“I love you mommy”

 

It’s hard to have a bad day when you get this first thing in the morning.

The things they say

These past few weeks stress has been working to almost completely erode my funny bone.  Very little has made me smile and it’s a near impossibility for someone to get a heartfelt laugh from me.  Yet, my kids still manage to make me chuckle on a daily basis.  Even when the word ‘Mom’ has worn itself out and I’m ready to have it switched over to the ‘naughty word list’ they can still manage to make me giggle. 

Going over Jack’s word list for school we came to the word ‘gas’.  He giggled and said “When we did this word at school I told my teacher that Daddy had lots of gas” 

I laughed a laugh that was full of relief that he hadn’t used my name. 

***

The other morning I woke Jack up  for his shower before school (I thought daily showering started with preening teenagers but apparently not)

Jack:  Ok mom, I can do it all by myself

Me:  Wow, you’re getting so big.  Do you even need me for anything anymore?

Jack (after a moment of thought):  Sure.  You can still cut my toenails.   

Yum.

***

Lily‘s new favourite word is Poopeyhead.  Every knock-knock joke, every story told and every other sentence is peppered with Poopeyheads.   If I were a better (ie. more classy ) mother I would put a stop to it but I’m more focused on getting her to stop saying “Dammit is a bad word.  Dammit not a very nice word. I never say dammit” over and over and over again. 

After dinner one night I leaned over and whispered “Can I tell you a secret?”

Lily nodded.

Me:  Lily is a Poopeyhead

Lily:  giggles

We did this a few times. 

Lily then whispered in my ear   “Can I tell you a ‘ecret?”

Me:  Sure

Lily:  You’re a nice lady

Me:  *Heart. Melting*

We reverted back to Poopeyhead for a few moments

Lily:  Can I tell you a ‘ecret?

Me:  Yes!

Lily:  Mommy is pretty.

And with that she folded me up and placed me securely in her back pocket… 

What have your kids said lately that’s made you smile?

Introducing…

 

 

Here she is, our newest addition:  Alphabet.   

 She doesn’t sign but she sure is cute.   

 And what isn’t possible with the alphabet?  

A Bumbling Caterpillar Does Everything Fathomable. 

Giggling Hens Imagine Joking Kangaroos  Like  Making  Nachos  Orange.   

Porcupines Quietly Read Stories To Unicorns. 

Various Whales Xerocopy Yellow Zebras.

We’re big on imagination in our house and thought we’d take a crack at making the alphabet as whimsical and fun as we could. 

The posters will be online soon and keep visiting for details on an upcoming contest where the winner will receive a framed copy.  

Hmmm…perhaps I’ll see how imaginative you can be with the alphabet.

Dreaming of a maid

Everywhere I look right now there are piles:  to-do piles,  filing piles, put away and laundry piles.  We’re getting some work done on our house and it feels like the work has turned my life into piles.  The kitchen table is covered in mocobabies, our dirty laundry seems to be reproducing and to top everything off my kids have now taken the sheets off of their beds and are using them to tow their belongings around the house. 

Hoping to get some work done, I tried earlier to exhaust Jack and Lily with a vigorous game of  ‘freeze bear’ and a snowball fight.  My plan backfired so I turn to The Backyardigans to lend me a hand.

A commercial for the Golden Globes plays as I search for the kids channel and  I remember that a year ago my mom and I were walking Rodeo Drive.  We were pulling our sanity free from the grip of our excitement and deciding that the $600 Coach purses were best left at the store.  Even though, according to the sales woman, the colours would “probably still work next season”. 

So began our mission to find something affordable that we could bring home – something that  would scream “Rodeo Drive”.  We ended up with a pair of socks from Juicy Couture.   They only whisper but I love them all the same.

We were in town taking mocobabies to The Boom Boom Room, a Pre-Golden Globes Gifting Suite, and stayed a few extra days to take in the land of celebrity.  Walking to Rodeo Drive we passed the Beverly Hilton Hotel, all blocked off in preparation for the festivities.  We were the consummate tourists watching the passing limos and luxury cars hoping to catch a glimpse of a famous face. 

We walked along taking in the opulence that is Beverly Hills, talking about all of the fabulous people we had met.   Mom was on cloud nine after meeting Angus T. Jones   while I grumbled about  my missed opportunity to tell Kevin Weisman that he was one of my favourite things about Alias.  Mom kept urging me on but I was still in my ‘I will not gush’ frame of mind.  We talked about my dork moment asking (and ready to beg) Neil McDonough for a picture and of course gossiped about some of the crazier things we witnessed.  

And I still smile remembering Constance Zimmer   tapping my table saying “I already have these [flash cards].  We love them!”   That was my little bit of cool from 2009. 

It was a surreal couple of days.  

We topped it off with a dinner at Chef Ramsay’s The London.   It was the most extraordinary meal I have ever had, made better only if Gordon himself had pulled up a chair.  

But now I’m home with my adorable children and their not-so-adorable mess.   I’m left dreaming of the opulence that is Beverley Hills and all of the maids that come with it.  *Sigh*

Copious amounts of cool

Seems a little late for a New Year’s inspired post but one of the things about taking vacation to start off a new year is that you arrive home refreshed yet already behind.  A small price to pay.

When I wasn’t hearing   ‘mom’  ‘mom’  ‘mom’ ‘mom’ ‘mom’ ‘mom’  during our 18 hour drive home from South Carolina  I had time to reflect on 2009 and the kind of year it had been.  Verdict:   unremarkable.   Lily found her words (woot woot) in ‘09 but other than that nothing really noteworthy happened.  

Now, I’m not one for resolutions because I think, just like New Year’s celebrations, they can really only lead to disappointment.  However, this year I have started to put some goals down on paper.  A little check list of what I want to wring out of the next 350 days. 

There are the typical starting-a-new-year dreams:  a spotless house, dishes washed as soon as they’re  dirtied, banishing the junk drawer…the list could go on and on.  All those things that my undomesticated butt hip-checks to the side as I choose instead, well, anything I can think of other than housework. 

But those aren’t the things that I really want to focus on this year. 

I’ve gained so very much being a mom but I’ve lost a few things along the way as well.   My sense of style has gone into hibernation and any ‘cool’ that I ever possessed has vanished.  And I blame six years of dancing like a goof around the house with my kids for losing what little rhythm I used to have.  

This is my year to be more than a mom.  I want to be a Great Mom (not to be confused with a ‘Supermom’.  That’s a whole other post…) and I think I have to get back a little bit of myself  in order to do that. 

Jumping right into La River Cliché – this will be the year I find myself.  I will ride the rapids and walk the shores – no stone will go unturned.  I have a hunch that I will turn up more dork than cool but I will embrace whatever I find. 

I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2010 full of realized resolutions and copious amounts of cool.

Santa’s direct line

I love Christmas.  Adore it actually.  I love it for all of the feel-good-cheesy-Christmas-movie reasons;  the carols, the decorations, the magic and family but it’s the littlest things that I love the most. 

Watching  Donald Duck’s legs turn into rotors in order to get him off cracking ice and feeling Jackson, who is cuddled beside me, start to shake with giggles.   

 

Lily calling Santa “HoHo”

 

Jackson walking to the car during a snowfall,  back arched and belly sticking out of his Jacket.  “I’m catchin’ snowflakes on my belly”

 

Watching Lily’s Santaphobia begin to subside with the realization that he is solely in charge of gift delivery. 

 

Hearing Jack quietly sing “I love Santa.  I love Santa so much” into his hot chocolate after walking around our town’s Festival of Lights.

 

Watching my husband walk with Lily on his shoulders to view the Festival of Lights having lost his winter hat and jacket yet still trotting along like it was the middle of summer - his love of Christmas, his kids and his beautifully lit town keeping him warm. 

But it’s not all sunshine and cupcakes. 

The sibling bickering is out of control.  “That’s mine”  “I am NOT on the naughty list”.  “You a bad boy”  “You’re a bad girl!” “Give that back!”  These phrases are rarely spoken but instead whined or screamed.   My extreme dislike of whining coupled with my not being a morning person created a perfect storm a few mornings back.   Exasperated  as the kids were whining and grabbing things back and forth I found myself snarking  ”I WILL call Santa myself if you two don’t stop it!”.  Not my proudest moment but it worked like nothing has ever worked before.  However,  I wasn’t quite ready for the questions that would follow.  With wide eyes Jackson whispered “you know Santa’s phone number?”  followed by ”Santa sees everything, why would you need to call?”  I calmly explained that as it nears Christmas Eve Santa is so very busy that he may not see everything and welcomed parents input.  But that, no, I did not in fact  have his direct number - parents have to go through a 1.800 number and  an Elf  directs the calls. 

I haven’t had to pick up the phone and  dial yet but there is still one more day. 

I hope everyone has a magical Christmas and wonderful holiday full of the little moments.

A turtle?

Lily held up a small piece of wood that had been carved (quite artistically) into a turtle and said “Look at the froggie”.  

“That’s a turtle.  It’s just a bit of a funny shaped turtle”. 

Lily didn’t say anything as her eyes fell upon the object again.  She placed it gently on the couch and began to focus on her hands.  With an expression of utter confusion she made the sign for turtle.  

My three-year old girl, so proficient with her words, was signing to help her work through a most perplexing problem. 

Lily displayed her trademark scrunchie-nose and began to look at the turtle  with disdain.   She silently placed what had been a great treasure just moments before back on the table .  

The poor turtle has been sitting alone  ever since.

It’s official…

I’m annoying.  And unfortunately my apples  didn’t fall far from the tree. 

With Lily cuddled on my lap suffering from Faucet Nose I asked Jackson if he could hand me the remote control so I could flip on the TV.  Without a word of protest he walked over to the table and handed me the phone.  “Oh Jack, I said the rem…”   His dimple appeared and I knew he was up to no good as he fought, unsuccessfully, to control the mischievous curl of his lips.  He put the phone back and handed me a notepad.  Then a pen.  Then back to the phone.   

“Jackson, please.  Lily doesn’t feel well and I really don’t want to have to get up”  Trying not to smile he handed me a barrette.  Then put it back down and handed me the pen again. 

Through clenched teeth I said ‘Jackson,  just hand me the remote please’  (ok, I may have dropped the please at that point). 

He handed me a candle. 

I was about to snap at him but my irritation melted away as I caught another glimpse of that dimple and the playful grin now spanning his face .  Reflecting back in the grey-blue of his eyes  I saw myself  doing the exact same thing to my husband (except my son has a lot more committment).   I saw myself annoyingly putting a dribble of wine in a glass when being asked for “just a drop more” and throwing a bun across the table at someone because  they innocently asked me to “toss them a dinner roll”.  I often protest with a grin that I’m merely charming and adorable but if it’s not adorable when my own children are doing it… well, it gave me pause. 

Fortunately my kids have my husband’s intelligence but it appears they’re forever burdened with my sense of humour.

My poor children.

Eaten by a bear

I sat on a rock, exhausted,  watching the kids half-heartedly play in front of me.  Lily wasn’t feeling great and we were both ready to leave the park but Jackson was clinging to a small strand of hope that his friend would show up for a quick play before we headed home. 

Lily grew more and more impatient,  finally losing her composure when Jackson said he was going sit by the tree and wait for his friend.   Lily’s one hand flew to her hip while the other formed the perfect pointer.  She waved that little index finger at him and with a tone matching her severe facial expression she exclaimed:

“No Jackson!  You need to listen to mama.  You not stay here by the twee.  It get dark and then a bear come and he growl at you  and ‘den maybe eat you up.  We go home NOW!”

The ‘good mother’ in me knew that I should stop Lily from speaking to her brother with such attitude but I was so shocked by her torrent of words that I couldn’t help but smile.  I did manage to stop myself from running over and hugging her though.

The flu and National Velvet

Desperately needing a change of scenery I dragged my flu-ridden body from my bed to the couch hoping to lose myself in the inane cheesiness of daytime TV.  

My Jackbear, who so generously gave me the flu, was napping on the other couch.  He snapped awake as the door closed behind my husband and daughter.  He started to rush over to me but the comfort of knowing I was there calmed him enough that he was back asleep before he fully made it onto the couch.  The poor kid’s head and shoulders were on me, his tummy on the couch and feet firmly planted on the ground. 

My arms were pinned.  Far away from my kleenex, my water and the remote control.

My daughter had been watching her new favourite ‘horsie’ movie National Velvet.  I had never seen it before but without the energy to move my arms (or my child) I was forced to watch it.   The flu it seemed was not only diligently working on destroying my body but it was doing quite the number on my hormones as well. 

My wee boy shifted his weight and I looked at his sweet little face  as the young Velvet Brown got ready for her big trip to England’s Grand National Sweepstakes.  I will never know whether it was the way Jack’s hair was whisping from his face, cheeks flushed with sleep,  or whether it  was Velvet’s pluck as she convinced everyone Pie could win the race  but that lump in my throat grew and grew until I was a blubbering mess.  

I could be wrong but I don’t believe an otherwise sane person would find National Velvet all that sad but I carried on as if I’d just lost my dog.  

I thought of Lily’s independence  and spirit watching Velvet cut her hair and win the Sweepstakes.  I balled as I thought about how I want both of my children to know that kind of passion.  My chest heaved when Velvet arrived home, the whole town cheering for her as she rode down the old dirt road.  I admired that dirt road and the simpler times that it encompassed. 

And, oh that stubborn Mr. Brown – how he was growing on me.  

The tears rolled as I yearned for Mrs. Brown’s quiet wisdom and just a dash of her calm, determined demeanor.  I wept until Jack’s shoulder was drenched.  

A Walk To Remember came on next.  The remote was still out of reach.  I won’t even begin to describe how that went.