My monkey turns TWO!

Today we celebrated Corben's 2nd birthday (even though his big day isn't until tomorrow.) A light affair, with a few special people (and only a few gifts) made for exactly the day I was hoping for.

I asked Griffin the other day, what sort of cake we should make for Corben.  "Chocolate chip banana" he replied, "with a monkey on top."  And there you have it.  We skipped the chips, and went straight for chocolate banana, and I took my first foray into the world of fondant.  OMGolly, I had so much fun!  I followed an excellent tutorial, and this little guy was born. Having spent all my hours last night on the monkey, I ended up going a little light on the letters. Plus there really isn't a whole lot of room to get poetic atop a 6" cake!

Corben loved him!

We had a lovely crowd, including Daddy, who Skyped in from Ottawa (you can see him there at the head of the table!)  Technology is a wonderful thing some times!

Corben spent much of dessert "feeding Daddy" cake.  Daddy gobbled it up.  Everyone laughed.  Repeat!

A lengthy nap ensued, as did an early bed time!

And tomorrow?  I have the day off of work, and I'm going to spend the whole day with this little dude, soaking up every second of him, and likely writing my annual sappy blog post about how much I love this little devil.

And I totally do!

Jennyear Resolutions

So, in case you haven't noticed, there has been some serious blog failing happening around here. There has been more than a few fails happening around here lately, blogging aside.

Exhibit A is here, you're reading it (or, lately, you haven't been at all because there is NOTHING TO READ.)

Exhibit B?

Laundry. But that exhibit is a permanent exhibit here, so we're getting used to it.

Exhibit C?

I am a wreck. There was the mystery virus, formerly known as Mono but then not mono. There is the cold sores, the weight loss, the exhaustion, and still, the go, go, GO!

I have not been taking good care of myself. I have been taking care of everything else, everyone else. But not that.

And so on and so forth.

So, time to do something about it all. Screw New Years resolutions, I'm making Jennyear Resolutions, and they can start whenever the heck I want them to.

So mwah!

I read something wonderful the other day, about more and less. It said you don't need to make resolutions of all the things you are going to DO. Don't make your goals so damn unachievable. Just keep it simple - what are you going to do MORE of, and of what are you going to do LESS.

(Now, if my darn head wasn't so scrambled in 18 different directions, I'd link to it, if only I could remember where it was. Help a girl out if you know the answer...)

So here is my list, 5 each. Five "do mores" and five "do lesses."

1. Less useless time on the Internet. Now, the key word here us "useless." There is a fountain of knowledge out there, on all kinds of useful things, and the fountain is not on Facebook. Now, facebook is darn useful, but only in dribs and drabs, not for hours.)

2. Less crappy food.(Which means more vegetables.)

3. Less of so many things at once. Do one thing (or three, maximum), really really well. (Ital mine, rest is John Sleeman.)

4. Less stuff. This house needs a massive perge. MASSIVE. EPIC EVEN!!

5. Less angry. I'm too darn angry. Life is short; find the joy.

More:

1. Water and excercise.

2. Reading (Note to self: Facebook is NOT reading. I'm taking BOOKS!)

3. Organization. I'm a damn Virgo, it's in my blood. (Sadly, so is ADD.)

4. Husband. We spend our days next to each other, working, but we often spend our nights apart, me soaping or internetting, him reading or movie watching. Stop that.

5. Quality time with the kids. QUALITY. Meaningful. Purposeful. Fun. Filled with Joy. Focused.

All in name of taking care of myself, so I CAN take care of others.

So there you have it. Ch-ch-ch-changes, I can feel them coming!

And it's good.

This should be remembered

Corben is pretty gosh darn good at falling asleep on his own in his crib, and I love him all the more for it. But there are night, whether he's too tired, or he's cranky because of whatever, that he just can NOT fall asleep on his own. These are the nights that he tosses and turns, and then settles, and then cries, and rinse and repeat, until I finally pick him up out of his crib and snuggle him into bed with me. Almost immediatly, almost every time, he wiggles his way on top of me, belly to belly, resting his little head on my chest. He nuzzles right into me. One minute, two minutes, five minutes later, he's sound asleep. It doesn't take much, just a few minutes of snuggling, and listening - him to the sound of my heartbeat in his ear, and me to his little soul. It melts me, every single time it happens. To be that loved, that trusted by another human being, to know that the only way they can fall asleep is with your arms around them and listening to your heart beating underneath them...I couldn't think of a greater privledge than that.

Motherhood sure has it's moments of awesome.

Grey hairs

I was sitting with my new friend Jen tonight, when she experienced a momentus first.

Under the glow of the 5 o'clock sun beating down in our faces, Jen discover her first grey hair.

I remember the moment when I discovered MY first great hair, about *cough* six years ago, around the same age that Jen is now. It's all gone to hell in a handbasket since that day of discovery, and I am now sporting more grey hairs than I would ever dare to count. Never mind daring, actually, I just don't have that kind of time, people.

I suppose I should consider myself lucky, actually. When my Dad was my age, he was sporting a full white frontal streak across his brow. Not just grey, white as white can be. And I think he'd have been sporting it for a few years by this age.

I'm surprisingly ok with the grey, I feel like I've earned each and every one of those little fuckers. However, they've been appearing at a more rapid pace these days, and I'm just not sure where to go with it all.

Here's the thing - I feel like I'd do a darn good job of rocking a full head of grey. It is, in fact, one of the reasons I've been letting my hair grow long these days, because I think there's something kind of sassy and sexy about a woman with a head full of long, grey flowing locks. But this half head of grey? These grey "highlights?" I just don't feel like they're all that attractive. I don't think there's much sassy and sexy about random wiry white hairs poking themselves this-a-way and that-a-way and every which way out of my head, announcing themselves to the world.

"Hey, look at me, sticking up all over the place, all wiry and unruly and not conforming with the other hairs on this head like...I'm GREY!!"

Yeah. So.

I know I'm not alone in this...I KNOW I'm not the only one checking out my multi-colored hairline, and glaring at my children while silently putting all the blame on them.

What I want to know is what the rest of y'all are doing about it!

Are you rocking it, or are you in the hair care aisle at Shoppers, pretending it never ever happened?

C'mon...you can tell...I can keep a secret!

;)

May Long Weekend: Check.

It's the end of a busy (long) weekend here, and the weekend turned out to be nothing like I expected.

Our Saturday plans got switched to Friday and then got canceled all together, which left Steve and I with six racks of ribs, and only us to eat them.

Oh, the hardships I endure.

Saturday came with an unexpected burst of energy to do a few much needed things, and the rest was spent relaxing. Like hardcore, naps on the porch in the hammock relaxing. We spent Saturday evening with the parents of one of Griffin's friends - the kids have spent a ton of time together, but we've never hung out and it was just delightful.

Sunday we toddled into the big city for a wedding (OK, there was no toddling, there was running around all hairy scary for three hours, trying to pack the seemingly ENDLESS amount of things that one needs to stay overnight in someone else's house with a 4 year old and a 16 month old in tow, plus spend the following day at an amusement park while Daddy works, PLUS fancy shoes and dresses and too many choices of undergarments...it really sucks that by the time kids are big enough to carry their own darn stuff that they hardly need anything anymore. Dang.)

But the wedding: the wedding was about 18 times more fun than I thought it would be. My family is ALWAYS in the mood for a good party, but this time everyone was particularly jovial, aided perhaps by the fact that no one had to drive anywhere at the end of the night, and both Steve and I and my brother and his wife were out! At night! Without the children! It turned into a pretty rocking party, there even might have been some shots at the end of the night...it's been a long time since I've ponied up to a bar with a row of shot glassed lined up in front of me...and it's probably best if there is equally as long until it happens again.

Today we headed to Ontario Place (where we've often been before) to hang out while Daddy worked. We parked ourselves inside a big tent to watch Daddy's big show, and while we enjoyed the show inside, our stroller "enjoyed" one of the heaviest downpours I've seen all season. Awesome. Despite a wet stroller and a rather traumatic rollercoaster experience, we had a lovely day.

When we arrived home, I decided to seize the proverbial bull by the horns, and did something I'd been mulling over for a bit. You see, last night while Steve and I were out witnessing a sacred union drinking, Corben was put to bed all by his lonesome in his playpen. He squawked once, and then fell asleep, not to be heard from again, until SEVEN FREAKING THIRTY this morning, more than half an hour after I had been up. So - bull, horns, push crib away from our bed, bye bye co-sleeper, hello Corbie's own bed.

He's asleep in there now, after a bit of a fit. There was screaming and head banging, and general baby obscenities, where he's just crying and babbling, but you know if you could understand what he was saying, it would have been enough to made a sailor blush.

If I thought for a moment that Corbie would never sleep in the bed with us again, I might take a minute and get a bit verklempt about saying goodbye to the co-sleeper, but I know there will be MANY more opportunities for little feet in my kidneys and little knees in my back. I mean really, do kid EVER really stop crawling into bed with their parents? I do love snuggling up with that little monkey at night, but I have no illusions that it's really over, so I'll save the verklempt for another day...I'm also certain that there will be lots of other opportunities for that. (Steve said last night "can you imagine us being at Griffin or Corben's wedding?" and I practically burst into tears in the middle of my sirloin.)

So now it's 10pm, on the last day of the first long weekend of the summer, and I would like to officially declare this weekend to be a resounding success. The boys were great, the weather was awesome, the drinks were plentiful, and the general company was delightful. I'm hopeful that this bodes well for an excellent summer to come. (Hopefully next long weekend I remember the camera...lame.)

Mama's day.

Griffin is rotten at keeping surprises. He has to be shushed and zipped and quieted down because he just plain sucks at the whole secret game. Or, if he manages to keep one right up until the last minutes, he blurts it out MOMENTS before you are going to find out for yourself. He just has to be the one that tells you.

Two years ago, on Mothers day, Griffin and Steve got up early, scurried around the house in whispers and tiptoes. I finally heard Steve tell Griffin it was time to go "wake up" Mommy and show her the present. Griffin came bursting into our room and yelled "Mommy, come and see your NEW BIKE!"

This year, I knew he had made me something at school, and I knew it was made on "Pottery day." He TRIED to tell me what it was last week when he brought it home, but he was successfully silenced by Steve. This morning, after I had a wee sleep in (thank you Jesus!) I finally emerged into the living room. I poured my coffee. I accidentally spilled a generous helping of Baileys into it (thank you Steve!) and parked my butt on the couch. Griffin walked over to gingerly handed me a small package.

"It has my hand in it!" he proudly proclaimed!

And so I opened it. And indeed it did - a print of his hand adorned a clay plaque with his name on it. Super cute. But not nearly as cute as the four year old little piece of sunshine that makes my days worth getting out of bed for.

(Some days "piece of sunshine" are hardly the words I would use to describe my oldest son, but Griffin's good moments are oh so wonderfully good that they nearly make the bad ones melt away.)

And his little brother, the one that follows him around and mimics his every move? (Help me lord!) He's a little piece of sunshine too. He's another damn fine reason to get out of bed in the morning, and to crawl back into it, usually with him, at night!

I love these little turkeys. (I love their Daddy too.) Thank you to all my family for a wonderful day.

Hair today...

Corben, it seems, has always had crazy hair.

(And by crazy, I mean crazy AWESOME!)

I had to go back to November of last year to find pictures of "normal hair." See?Even then, there is a little prequel of crazy if you look closely. But no need. Because just a month later?And then another month after that?It was around this time that I started getting compliments on my "beautiful little girl." It was also around this time that people (*cough* Steve *cough*) started saying "you should really cut his hair."

However, I am the hairdresser in this house for everyone (the dog being the only exception.) No one gets a haircut without asking nicely, plying me with coffee, and praying for a free 10 minutes where I can bust out my scissors and get it done.

And thus, as the hairdresser, it is also my right to refuse a haircut.

I refused to cut Corbie's hair.

I KNOW what a haircut can do to a little baby. It takes him from "baby" to "boy" in one fell snip, and I wasn't ready to let go of that tiny shred of babyhood just yet. So I let it grow. And grow. And grow. And then last week, when Corben fell down the stairs and I snapped this picture:I knew it was time. I couldn't deny it anymore, I couldn't hold out anymore, they didn't make pony tail holders for boys, and it was really really time to give this poor kid a haircut.

So I did. (I love the look on his face in that shot - like "what the hell do you think you're doing to my mullet, you crazy lady?")
(And then I let him run around in his diaper for an hour, so I could take a bunch of pictures and pretend that he was still a baby.) Alas, my baby is not such a baby any more, but he'll always be MY baby. My adorable, smart, funny, mullet-free baby.

Wordless Wednesday: Swoon

(Holy hell I love this kid!)

Early Morning Snuggles

Barf-o-rama

I don't know what is wrong with my small child, but he just wont. Stop. Barfing.

Do you remember that scene from Stand By Me, the one were Lardass barfs all over his pie eating competitors? It was like that around here tonight, except switching out the blueberry pie for mac and cheese. I have never been so thoroughly and completely barfed on as I was tonight.

This started on Wednesday night, and caused me to miss one of days of an already abbreviated work week - I abbreviate Fridays every week thanks to my new, "I'm a mother of two and don't have time for your 40 hours" schedule, and the holiday Monday this week made for a three day week. NOT GOOD ENOUGH, we decided, and took it down to two.

(You have no idea of the scope of the shitstorm that awaits me in the office on Monday morning.)

Corben barfed twice on Wednesday night, four times on Thursday, the last time almost exactly 24 hours after the first. And then yesterday? Nothing. Happy baby, eating whatever he likes. Until this morning, when breakfast was so thoughtfully returned to me. We spent the day snuggling. And then tonight, where an hour of bedtime snuggles and nursing resulted in the most epic vomit fest I've ever had the "privilege" to be a part of.

Luckily we were sitting in the big chair, and NOT on my bed.

This is all a long and overly descriptive way of saying I have no idea whats going on. But I'm starting to get a little worried, and for fear of spending another work day curled up in the big chair (lovely though it may be) we might be toddling off to the doc tomorrow. On a Sunday. That should be fun.

Wish us luck.

One Year Ago

Snuggly bunny...it's still his favourite place to sleep, and I can't say I love it a whole lot less than I did back then. But him? If it's possible, I love him a whole lot more!

Dear Corben: One

Dear Corben,

It's been too long, and it's almost to late, but here I am in the nick of time to say Happy Birthday.

*Cough* 2 weeks ago *cough* you turned one.

One. Dude, that's huge!

I don't even know what to say about it...you've developed into such a little PERSON over the past few months and it has been so much fun getting to know you.

You are happy. Everyone remarks on it. "Wow, that is one happy baby!" I hear it all the time. (Actually, what they often say, is "that is one happy little girl," which may be an indicator that it's time for me to cut your hair, but I flat out refuse, it's not even open for discussion, so lets not even talk about it.) In the weeks since your birthday you've gone from crawling mostly everywhere to being a full out walker. Last Sunday I was in the laundry room and turned around to see you walk in the door...that's going to take a little bit of getting used to! Your steps are still hesitant, and there's a little bit of the cutest little side shuffle going on, but I'm guessing it won't be long until you're giving Griffin a run for his money around this place!You are so easy to understand...you communicate SO well for a kid your age. Not only with the little bit of sign language that you know, but your facial expressions are well developed and terribly varied (and often hilarious) and your wants and needs are usually pretty simple. You're hungry, you're tired, or you're bored...those are about the only few things that piss you off. Oh, or your brother stole your (fill in the blank.) Don't worry, soon your aim will improve, as will your motoring skills, and you can chase that turkey down and smack him yourself. (Not that I'm condoning violence between siblings...unless it's truly called for.)
Speaking of communicating, you're picking up the sign language and an awesome speed, and it's so encouraging to see. Two days ago I showed you the sign for book. Today you saw a book sitting on the stairs, pointed to it, and made the sign! Wicked! I was so chuffed that I looked around the living room for something else to sign. Seeing some dirty clothes that never made it to the bedroom, I immediately looked up the signs for "pick up" and "laundry." Hell, if you're going to be so clever, we might as well put it to good use! (You didn't quite get it...don't worry, we'll keep working!)

Your birthday was lovely by the way. We had a very relaxing day. Some friends, a few presents, some obligatory cake smashing. Griffin enjoyed playing with your birthday present all day long, which you ever so graciously shared.
Oooooh, pressies! There was even a PRE party nap, which may have been partially responsible for the delightfulness that was the party! Dude, being one is hard, I know!Little man, you complete this family in a way that I never knew was possible. I love you so much. Happy birthday, little one, we look forward to watching you grow!

Love Mama

The new new new normal

Phewf. What a week.

As you may have heard, last weekend the Corbenator turned one, and the following day I hung up my yoga pants and sweatshirt for good, and traded them in for a laptop and my commuter shoes. (Which, truth be told, are the same as my regular shoes, they just spend more time in the car.)

Ending off my mat leave with a birthday party for C was the perfect finish. It was tiny, but fun and involved the ritualistic smashing of the cake and some very unflattering pictures of me blowing out the candles on said cake, which none of you will ever see. Griffin was quite happy to adopt all of his little brother's new toys, where Corben was more than happy to play with a 10 cent balloon all day long, and continue with his favourite pastime of eating kleenex.

Je ne joke pas.

Monday morning at the godforsaken hour of 5:30 am, we rolled out of bed, showered, coffee-d, woke up the kids, shoved them all in the car, dropped them all at daycare, and headed off to work.

Tuesday? See Monday. Wednesday, Thursday? Same.

It actually wasn't as bad as I thought. It's nice to be in a room with adults all day again. It's nice to have adult conversations with people, face to face, and not status to status on Facebook, or tweet to tweet on Twitter. (Not that I'm bashing either of those things, I would have gone bat shit crazy without them this past year!) It's nice to feel useful, beyond the laundry and picking up toys all day long. And it was nice to fall back into a familiar place, where I am not only comfortable, but good at what I do.

And, it's nice to have TWO little smiling munchkins come running to greet you at the end of the day when you finally arrive, nearly 10 1/2 hours later, to pick them up at daycare. (Corben more toddles, but it won't be long till he's running too.)

Corben is happy, happy, happy at daycare. And lawdy, I can not tell you how much easier that makes this all. He plays. He naps. He eats like a fiend. And he comes home happy and tired. All he wants to do is snuggle, nurse, and snuggle some more, and then sleep. I am happy to oblige him on every single one of those fronts.

Today was my first back to work Friday, which is to say my first Friday off, in a series of many Fridays off, as my return to work schedule consists of a 4 day week instead of a 5 day one. I took a nice little pay cut in order to retain a small portion of my sanity. The one where I work 57% of the days of the week, instead of 71% of them. Oh, it's only one little day but it makes ALL the freaking difference in the world. Today Griffin went to school, and Corben and I sat on the carpet and built towers. And knocked them over. Rinse and repeat. It. Was. Awesome.

There's another little tidbit that makes this all doable, and even forces it over into shades of awesome. Back there, up there at the top, did you notice I said "we?" We shove the kids in the car, we drop them off, we head to work. By we I mean Steve and I. And by head to work I mean together. To the same job. Some of you may think it's crazy, but WE think it's super cool. It works for us, and we make a pretty great little team. Mostly because I'm the boss.

(Kidding.)

(Mostly.)

So this is my, nay our, new life. So far, so good. Sure, there were a few mishaps along the way, but there were mishaps along the way when I spent 7 days a week at home, so that's to be expected. Hey, at least the house is cleaner since there's no one here to mess it up all day long. Things may be a little bit quieter around here for a while. Mostly because I've been falling asleep with Corben every night at 7:30. But that too shall pass. Frankly though, I kind of enjoy it, and if I don't have the time to lie down with my kids at the end of the day for a nice long snuggle, then what the hell is the point.

Exactly.

Battle of the Bus

I happened again. The battle of the bus. This morning's incident involved Griffin hurling his umbrella onto the (very busy) road, and bolting it back across the road and down our driveway, back towards the house. He was about 100 meters down our 500 meter driveway before he even looked back to see if I was following him. It was pouring rain, to make it a little more fun.

I can't do this any more. I can't fight with him to get on the bus. I can't pick him up, kicking and screaming, carry him onto the bus, plop him in the front seat, pry his hands off me, and leave him on the bus, racked with sobs.

It's breaking my heart.

The thing is, by the time he gets home, he's nothing but smiles, and tales of a good day. By all accounts (both his and the teacher's) he's doing well. I don't think he loves it, (he says he doesn't have any friends) but he comes home happy, and he's obviously learning.

But every time I mention a school day, it's cause for tears. "I don't want to go to school." And just as often, "I want to go back to preschool."

And then the battle of the bus. (Which, by the way, he only does for me. NOT for his Dad.)

I don't know what the issue is. I've tried to talk to him about it, and if there is anything, he can't articulate it.

Maybe I'm the sucker here, who knows.

Either way, I need to figure this out. I dread Mondays and Wednesdays now, just as much as he does. I've stopped wearing Corben in the Ergo when we walk to the bus, because fighting Griffin onto the bus is hard enough, I don't need a 20 lb infant strapped to my chest to complicate the situation.

Anyone else dealt with anything like this? What was your solution?

(I apologize for this post being pretty poorly written, and less than entertaining. This is really taking a toll on me, and I just need a bit of help!)

Dear Corben: 10 Months

Dear Corben,

Corben, Corben, Corben. What can I say? Today you are 10 months old, and holy shit do I love you!

You, my youngest son, are a big old pile of fun right now. I've had such a wonderful time these past few months, soaking you up, taking it all in, while quietly listening to the clock tick down to the end of my maternity leave. This time though, I can see it coming - I know the end of our year together is on it's way, and I want to take every last chance I can to snuggle with you in the big chair, to roll around on the floor with you, to read (aka I read, you eat) books with you, and to just BE with you.
This whole second child thing is crazy. With Griffin, we sat and watched with amazement and wonder, never quite knowing what he'd do next. He was (and still is) a fascinating little creature to us. As the oldest, he gets to "do it all first," for better and for worse. You are different. Having Griffin pave the path for you, and for us, I know what your potential is. I trust my instincts more. I trust you more, I give you more credit than maybe I gave Griffin when he was your age. I KNOW you're smarter than I think you are some days. I KNOW you're comprehending things that I'm saying to you. I KNOW that you're seeing the signs that I'm making to you, and when you throw your hands up in the air, it's NOT just coincidence, you're trying to say "all done" in sign language, just like I've been showing you how to. This trust of you, and of myself with you, has given me a closer connection with you then I ever thought possible. In turn, I think it's done wonders for my relationship with your big brother too, and for that I thank you.

Speaking of your brother, and speaking of love, holy schmoly does your big brother love the heck out of you. Sometimes his love may feel a little like mauling, but trust me when I say his intentions are genuine. Griffin just can't wait till you're old enough to run with him, ride dragons with him, watch movies with him...there's just so much that he's BURSTING to share with you, that it makes me smile from ear to ear. I think you guys are going to be awesome little buddies...provided of course that you love dinosaurs and dragons. (If you grow up to love cows and horses, the poor guy is going to be crushed!) This past month I've really seen you turn from baby to boy. You crawl with lightening speed, you stand, cruise the furniture, and boy do you ever like to climb. And child, you are into everything. Every little morsel of every little fiber of every piece of anything in this house has to be touched, tasted, pulled, chewed, shredded, whatever it is that you can possibly to it to make sure you've experienced it to it's fullest. This is cute and fun and harmless when it comes to things like kleenex and toys, and even the occasional crayon. It's less cute when you tear the shit out of my books. It's even less cute when you do things like pull Daddy's laptop off the kitchen table and smash the screen. Oh yes you did. Stick to the kleenex, wouldja?
We're working on improving your sleeping habits, although frankly I don't mind them at all. You nurse through the night, and enjoy falling asleep while nursing too. Truth be told, I enjoy it too. However, since it's going to be a little tough to nurse yourself to sleep for naps at daycare, I best do something about that.
I love you to bits and pieces, you little stinker. You are impishly cute. You have a smile that lights up the room. You are smart and charming. You're a snuggler, just like your Daddy and your brother before you. There's few places that you'd rather be than in your Mama's arms, and quite frankly, I like it just fine that way. I love you forever, and I can't wait to see what the next few months bring!

Love Mama

Whaddup?

(I've been gone for over a week and suddenly have turned into a gangster? Gangstah? Whaddup with that?)

So hai.

I've been gone.

I know, I know.

But, but, but! See, first there was the thing where the husband left for 10 days and went overseas to drink Guinness and walk the Royal Mile over and over again, and left me with 2 kids, and only ONE OUNCE of vodka in the house. Now tell me, how is that fair?

No wait, I'll tell you instead:

IT'S NOT!

And then there was Blissdom.

Blissdom was this amazing conference, filled with 300 of Canada's top bloggers and buisness women and generally cool folks and I happened to be there. I also happened to be there with my adorable baby (NOT SO BABY!) boy. Who was cute and adorable. But only when I was holding him. Which, as you might imagine, got to be old after 2 days of trying to listen to sessions, not to mention heavy.

I have so many things floating around in my head, I can't even begin to put them all into coherent thoughts. I'm thinking of doing a little renovating around here. Switching things up a bit.

I'm also making soap like y'all are the dirtiest people on earth! Seriously, who knew the world needed this much soap! Well apparently they do, and I'm making it.

(Don't tell anyone, but I'm secretly thrilled about that!)

And then there are my children, who need to be fed, clothed, cared for, and even entertained once and a while. I love them to bits, but I'd love them even more if they could do their own darn laundry and drive themselves to the grocery store every once and a while.

I mean, seriously, how hard can it be?

(Hey boys, would you do my laundry while you're at it?)

(The large one did go trick or treating last night though, and brought me home a big bag of chocolate, so I guess I shouldn't be too ungrateful!)

Corben is teething. Or something. He's one cranky little bugger these days.

And today, for something different, I chased 6 cows off my front lawn. And when I say something different, that's heavy on the scarcasmo, in case you didn't catch it. Because we've been doing that all summer, feels like.

Some day soon it's going to snow, and I'm going to go to plow the driveway, and I'm going to get on the tractor and realize that I can't plow snow with the mower deck, and then I'm going to cry. Right. Snowblower. Best get on that.

But oh (and here's where I gloat for a minute,) I'm almost done my christmas shopping! TAKE THAT, stupid MALLS!

And that's not nearly all, but it's all I have time for right now. So you'll just have to wait with baited breath for more. (I thought breifly about doing NaBloPoMo, and then I thought HA! Who am I KIDDING! And then it was over.)

Thus endeth this ramble.

Scene.

Woe is me

Steve leaves for far away work, and less than 48 hours after he's left, I'm off to the vet with the dog.

Diagnosis: None...yet. (That'll be $115.00 for a big ol' "I dunno.") He has a fever, so an infection of some kind. Take these antibiotics. Try feeding him some rice and chicken, in an attempt to coax him to eat, since it appears he hasn't done so in 3 days. It could be a virus. It might be his liver.

So now I'm cooking special meals for the dog, hoping that Griffin's sore tummy is only sympathy pains, and hoping to hell that everyone get's their shit sorted out before I head off to Blissdom on Thursday. FIGURE IT OUT, PEOPLE!

Love you all.

A word of advice

Dear small child:

You should really stop screaming your head off when I stick the thermometer into your armpit. Because if you think that's bad, you should see where most parents stick it.

Just sayin'

Love Mama

School Days

So I thought that Griffin was in love with school. Now I'm starting to wonder.

It's little things. Like the comment about wanting to go back to Preschool. The fact that he's suddenly been wetting his bed, nearly nightly, for about oh, two weeks.

And then it's big things. Like the MASSIVE fit he pitched this morning as the school bus pulled up. I dragged his kicking and flailing body across the road. Tried to get him on the bus. Failed. It didn't really help that it was a substitute bus driver, that looked a little bit a lot like a creepy pedophile. He escaped my grasp, and ran across the road back towards the house. The very busy highway road.

Yeah, that one.

So what gives? His regular teacher was away on Friday, and I wonder if that doesn't have something to do with it.

He says he likes school, lord knows he loved preschool. The last thing I want is for the next 14 years to be hell on wheels because he hates going to school.

Help! Got any first timers in the house? How are they handling the transition? Got any tips? What about all you teacher peeps out there? How about some tips from your end!

Quit'cher Judging

Isn't the universe great?

The other day I found an old friend from university. Or rather, she found me, on Twitter of all places. Which led her to my blog, and me to her blog, and so on and so forth. This wasn't someone I knew well in university, but I have since become totally enamored with her blog and her writing.

So today, in lieu of anything intelligent to say myself (I'm saving it all for Griffin's 4th birthday post, I swear!) I am going to share this instead.

It's brilliant, very well said.

From Cynthia at Climbing up the Slide (with permission, of course.)

An Open Letter to All Parents

Dear Mom and/or Dad:

We all have opinions. Some of us are stronger in our convictions than others. Some parents read everything they can get their hands on, all of the newest research, before making any decisions. Some go mostly by instinct. The vast majority of parents are doing the very best that they can, given their family situation, their mental and physical health and that of their children, their finances, their education... There are just so many factors in our personal parenting philosophy.

But smart parents know one thing: when it comes right down to it, we KNOW very little. We estimate, we guess, we hope, but we DON'T KNOW. One expert says that CIO is child abuse, another says that science shows it not to be as cruel as it may seem. Breastfeeding raises IQs and increases overall health, so obviously formula babies are going to be stupid and sick? Nursing in public is rude and gross, or it's completely natural. Babies should be worn or held as much as possible, or it's okay for them to cry once in a while, so that mom can make dinner or do something for one of her other children.

We make decisions every minute of every day, and whether we like to admit it or not, we make judgements about other parents based on our own personal philosophy.

Those judgements, though, except in extreme cases, should be kept private. There is no honour in being "right." You will not get a parenting medal. Just like the fact that no one will give you awards for having a "natural" childbirth versus opting for an epidural, no one will laud you for suffering through years of a child who wakes up every hour, rather than trying to help them learn to sleep.

We do what we can, as parents, and for most of us, it's an ever-changing experience. In my post Things I Used to Judge Other Moms for Until I had More than One Kid I talked about how much my thinking had changed on a lot of issues since I had my first "perfect" baby. You see things a lot differently when you have two or three (or four or more) CHILDREN running around, than you do when you have one sleeping angel in an infant carrier. You change and mature as you get older, no matter how old you were when you first became "Mom" or "Dad."

I feel sorry for anyone who thinks they know it all: there is so much to learn in this world, and you're missing out on it because you already "know" so you don't need to listen to anyone else.

It's great that you're confident in your parenting. I wish we could all feel like that. Truly, though, when I see someone lash out at someone else's decision-making as a parent, I see someone who doesn't feel nearly as confident as they want the world to believe.

Judging others may be "a part of life", but emotional attacks don't have to be.

Thanks Cynthia, I couldn't have said it better myself!