Chore Wars

According to the author...ladies - we need to "let it go"...

So, there I was...camping at our cottage...enjoying 5 minutes of quiet time in the outhouse, when I came across this Time magazine someone had left for reading pleasure (which is EXACTLY what I felt like doing while not breathing through my nose).

Grabbing the magazine and heading back to the cottage, I was intrigued and began reading.  The author was a women, married with kids - so I automatically assumed she was on my "team".  Nope.  According to her article, research and pretty little graphs - we women need to "let it go" - men today now do the SAME amount around the house as us women.   50/50, "Even Stephen", half, straight down the middle...

I began to panic.  Was I living in an alternate reality?  Was I not the "norm"?  Did sheer circumstance lead me to surround myself with girlfriends who all enjoyed complaining about their hubbies lack of household participation?  Should I Photoshop my hubbies face onto this picture to pull out of my wallet to become a part of some elusive secret club I missed out on?

Then, I started thinking about what duties were required to run a household.  Childcare, paying bills, yardwork, organizing school lunches, cooking, grocery shopping and scooping cat poo out of the litterbox.  Yes - it is a big list...I will admit.  So I posed the question to my gals on Facebook.  I found it interesting that the cute photo of my daughter swimming on the beach got "5 likes" but this question prompted 34 replies in a matter of less than an hour.  Admit it ladies - we LOVE this battle!

Whether we feel like we take on most of the responsibilities, or that our spouses contribute equally...we love to talk about it.  For those of you who have hubbies that contribute equally - my hats off to you.  I will smile and nod over my glass of wine...but secretly will take a small amount of pleasure hoping you will step on a piece of Lego in your barefeet.

I have come to the conclusion that this is not a fight I want to try and win.  I have already won - so what's the point?  My uncanny ability to multi-task gives me the sheer advantage strictly due to my gender (as I sit here and "blog" the dishwasher is humming, the dryer is running, the kiddie pool in the backyard is draining...and I have one foot out the door to pick up the kids from daycamp before I swing into Staples to pick up some promotional material for work while grabbing some groceries for supper before feeding the kids lunch).

W-I-N-N-I-N-G!

True - this alternate reality may only exist in MY head, as I can't remember the last time I mowed the lawn or took my empty wine bottles back to the recycle depot. 

To quote a great friend of mine...maybe us women do need to "let it go" - not the battle so much, but the need for the "perfect" household.   I personally know that I had to let that need go along time ago...and we struggle daily with finding the "balance" of functionality, as well as the quality time with family. 

This is a free country - feel free to post your comments...because I only publish the good ones...

Camping No-no's

For several years now - our family and a fantastic group of friends have ventured down into the good ole' U.S. of A every Canada Day for a week's worth of camping.  We all share so much in common - from the number of children we all have under the age of 7 (two a piece...which multiplied by 4 families adds up to a total of...yes...8 KIDS...can you begin to see where this blog is heading?), to our husbands uncanny ability to have snoring contests during the night (Oh yes...THIS is going to go well...), to our LOVE of all things "wine" related (THIS could be the final undoing...)  Oh yes, fine people - how could this combination NOT be a recipe for camping success?

Here's what I have learned over the last 4 years...

1.  It is NOT a good idea to park your trailer on any type of slope.  Doing so will only magnify the queasy wobbly feeling you experience when going to the bathroom late at night after drinking several bottles of wine.

2.  2 a.m. rides on the playground merry-go round in the dark should be frowned upon.  There is probably a reason that merry-go-rounds have been BANNED in Canada, and falling into the bushes dizzy in the dark will cause a series of strange bruises and scrapes in the morning light.

3. No matter how yummy it is, a steady diet of bacon for 5 days eventually will catch up to you...and your children...who sit patiently on the campground bathroom toilet waiting for the next person to help them "wipe their bum".

4.  When at the lakefront beach with all 8 children under the age of 7 - it is a good idea to bring a series of noisemakers to grab the childrens attention.  Air-horns, trumpets, ice-cream truck music and exploding scud missiles work well - for ALL children become mostly deaf when their frantic parents are screaming at them to stop leaning over the edge of the dock to see the "fishies".  Should the noise maker actually cause them to fall in - the noise shocked crowd should be quiet long enough for you to yell "Hey, you on the dock...grab my kid!"...thus preventing you from having to leave your lawn chair.

5.  Just because you are in the STATES...does NOT mean things are free!  Yes, wine, beer and groceries like giant tubs of Cheese Puffs are half the price - but indulging in twice as much makes you twice as revolting.  Nothing says "sad" like a Canadian t-shirt wearing, tipsy, wobbly, air-horn totting momma sitting in a lawn chair with orange cheese puff dust all over her face.  Restraint can be a good thing...

6.  This one is a puzzler...but I may have figured out the solution to this age old problem.  Why...as parents do we wait until it is late at night, and dark to pump our children full of gooey marshmallows and chocolate around a smoky campfire and then LOSE our minds chasing them as they run around in a sugar induced frenzy in between various campers and tents as they belt out top 20 tunes with questionable lyrics?  I solve this problem by now feeding them s'mores for breakfast...

7.  Figure out a game plan to s-l-o-w-l-y wean your mate into the shock of the Target bill before you are in line at Canada Customs.  I tried for about an hour during the drive home to casually bring up the subject. "Soooo...WHAT is the amount that you can bring back again?"  "Sooo, did I tell you I found some great deals on PJ's for the kids and they should be set now until...college?"  The shock of the bill when you are next in line at the border is probably not a good face to be sporting to the Custom's Officer.  I tried to avoid this problem by cleverly handing the officer the Target receipt with a pleading puppy dog look and a little wink. 

And was then promptly strip searched...

Driving Distracted...

"Alberta’s new distracted driving law will come into effect on Sept. 1.

The new law bans the use of hand-held cellphones for talking or texting, watching DVDs, reading, writing and grooming while driving.

Violaters face a $172 fine."

I have a serious problem.  I am driving distracted.  I am living distracted.  I am sleeping and working and eating distracted.  Now - apparently, unless I somehow manage to successfully survive a lobotomy - I will now be at risk of having to pay a $172.00 fine every time I sit behind the wheel of a car.

Please, do not get me wrong.  I do not condone or make light of distracted drivers texting, talking, reading, sleeping, shaving or applying any sort of make-up product while behind the wheel of a car.  Fortunately - I find myself non "applicable" to all of the above distraction due to unfortunate circumstance.  Please - allow me to explain.

Texting and talking on a phone while driving requires one to actually be able to find a phone in the abyss I call a purse.  While I do occasionally hear a beep, or a ring or a reminder chime for a meeting that I missed last week coming from the depths of my bag...chances are pretty good that I have enough goldfish crackers, tampons, re-usable grocery bags and Wal-mart reciepts piled on top of it, that by the time I actually do feel something that resembles a phone - the battery has now died.  So - I have stopped trying.  I may just bite the bullet one day and buy a new phone, rather than continue to look for my old one...but THAT would involve me finding a wallet first...

Reading while driving - come on, seriously?  If I could find the time during the day to actually make my brain think about sounding out letters, and putting them in order to form a sentence that together makes another sentence turn into a paragraph - and then have time to process the meaning of it all...well - let's just say driving would be the last of my worries.  I will stick to reading the drive-thru menu at Starbucks to make sure I get the fancy name of my signature drink right...it's a decaf triple tall 5 pump vanilla, soy, no whip with caramel sauce mocha - say that one WRONG - and everyone thinks you are a real DORK!

Sleeping while driving...well - I will catch up on sleep once I am dead.  I have no time right now...

Shaving?  HA!  Now, granted - I think this would relate more to the men drivers out there - but I imagine there are a few ladies who feel it may be necessary to shave the stubble while speeding down the highway.  If this is you - my hat's off to you and your amazing flexibility.  These days I have a hard enough time bending over to tie my shoes (Viva la flip-flop!)  Me - most times I end up wearing yoga pants all summer because when I do find 5 minutes to shave my legs in the bathroom, my bathtub and shower are full of mermaid Barbies and "My Little Ponies" growing some weird green slime from the shampoo/soap potion my daughters created during their last unsupervised play date with the neighborhood kids.

Applying make-up while driving somehow manages to incorporate all of the above, including finding make-up products in the bottom of my purse pit, reading a label to make sure I am not applying mascara on my lips, sleeping (well, more like lack of sleeping...maybe sleep walking?), and locating my make-up drawer and make-up items (all 3 of them) in my green slime oozing, barbie infested bathroom.

No, my distraction comes from the serious condition of "busy brain" - where I can't STOP thinking.  Being alone in a car for any period of time allows a certain luxury of a thing I call...silence.  I will admit - there are times I have arrived home from somewhere, and had NO idea how I got there.  Apparently, one shouldn't daydream about joining a rock-band groupie tour and following them to some tropical country where everyone sips cocktails out of pineapples and hangs out on a beach laughing about the poor suckers in the 9-5 world.  It's NOT safe, people!  BAM!  15 minutes later, some Katy Perry song on the radio snaps you out of your fog and you are parked in front of a 7-11 with a pineapple flavored Minute Maid in your hand.

Not all of my distractions are daydreams - oh, no - the silence doesn't last for too long!  I also think about the serious day-to-day stuff too.  School permission forms, household bills, grocery lists, world peace and whether I can count wine as a daily serving of fruit... Now, add two sisters intent on killing each other, a deranged cat in a kennel trying to chew her way through the metal door, Justin Bieber music blasting from an Ipod dropped on the floor, the beeping of my phone indicating a dying battery, the uncomfortable feeling of a sticky granola bar mashed under my thigh, and the annoying radio commercial voice of "Bonnie Brooks" from The Bay.

I guess I will just practice "two hands on the wheel, driving with a blank expression/somewhat frozen smile on my face" and pray to god law enforcement doesn't invent some type of outer space device to read the distracted thoughts in my head.

Or, I could just take the bus...

Score one for the French!

That's right - the second round of "International Dinner War" is over - and I have pulled ahead!  As you may or may not have read in a previous blog - my dear friend had set the bar quite high with her "Russian" theme a few weeks ago.  I spent the next 2 weeks preparing for my "French" theme, determined to blow this war into a whole new dimension, and succeeded with flying colors...if I do say so myself.  Here is the background...

Recently, my good friend and I came up with a plan to get us through the rest of the winter. We chose 8 different countries, put them in a hat and selected our picks. It was then formally agreed upon that we would take turns hosting an internationally themed dinner party based on our selected nation.

French "bistro" was the atmosphere I was attempting to create for our tribute to France - complete with 100 classic French songs downloaded from iTunes, crooning out the haunting voice of the famous Edith Piaf.

The music got me in the mood for the grueling afternoon of food prep.  My two young daughters sat mesmerized, watching me singing horribly out of tune songs that I didn't even know the words to, donning a pair of swim goggles while chopping up four large onions for the...you guessed it..."French Onion Soup".  On the menu for the evening - canapes, french onion soup, duck a la'orange with baby potatoes and...you guessed it..."french green beans", salad, traditional cheese platter, 4 bottles of French wine - paired perfectly to complement each course - and the "surprise" dessert required by my friend to bring.  Once the prep was finished - I set out to create the "decor".

Ahhh - the French wine!

I can honestly say - I have never received more "strange" looks than when I went to the check out at the local thrift store with a shopping cart full of tacky fake plants.  At 1.99 each - these "bouquets" of foliage were the perfect addition to my outdoor bistro effect.  I then set out to chip away at 6 months worth of ice and snow covering the front door of my outdoor shed.  Once inside, I grabbed our outdoor umbrella, shook off the spiderwebs, and set it up in my living room - adorned with twinkling lights.

The transformation into "bistro" is complete...

I bought out the bakery filling my basket with "french" loaves and breadsticks - and let's just say my trip to the French section at the wine store was...epic!  My two daughters were excited to be a part of the event - and dressed in their favorite outfits.  I had arranged a picnic basket and blanket for them to dine "Al fresco" under the umbrella on the floor.

Tres Francais

Racing upstairs to don my blue and white striped sailor shirt and red scarf - I greeted my guests at the door...and waited...for the reaction.  Their eyes said it all - after we finally stopped laughing at how ridiculous we all looked.  The evening was a great success - the food and company were terrific - and the wine - well - Vive la France!

Next up - Greek night.  Which causes me a great deal of stress - as I still do not have my recipe for Baklava perfected - and my toga costume is lost in transit somewhere in the UPS warehouse in Syracuse, NY.

My wabi sabi

Wabi Sabi. Just say it - it sounds really Star Wars "ish" - like something Yoda would say to young Luke Skywalker. Wabi-Sabi, wabi-sabi...

The definition of this Japanese term is one that is not easily defined. Very loosely translated - it means finding the "beauty" in imperfections. Such as this mug - not "perfect" but "wabi-sabi". This is very loosely translated, I might add. I wanted to keep this term as a future reference for my life - use it as an excuse to tell my friends - "Oh, I am just practising "wabi sabi" - hence the messy house and spaghetti noodles all over the ceiling". While googling some wise wabi sabi terms this evening - I came across a website dedicated to various "quotes on imperfections". Reading through them - I was struck by the following...

"The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise."Alden Nowlan

This particular quote was meant for me to read tonight - after the disastrous evening which occurred in our house. I had set unrealistic expectations in my mind on numerous tasks I wanted to accomplish today - and when evening fell, and I was feeling frustrated with my lack of accomplishments. I lashed out at my family. There were toys everywhere, the bathroom sink was full of toilet paper, the dishes from supper were piled everywhere, laundry was spilling onto the floor from the couch...and I snapped. My girls ran around frantically under the screaming fanatic drill sergeant "mommy" (which would be me) - arguing back at me that it was the "other" one who made the mess. Tears, pj's and toothbrushes later - they were in their bedrooms.

That's when the WTF moment hits me. I certainly didn't accomplish anything constructive during my rampage - and now I felt like crap. Cuddles and kisses followed, along with an apology from me. It's hard to admit to your kids that you are not perfect - but it's even harder pretending like you are. I know this to be true. Forgiving myself for my "imperfections"hasn't come quite yet (I am not a fool - I have two daughters to go through the teenage years) - but I look forward to the day I can call myself "wise"...

Or...wabi sabi...

Cut to the chase...Valentine...

Please - do NOT get me wrong...I love Valentine's Day! It brings back memories of my childhood. Endlessly scrutinizing each and every Valentine given and received to see if some sort of "hidden message" was implied because the cute boy in the class gave you a "bigger" GI Joe Valentine than your best friend...and vice versa.

Now that I am a Mom, I still scrutinize each and everyone of the Valentine's my daughter's receive. Not to look for any secret love messages...but to see what "Mommies" have "one-upped" me once again. Carefully prepared packages with pencils, hand-crafted and hand-tied with ribbon and glitter - each one more elaborate than the next.

My daughter's first year of pre-school at the age of 3 found her coming home with 26 Valentine pencils, 18 heart-shaped erasers, 253 packages of Valentine stickers, a set of Flash cards, 4 plush teddy bears holding little red hearts and a double chocolate fudge cake. The poor thing toppled backwards down the stairs due to the weight of her over-stuffed Barbie back-pack. I felt like a mommy failure - my daughter...only armed with her 26 Dora Valentines with little white envelopes that I spent licking closed until 2 a.m the night before. The paper-cuts on my tongue were nothing compared to the giant stabbing pain in my heart that somehow I had missed the "mommy memo" regarding "old-fashioned" Valentines traditions were a thing of the past.

Then...reality set in...

I had another kid, my workload doubled, and I came to the realization that I am NOT one of those moms. I do a mini victory dance around the kitchen if I even remember that it's Valentine's Day...or Easter, or my daughter's 6th birthday. So...we will continue to hand out the small paper Valentine's cards until the day my daughter finds a part-time job.

I must admit, however, my 6 year old daughter surprised me last night (yes...we were doing Valentines the night before at 9:00). She took each and every one of the 21 Valentine cards and carefully thought about each one. On the front of each envelope - she wrote a personal message to each classmate. Some standard "I love you" messages (concernedly all boys) and "You are funny" were the majority...other's were written messages like "Boo hoo" (an inside joke, I am told) and "You are speshle" "I lik your blu hat". The point was, she thought of each and every classmate, and tried to individualize each one in her own way with messages and pictures of freaky heart shaped heads. My absolute proudest mommy moment last night was when she was pondering over one of the last cards for a little boy. She stared off into space...trying to come up with some sort of personal message - when suddenly she shrugged her shoulders, grabbed the marker and wrote two giant question marks on the front of the envelope. When I looked at her for clarification - she shrugged again and said "He's really confusing"...

That's my girl!!

Score one for the Russians...

You have two choices in Calgary. Hide inside and grumble for the entire winter - or attempt to keep your sanity through some creative planning. That's what we have chosen to do. I love to cook, and experiment with new recipes, ideas and techniques. I didn't say I was any good at it...but I do like to give it a good go.





Recently, my good friend and I came up with a plan to get us through the rest of the winter. We chose 8 different countries, put them in a hat and selected our picks. It was then formally agreed upon that we would take turns hosting an internationally themed dinner party based on our selected nation.

Now when I say "formally" agreed upon, let me be clear. Yes - we both became excited about the different possibilities and ideas we had churning...but deep down...we both knew the hidden agenda. It was an unannounced, informal declaration of WAR! Dinner party WAR was on, and we both secretly knew it! We parted ways with a friendly hug...securely grasping the Santoku knife behind our backs...and backing away...slowly...

First up - my dear friend. Country represented - Russia! Almost a guaranteed win for me, I mean come on...Russia? Who can cook Russian food, and what the heck do Russian's eat, anyway? My dear friend was hooped from the start with her "unlucky" draw from the hat!

The "guests" to the party were responsible for bringing the dessert - so I googled Russian desserts and came up with Pavlova - a meringue based cake covered in fruit. Easy peasy. I was going to rock this one, and blow everyone away with my culinary skills. Score one for me!

Ingredients purchased, recipe followed to the LETTER - watched in amazement as my creation rose and grew and browned as it baked into a picture perfect image of the perfect Pavlova. Did I mention how "perfect" everything was?

I took my pride and joy out of the oven to cool on the counter, and as I prepared the whip cream topping I heard a strange sound. It sounded like a slow leak from a balloon...followed by really thin ice cracking. I actually WATCHED this thing deflate in front of my eyes. Now - the recipe said it might fall and crack a bit...but by the time this thing was done...it looked like the Saddledome. Rather than panic...I was confident I would be able to fix this obvious defect by piling on the whipped cream and arranging the fruit in a very decorative manner - thus hiding the giant grand canyon looming in the middle of my otherwise perfect dessert.

The "Saddledome" a.k.a Pavolva

Well - it looked great - so I brought "The Saddledome" to the dinner party - head held high at my obvious pending victory. I even dressed the part as a slightly overweight Russian ballerina - complete with my hair pulled so tightly in a bun - I had trouble opening my eyes.

Walking into the party, my hopes began sinking faster than my Pavlova. Lights turned down low, blazing fire in the fireplace, Russian army marching music playing in the background - the smell of food was everywhere. Our male host was dressed like Russian Mafia - right down to gold chains and slicked down hair, and my friend...well...her green paisley print dress, hair pulled back and bright pink lipstick made me feel like I was standing on the streets of Moscow! The table was adorned with a lace tablecloth, place cards written in Russian, gold plates framed with various stemware along the plates of chilled capers, pickles and caviar. Dinner was nothing short of pure authentic, right down to the imported Russian Beer. They had translated the recipes from a true Russian cookbook - and apparently received a "family" traditional recipe from "grandma" who was born in Russia.

A sample of the table decor...note the handwritten place cards...in Russian...

I will admit, everything was fantastic, more than fantastic...and had to concede defeat once my "Saddledome" was served, covered in kiwi - which my host was mildly allergic too. To top it off - I couldn't even claim victory if I wanted too - Pavlova is actually an Australian dessert named after a famous Russian ballerina. It tasted great - but failed in comparison to the work my hosts had put into their event. As my friend smiled slyly at me across from her coffee...savoring her unspoken victory - I began formulating in my head my new menu for my upcoming "French" theme... that did NOT consist of french fries...

Score one for the Russians...

Remembering everyday...

Photo courtesy of http://www.simplyconnectedphotography.com/

Recently, I saw the Facebook post claiming that it was Special Needs Awareness Week - and by updating your status with a kind phrase regarding children with special needs you were raising awareness. Yes - kinda like those chain letter type things - the difference with this one was that I do have a daughter with special needs - and too much awareness is never a bad thing!

The Facebook campaign got me to thinking about my wonderful daughter, and how far we have come in the 2 years since her initial diagnosis. So, not to look like a dummy - I googled "Special Needs Awareness week" to find out the 'actual' week. Couldn't find it. I googled "Children with Special Needs week". Couldn't find it. I googled "Special Needs 2011." Couldn't find it. My conclusion...there doesn't appear to be a clear "Children with Special Needs Awareness week."

So...I am doing my small part to ensure that every single week of the year is "Children with Special Needs Awareness week."

I have been blessed with two beautiful, healthy daughters (who drive me crazy on a daily basis). My mommy "radar" was triggered with my youngest when I found myself translating her speech to almost everybody. She tried so hard to 'mimic' a true conversation...but mostly ended up sounding like "bla ma dee ba do to ma cookie". I would tell people to focus on the "last" word of her sentence, and figured all of those other little words would happen eventually. As she got older her ability to memorize phrases, movie scenes and all of the planets in the solar system was uncanny - and my little 2 year old delighted our friends and family with her chronological planet descriptions - right down to "joopita and da wed spot". She memorized simple 'phrases' that she would say at the wrong time, like "it's not safe" or "sewiously?" -in turn, making everyone laugh, and deflecting from the real issue.

I arranged for her to have a speech assessment at the age of 3 and a half - as she had just started pre-school and seemed "lost" in the shuffle. I will never forget - watching as my daughter struggled with the basic language questions, becoming more and more withdrawn, slumped in her chair, struggling to pay attention. My heart was being ripped into pieces - yet at the same time, a lightbulb was going off in my head. She really didn't understand. Her diagnosis was a severe receptive language delay with a moderate expressive language delay. My world crumbled...my perfect little girl was broken...and I had no idea how to fix her. My friends and family were kind and patient with me as I struggled with the guilt, anger and denial. Finally - came acceptance.

Basic language is something we all take for granted. How do you explain to a 3 year old the difference between a light being "on" and a cookie being "on" the table or putting "on"a coat ? Same word - completely different meanings. All of these basic concepts were the things she struggled with. Up, down, in, out, he, she, beside, in front, behind, together, apart, above, below...how do even begin to teach these things that to a typical learner are just second nature?

We have since enrolled her is a school for children with disabilities - where she works with a speech therapist on a regular basis. Because of the diagnosis - she qualified for government funding, and we meet with her therapists to design and implement a "IPP" (Individual Program Planning) to determine the best way to help her learn. She has her good days, and her bad - and we have worked hard in keeping the communication open and consistent to best help my daughter cope and develop. Every day presents new challenges - but I look back at how far we have come, and how much my daughter has taught me about the "simple" things in life. I take each day as it comes, try to slow things down and deal with all of the "big" issues in small, manageable chunks. I challenge anyone to spend 5 minutes with her, and not fall in love with her infectious personality. She is genuine and real, and has made my life better in so many ways.



She is my awareness everyday...with or without an officially "designated week".

Busted!

I'll admit it. I did it. I thought every parent did it. Maybe they do, and just don't want to admit it-but I lied to my kid. Well - not really l-i-e-d...more like avoided the truth. And I got busted! By a six year old! Here's how it went down...

We have always eaten fish - and salmon is our family favorite. I have an awesome recipe for a coconut baked salmon served over rice that the kids have always devoured. I would sit back, smug in my chair, arms crossed with a look of complete victory as the cleaned their plates thinking "I am such an amazing mother - my children eat fish, and like it - ha!" Never mind that it is disguised and buried in a creamy sauce, and cut into small pieces, mixed together with rice...that's not the POINT! They eat FISH! Woo hoo!

One day, after such a meal - my oldest walks over to my side, and looks down at my plate at a piece of salmon skin I have pushed off to the side.

"Mom, what's THAT?"

"Oh - that's just a piece of skin from the salmon" I say, swigging down the rest of my wine - hoping this conversation will end...NOW!

"Skin? It looks like fish skin." Her eyes begin to widen, her mouth open in horror as the puzzle pieces start clicking together...

"Who wants ice-cream?" I shout, jumping up from the table.

"MOM!" She yells at me, then narrows her eyes at me, speaking very slowly so as I can not pretend to mis-understand the question (as I often do...)"Is salmon a...fish? Like a real fish?"

I take a big sip of wine...I mean water..."Yes" I squeak, head hung in shame...

"EWWWWWW! Are you serious! Fish are nature, I don't want to eat NATURE! I am NEVER eating salmon again!" Tears, stomping and huffing follow, along with a door slam to her room.

Busted! Needless to say - our traditional steak and lobster tail New Years dinner was not well received that year either...



Now when she asks me where bacon comes from...I just smile...and tell her Sobey's...

A reason to laugh...

I love how things change so quickly. One minute I was a skinny smart mouthed 23 year old who was getting her education in Early Childhood Development. I was promoted to Director of a large Daycare Centre - successfully managing 116 children, almost twice as many parents and 18 staff members. And the best part was...I knew EVERYTHING. Especially about raising children. It was easy, really - we learned all sorts of tools and coping strategies in school. And if it was written in a textbook - it must have been right...right?

So - needless to say - I was happy spouting off snipets of my vast knowledge to parents - offering suggestions, ideas and words of wisdom to help with the seperation anxiety, eating problems, behaviour issues and so on. After all - I knew EVERYTHING...right?

What I didn't know then was something that I learned very quickly after I became a parent. They were all probably secretly LAUGHING at me! Why? Because I know for a FACT that I personally would laugh my butt off if some young childless "expert" tried to give me advice on what to do if my child flings herself onto the floor in a complete meltdown after fighting with her for 20 minutes to pick-out a pair of socks to put on before the bus comes in 2 minutes and the elastic is too tight and it "feels funny" underneath her pants, and it was my fault she was late because she didn't want her toast cut into triangles and that's why it took so long to eat, and she couldn't find her library book because she put it on the counter, and someone else hid it from her, after her sister took her favorite blue jelly bracelet and kept her up all night because she snuck into her room and kicked her in the head...

I would probably smile through my morning sleep deprived eyes, take a swig of my 3rd cup of coffee since 5:45 that morning, pull up the elastic on my milk-stained yoga pants...and laugh...