An interesting pre- Christmas gift: the flu

Christmas is in one week and I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Headache, chills, fever, hacking cough, stuffy nose- my whole body hurts. Mark is just as sick and the girls have various symptoms with R bearing the brunt of it.

And through it all, the frequent night wakings, the bottles of ibuprofen, the bowls of soup, I can't help but feel a little blessed.

Crazy right? But I can't help but think that being this sick is keeping us from powering through the week running last minute errands, organizing our house, cleaning, and shopping. Because with the exception of groceries we don't need to leave our house and now we can't by virtue of occasional dizzy spells!

Instead of the usual flurry of activity, I get to spend the week snuggling my girls and Mark ( who is delightfully smuggle- prone when sick) drink tea and watch Christmas movies. I have the honour of reading aloud various Christmas stories and chapters about Christmas from our favourite books. I get to light Advent candles and watch all three of my girls become mesmerized by the rotating Nativity scene. And I have an excuse to break into the box of Ferrero Rocher that shockingly has remained sealed for two weeks.

I know we will be healthy again by the big day but in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy this rare opportunity to relax during the lead up. I hope you do too. Without the chills!! Merry Christmas!

Out with the new, in with the old. Getting back to basics at Christmas.

Back in the summer, when job prospects were looking a little glum, I cheerfully broached the idea of an old fashioned Christmas with my girls and Mark. Yes, it seemed a touch early to be talking about Christmas while we were swimming outside in 35 degree weather. But I'm a bit of a planner, and I thought resetting expectations way in advance would be better. Mostly, it is because I'm a planner though as my girls are easily pleased with the simple thoughtful things in life.

It's mid-November now and Operation Old-Fashioned Christmas is about to launch. Here's three steps we are taking right now.

Firstly, despite Mark's love of watching cartoons with the girls on Friday nights and Saturday mornings ( and I'm often right there with them because I too love superhero cartoons!) I'm going to request a moratorium on that. Simply to avoid the bombardment of ads. R and L don't know we have cable because we didn't for two years. So most of what they watch is on DVD or PBS or Food Network. Hence, no barrage of awesome new toys they couldn't possibly live without. But, when we do have the TV on to, say, Cartoon Network all I hear is their fascination with the commercials. No tv, no commercials, no requests for stuff.

Secondly, despite my love of shopping, especially when the shopping centres are all fancified up for Christmas, we aren't going to the mall until after the holidays. We will go see the window displays if there are any, but avoiding all the new "essential" stuff is easier if you don't see it. And I'm not just talking kids stuff. I'm so guilty of seeing things I come to believe I need. Also, this way, Mark won't be forced to cockpunch someone for being an ignorant a-hole and slamming into us or exhibiting any other belligerent behaviour.

Thirdly, we aren't going to do Christmas lists. I've never perpetuated the Santa myth. Which frankly is odd because I grew up in a house where if you believed, your stocking would be full so we pretended for a long tone. And, I love the book The Polar Exoress (it's a book people!). Maybe it is my love for that story and the boy's simple request for a sleigh bell that influences my lack of Santa requests. Now, I can't do anything but bite my lip and sit on my hands when the dual sets of grandparents repeatedly ask what my girls want from Santa and have they written a letter yet.

But I can redirect their energy and focus to: what should we bake? What should we eat? What should we read? What should we watch? Whom should we visit? What street should we drive or walk along to see the lights. And most importantly, what church should we take Baby C to for her first Christmas mass?

I will write more about how our plans for an old-fashioned Christmas are coming along soon. And about our favourite traditions ( spoiler alert: revolves around food). But for now, I'm wondering, is there anything you might try differently this year to take the emphasis off the gift list? And any advice for neutralizing the grandparents effect?

Birth from the perspective of a midwifery student (conference presentation)

A month ago I had the honour of making a presentation at the Ontario Student Midwives Conference at Ryerson University.  As a midwifery student, currently on maternity leave, it was a great opportunity to reconnect with old friends, and meet in-person virtual friends.  It was also a tough place to be given the tenuous position I have as an actual student (more on that another time), and given my topic.  I had submitted two proposals and both were accepted.  One, was an editorial piece I've been working on for a while but a presentation I didn't actually get a chance to make due to a mini family crisis when my 3 year old dislocated her elbow! The other, was this piece below, one that I cried when writing but somehow managed to get through without crying.  Though, I made many of my fellow classmates tear up. Keep in mind, this was written to be spoken, and to be listened to for about ten minutes so it is long and the tone may be a little different from my "blog" writing.

Being a midwifery student is hard work.  Maybe harder then we thought it would be.  Maybe not.  Those of us who are mamas have so much to re-learn, how to see things from the other side, how not to interject every five minutes with “During my births…in my pregnancy…when I was breastfeeding’  and those who aren’t mamas have to learn that they are not at a disadvantage so stop feeling like that and move on!  I do remember, in my first year, during With Woman actually, thinking, how amazing it would be to have all of this information before having a baby.  To be able to tap into all of these extra resources, and wealth of knowledge.  Um, yeah, not so much.

As I was preparing to write this presentation I spoke (aka, Facebook’d) with a few mamas from the program.  They had vastly different experiences from me and from each other.  Planned home birth.  Planned hospital birth.  Things went according to plan.  They didn’t feel like they’d had any amount of pressure or expectations as an MEPer.  Maybe it was just me then? And then I read an amazing paper by one of my classmates.  She had looked into the experience of giving birth as a birth professional.  Of the women she had surveyed, all of them a birth professional of one kind or another, many had felt that there was a certain expectation around the kind of birth they were going to have, felt that there knowledge both helped and hindered them, and that it was hard to not be in control. 

Now, I’m a planner.  To a fault.  But I had worked really hard at not having a birth plan, though every one does to a certain extent.  I felt I had learned a lot about myself, my body, the way I give birth, and my babies during my first two pregnancies and births and during this pregnancy.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, I would come to learn a lot more about myself.

My girls...and Mark like to dress up as Superheroes. And as a mama you feel like one. I obviously have an innate power, two really: the ability to incubate and nurture a human life inside my very own body and the awesomeness that is lactating boobs!

So when things went a little sideways with my planned home birth I felt like Supergirl faced with kryptonite. Actually no, I wasn't on the ground squirming in pain, I was more like WonderWwoman being harnassed by her own lasso. In case you don't know, that's her main weakness.

  

I initially though of this analogy to bring some humor to my story, keep myself from crying, but the more I thought about it the more accurate it seemed. As a mama-midwifery student aka Wonder Woman, it was my own knowledge that was tying me up and forcing me into the ambulance and to the hospital. From a midwifery student perspective, that was the ultimate villain's lair. But from a regular mama perspective, it was the extra knowledge, the extra help from fellow students, the "extra" that was tying me up and imprisoning me in my decisions.

You see, non midwifery types, still amazing mamas of three, Breastfeeding, baby wearing, loving their kids mamas, they did not understand why I was so defeated at having given birth in a hospital and having stayed there for 23.5 hours. They understood that it had not been part of the plan; but these women, whom I didn't know all that well, simply said " but you made the right decision for your baby. You didn't really have a choice. Not one where one or more of the outcomes would have been acceptable.". My friends, the students, they all had a lot of different things to say. Sympathy instead of empathy, sorrow instead of support, shock instead of agreement.

So why didn’t I have a homebirth? Poop.  I suppose the more appropriate way to say it, is that there was meconium.  A lot of it.  Thick, pea soup sludge seeping into the birthing pool. 

And the reason I had to stay at the hospital was a GBS positive screen with insufficient amount of antibiotics administered prior to delivery. And here’s what I have to say to my fellow midwifery students:  Stop.  Stop thinking about the odds ratios, the research, the facts, the myths, and the alternatives.  As your classmate, I know now, and knew then all of that information. But what I also knew, was that the institution I gave birth in had a mandatory 24-hour stay policy for mamas and newborns with a GBS positive screen or they would call CAS. 

CAS.  These three little letters.  Letters every parent – good or bad – dreads hearing.  Imagine, if you will, having just given birth to a beautiful, perfect little girl.  A beautiful birth.  An emotional high.  Conflicting emotions – the “wrong” kind of feelings are bubbling below the surface but you are pushing them down as you stare into the eyes – are they hazel?  Are they brown? – of your daughter.  Your midwives doing post partum things.  Your partner, leaning over you and your babe, kissing your head, pushing back your hair.  And all of a sudden arrangements are being made for you to stay overnight.  It doesn’t matter that the odds of your baby being affected by GBS are 1 in 300 to 1 in 1000.  It doesn't matter that you had some IV antibiotics.  You are free to go.  But if you check your beloved newborn out against medical orders, you will awake to Children’s Aid Society at your doorstep.  Now, consider again all of the informed choice, research, self-rightousness, strength, mama-bear protectiveness of not just your two older girls sleeping soundly at home, but of this new life you have never been away from.  And imagine, for a full minute, the idea of a stranger holding that baby and seriously considering that you are unfit.  

Being a midwifery student can really screw with your head and your heart sometimes and this was one of those times.  I knew my baby was fine, and safe.  I knew what to look for.  I knew the odds.  I knew my rights.  And I knew that my girls were going to wake up and be surprised at best, heartbroken at worst, that I wasn't there with the new baby.  But none of that compares to the even the most remote possibility of having to deal with CAS bureaucracy within the first 24 hours of my newborn’s existence.  I mean, honestly, I wasn't planning on letting the grandparents in the door!

As I prepared for this presentation I was searching for images and I came across the cover for a children's book about homebirth. And I came across gorgeous waterbirth photographs including ones of mamas with all of their children clambering to look at the newest sibling. And looking at these images, breaks my heart.  Every. Single. Time.  And there is no excuse for it.  When I speak to my partner, when I go over my story, when I speak to other mamas who aren't in the midwifery circle, it’s not really a big deal.  I had a beautiful labour.  I had a beautiful birth.  But most importantly, I had a beautiful baby girl.  But the fact that I read that damn book every single night for months, watched homebirth videos, and practiced birthing sounds and positions with my girls – all for nothing, that breaks my heart.  And, you can argue that they are young so they are fine.  To which I say, my middle monkey, she had to be reminded that we got to keep our baby.  And my oldest monkey who saw the middle one born, was also heartbroken and angry and we had a good long cry about it together. It’s hard to hear about other people’s wonderful water births with their children present because I didn't get that.  But that’s the midwifery student in me.  The mama in me, is grateful for having three healthy daughters.

 Sometimes I think that I’m not going to ever fully get over disappointing my girls by not having a homebirth for them.  And then, Mark reminds me that my girls are six and under and that sometime much sooner than I would like I will disappoint them in what appears to be a frivolous way to me – like, saying no to an Abercrombit Fitch sweatshirt, or to party they want to go to – and that will be the moment that sticks with them not that they missed Baby C’s birth. So, while many mamas probably dread the conflict of the teen years, I say, bring it on, it will totally  help me heal!  

So what does it mean to give birth while an MEP student? And what doesn’t it mean?

• Maybe because I wasn’t in Clinical Skills with my peeps, it didn’t result in numerous belly palpations, pulse takings, fundal measurements or fetascope listenings.
• It did mean that during Bruce’s lecture when he put up the graph of oral contraception – the one explaining why you have to take your pill at the same time every morning – even if you just hosted the end of the year party and your children aren't home to wake you up - that 50% of the class will turn around to shoot you a knowing look, and laugh.
• It does mean that at least twice you will be told you are huge and you will wonder how a future midwife feels like that’s an okay thing to a pregnant woman
• It does mean that you have a plethora of information –far more than even a well educated mama
• It means that you have expectations of being with a midwife, most likely a doula, that you will not freak out, that you will not request pain relief,
• It does mean when you go for your ultrasound and the technician makes assumptions about your sexual orientation, your desire to have the baby, the man in the suit being your husband, you hear Nadya’s voice in your head gently reminding you how you should never ever make those assumptions.
• It may or may not mean that you will cook and serve a delightful vegan meal for a dozen or so of your closest friends and family who all invade your house immediately.  Personally I came home and crammed my belly full of braised pork shoulder curry and rice.  And a Strongbow. And didn’t let anyone in the door for 48 hours.
• It means that when you are stuck in the hospital bed checking your facebook, one of your school friends will notice that you are at the same hospital she is making rounds in and will be the first to visit you.
• It means you can argue with the pediatrician and convince her to let you leave the hospital early.
• But it also means the L&D nurse will call you “one of them” for not letting her bathe your baby.
• It means that when you are forced to make a quick decision, it’s no longer impulse nor even informed choice that is guiding you, but information overload, and graphic visuals, anecdotes,  facts and figures clouding your brain.  And that no matter which way you lean, someone you go to school with, will offer their unsolicited opinion telling you that it was a misinformed decision.  And they do so because of the information in their head, not as a judgment, but it comes out very much as a judgment and a sentence “Guilty of not fulfilling the MEP student edict of perfect home birth!”  "Guilty of allowing the institution to dictate what you could do!"  "Guilty of submitting to the will of non-midwives!” 
• It doesn't mean that any of your decisions would have been different. Because you are a mama first.
• It doesn't mean that you are at a disadvantage.
• It doesn't mean that you are being judged.
• It doesn't mean that you failed in some way.  Unless you know, you actually failed.  But despite my hormone addled brain, I managed to pull off decent to hey-not-bad grades in my courses!
• It does mean that you will receive lots of love from wonderful women who will make the trek all the way to Mississauga just to visit you and your girls.

Baby C is my baby Hulk.  That is to say, she’s a happy baby, until she's not.  (And you don't want to make her angry.) Which is to say she is perfectly healthy.  Ultimately, there is no guarantee that she would have been had I stood my ground and not gone to the hospital.  But just looking at her, while she nurses, or laughs, or yells at the floor for not letting her defy gravity, I can’t say that I would make any decision differently except for – and this is the most contentious issue – maybe, just maybe, planning on a hospital birth.  If I’d planned a hospital birth with my girls present then they would have been there for the birth.  But, that wasn't really the images and experience I wanted for them, for me, for us.  R has one homebirth under her belt already, and while L will never get to see a sibling being born at home, neither will Baby C just by being the baby.  But, I figure most of my friends and classmates are younger then me and a few of them will probably have babies of their own one day – so hopefully, they can witness that.  You don’t mind do you ladies? 

An open letter to Deb Matthews, Ontario Minister of Health

This past Friday marked two years since Ontario Midwives started negotiations for a new contract with the Ontario government. They started talks almost six months before their contract expired. The end date of the contract came and went at 11:59om March 31, 2011.
Did the midwives abruptly stop catching babies? No.
Did they transfer care of their clients? No.
Did they stop taking clients due after that day? No.
Have midwives, in fact, gone on to catch 25,000(!!!) babies and care for them and their mamas? Yes.
Have midwifes rallied to support refugee healthcare? Yes.
Have they faced obstacles and red tape when trying to gain practice privileges in hospitals across the province and yet continued to care for as many pregnant women as their limited numbers allow? Yes.
Have midwives rallied and successfully petitioned for birth centres in Ontario because that is what their clients need and want? Yes.
Have midwives saved the provincial government thousands of dollars in healthcare costs by supporting low risk births at home; supporting women and their families in successful breastfeeding; providing postpartum care to mothers and babies? All proven methods of health cost savings measures and long term positive effects? Yes.
Have midwives cut back the number of clients they accept or their 24-7 availability? No.
Have midwives changed their model of care to support more clients for more billable hours in order to manipulate the system? No!
Midwives in Ontario continue to provide care to women, newborns, and their families at the utmost professional level with knowledge, compassion, and integrity.
Midwives do not bring to the table the personal costs of their profession, their passion; but rather, they are asking for a fair and just evaluation of the work they do, the positive impact they have, and in politico speak: the effect they have on the bottom line!
On Friday, a social media campaign was launched to ask you, the Ontario Minister of Health to resume negotiations and come #backtothetable with @ontariomidwives. Photographs of babies born without a contract, pregnant bellies due without a contract, and midwifery students getting ready to enter the workforce without a contract were sent to the minister via twitter. Over 140 retweets plus 130 original tweets were sent in addition to countless emails, Facebook messages, and the viewing of a photo gallery video peaked at over 1000 by the end of the weekend.
And your response, which can only be interpreted as trite at best, passive-aggressive at worst, was a tweet sent late Sunday saying "Thx 4 tweets.Midwifery is catching.Birthing centres and even more midwives providing care to moms, dads, and babes."
Really? Really? You (Deb Matthews) take two minutes to send a tweet that your PR team probably drafted and then resent because it promotes midwifery in some lame backhanded way and point out that birthing centres are coming? Did you even read ONE of the messages that was sent to you? I mean for pete's sake they were 140 characters or less!! And they all said more or less the same thing, which was, to reiterate: GET BACK TO THE TABLE and renegotiate the long expired contract for Ontario midwives. This is your domain is it not? Mr.McGuinty's resignation is not a factor here, because let's be honest Deb Matthews, you are not the Liberal party's next provincial leader. And if you were, perhaps having 500+ midwives, their clients, their partners, their clients' partners (and FYI, that's partners not just "dads"!), and families, and all of the current and hopeful midwifery students...having all of these people on your side because you managed to finalize a new contract, might be a good thing. I'm just spitballing here, but that seems like a significant number of people to have on your side, or the side of the Liberal party in general. Or, maybe you thought it was ok because those 25,000 babies born since the contract expired can't vote yet. But that's a pretty significant number of babies who won't be there to kiss for an election photo op!
Get back to the table Health Minister. You wouldn't work under uncertain conditions, our doctors, nurses, orderlies, and administrators don't. Ontario Midwives deserve the same amount of respect and compensation. Passion and dedication motivates midwives to work; please, show a modicum of both for your ministry of which midwives are an essential part.
Oh, and for the record, sending a tweet on a Sunday night isn't going to fly under the radar. Technology is odd like that, it's available 24-7. Much like midwives.

A google image search is never as innocent as you claim.

So I sat down tonight to finish my conference presentation. One of two. I thought I'd start with the less formal one, the more personal one. Every night for the last week I've tried to finish it but seven gazillion programs needed to update on the laptop and the netbook and the router was slow and Mark was looking yummy so there was always a distraction.
Tonight started out well enough, no tech issues save a concern about the "quality" of images that was going to pop up given my search terms which included "Wonder Woman tied up" But I digress. I was almost done when poof an image came up, (not of Wonder Woman) and it reminded me of something and bang!!! I was a sobbing blurry eyed mess who ended up curled in a ball around her baby. I was caught off-guard, thinking I had closed the door on any regrets or questions. But seeing a picture of that damn book cover, one we read every night together for months, the girls and I. I felt walloped by what they had-we had-I had missed out on. I doubt it makes much of a difference to L right now. And I'm equally sure if I bring it up to R she too would cry. But I won't being it up and I wouldn't go hug them in their sleep because I don't want to make them sad. I'm not that kind of mama.
And seriously, ultimately I was being very self involved. I couldn't talk to Mark about it as he is not my therapist and while I did spit out the basics of what was making me cry he couldn't have understood how deeply I was aching. I suspect he thought I was reading sad stories online or lamenting not being allowed to have another baby.
The irony is, reading a sad story, linked to by Glennon at Momastery who is just, wow-made me snap out of it. There I was sobbing over my big girls having prepared so well for so long for the homebirth that never was, while someone else was mourning the one year loss of her son. Seriously, I was breathing in the warm milky breath of my baby with two sleeping healthy girls in the other room and I had the nerve to turn into an emotional wreck because we didn't get to have a home birth with the big sisters present?!??!! Studying Midwifery can really screw with your mind and your priorities. Hmmm, I wonder if I can use that as my presentation title?
Also, watch out for those google image searches!

Back to School

I'm a self confessed back-to-school shopping addict. I recently returned to school and unabashedly hit the school supply sales stocking up on fun colored pens, post-its, highlighters, and of course fancy notebooks and an even fancier pencil case. I then voided the need for all of these by purchasing a netbook!
Even though I'm taking a year off to hang with Baby C while she's still a baby, I couldn't help but sneak an AC/DC backpack into the shopping cart this week for myself. (What? Don't judge. It was very cool!) It was a very efficient shopping expedition and that was a result of some planning in our part.

To get ready for R's return to school on a budget, here's what we did:

• went through all the school supplies in the house and ran a web search on what might be needed for grade one. As it turns out, if you are in Edmonton you need a whole lot more then here in Mississauga. We created a short list of what we still needed and what we were going to ask Dumboo (aka my dad) for as he likes to take them shopping.  We ended up not needing very much but we did pack three pencil cases:  one for each girl (sorry Baby C, maybe next year) plus one for R to take to school.  Take away message: Save all those fancy pencils kids get from teachers, classmates, and lootbags.  We had over a dozen!  Parcel out new supplies mixed with old ones.  Don't set up the expectation of brand new stuff every year.  R happily used the same backpack for two years; the girls fight over who gets to use my old pencil cases and all of my fancy pens.  Plus, I find a little extra purchasing when a box of pencil crayons is 93 cents and a pack of paper 17cents to be more than worth having to keep it in storage for later as compared to paying full price mid-school year.  

• tried on all of last years fall/winter clothes. Very little still fits R but she has plenty of tshirts, hoodies, and a couple of pairs of pants plus her shorts that will get her through the early part of the year. September is generally still summer like. We compiled a list of what we needed: a couple of pairs of pants,   a few long sleeve shirts, new shoes, and rain-boots. We then hit Joe Fresh and the online sales at Old Navy. The clothes aren't the best quality but they aren't awful either like some less expensive places. While you could argue that paying a little more for better quality might be worthwhile as there are two more girls to grow into them, it doesn't quite work out for us for a few reasons: Despite the fact that R takes good care of her clothes there just isn't much left to them by the end of the school year (regardless of the brand);  L is a completely different body type so she will never fit into R's old stuff and so far, Baby C is her own size and shape.  Take away message::  Pick one or two stores/brands. I've got three girls who are in car seats or boosters including a baby who despises being in the car and stroller.  It is far more economical for us to just pick up what we need at one or two places then spend a day at the shopping centre or driving from place to place, comparing prices and sizes (heaven forbid you need to return something!) .  My time - and my sanity -  is worth more than saving a couple of dollars.  But saving more than that? A necessity with three girls so I never shop Old Navy (or even Gap) unless there is an email coupon code;and I generally shop online so that it's shipped to me free and there are no distractions of other unnecessary items and /or lunch!

• had R write out all of the things she would like to eat for snack that does not come in a box or other packaging.  This gave her the chance to make some decisions, we talked about nutrition, she practiced her printing, and it was really helpful.  We have a litterless lunch policy at school so I can't send things in wrappers or disposable containers otherwise they come back home generally making a mess of the lunch bag first (open yogurt container - ugh!).  While this may sound inconvenient, it's actually a super economical way to go.  We don't bother with any single sized snacks like mini yogurts, string cheese (is this actually cheese?), or granola bars which either seem to have nuts - a big no-no; marshmallows (not even trying to be healthy); or are so healthy they are both expensive and tasteless.  Take away message:  even if you don't have to go litter-less.  Try it!  Portion out yogurt in small containers; cut up cheese yourself;  and dole out kid sized handfuls of crackers or other crunchy things in containers as well.  You can be as healthy or not as you choose and still save money by not paying for all that packaging.
• sorted the winter accessory bag.  Yes, it's really hard to look at, never mind, touch, wool, flannel, and fleece when the humidex has spike at 38 degrees but if I don't sort through hats, scarves, and mitts now, when it does get cold there is a scramble to see what fits who and who needs what.  Take away message:  deal with wardrobe issues for the entire school year in August.  
• decide where to spend the big money.  I know mamas that drop some serious coin on expensive backpacks, that are looking good and going into the third year of use.  I know mamas that invest in really expensive footwear that only lasts a season or two, but their reasoning is "It's my kids only pair of feet!  And others who are all about clothes.  Backpacks, well, I still haven't learned that lesson to invest in a good one.  Last year I fell for a backpack from a reputable clothing store.  Apparently, their backpacks are crap!  This year we went super cheap, and may live to regret that, but honestly, the budget is creaking from being stretched. We buy our girls good shoes, fun shoes even, but at Dixie Outlet or Winners. We spent a pretty penny on their winter jackets/ski parkas last year.  But not only were they on sale, not trendy, had sleeves that could extended and waists that could drop - they were warm!  My kid has to be outside for 45 minutes at lunch time, I don't want her to get wet or freeze her butt off.  Summer shorts - cheaper the better.  Winter jacket - bring on the Christmas present money!  Take away message: Spend the big money on items you know your kid won't outgrow quickly,  can't lose easily, and what they really need for comfort. Take a risk on cheaper items when and where you need to.  There's no point paying more interest on your credit card than buying another of something if it tears or breaks, would cost.
• lunches - R and I talked about what she wants for lunch.  And aside from making it clear that I'm not letting her get pizza every week for pizza day, we're good.  But I'm lucky, she likes a variety of food and while sometimes I feel pangs of guilt for breaking otu the dim sum, pasta, and frozen perogies on a weekly basis, I figure, it's lunch and the rest of the time she's eating homemade food.  But there is not way in hell I'm making her a quinoa-sprout-tempeh puppet to play with and then eat because every other article out there says kids will love it.  No she will not and no I do not have the time to build things out of your food.  It's food - eat it.  Take away message:  I am the wrong mama to give you advice on what to feed your kid and the most budget friendly thing I can suggest is make sure it is both something your kid will eat and relatively healthy. Much like the snacks, if you steer clear of the pre-packaged stuff, you are doing your budget - and your child - a world of good.  But there is nothing wrong with a cold cut and cheese sandwich - just go for real cheese and not the plasticky kind okay?

Five things I wish I could tell my kids teacher

Over on the yummy mummy club a teacher "dished" about five things he/she would like to tell parents but can't. Here are five things I'd like to tell my kid's teacher,(Keep in mind she's only going into Grade 1 and some of it is for L's teacher next year when she starts.):

1. Can we stop with the head gear and costumes?
Every year, multiple times a year, we get the bulletin from school saying some kids have lice. We all know it's not a personal hygiene issue. But you know what doesn't help? Having headgear and costumes kids share. What's the point of my tormenting my kid with tea tree oil, back combing her hair, and drilling her about not sharing brushes and hats if you make it part of class?

2. Just because my kid is smart doesn't mean she can be overlooked
R was too smart for SK. So she spent a lot of time waving her hand in the air only to be overlooked for another child to give the answer. All the time. Every kid needs encouragement and opportunity. It's defeating to see her not bother to try anymore after being ignored too many times.
Oh and while we are talking about it, please give your attention to the "not cute" kids and direct your teaching assistants and student volunteers to do the same. Drives me crazy!

3.Your coffee breath stinks and it's rude
This is in retaliation to a teacher's comment (online not to my kid!) about kids not bringing smelly lunches like garlic or fish. Besides the obvious racism, it seems hypocritical given the stale burnt coffee many teachers sip throughout the day. Which is also rude because my kid can't have a cup of milk sitting in her desk all day!

4. I'm not interested in your scheduled breaks.
I'm so tired of the archaic practice of rushing kids through lunch then shoving them out the door to play so that teachers can get a break. Listen, I couldn't spend all day with 28 kids without breaks but for lunch hour to be forty minutes after morning recess and only consist of 20 minutes to get,consume, and put away lunch. That's an unreasonable request and you would go on strike if it was demanded of you. Oh and by the by, how about actually paying attention to what's going on in the school yard when you are on duty? I don't get to ignore my kid until they are bleeding or crying, you shouldn't either.

5.Stop
Stop parking in the spots closest to the doors. Stop trying to put together the best concert ever and just relax and have fun with the kids! Stop sending the kids outside when it's -30 or +35. Stop assuming every kid has a mom and a dad to make gifts for. Stop scheduling shows at the last minute during the day because we work too. Stop assuming there is extra money for all of the "extras. But most importantly, stop forgetting that this is more than a job, it's a vocation.

I have a much more extensive rant on the horrors of the full day kindergarten program R was in for SK but I'm trying to move on. Stay tuned to see if it goes up.

What do you wish you could tell the teacher?

At the drive-in at least someone got to second base.

Last night Mark and I decided to go see a movie. An actual new-ish release on the big screen. Exciting times for parents of a breastfeeding baby who thinks pumped milk in a bottle is only to be used for blowing raspberries! At the suggestion of a friend, we went to the drive in so we could take Baby C with us.

Brilliant right? We raved about the sheer genius of it! What could be easier then leaving our big girls with their awesome aunt, bringing along Baby C and everything she needed in a diaper bag and my boobs?! Mark even remembered a flashlight and a lighter for the bug repelling diffuser (diluted tea tree oil nothing toxic).

As we drove, we were in that happy parent place of astonishment we'd never thought of going to the drive in before and euphoria of two Friday night dates in a row. Baby C wasn't even yelling during the drive. This was so going to be a good night!

We parked; nixed the idea of sitting in the back with the hatch open as we didn't have pillows or blankets; re-parked; grabbed popcorn and drinks; almost dropped said confections; and set ourselves up for almost three hours of Dark Knight Rises. We were even so bold as to make plans for future return trips.

I loved the nostalgic feel from the neon signed snack bar serving the standards but also deep fried pickles and onion rings to the national anthem starting the show and the Looney Tunes cartoon lead-in with no trailers. I loved seeing people in pajamas and questionably shaped bottles hidden in paper bags tucked under camping chairs. Baby C was happy to hang out with us as we waited.

And then it got dark.
And then it got loud.
And then Baby C decided to kick the dials on the console repeatedly switching the station so we'd lose the sound among other things. Make note of this last bit, it is key.

In our delerium, we'd forgotten that Baby C isn't a newborn nor is she a toddler. Newborns are easy. All they need is a boob. Seven month olds? Not so much Toddlers are chatty and get tired but can be distracted with food, games, and snuggles. Seven month olds? Not so much.

Let me cut to the chase in case you haven't already guessed: Baby C hated -with all of her 28" and 24lbs-the drive in! Try fighting that in a small space. She wanted to be in her bed, on her sheepskin, with a soft light glowing and relative quiet. She did not want to be cradled, carried, or rocked. She did not want to lie down in the bucket seat beside me and nurse. What was I, new? Why did I think my child who despises the car would want to spend three hours in it just because she was in my arms? The punching, biting, scratching, kicking, and screaming was giving the surround sound a run for its money. And every time she settled for 30 seconds the action in the movie would rise and the soundtrack would boom! Or, Mark would just have to have a man-ful of popcorn or fumble for a drink. Finally about two hours into the movie-no I'm not exaggerating but yes she only started to act up 45minutes in-she fell asleep. And the truck warning lights all flared, beeped, and died.

Yep. That's right. I was now sitting in a full theatre parking lot/field with a cranky baby finally sleep on top of my exposed chest, my cell phone battery at 20% and my engine light is on. It seems, our beloved baby in her wild thrashing as we passed her back and forth, hit the a/c dial. And we didn't notice because it was on low, already cool from the sunroof being open and loud from her and the movie.

Now, I don't know much about cars but I'm not a mechanic's daughter for nothing. I am also the "wife" of a worst-scenario get silently infuriated guy. So I kept my mouth shut for twenty minutes. Then I called my Dad. Then I called a tow truck. And with two safety nets in place, ample time having passed, I suggested to Mark that this being a drive-in theatre, dead car batteries and/or over heated cars are probably an extremely common occurrence and they probably have a battery and jumper cables. Mark didn't believe me: not about it just being the battery, not about the boost being easy.

It was. And it was.

Obviously, we didn't stay for the second movie.

But the funny thing is, as we were driving home chatting quietly as Baby C had fallen back asleep in her car seat, Mark and I agreed that it had still been a good night. It may not have been very "date-like" between the angry baby and car trouble but at least someone got to second base...it just happened to be the baby. There's breast milk all over the windshield to prove it.

When was the last time you went to the drive-in? And who were you with?

My Daughter, to the Core

When R was born everyone said she looked like Mark. Except both sets of grandparents. But that is another story.
From an anthropological perspective children generally look like their father at birth-it's reassuring I suppose.

R is now six and probably has fairly equal characteristics from both of us. Physical characteristics that is. Her personality is very similar to mine. So much so that even though she is only six; we have talked about how we will fight when she's a bit older because of it. But we will forgive each other easily and love each other deeply because of it. Mark also tells me he can see me in her when she's interrupted while reading or annoyed about something, that the look in her eyes is all mine. We share quite a few interests and maybe too many personality traits from being a complete mess if we are hungry, to hating the humidity but also our love to talk, eat, and read. And her big smile, that's me too!

But a classic example of how R and I are alike occurred today: R and L were taking a cooking class. They had just sat down after standing in a slow moving hand-washing line of 16 kids. A boy at another table was playing with a toy car. He overshot and it went flying landing underneath the table we were at. His mother looked at my girls expecting them to get it. Neither one moved. I was holding a squirmy Baby C so I wasn't going to budge either. The mom got up to walk over and she moved slowly still thinking one of my girls would get it especially after her son asked R to get it. The look in R's face basically said this "Are you freaking kidding me?! I'm not going to crawl under the table in this skirt and get my hands dirty. Hands that I just freaking stood in line -forever-to wash. Because you decided playing cars when we are here to cook, was a good idea. Seriously. And why can't you get it anyway? Or at least ask. Though my response is going to be to ask you if you're new."

And yes, she conveyed this all with a look. I know she did because not only is it exactly what I was thinking-except with a different f word in mind and maybe leading with the 'are you new?' -but she turned to me and gave me this all knowing smile.

That's my kid and we are so going to fight when she's older but at least I'll know exactly what she's thinking!

Are your kids like you? In looks or attitude? Does it make it easier or harder?

Taking a moment

For a brief moment today I started to feel pressed for time. It was a bit of a surprise to me, this feeling that has been absent since I finished my last course in school back in December. During the school term I felt pressed for time constantly. Mark was on full time parent duty two or three days a week while he worked more then full time hours. And I had to do all the full time mama stuff while balancing two very intense courses and growing a baby. It would be an understatement to say that I felt like I was barely getting by. I don't think I spoke to a single non-school friend; and I struggled to find time to get everything I wanted to do done. And ended up learning to just get what I had to done!

So this afternoon as the long weekend started to draw to an end I was caught off guard at my feelings of frustration. I was trying to look for work online; I was checking my calendar for class registration info; I still needed to finish editing a paper and finally start an intimidating reading list for a certificate I am hoping to pursue. But Baby C had other ideas. Her next set of teeth are coming through and she is in a lot of pain. I can tell because her little mouth is pulled so tightly and she's biting everything! L and R wanted to tell me about everything they were doing or thinking and Mark was getting some much needed gardening done. I wanted my time!

But as I stroked my baby's hair,applied ointment to L's latest scraped knee and listened to R rave about how nice daddy had been to let her go swimming again making it the best holiday Monday ever!!- I knew that it wasn't resentment for not being able to find time that I was feeling. It was in fact, resentment for needing to do all of those things that were crowding out my enjoyment of my girls.

And so I give you three magical mama moments that I was truly blessed to have experienced this weekend:

I want to cherish forever that moment when Baby C startled in her sleep, eyes flying open and then a soft smile lit up her face when she saw I was still there and she settled into sleep again. All the while I listened to my big girls laugh and chase each other outside playing the most non-sensical games.

I want to never ever forget the pure bliss I experienced waking up from a rare Sunday afternoon nap with two girls still asleep wrapped around me, my biggest girl reading at my feet-her long legs resting in mine, and Mark squeezed into the last few spare inches in the bed also reading.

I want to remember splashing in the pool with Mark holding Baby C;R and L squealing with laughter as we chased each other in the water with squeaky spray toys. And their cheers of encouragement as I swam without a flotation device to the ladder in the deep end.

The long weekend is over and I have all week to try to get to my to-do list. But more importantly I am truly blessed to have all week to spend with my girls because Mark goes to work for us. I am a lucky lady!

We didn't buy a zoo but it feels like we're packing for a move there!

I'm hoping to take my girls to the zoo tomorrow. 

Three things need to happen:my oldest child needs to fall asleep NOW; my youngest child has to promise not to try to kill me before/during/after the car ride (note to self:cut baby'sfingernails first thing in morning)  and finally the temperature really has to top out at 25 degrees. It'd be fabulous if the highways were congestion free but even if we left at 3am that wouldn't happen.

To help ensure the sanity and fun factor, I’ve asked my youngest sister to come with us. 

She loves the zoo.  My girls love her.  And its really nice to have an extra pair ofhands and eyes when it comes to shuttling three darlings through bathroom and eating routines.

I suspect that I’m actually going to lose sleep over this.  I’m a planner and I have not adequately prepared for this day trip.  Last year, I sent myself a half-dozen text messages in the middle of the night reminding myself of what to take.  Too bad I didn’t save them!  Except now I have to add a few more items to account for Baby C.  On the other hand, we’ll have a stroller to dump all our stuff in. minimum I need:

• a half dozen diapers;a couple of diaper covers; wet wipes; and plastic bags

• two changes of clothes for the baby; and one for each of the big girls and myself

• Camillia for teething and a teether

• two dfferent doses of Tylenol for the big girls

• several water bottles

• nuts, dates, cereal bars, fruit, sandwiches, and juice boxes

• fully charged iPhone, because I can’t take my camera with me.  It's just too hard to balance a DSLR with Baby C in arms. And, I’m admittedly bored with the animal photos that we never print and just need a few of the girls for the memory book.
 You

 know, the one we never get around to making every summer but always plan on and then wish we had.

• A couple of receiving blankets which are the multi purpose superstars of my life

• And cash because the parking at the zoo is freaking expensive; I’ll definitely need
coffee;the car will probably require gas; and I will buy my girls a drumstick and ride on the merry-go-round



Did I mention we only plan on being out of the house for six hours?


How long does it take you take you to get out the door with your kids?  Do you take more or less stuff?  And do YOU like the zoo?

Summer Holiday Hooray!

"I love my family. Summer holiday hooray. " Thats what R wrote on our unofficial summer schedule on Tuesday. Since then she's popped up in the kitchen to consult the schedule, make suggestions for changes, discuss alternatives with her sister, and request permission to create a graph based on it so she can chart her activities. Yes, she truly is my child.

Despite all appearances to the contrary, we are hoping to have a very relaxed summer.

At the same time, I'm worried that my girls won't have a great summer. But honestly, that's only when I compare myself to other mamas-real or imagined. I worry that all the other kids out there going to fabulous day camps, travelling seaside, riding their bikes to raise money for a cause and visiting every tourist attraction in the GTA plus building a treehouse.

My girls get a mama who whipped up a science experiment at 7am, face painted them, and churned homemade balsamic strawberry ice cream!! And those exclamation points are theirs because those are the things we love to do together that don't always fit in the weekends. So could I do more? Sure. Would more be exhausting and so not us? Definitely.

And that's why the thing to keep in mind is that "great" is all about perspective. I don't spend the rest of the year comparing myself to other mamas -I might borrow or learn from them so I shouldn't now. And some of that learning is recognizing that I do a pretty good job and what I do fits us!

Mark asked me if it was going to be too much for me to entertain the girls all summer. My genuine answer was twofold. One, we aren't raising kids who need to be entertained all summer And two, I'm quite possibly more excited than R that she's home for two months. In her words, " I love my family. Summer holiday hooray!"

How do you plan on spending the summer?

The guys at the door

Firstly, I'm writing this via my iPhone app for the first time so please excuse the errors until I get a chance to review from my laptop and get used to the app. It's a short one because I couldn't resist.

So here's my question: in the era of smartphones, did the guy at the door wanting to come inside with his maintenance man-to inspect the household's HVAC ( which for the record I know stands for heating, vacuum, and air condition without needing to look it up) system really think I was going to let him come in? Dude, I looked up your company that you were pretending was a government inspection unit, while you were standing in front of me!! And the fact that you didn't have a business card or a badge? C'mon,take a lesson from the guys that come by at dinner time and aggressively bang on the door and try to bully us. Yes, dude, I will give you credit for being polite, only subtly pushy,and trying to incite my sense of responsibility to mother earth. But the sob story of not having your own vehicle and being dropped off to cover the neighborhood and needing to walk 4km if I really wanted a business card. That story? Not so much making me want to let you in the house.

Here's the thing, I almost never answer the front door. If I'm expecting you, then I'll know it. I'm downright aggressive about door-to-door people to the point of warning them off from a few houses down pointing to my girls and threatening wrath if their naps are interrupted (pretty sure the Wittnesses are praying for my children!). But this guy caught me in an unusually generous mood. And for that he should thank the lovely firefighter who I saw approaching the door earlier and jumped up to answer it. The firefighter even came back with coloring books for my girls. I believed him when he directed me to a website on safety. Must have been the uniform!

My Breastfeeding Story aka My Battle With My Boobs

Off the top (ha!), I will say, that I’m not here to judge.  Every mama does what is best for her and her baby when it comes to filling that baby’s belly so he or she can grow strong and healthy.  And I empathize with that paralyzing feeling of guilt that you are possibly making the wrong decision, regardless of what that is.  And it’s a pretty awful way to start out mamahood, second guessing your choice of milk and worrying about it.  But I’m not writing about that (today).  Instead, I’m going to tell you about my battle with my boobs.

Stories about breastfeeding are much like birth stories.  You generally only hear the horrible ones along the lines of “my baby wouldn’t latch properly and screamed at me and I nursed until my nipples were cracked and bleeding”.  And when I was pregnant for the first time, I heard a lot of those stories, often accompanied by some small piece of ridiculous advice or presumption such as: you should vigorously rub your nipples with a washcloth to get them ready; you have darker pigmentation so it won’t bother you.  Well, the first is a bad idea simply because vigorous nipple stimulation releases oxytocin which can start labour.  And the second bit, is based on science but I am here to tell you did not ring true.

Throughout my pregnancy with R, I kept waiting for the giant pregnancy boobs.  I bought a soft bra in a bigger size to grow into; I wore tight t-shirts and asked my partner if my boobs looked bigger.  I did not.  They did not.  This was a true physiological sign that something was going to go amiss with breastfeeding.  No one caught it.

The fact that I was ripped off the gigantic pregnancy boobs was actually not the first sign that breastfeeding, or rather milk supply, was going to be a problem.  The first sign would have been that I have PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome).  But neither my GP, who is awesome, nor my midwife, who is awesome, nor my naturopath recognized this potential barrier.  None of them caught the lack of big boobs as a sign, and certainly none of them mentioned that my bottoming out iron was going to be a problem for milk supply.  (Low iron had other concerns that were addressed).

Shortly after her birth, R latched with no problems.  She pretty much stayed there for the better part of six months.  I kid you not.  The first 48 hours, she nursed in my arms contentedly sucking up all the immune system building colostrum I could give her.  We nursed sitting up and lying down.  But her third night, she got hungry.  And then she got angry.  And Mark and I felt hopeless.  R latched and wouldn’t let go, she sucked away for about twelve hours straight until our midwife came for a home visit and squeezed my breast and re-positioned her and counted wet diapers.  I was reassured that my milk would come in soon and that my baby was getting what she needed.  I found that very hard to believe given the yells that would come forth when the milk did not.  I cried.  Mark held me.  He couldn’t hold R because she would just get angrier and then be harder to settle down.  My parents wanted to visit again and when they did my mother got angry with me for something and my father made me feel guilty about it.  So, yeah, not helpful.  Mark’s older kids were with us that night and feeling displaced so he had to spend time with them and all I could do was lie on our bed, tears streaming down my face as I desperately massaged my breasts and murmured to my baby girl. This would become an all too familiar routine.  That night, the fourth night, my milk came in.  I knew it came in, because I woke up to R gulping away.  I was flooded with relief and spent the night staring at my beautiful baby girl who drank with wide eyes looking up at me. 

But R and I would have a tougher than expected breastfeeding road.  She was a lazy nurser.  I say that with love, affection, and humour (now.  Not so funny then).  She would nurse for less than ten minutes and fall asleep. When she woke up, she’d do the same thing on the other side.  I tried rubbing her head and her feet.  At some point, more desperate measures were recommended in order to ensure she was taking in enough milk, and I had to rub her with a cool, wet washcloth.  She didn’t like that.  My nipples cracked.  My nipples bled.  My nipples healed.  I called La Leche League for advice, grateful that I had had the foresight to attend a meeting while pregnant so I at least knew the lovely woman I was speaking to.  I called my midwife who came to visit.  R was gaining weight slowly but steadily and she was a long baby so she looked like a scrawny monkey.  Gradually her cheeks got fuller and her body a little plumper. 

But at just over three months old, she hit the expected growth spurt and became angry baby again.  She was attached to my nipple all the time.  All.The.Time.  Mark and I were already used to the fact that she was in my arms all the time and that wasn’t really a problem for me.  I was on maternity leave and she was my only baby.  But at three months it was different, and when I went to pump milk to give Mark a chance to feed our baby, I ended up with plugged ducts and full blown mastitis. 

Mastitis is a breast infection.  It is horrifyingly painful to nurse through it and worse to not nurse through it.  Your skin burns and swells on your breasts.  Touch is excruciating.  Cold shivers and hot flashes set in as does a fever, the shakes, and fatigue.  This is not the medical textbook definition I’m providing you with, it is what I experienced.  All while my baby would struggle against my breasts, flailing in my arms, and not settle no matter what I did, forcing me to change position, walk around, and cry – a lot.  I spent several days completely topless with her in the baby wrap trying to nurse upright from a rocking chair.  I sought the attention of a very sensitive massage therapist  who managed to  help ease some of the pressure and start the fluids moving and draining. 

When I recovered from that I realized that I had very little milk coming in at one time.  After months of only nursing for five to ten minutes at a time, my body was only producing enough milk for five to ten minute spurts.  Except now R was starving and wanted to nurse much longer.  This was compounded by the low iron, the hormone imbalances from my PCOS;and the three month postpartum hormone (mal)adjustments and so I ended up on a prescription for Domperidone that I took for over a year because every time I tried to wean myself off of it, my milk supply would go down.  Now, I have no scientific proof, but I am pretty sure that my horrifying weight gain once I went on the ‘scrip can be mostly attributed to it.

Before I started the prescription, which was offered various suggestions on how to increase my supply.  Primarily, to lie down skin-to-skin with my little girl, increase my fluid intake, and decrease my non-mama duties.  I took this advice happily.  I tried breast massage before every nursing session and hand pumping as my daughter nursed. I was advised to drink fenugreek tea.  It started leaking out of my pores and I reeked.  I mean, I sincerely stunk.  I couldn’t cope with it.  It was bad enough to be going through massive hormone upheaval, to feel desperate to feed my child, but to smell awful too – and my partner could not disagree – was horrifying to me.  At the time, midwives in Ontario could not write a prescription for Domperidone, and the Jack Newman clinic was too far away for me to reasonably get there, so I consulted my GP who provided me with a prescription but not a ton of advice on consequences and how to build up and wean off the pills.

The time that passed between getting the Domperidone and my milk supply increasing seemed like months.  I couldn’t go anywhere or be near anyone. I felt like I was failing my child.  I felt that somehow because I wasn’t producing enough milk for her; I wasn’t being a good enough mama.  I missed my cousin’s wedding because I just couldn’t bear to be around people while my child cried and wanted to nurse.  People like my parents who would have wanted to hold her and “comfort” her resulting in a more irate and now frightened baby as evidenced by every single visit when they would take her out of my arms and walk away and she would scream.

R and I went on to have a very successful breastfeeding relationship.  One might venture to say, an overly successful one as when I wanted to wean her, I couldn’t.  And when we did, at 2.5years old it was because I was crying with pain from sensitive nipples as I was pregnant with L.  R wasn’t getting any milk anymore at that point, it was just comfort.  And I wanted to at least preserve some of the good memories of breastfeeding.  We did.  I have a lot of good memories and I have a strong, beautiful, smart six year old girl who still sleeps with the soft pillow I used to tuck under my head when lying down to nurse her.  It was a long trip, both ways, but well worth it.

The Rise and Fall of the School Routine. Is it summer yet?

R is an awesome kid.  She loves her sisters (and us!).  She loves to read.  She loves school.  But she is not a morning person (like both her parents), and has a hard time falling asleep at night (despite a screen-free, sugar –free, relaxed bedtime routine).  R has always needed a plan.  From as young as two, we would lie in bed and determine what our plan for the day was going to be.  So it’s somewhat surprising to me that she has become such a layabout in the mornings and completely scatterbrained after school.

Two weeks before school started in August, we started waking up, getting dressed, having breakfast and walking to/from school.  One week before school we started doing the same thing, but at a school-appropriate time.  It was a slow build to get into a good routine where no one was crying from hunger, frustration or fatigue at the end of the day but we did it.  Christmas break was a small blip.  Baby C’s birth another one, and March break a bigger blip.  But we always managed to rebound.  Until now.

Disaster struck once it started to stay full light well past 8pm.  We hung black curtains in their room.  We closed the door to prevent the light from the hallway coming in.   L still had boundless energy and was keeping her big sister awake so we tried separate  bedtimes, but that lead to tears.  So we started taking walks after dinner; that backfired as it lead to a second wind for both of them and a longer more drawn out getting for bed routine with mandatory showers as opposed to baths after school.  We are sticking strong to an 8pm bedtime but often R is awake until almost 9pm.  (Later if we allow some extra reading time for her because our sympathy as night owls kicks in.)  With the later and later falling asleep time, comes the harder to wake up R.  And when I do get her awake, she is grumpy. 

Lately, the routine has started to crumble:  Alarm goes off, I call into R’s room.  I gently pull sheet off her, I cajole and then firmly peel her out of bed.  She wanders around like she is suffering from a slight hangover and comes to me with a barrette but no comb, with hairspray but no pony-o.  This goes one for a while.   While I ensure the two other girls are ready to go downstairs, she is supposed to finish her upstairs routine.  But when I check in on her silently, she is usually sitting half dressed on her bedroom floor reading a book.  Am I the only parent on the planet that has to tell her kid to stop reading?  Probably.  I proceed with my morning and eventually R makes an appearance in the kitchen, sometimes with a prompt.  She then notices that she hasn’t packed her snacks and is very sweet, sincere, and apologetic about it and gets started on that, taking up to ten minutes to actually get a yogurt from the fridge into her lunch bag.  I just don’t have it in me to send her to school without a snack because she forgot or to let her go with messy hair.  But, at this point we’ve moved to “Fine, be late, lollygag if you must but you are still walking to school not driving.” 

I'm not going to stress out about it, or stress her out about it.  I grew up in a household where more often than not you went to school having cried.  I'm talking daily.  And while we all know that my mother thinks I'm the child from hell, I have very distinct memories of her yelling at my youngest sister every morning before school too. So it wasn't just me.  And while I've been know to raise my voice on more than one occasion, I generally keep things quiet and efficient in the morning with room or flexibility because I don't ever want to send my daughter to school all wound up from a stressful morning. 

Some of the ways we do this is that after many chats, Mark and I have a very distinct set of chores we need to get done by 6am.  Some of it may seem like catering to our girls i.e., setting the table for breakfast, but they are only just 3 and 6.  Also, if we don't get around to it, they will do it and will just as easily empty the dishwasher.  Having it done already, just makes things go smoother. I'm not making excuses for their age - they both have a lot of responsibility every morning and evening.  Things they need to do to get themselves ready and to help me out not the least of which is getting themselves ready, and getting their own cereal.  I also wake up much earlier than I would like in order to be dressed, and have caffeine in my system before the two older girls wake up.  But these are the things that need to happen to keep things as low stress for my girls as I can.  I really, really, really, don't want any of us to get upset in the morning and while I can't control every variable, and there are mornings when I lose my temper, or one of them loses theirs, or things just fall apart, the good mornings, the mornings where we listen to music, do "knee ups" while the eggs are cooking, R makes me breakfast, L runs around dancing, and baby C sits in her chair laughing far outweigh the hard ones.  

Three more weeks of school until we can take a break from the routine.  But come mid-August, I need a new plan on how to convince my child that she needs to get all her stuff done before she picks up a book to read or stops to play with her sisters from September all the way to the end of June.  I’ll ask for advice in the summer but for now, I want to know:  Do your kids fall off the school routine bandwagon?  Were they never on it?  Do they stick to for the duration?

The Butter Account

I have a butter account.  It’s an odd little thing really.  In fact, I didn’t even realize it existed until a couple of weeks ago.  It works much like a regular account complete with service charges and interest.  I am the one who usually makes the deposits of 1-2lbs a week.  But not only is it a joint account between Mark and myself, but we share it with R and L.  It’s incredibly easy to make a withdrawal, simply opening the fridge accomplishes this task.  I’ve always taken this account for granted it seems.  I need butter, I go to make a withdrawal and it’s there.  If it isn’t there, then I find the resources necessary to replenish the account.  However, it seems I am not the only one to take this account for granted.  Mark does as well; he thinks it’s self-replenishing.  This would be a common fallacy associated with butter accounts.  (Much like chocolate accounts.)

A few weeks ago Mark complained about the high cost of the service fees on the butter account.  In fact, he expressed disbelief at the fact it was in overdraft.  I pointed out that he has happily reaped the interest on the account, but that it does in fact require a deposit or two to be made.  Mark went out to access the necessary replenishment.  He returned with four times the resources I usually make.  All things being fair, I didn’t particularly care whether it was a move of a passive-aggressive nature or genuine replenishment, my account was once again topped up and the hold on it removed. I was free to spend from the butter account again. 

And here, for the official record is the statement of accounts:

- dozens of eggs, fried or scrambled for various breakfasts, lunches, and dinners

-several loaves of bread toasted and buttered

-one fillet of trout, pan fried

-one saucepan lemon-butter-anchovy sauce for asparagus

-several buttered baked potatoes

-one giant pot Bolognese sauce, monter au beurre

-one saucepan alfredo sauce

-one dozen welsh cheddar biscuits

-one dozen chocolate chip scones

-several cups of popcorn drizzled

-lemon buttercream frosting for one lemon chiffon cake

Who wants to tell Mark that there is only one pound of butter left in the account?  Perhaps I’ll wait until after he’s had some of the buttercream frosted cake.

Three Girls and a Budget

Last week Mark had a co-worker do a complete double-take when he found out that we have three kids and Mark has two older kids as well.  “Wow!  And your partner doesn’t work?  My wife and I can barely afford our one child.  She’s an investment banker and I pull in three figures.  But you, wow, five kids!?!?! ”  I’m paraphrasing here as I obviously wasn’t at the conversation; his wife could very well be a teacher not an investment banker and he might barely make over 100K.  Either way, they make more money than we do.  Which is important for my point here:  it’s all about the lifestyle decisions.

But before we get started, let's quickly cover two glaring issues. One, I do work, as a mama at home full time, as a student midwife, and as a consultant whenever I can.  Two, obviously, if all five of the kids lived in the same house it would be cheaper, and I'd have a much happier Mark.  And I could - and probably will - write about both things at some point.  But back to our budget choices:


We moved out of the sketchy part of a cool neighbourhood in downtown Toronto to buy a house in the suburbs.  Not a big house.  Not even a real house according to Annette Benning’s character in American Beauty, as well as my mother-in-law and Mark’s aunt.  But the price tag on the house was about half of a place in our old ‘hood.  Do we miss being able to walk to St.Lawrence Market, a movie theatres, brunch spots, work, university…you know, everywhere?  Sure.  Do we lament that our mortgage is the same as most people’s rent?  Not so much.  Or, at all.

We buy our furniture from Ikea.  Sure, unique pieces, or you know, furniture we don’t have to assemble and then tighten bi-annually with an allen key, would be fabulous.

We have a Wii Fit (courtesy of Optimum points), a front yard, a pool (came with the house), two parks in the ‘hood, bikes, jump ropes, hula hoops, and second hand skates.  And we walk to and from school.  By this I mean, our girls aren’t registered for multiple teams and lessons to get their 60 minutes of activity a day.  Yes, I’d love for R to play soccer and L to take gymnastics but it really wasn’t in the budget this year.  And at three, L has no idea what she’s missing out on.  R feels it a little bit, for about five minutes whenever a classmate mentions their soccer team.  But that’s five minutes a week so she’ll live.

I believe the saying is “Go big or go home.”  So we do just that for birthdays.  R just had a birthday and we spent about $50 on food (homemade sliders, homemade chocolate cupcakes, watermelon and lemonade), decorations, and craft supplies.  Her friends ran around the yard playing tag, drew on the sidewalk, painted pots, and planted seeds.  Mark’s aforementioned coworker spend 10x that much on his child’s party.

We don’t take vacations.  At least not very often. Mark had stipulated that I had to pay for any vacations we took.  So I basically drank and cooked my way Montreal as the tickets were purchased using Air Miles earned primarily at the LCBO and less so at Metro.  Our hotel was on the last of our Aeroplan and was not a boutique hotel.  We didn’t pay the upgrade to first class.  We didn’t go for three-course fondue which our girls would have loved.  We didn’t take the carriage ride through Vieux Montreal.  We didn’t eat at Garde Manger which broke all of our hearts.  We didn’t get room service, or movies (that’s what the laptop was for). We didn’t even get the cute Canadiens jersey in pink (And by we, I mean, “me” on this one.).

We don’t buy organic and I can’t support the little guy.  This is probably the most contentious thing I’m saying.  And I’m not suggesting that the health of my girls is worth less than anything else.  Their physical and emotional well-being is our number one priority.  But organic milk is more than twice the price of regular milk.  Organic beef, lamb, or chicken is triple the cost.  And the research, the actual academic research, does not support the need for me to spend exorbitant amounts of money on small amounts of food that isn’t regulated to the high standards it needs to be.  So we buy our groceries from No Frills and Costco. 

We are not solid examples of how to budget well, we try, but we have some weak spots :

I turn the air conditioning on as soon as the thermostat hits 30 outside.  It’s an indulgence but it keeps me from acting crazy so win-win.

My girls and I spend a portion of our grocery budget at the farmers’ market twice a month from May to October.  Doesn’t seem harmful except we normally eat everything we bought by Monday morning.  Hence, we only go every other week, or our food bill would double.

We buy R brand name, sturdy kids shoes because they have to get through two other sets of feet.  But all three girls generally sport the latest in Joe Fresh, Old Navy, and whatever brand Costco is carrying because we don’t buy very many pieces and after weekly washing, and given different body types(not style/fashion) not all of the clothes are going to survive the duration.

We have cable and Netflix.  I am the first to agree that cable is extremely hard to justify EXCEPT that I negotiated with the provider and our cable bill is – wait for it - $10/month.  When that deal expires so does our cable.  And in the interim, our girls still don’t know we have cable and therefore watch very little actual TV.  Food shows, Justice League, and Avengers excepted of course.  Netflix, personally I think is a bit of a waste of coin in my opinion but as Mark points out we don’t go to the cinema, or concerts, or shows, or the bar so…yeah.

You get the point.  Money is tight.  But you make your choices.  We like food so we spend a bit more money on groceries.  We like to spend time with our friends so we invite them over for food, we cook and they bring the wine.  Also, we accept gifts of wine or any hard spirit for random occasions such as Simcoe Day, Labour Day, the day after any family get together…

What do you “give up” to save money and where do you “spurlge”?

That Kid at the Party

If this feels a bit rant-y, it’s purely unintentional.  Just another random observation in the life of a suburban mama.

We recently went to a toddler’s birthday party.  We had fun.  Our girls had fun. Our hosts were the epitome of gracious, funny, laid back, and patient.  Wow, were they ever patient especially in the presence of "that kid".  

Let's first quickly review who "that kid" could be:

-sulky kid who makes everyone miserable

-boisterous/distruptive school ager who jumps on and off your furniture rampaging through your house

-snobby kid who doesn't want to play or interact with the host's kids

-center of the universe kid who is generally appalled when the host doesn't think so too

-hippie young kid with no sense of rules or boundaries

-needy kid who has to constantly interact with adult host or generally needs to get their own way

The last example was at the party we went to.  And I mean, seriously, had it been me, I would have at minimum rolled my eyes, or pretended not to hear.  Well, let’s be honest, had it been me, I wouldn’t have allowed an eight (ten?) year old neighbour to attend without her parents.  Because as I said, it was a toddler’s birthday party which translates to lots of doting relatives, and friends of the parents and their kids.  None of our host’s kids are the age of the needy kid in question.  Obviously the party's hosts are much, much nicer than me  - and no, I'm not being sarcastic, they really are.  But, I’ll describe the sitch that would have had me white knuckling the chair while tersely smiling and you think about what you would do:

Girl:  Someone stole my shoe can you help me find it?

Host: Wow!  That’s crazy.  It’s gotta be out there honey.  (While feeding birthday girl, making introductions, and assessing the rain versus bouncy castle situation).

Girl:  But I need my shoe.  Someone stole it.  Can you get it? Maybe everyone should come in because it’s raining.  I’ll go get them.

Host:  No, the castle is covered, they’ll be fine. (Still feeding birthday girl, offering drinks to adult guests, and engaging in other conversations).

Girl:  Well can you help me climb back into the castle then?

(Me, silently:  Seriously?!!!?  Seriously?! Where are your parents?!)

Later on:

Girl:  I think the baby is ready for cake.  Can you cut the cake?

Host:  It’s still frozen honey; we need to wait ten minutes.

Girl:  Well, what time is it?  I have to go home at 6:30pm.

Host:  We could try to cut the cake but it probably won’t work.  Why don’t you go play and I’ll call everyone when it’s ready?

Girl:  Awwwwwww.  Pleeeeeaseee?  You should cut the cake now.

(At which point, I interject mentioning how the it will just be frustrating for everyone if we try to cut a frozen solid ice cream cake before it’s ready.  I am totally ignored by girl.  No offense taken as she really wasn’t talking to me. )

Host:  I’m happy to send a piece home for you and your sister if you miss the cake cutting.

Someone else:  Where is your sister?

Girl:  She’s at home with the babysitter.

(Me, silently:  And there you have it!)

When finally cake cutting time arrives, Girl plants herself directly beside the birthday girl and despite repeated very pleasant requests with explanation, continues to interfere with the highly anticipated, photographed, recorded, cupcake smashing and exploration.  I’m willing to bet money there are several photos that are going to have to be cropped to keep this non-relative out of the family pics. 

If that had been me, two things would  have happened.  One, I would have staged an earlier in the day cupcake smashing to capture on film.  And two, I would have physically removed that kid from the general vicinity.  I’d like to think I would have assigned her some knd of responsibility like handing out napkins or something bt I doubt it.  I would have just seen red at someone interfering in my kid’s birthday cake and...oh  wait, had it been me, that kid probably would have been sulking in a corner from my letting her know she was being a pain in the butt from earlier in the evening.  And that folks is why I’m never going to be the favourite mama amongst my girls’ friends.  I’ll be their favourite mama – most of the time – and that’s totally fine with me. 

Ok, but here’s the thing.  How do I keep my girls from becoming THAT girl?  R is super helpful and used to adults treating her as the more responsible kid of the group.  But as most 4-6 year olds (and older?) she becomes fixated on things and pouty when she doesn’t get her way.  Neither of which is tolerated here so hopefully that helps.  Let’s be totally clear.  R is a gracious guest, plays well with others, mostly uses her manners, and cleans up after herself.  I just honestly don’t think the girl at the party had any idea she was being a pain in the butt and that her opinion on when the cake should be cut wasn’t wanted or more accurately, wasn’t needed.  

Ultimately, I just felt badly for her.  The girl has a younger sister, a nice mom whom I've met, dad is around, grandmother who is lovely.  But clearly, she was either feeling needy or used to getting her own way or both; and her time limit was stressing her out. Also, being eight or so, she had no idea her ants and needs were imposing on the host.  But isn't that why your parent should be there?  This wasn't the party of a peer, she was out of place at the party through no fault of her own. And I've seen this happen to R when she was four and more introverted.  We were at a big gathering of families that were all new to her so I stuck close and we kept our attendance short.

Mark and I have been to other parties with lots of kids ranging in age in attendance and there you will find either the sulky teenagers or the dramatic ones who feel like they are your peer and dominate all of the conversations.  I’m talking about the older tween/barely teen contingent.  We’ve also encountered kids in that group who play with our girls and we wish lived closer to babysit, or who smilel politely whenever they look up from the book they are reading or show they are watching not on full blast.  Fingers crossed – my girls end up in the latter groupings.  I’m just wondering if there is any way to ensure that?  Other than of course, to be present at family oriented parties with them and not bring them to the parties of our peers unless they are specifically invited.

Other thoughts or suggestions?  Have you ever encountered "that kid" at one of your own parties?  Which type?  (We've encountered a few!) Whaddya do?