m s’gusting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">David: Are you a disgusting girl?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Skyler: Ya, Marcus says I’m s’gusting girl. I’m s’gusting. Marcus says I’m s’gusting girl because he’s my friend. I said thank you Marcus. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt 36pt" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></o:p></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-32585817826518580052010-08-16T23:52:00.000-07:002010-08-16T23:54:38.725-07:00Let’s Leave the Parenting to the Parents<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, the men in white coats have struck again. I’m certain my husband is just trying to get me all riled up and angry before I go to bed so he can have the bed to himself while I blog in the middle of the night. At about ten o’clock tonight he had me read <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/coddle-or-let-the-kid-cry-new-research-awakens-the-sleep-training-debate/article1674049/">this article </a>from the Globe and Mail about what those righteous parenting experts are up to now, in their infinite wisdom and knowledge.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This article was basically saying that parents that let their children cry it out at night are emotionally unavailable to their children (aka ROTTEN PARENTS, aka Sucky Mommies). Don’t EVEN get me started. Okay, I’ve already started, so I better finish. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As you already know, I have a huge problem with the harbingers of guilt when it comes to parenting. So my problem with this article, and more specifically with the research behind this article, is that its sole effect will be to guilt parents into avoiding sleep training. They say the sleep training will damage the parent/child relationship. Now, I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure if I were getting up three or four times a night and NEVER having a full night’s sleep EVER, my relationship with my kids would not be spectacular. Because I’d be TIRED. I’m not saying that all parents should sleep train their children, but I am saying if your child is up all night partying like a rock star and you’re pretty sure that if he keeps you up one more night you’re going to SHAKE that BABY like a RATTLE, you should probably consider sleep training. And I’m not fussy about the method. There are so many to choose from. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What it comes down to is this: babies call us in the middle of the night to nurse and that is fine, they’re hungry, so feed them. But after a while, babies get pretty happy going to sleep on the breast. And then they forget how to go to sleep without the breast. Not a big deal at 8pm, but at 1am (and 3am and 5am) when they’re waking up as part of the natural sleep cycle and need Mommy’s breast again to get back to sleep, not so great. Babies need to learn (or re-learn) their natural self-soothing techniques so that they can be good sleepers at night. Kids need their sleep! It’s not selfish of parents to help their kids be good sleepers, it’s good parenting. That being said, I also think it’s fine to get up with your kids in the night if that’s what you want to do and you can handle the night-time wake-ups and still be a good mommy during the day. At the end of the day, you have to do what is right for your family and your parenting ideals. The men in white coats work in a world of theory, not reality, and I think often this research can be really damaging and actually counter-productive to the work that many health professionals are dedicating to reducing the amount of Shaken Baby Syndrome cases.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Also, the article mentioned the detrimental effects of cortisol (stress hormone) to a baby’s developing brain. Right, so if our goal is to avoid infant stress, and if it stresses baby out to be away from Mommy, Mommy should just NEVER GO OUT. Are they just trying to drum up business for post-partum psychologists? Because Mommy is going to be off-the-wall looney tunes if she doesn’t get away from her baby every once in a while. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I can’t even say that in a perfect world all babies would be raised without stress because I don’t believe that is what is best for babies. The best thing we can do for our children is to expose them to difficult situations and teach them coping strategies. If baby is crying in the crib at 4am on a full tummy, help her find her fingers and say SH SH SH and hopefully she’ll learn how to help herself get back to sleep. But, if you really want to pick her up and cuddle her, then do it. Because you’re the Mommy, and YOU know how to raise your baby. Nobody else. That’s why you got the one you got. You were meant for this job.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4053710952079846404.post-50507749231910192892010-08-16T12:18:00.001-07:002010-08-16T12:18:52.635-07:00The Rottenest Kids in the Neighbourhood<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh lordie. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have an amazing neighbourhood. One of those neighbourhoods of long ago, where people sit on their front porches and wave as people pass by, and check in if your son happens to be standing by the road unsupervised at 8:30 in the morning. (Yes, that happened, but I can explain. I just choose not to.) One of the best parts of our neighbourhood is the neighbourhood block party. There was one yesterday, a lovely barbecue up at the end of our street. Tons of people turned up, everyone brought a plate of food for sharing, and there were burgers and dogs supplied by the neighbourhood patriarch Bill. He’s been here the longest, and the houses next to his and across the street from his belong to his offspring. It’s pretty much their neighbourhood, and they invite the rest of us in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So anyways, we were really looking forward to getting the chance to chat with a lot of the people that we just wave at usually. We didn’t take into account the fact that we were bringing our children, who happen to be the Rottenest. Kids. In. The. Neighbourhood. I had envisioned a fun little barbecue with kids running around playing with each other, maybe running up to the snack table and grabbing some food, etc. What I got was a couple of sullen and unhappy whiners that would not eat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The first problem was Skyler’s somewhat new paralyzing fear of dogs. So of course when I gave her a hotdog and sat her in a lawn chair, a friendly border collie ambled over to sniff at her toes. And Skyler started SCREAMING BLUE MURDER. “NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOO AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Hey, that’s not embarrassing at all, Sky-Pie! Way to set the mood!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yesterday morning we had taken off Marcus’s training wheels so he could learn how to ride a two-wheeler. He had some good runs but needed a ton of assistance starting off. Let’s call him a pre-novice. When we got up to the barbecue we saw five-year-old Eva was proudly riding around on HER two-wheeler, which she had just learned to ride. Of course Marcus wanted to go get his bike, and seemed to have forgotten that he could barely ride it. He was so eager to show off his two-wheeler he didn’t stop to think that he could not actually RIDE it. We finally agreed that he could run down to the house to get his bike, but that we would NOT be helping him ride as we were visiting. Ya, that’ll go well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Flash forward twenty minutes: BOTH kids are crying and screaming and being MISERABLE and NOT eating their dinners even though they’re starving. We scooped them up, brought them home and put them in their bedrooms for the longest. Timeout. EVER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then, when they came out, I said, “Are you guys hungry now?” and they nodded and said, “Yes, we’re real hungry.” And I said, “Well, that was DINNER that we had up at the barbecue, and you chose not to eat it. “ So that at least evened up the score a little, even though right now we’re sitting at Kids: 1 048 083, Parents: 2. Actually, we’re at 1.5, because I caved a little before bed and gave them a snack. But not a big snack. So there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh yeah, the dog thing. We’ve decided we’re going to start borrowing our neighbour’s dog to walk every once in a while to get them used to dogs, because this is ridiculous. Nothing like starting life with a crippling fear of something that is EVERYWHERE. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>SuperMommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269773162229739832noreply@blogger.com4