Shopping with children can be many things. When the children are boys ages 2 and 3¾ (the ¾ being a VERY important distinction to when he was only JUST 3) it mostly ranges from very painful to semi-painless, and seems to fluctuate in respect to how many snacks I’ve packed. Now, the rare times my husband joins us for a ‘family shopping moment’, he seems to think that the looks the other people are giving him in the store, when our kids are acting up or lying down in the middle of the isle, are ones of love for little children and how cute and adorable they are. He’s probably right. When HE is with the boys. He has that “good guy” look that makes you like him instantly, and the boys look just like him, so something about the daddy and mini-me combination just makes other people “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, isn’t that cute”.
Now when I am at the store with the boys, and they are yelling or running down the isle in front of other people’s carts (this is all hypothetical of course), I believe I get very different looks. Are you ever tempted to pretend to be the babysitter and say really loudly: “If you don’t sit still I’m going to tell your mother what you did.”? Sigh. I would if I could get away with it.
I have a Scottish friend (who happens to have very light coloured hair) who married a man from South Africa, and they have a beautiful daughter who happens to be the spitting imagine of her very dark father. One day when my friend’s daughter was young, she gave a full-fledged screaming, arms-flailing tantrum in the middle of the shopping mall. Now THEN, if I was my Scottish friend, I would be saying to other bystanders “I don’t know where that girl’s mother is, but she needs to come deal with this child” – and then fade away into the background.
The hardest part for me is that when my kids are acting up, for the most part I find them extremely entertaining, especially when they sing loudly (some might call it screaming, actually most people would call it screaming) and make each other laugh – even in public. So, should you come across my two little blondies running and yelling through the store, my apologies, but gosh, that’s just funny stuff.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
THE KIDS ARE NAKED AGAIN
They love skin – their skin and my skin – especially the nice easy to grab bit around my waist, sigh.
So we’re at my friend’s house and the kids – my 3.5 year old boy and her 3.5 year old daughter, who is actually 5 weeks older than my kid and the 2 year old. They are playing tea party that soon turned into naked party! I wasn’t quite ready for them to play “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” but, well, we’re here now so let’s deal with it. Except that it’s just my guy who’s buck naked. And then the story comes out. Little naked’s father told him that no, he could not have more water for their pretend tea party, if you want more water go have a bath. So, the boy did what any rational person would do – check out to see if little Miss Natalie had any good bath toys. Obviously she did so off went the clothes and into the tub he was going too. Oh dear. Well, I think that might be the only time when Natalie’s dad will laugh at my son being naked in his daughter’s bedroom...
So we’re at my friend’s house and the kids – my 3.5 year old boy and her 3.5 year old daughter, who is actually 5 weeks older than my kid and the 2 year old. They are playing tea party that soon turned into naked party! I wasn’t quite ready for them to play “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” but, well, we’re here now so let’s deal with it. Except that it’s just my guy who’s buck naked. And then the story comes out. Little naked’s father told him that no, he could not have more water for their pretend tea party, if you want more water go have a bath. So, the boy did what any rational person would do – check out to see if little Miss Natalie had any good bath toys. Obviously she did so off went the clothes and into the tub he was going too. Oh dear. Well, I think that might be the only time when Natalie’s dad will laugh at my son being naked in his daughter’s bedroom...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Nutrition 101
Nutrition will, I believe, always be a challenge for anyone who feeds a family. My little family has a number of strikes against us.
(1) I am the primary food provider and I don’t like to cook. Bake yes. Cook no. What this means is that my kids eat a great breakfast and a wonderful muffin for snack and the rest is a bit sketchy.
(2) I am a vegetarian. The rest are not. Meat, even when cooked yucks me out. I’m working on this.
(3) The 3 year old is in the very picky stage and the only fruit he will eat is raspberries – not MIXED berries, no no no, only raspberries. Oh ya, and pasta – with ketchup only. The other will eat most of anything. Mostly. But rarely will all 3 (son #1, son #2, dad) eat the same thing on the same night. Sigh.
(4) Did I mention that cooking does nothing for my joy of life? (do I sound winey yet?)
So I went to a seminar for “nutrition” – which was really a plug for Juice+Plus supplements. Good idea. Costly. Not sure if I could even get them to eat that. I’ll check into it - it HAS to be better than gummy bear vitamins…
So, I plan my menu every week now – try to get at least yogurt and raspberries and brown rice down their throats every week and try not to count the number of cinnamon toast sandwiches we’ve had in one day! (Is Mr. Christy a food group???) I’ve done all the tricks – added veggies to pasta sauce, cut up healthy stuff using fun shaped cookie cutters – bribed them with, well, unhealthy food (oops – that one back fired). Anyways, the moral of the story is. We’re not doing so bad and I think I’m just encouraging one of them to pursue a career as a chef, even if it’s just for the survival of family.
They’ll always love my French toast…
(1) I am the primary food provider and I don’t like to cook. Bake yes. Cook no. What this means is that my kids eat a great breakfast and a wonderful muffin for snack and the rest is a bit sketchy.
(2) I am a vegetarian. The rest are not. Meat, even when cooked yucks me out. I’m working on this.
(3) The 3 year old is in the very picky stage and the only fruit he will eat is raspberries – not MIXED berries, no no no, only raspberries. Oh ya, and pasta – with ketchup only. The other will eat most of anything. Mostly. But rarely will all 3 (son #1, son #2, dad) eat the same thing on the same night. Sigh.
(4) Did I mention that cooking does nothing for my joy of life? (do I sound winey yet?)
So I went to a seminar for “nutrition” – which was really a plug for Juice+Plus supplements. Good idea. Costly. Not sure if I could even get them to eat that. I’ll check into it - it HAS to be better than gummy bear vitamins…
So, I plan my menu every week now – try to get at least yogurt and raspberries and brown rice down their throats every week and try not to count the number of cinnamon toast sandwiches we’ve had in one day! (Is Mr. Christy a food group???) I’ve done all the tricks – added veggies to pasta sauce, cut up healthy stuff using fun shaped cookie cutters – bribed them with, well, unhealthy food (oops – that one back fired). Anyways, the moral of the story is. We’re not doing so bad and I think I’m just encouraging one of them to pursue a career as a chef, even if it’s just for the survival of family.
They’ll always love my French toast…
Friday, January 15, 2010
OFFICIALLY OLD ENOUGH
It has dawned on me over the last week that I am officially old enough.
Officially old enough to not be considered “young” anymore to anyone.
Officially old enough to write my own autobiography.
And officially old enough to know better.
It hit me when I was driving to an event through some pretty thick fog. Good thing the roads in my community don’t have street lights or road shoulders or even markers where the road drops off 20 feet down the right side. Anyways. I realized that in my years of driving that I had rarely driven through fog. And then came the “hit me” part. I’ve been driving for 20 years.
And then; I’ve been working for 20 years! Apparently my 16th year was very significant for me.
(Please don’t make me do the math for you about how old I am now...)
20 years is a long time.
I am just working through an 8 week “course” from Darren Hardy that is about setting life goals. It starts with taking an account of your life, taking an account of your blessings and values and desires and THEN moves onto goal setting once the foundation has been set.
In the last 20 years I have gotten to know myself, found I don’t know myself at all, driven through snow and ice and nice weather, travelled, married, given birth, nursed my children, opened a new business, gotten to know myself again, cried and laughed with many good deep friends, cried and laughed at myself, set goals, accomplished goals, failed, succeeded, ran, slept and admired beauty. I’ve read a thousand books and have a thousand more I want to read. It’s been a good 20 years. Thank you to my 16 year old self for starting somewhere – even if was only a drive to 7-11. Thank you for getting off your ass and getting it done. Cheers sweety, I love you.
Officially old enough to not be considered “young” anymore to anyone.
Officially old enough to write my own autobiography.
And officially old enough to know better.
It hit me when I was driving to an event through some pretty thick fog. Good thing the roads in my community don’t have street lights or road shoulders or even markers where the road drops off 20 feet down the right side. Anyways. I realized that in my years of driving that I had rarely driven through fog. And then came the “hit me” part. I’ve been driving for 20 years.
And then; I’ve been working for 20 years! Apparently my 16th year was very significant for me.
(Please don’t make me do the math for you about how old I am now...)
20 years is a long time.
I am just working through an 8 week “course” from Darren Hardy that is about setting life goals. It starts with taking an account of your life, taking an account of your blessings and values and desires and THEN moves onto goal setting once the foundation has been set.
In the last 20 years I have gotten to know myself, found I don’t know myself at all, driven through snow and ice and nice weather, travelled, married, given birth, nursed my children, opened a new business, gotten to know myself again, cried and laughed with many good deep friends, cried and laughed at myself, set goals, accomplished goals, failed, succeeded, ran, slept and admired beauty. I’ve read a thousand books and have a thousand more I want to read. It’s been a good 20 years. Thank you to my 16 year old self for starting somewhere – even if was only a drive to 7-11. Thank you for getting off your ass and getting it done. Cheers sweety, I love you.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
THE DAY MY SON TURNED 2
I believe that my youngest son can read for the day my second son turned 2 years old, I swear he picked up my parenting book and read that two year olds have tantrums and assert their independence. Overnight he cries over things he never used to care about and gets angry, oh so angry at something that is not attainable or has been given the “no no”.
On the other hand, his mind can see patterns now. Not just the immediate need, but how to get what he wants and even if what he wants is three or four steps away from the step he is on. His face changed overnight and he is coming into his own.
He is my actor – he will say and do anything to get a laugh. And he has an uncanny sense of what is funny. He also has the most priceless pout I have ever seen.
He is strong – physically and mentally. He is quick witted and tenacious.
He is sweet – the face of a cherub and the most beautiful blue eyes, he makes you feel like everything is going to be okay and all is good in the world.
He is adventurous – he climbs, he jumps, he holds nothing back – with everything it is all in – all his being to make it happen – no fear. And he can do it too, great sense of balance and quick learning and strength.
He is my Tristan – the namesake of his grandfathers and my ode to Camelot. My Tristan – a Knight of the round table, the love is Isolde, all depends which novel you read – he is history.
He is a reader – always a book around.
Dearest child, happy birthday – embrace your newfound independence and sense of self and I will let go too and pray all the more as my heart leaps for joy at your smile and leaps into my stomache when you jump off the Christmas tree…
On the other hand, his mind can see patterns now. Not just the immediate need, but how to get what he wants and even if what he wants is three or four steps away from the step he is on. His face changed overnight and he is coming into his own.
He is my actor – he will say and do anything to get a laugh. And he has an uncanny sense of what is funny. He also has the most priceless pout I have ever seen.
He is strong – physically and mentally. He is quick witted and tenacious.
He is sweet – the face of a cherub and the most beautiful blue eyes, he makes you feel like everything is going to be okay and all is good in the world.
He is adventurous – he climbs, he jumps, he holds nothing back – with everything it is all in – all his being to make it happen – no fear. And he can do it too, great sense of balance and quick learning and strength.
He is my Tristan – the namesake of his grandfathers and my ode to Camelot. My Tristan – a Knight of the round table, the love is Isolde, all depends which novel you read – he is history.
He is a reader – always a book around.
Dearest child, happy birthday – embrace your newfound independence and sense of self and I will let go too and pray all the more as my heart leaps for joy at your smile and leaps into my stomache when you jump off the Christmas tree…
Friday, June 26, 2009
WHO ME?
The most difficult thing that I had to get my head around when my son was born, was that I had a new part to my identity. Not one of those blessed people who grew up wanting and preparing for children, I was at quite a loss as to how to act and even how to perceive myself as “mother”. I remember one day my own father telling my then toddler son to go see mom and didn’t even turn to greet him, because in my mind he was going to see mom, you know, MY mom, the only mom. Oops.
Well, now hearing, mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom (you get the idea) has sunk in the idea that these, now two boys, are in fact my children, I am their mom, my own mother has graduated to nana, and this is not in fact the most underpaid babysitting gig of my life.
Every day I learn something new about the part of my identity that is mom. And with joy I have chosen to lay aside a number of other parts of myself to allow the mom part to grow and love and give and learn. I still cling to taking care of my health and my spirit and get up hours earlier than the household to embrace that small time to find peace and healing for my mind, my body, and my soul. In this season in my life where I am called mom more often than Chantelle, I am sowing seeds for what I believe will be a beautiful harvest in another season to come.
Well, now hearing, mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom (you get the idea) has sunk in the idea that these, now two boys, are in fact my children, I am their mom, my own mother has graduated to nana, and this is not in fact the most underpaid babysitting gig of my life.
Every day I learn something new about the part of my identity that is mom. And with joy I have chosen to lay aside a number of other parts of myself to allow the mom part to grow and love and give and learn. I still cling to taking care of my health and my spirit and get up hours earlier than the household to embrace that small time to find peace and healing for my mind, my body, and my soul. In this season in my life where I am called mom more often than Chantelle, I am sowing seeds for what I believe will be a beautiful harvest in another season to come.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
I'LL SEE YOUR "WHY MOMMY?" AND RAISE YOU A "WHAT KIND OF?"
I have been best friends with Michelle since we were 5 years old. She had her first baby just 5 weeks before my first, and has since been my tip-off to what is coming next in my firstborn’s development. As her child is a girl, 5 weeks older, and definitely on the advanced side of things, I usually have some prep time before my eldest shows the same signs.
Michelle is now going through, the “why” stage. Everything is “why mommy” from her little girl. So I have therefore been watching my kid very closely for signs of the “why”. Instead I think I am dealing with something just as amusing (or frustrating). I have entered the “what kind of” zone.
Let me explain:
Me: Look at the digger
Him: What kind of digger?
Me: A yellow digger
Him: What kind of yellow digger?
Me: A big yellow digger
Him: What kind of big yellow digger?
You see where this is going. This is where my husband tries to see how much the boy can remember and continues the adjective game on and on…
I told him the other day that we were going to go somewhere tomorrow – and of course, he asked me “what kind of tomorrow”. How do you not laugh.
Sigh. And sometimes cry a little.
We may still get to “why why why why why why” but until then, “what kind of why?”.
Michelle is now going through, the “why” stage. Everything is “why mommy” from her little girl. So I have therefore been watching my kid very closely for signs of the “why”. Instead I think I am dealing with something just as amusing (or frustrating). I have entered the “what kind of” zone.
Let me explain:
Me: Look at the digger
Him: What kind of digger?
Me: A yellow digger
Him: What kind of yellow digger?
Me: A big yellow digger
Him: What kind of big yellow digger?
You see where this is going. This is where my husband tries to see how much the boy can remember and continues the adjective game on and on…
I told him the other day that we were going to go somewhere tomorrow – and of course, he asked me “what kind of tomorrow”. How do you not laugh.
Sigh. And sometimes cry a little.
We may still get to “why why why why why why” but until then, “what kind of why?”.
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